by Watson Davis
The magelights flickered, some blinking out completely.
Davina screamed, “Tethan? What is happening?”
She stood on the main deck, outside the door of the captain’s chambers, her robe draped over one shoulder. Tethan pointed out to sea and cried, “Something’s attacking Father’s ship!”
Through the crashing of the waves, through the roar of the thunder, the howling of the winds, a keening pierced the air, a plaintive wail. The wood of the railing beneath Tethan’s fingers broke, splintering in his grip, a growl rising from his chest.
Davina scrambled up the steps, one hand on the railing, the other holding the hem of her robe, lifting it away from her bare feet. She took up a position beside Mian-on, dropping down beside him, breaking into a chant, calling out to the great Skybear for his favor.
Gartan’s ship smashed through the sea, moving too fast, moving not forward, but sideways. The starboard hull of the ship barreled through the huge waves, sending up sprays of water as the ship splintered. Masts broke off. The rigging pulled tight, and dragged the masts behind the ship along with a stream of bobbing debris.
Kalo’s ship left that behind, left it in the distance, making greater and greater speed through the waves, the sails straining, masts groaning in their retreat. Tethan jumped to the wheel, staring at Kalo on the other side. “Where are you going?”
“Get out of my way!” she screamed, leaning to the left to peer around him.
“We have to go back!” he yelled, grabbing the wheel, holding it still, keeping her from turning it no matter how hard she tried. “We have to save them.”
“Let go!” she cried, tugging at the wheel, desperation on her face. “A kraken has them. If we don’t get away, it will have us, too.”
“My father will not die because of some sea beast in the night.” Tethan reached over the wheel, his fingers wrapping around Kalo’s thin neck. He pulled her up so their eyes were at the same level, her fingers losing their grip on the wheel, her hands going to his.
She gasped for breath, her feet kicking in the air.
He pulled her face close to his, her abdomen hitting the spikes of the wheel. “Turn this ship around, or I will kill you myself. I will break you apart limb from limb, bone by bone.”
“Let her go!” Mian-on yelled, magic and winds swirling around him, his eyes wide and wild, the sails now at the mercy of the storm and the ship tumbling about in the swells.
“Tethan?” Mitta appeared behind Mian-on, the point of her dagger touching Mian-on’s neck. The blade rested beneath his chin, and his eyes were now wide with fear. She asked, “Why are we killing the captain of this ship?”
“Tethan, stop!” Davina grabbed his arm, wrapping her arm around his forearm, pressing her left fist into Tethan’s throat. “Both of you. Leave them alone. It’s too late. We can’t save him. He’s gone to the judging of the gods. It’s a glorious enough death, even for him.”
Mitta asked, “We can still kill the captain though, right?”
Tethan backed up, rubbing his throat and shaking his head. “Let them go.”
The Landing
The sun rose, a beautiful sun with clear skies, a few clouds flying high and free. Tethan stood at the back of the ship, staring back at the clouds lost in the distance, at the darkness behind them, his arms crossed over his chest, ignoring the land approaching them, stretching out into the sea around them.
Mitta sat on the railing beside him, her skin glistening with sweat, staring at the port before them as she kicked her heels against the hull. “I thought the only place that could be hotter than Shria would have to be some wicked place in one hell or another. I guess we’ve arrived in the hell of the Nayen.”
“I don’t feel anything different,” Tethan whispered. “You would think, if he was dead, I would feel the void of him inside me.”
“Yes and no,” she said, sighing. “You are standing in a place where he has never stood beside you. Once you get back home, you will think to tell him something and realize you can’t. Every time you do this, you will feel as though he has just died all over again.”
“But what if he’s still alive?” Tethan asked.
She snorted. “He is hard to kill, but everyone dies.”
Tethan smiled, touching his hand to his eyes. “He is probably dining on kraken meat, wondering where we are and why we are not there with him.”
“Clan Leader?” Lirden called from the wheel.
“Aw, crap.” Mitta punched Tethan in the shoulder, slid off the rail, and said, “The sooner you let him go, the better off you’re going to be.”
She walked off, talking to Lirden, down to the main deck.
Tethan hung his head. Thinking.
The ship turned to follow the coastline. A thick, lush vegetation covered the gentle hills, but nestled in those hills, in that thick vegetation, white houses hid, more and more of them peeking through, until they squeezed out the vegetation, some with red tile roofs, others with blue, green, and yellow. They became a bright white stack of buildings with this rainbow of roofs, pressed together within a high wall that extended into the sea, topping a stack of rocks built up into a man-made sandbar, an unnatural bay.
Kalo joined him at the rail, leaning forward to peek at his face. “I hate to interrupt your vigil.”
“Vigil?” Tethan shook his head. “No, nothing like that. I’m just thinking. And I apologize for what I said, for how I acted. I shouldn’t have threatened you like that.”
“You are frightening when you are angry, but I understand.” She touched her cheek. “When I lost my father, when Gal-nya had him killed, I reacted without thinking, in rage and anger. I understand, and I forgive you. But please, don’t do that again.”
He tapped his fist on the rail, staring at the grain of the wood. “I hope I’m never in a situation that pushes me that hard again.”
She touched his shoulder. “We could not have saved them; we would have only died with them.”
“Sometimes,” Tethan said, his voice drained of emotion, distant, “dying is the only honorable course before you.”
“Hmm.” Kalo bowed her head, peering down at the deck, sighing. “We are coming into dock, into Tuth-Yoo, a fishing village faithful to the Council, usually part of Lord Sissola’s domain, depending on the bickering and fighting between the councilors.”
“How far off course has the wind driven us?” Tethan asked. “I remember the name from Father’s map.”
“Yes, we are not far from Arenghel,” she said. “We can dock here, repair the ships, and move west to Enera, and proceed from there to Arenghel. If that is still your plan.”
“My plan?” Tethan grunted. “I do not know if I have a plan anymore.”
“If you can keep your warriors below decks, I think it would be best,” Kalo said. “We just want to repair the damage to our sails and masts before sailing on to Enera, where we will be in better shape. So we don’t want to draw any attention. Especially from Lord Sissola. He is a beast.”
“Fine,” Tethan said, unmoving.
Kalo swallowed, spreading her hands, peering up at him, her eyebrows arching. “We’re coming in now, so perhaps your Onei should go below decks. Like. Now.”
“I understand. And the other ships?” Tethan asked, nodding to the ships following them, limping along in their wake. “What of those crewed only by Onei? How do you plan to hide them?”
“I would like to ask them to wait until we come back for them,” Kalo said.
Tethan nodded. “Fine.”
Kalo breathed out, relaxing. “You agree, then?”
“I have no objection.”
Tethan strode across the deck, and Kalo returned to the wheel, giving the command to the mages to pass the word for the other ships to wait until signaled.
“Onei!” Tethan leaned against the rope draped across the edge of the rear deck and cupped his mouth with his hands, bellowing, “Everyone get down below. This is an order from the Nayen captain!”
&nbs
p; Onei warriors whooped and hollered, leapt from the top of the masts, swung from the riggings like icefangs through the trees, and dove into the hold.
Tethan leapt over the rope, landing on the main deck between two Nayen sailors, who recoiled from him. He strode to the hatch and descended into darkness, down into the hold, blinking his eyes to adjust to the sudden inky black, his breath catching at the stink of sewage and mold, of a place too closed in.
“What’s the problem?” Mitta asked, sitting in a hammock, shimmying out of her clothes and hanging them from the ropes securing the hammock to the braces of the hull, her lean body glimmering from the sweat streaming down her. Lirden and Datresh leaned against the hull near her, both of them scowling at Tethan.
“Captain Kalo doesn’t want to create a stir when we enter the port,” Tethan said, pitching his voice loud enough for everyone to hear so he wouldn’t have to pass the orders to everyone individually. He peered around to make sure at least a couple of them heard him, while he pulled his sopping wet shirt from his shoulders. “She’s afraid if the locals see strangers like us, word will get back to the Council.”
Mitta spread her hands. “And why was I not consulted on this plan of yours?”
“I assumed she’d already talked to you.”
“Well, she had not.” Mitta shook her head, swinging in her hammock. “I am the only clan leader on this ship, you know; she should be talking to me, not to you.”
“Go tell her that, then.” Tethan shrugged, taking his axes from his belt. He strode to the rear of the hold and sat down on the deck, his feet flat on the deck, knees up, his back against the hull. His forearms rested on his knees. He stared between his thighs at the boards of the deck, everything inside him broken.
Davina leaned her staff against the frame of the ship and, groaning, sat down beside him.
“Thought you’d stay up in the officers’ quarters,” Tethan said to her, not looking her way.
“And I thought you might need to talk,” Davina said.
Mitta, her clothes in her hand, lowered herself to her knees before Gartan. “I am the ranking Onei on this ship. The only plan that matters here is mine.”
“Yeah?” Tethan tried to smile, forcing the corners of his lips up as he nodded. “Then you go ahead and give the orders. The only thing I know is that right now, my clan has no clan leader.”
The ship slowed, the action of the waves changing, and the rocking of the ship shifted to a side-to-side motion. Above, the sailors called out commands and directions.
The ship shuddered to a stop, a sharp rap of wood on wood reverberating through the hull.
Tethan looked up, meeting Mitta’s eyes. “So what is your plan, Clan Leader?”
Mitta snickered, reached down to rub at her bandaged foot, and stood. In a loud voice, she said, “Everyone! Get your armor on and grab your weapons. Let us talk with these Nayen.”
Lirden laughed and clapped his approval, and all the Onei bustled to prepare themselves.
Outside the ship, a man’s voice shouted something in Nayen, the tone hostile, the words clipped. Kalo answered back from somewhere on the main deck.
“This doesn’t sound good.” Tethan stood, his eyes looking up toward the ceiling, eyes squinting as he edged through the other Onei.
Mitta padded back to her hammock, grabbing the rest of her clothes and squeezing back into them.
Heavy boots and armor marched in unison on the wood planks of the pier. Tethan held out his hand. He hissed, mimicking a wounded icefang, and all the Onei eyes in the hold turned to him, their voices silent.
Mitta rose from her hammock, dropping her quiver over her shoulder, and jogged to Tethan’s side with her bow in her hand.
Above, Kalo spoke, a desperate series of words that sounded like begging and pleading. Tethan heard her emotion even if he couldn’t understand the meaning of the words.
He eased forward, climbing up the first three steps, crouching, staring up through the hatch to where the sun shone onto the deck, where the wind swirled down into it.
Kalo stood by the hatch, her hands raised, palms facing the port. Tethan gestured with his axes, using the signals used by the Onei in raids and hunts, indicating he thought they’d have to flow up and out toward an enemy by the port, but he didn’t look to see if anyone had received his message, keeping his attention on Kalo, waiting for some signal, some command.
A man’s voice spoke to Kalo, growled at her. She shook her head, saying one of the Nayen words Tethan had learned. “No, no. No.”
Tethan moved his hand, gesturing for the Onei to move closer and prepare.
Mian-on appeared behind Kalo, a grim expression on his face.
More boots stomped up the gangplank, and Kalo threw herself back, shouting, “Tethan! Help us!”
Tethan leapt, launching himself up through the open hatch, twisting in the air as he screamed, “Enahu!” with Mitta right behind him, screaming, “Inare!”
Soldiers stood on the deck, more striding up the gangplank, and even more standing in disciplined lines on the pier, their blue and silver armor reflecting the sun. Helmets covered their faces. Their armor consisted of overlapping square scales in rows like a dragon’s. They held halberds in their hands diagonal to their chests, and carried shortswords on their belts.
One soldier stood in front of the others, his armor’s plates edged in silver, with his right fist raised and pointed toward Kalo; he had no halberd, but his left hand rested on the pommel of one of two swords at his waist.
Tethan slammed his left axe down on the man’s elbow, aiming for a gap between the plates. The man’s heavy armor saved his arm, but he stumbled forward, surprised. Tethan stepped past the man, crossing between him and Mian-on, and he spun around, swinging his right axe and putting his entire body behind a strike that hit the man’s throat, finding a gap between the gorget and the mask covering the man’s face. He felt the satisfying give as the edge of his axe snapped through into the soft flesh of the man’s throat.
The blue helmet flipped off of the man’s head, revealing his face—a Nayen face, dark-skinned, eyes wide. He turned, staggering back to his soldiers, trying to shout commands while holding his left hand out to them, his right hand grasping his neck. He took two steps and fell to his knees.
The Nayen soldiers did not move, except for two of them falling backward with the ends of Mitta’s arrows projecting from their eye slits, the rest standing frozen in their lines. The Onei swarmed up from the hold, screaming and shouting, axes swinging.
The Nayen reacted only then, flailing their swords, waving their halberds, stepping on each other as they ran into Onei axes, falling into the water and sinking beneath the waves, their armor dragging them down. Tethan’s axes claimed two more, knocking one from the edge of the gangplank and ripping one’s helmet off and splitting the man’s skull with an overhand strike.
Tethan held his axes at the ready, dodging from side to side, his feet gliding him around the deck, looking for someone to fight, finding no Nayen left alive. The Onei stood on the deck, on the gangplank, on the pier, the shiny armor of the Nayen at their feet, glinting and sparkling in the sun.
Further up the pier, on the dock proper, Nayen men and women, civilians, unarmed and unarmored, stood staring, their eyes huge and their mouths hanging open.
Mitta swaggered up to Kalo, laughing. “I don’t think you’re going to keep us a secret for very long.”
# # #
The wave pushed Gartan onto the sand and pulled him back toward the sea, tugging at Dyuh Mon, almost dragging the Nayen from his grasp. Gartan tightened his grip on the man’s torso, twisting to get his feet beneath himself on the sand of the beach while the tide tried to draw him back out into the depths. He stumbled forward, falling to his knees, rising back to his feet. His skin was wrinkled, and his limbs were heavy.
The sun seared his flesh through the sandy crust of drying seawater coating his face. His burnt flesh ached. The sun blazed in the clear sky, the only clo
uds far out to sea.
He clawed his way onto the white sandy beach, toward the thick vegetation a short distance from the shoreline, with tall, thin trees, ferns, and bushes with monstrous leaves leaning forward toward the water like a green army guarding a treasure, but the leaves offered shade from a sun that seemed to grow hotter and fiercer with each step. He dragged Dyuh Mon toward those trees.
The magician coughed, his legs pumping, trying to get underneath himself, to support himself, but never succeeding. Gartan found a clear spot, dark with shade, and dropped Dyuh Mon there, collapsing next to him, gasping.
Someone coughed, the sound coming from far away.
Gartan raised his head, forcing his weary body up onto his elbows, blinking his eyes to get them to focus. Dyuh Mon had crawled back toward the sea, mumbling. The debris of the ship floated in the water, bobbing up and down. Not too far from shore, Tayna clung to a bobbing section of the rear railing.
Gartan rolled to his feet, pulled Dyuh Mon back to the shade, and staggered back out onto the beach, the sunlight hitting his burned flesh and reminding him why he’d sought the shade. He splashed out to Tayna, the salty water stinging his wounds, and he looped his arm around her waist, detaching her arms from the railing.
Her head rose and bobbled as she peered around, just a hint of her red eyes visible through the crack between her swollen eyelids. “Who? What?”
“Gartan.” He wrapped his arms around her chest, hugging her to him. “I need you to help me here.”
“Yes,” she said, finding her feet, nodding her head.
He released her, turning to face the beach while draping one of her arms over his shoulders and settling his arm around her narrow waist.
She straightened up and winced, bending over and grabbing at her side, coughing, struggling for breath. “I broke some ribs. Maybe worse. Hard to breathe.”