* * *
Even without charts, Captain Eli guided the Wavewalker through the choppy water, dodging dark barriers of exposed reefs, but the ship had room to maneuver in the deep channels. The crewmen tied up the sails, rolling the canvas against the yardarms and lashing it tight. When the ship slowly drifted into position, they dropped anchor in a calm sheltered area, while the waves continued to break and foam along the outer lines of submerged coral.
Once the ship was safely anchored, the eager sailors watched the five wishpearl divers make their preparations. Sol barked orders to his comrades. “We go down two at a time. I dive first with Elgin, second will be Rom and Pell. After they come up, I’ll be rested enough to go down with Buna.” He flexed his arms back to display his broad pectorals marked with a chain of tattooed circles.
The divers opened a clay pot of grease, which they smeared over their skin. The grease would keep them warm as they went deep into the intricate coves and crannies of the reef. The grease also made them slide through the water, according to Rom, who smeared an extra layer across his chest.
Although the five divers had similar lines of circular tattoos, some sported more circles than others. Nicci learned that the tattoos were a tally of how many chests of wishpearls each diver had collected. Sol had been down so many times, he had started a second line on the right side of his chest. They each wore a braided belt from which dangled long, curved hooks to hang iron weights on, as well as a mesh sack for harvesting shells while they were underwater.
As the first divers, Sol and Elgin each tied one end of a long hemp rope to the belt around his waist and secured the other end to the foremast. Then they climbed up onto the rail, poised on callused bare feet. They fastened iron weights to the hooks on their belts, which would drag them down to the bottom so they wouldn’t waste time or breath stroking down to their destination. Once deep among the reefs, they could easily unhook and discard the weights before swimming back up.
As the two divers stood balanced in the sunlight, they inhaled, exhaled, then sucked in another great breath, expanding their chests and filling their lungs. With unspoken synchronization, the pair dove over the side and vanished with barely a ripple. The rope reeled out as they sank.
Captain Eli scratched the line of beard on his jaw. He seemed very calm and satisfied. “We might stay here at anchor a day or two. Depends on how long it takes to fill up our cargo chest.”
“A chest holds a lot of wishpearls,” Nathan observed.
“Yes, it does.” The captain took off his cap and wiped his hair, then settled it back in place.
After some minutes had passed, Bannon looked over the side, watching for the two divers to return. He glanced at Rom and Pell, who were fixing belts to their waists, attaching iron weights to the hooks, and securing their mesh sacks as they prepared to make their own dive as soon as the first pair surfaced.
Bannon asked the two men, “Do you think I could be a wishpearl diver someday?”
Rom looked at him as if he were an insect. “No.”
The young man’s expression fell, but he continued to peer over the side. “Here they come!”
The divers burst to the surface. Gasping, they shook their heads, flinging water from their long, clumpy hair. It had been nearly ten minutes, and Nicci was amazed the men were able to stay underwater for that long. Their lung capacity was as great as their arrogance.
Each man grabbed one of the dangling ropes and scampered up the hull boards. After they swung themselves over the rail to stand dripping on the deck, Sol and Elgin emptied their sacks, spilling out dozens of lumpy gray shells, which were eerily shaped like hands folded in prayer.
“Sweet Sea Mother, that’s lovely,” said Captain Eli as the crew rushed forward. “Absolutely lovely.”
The Wavewalker’s crew set to work with stubby flat knives to split open the wet shells, tear out the rubbery flesh, and pluck out icy-silver pearls.
Next, Rom and Pell dove overboard while their comrades rested. Sol spread his lips in a grin for Nicci. “If you offer me a proper reward, I’ll give you your very own wishpearl.”
Nicci simply said, “I already have one. Bannon gave it to me.” Sol responded only with an annoyed grunt.
By the time Rom and Pell swam back to the surface with an equally successful harvest, the next two divers were ready. For hours, the bare-chested men went down and came up again, over and over, as the crew shucked the shells and removed the pearls.
Curious, Nathan picked up one of the split-open shells discarded on the deck. “Remarkable. They look like human hands cradling the pearls.”
“Hands folded to make a wish,” Bannon said.
To Nicci, the crudely formed fingers appeared to be holding tight to the treasure hidden inside.
“These reefs are lush with shells,” said Buna after his third dive. “There’s enough treasure for a hundred trips.”
“And we’ll keep coming back,” Captain Eli promised.
Because the Wavewalker’s crew took some of their pay in wishpearls, they pressed the divers to descend over and over again. Nicci was just glad to see the arrogant layabouts actually working.
But at the end of the day, with the sun setting in a blaze of orange and golden fire, the five divers were weary. Although Sol, Elgin, and Rom did not seem inclined to do extra work, Pell and Buna agreed to make one last dive. The two tied ropes around their waists, attached iron weights to the hooks, and jumped overboard.
The sailors sat around on deck, chatting, shucking wishpearl shells, and piling the discards against the side wall. Pell and Buna stayed down for a long period—longer than any other previous dive that day. Nathan paced the deck, wearing an increasingly concerned look. The captain also looked worried.
Finally, Sol frowned, went to the rail, and leaned over to peer into the darkening water. “Pull on the ropes—haul them back up.” He clasped one of the wet hemp cables and strained, while an eager Bannon took the other rope tied to the second diver.
Bannon’s rope went taut in his hands, then suddenly yanked downward, tightening, burning through his fingers. He cried out and let go as the cable smacked against the Wavewalker’s hull. Something dragged it down from below.
“No swimmer could possibly pull that hard!” Sol said, straining against the rope.
The second rope creaked as an unseen force deep below dragged back. Rom and Elgin rushed to help haul on the ropes to bring their comrades back up. The strange grip tugged back with such strength that the whole ship began to tilt.
They all strained together, shouting, heaving. “Pull them up!” Sol yelled again.
Suddenly, both ropes snapped and hung loose in the water, like drifting seaweed. Working hand over hand, the men furiously pulled the ropes until the frayed end of the first one came free. “Why would they cut their own ropes?” Elgin demanded.
Bannon stared at the torn, stubby end. “That’s frayed, not cut.”
Nicci immediately understood the significance. “Something tore the rope apart.”
As the would-be rescuers hauled up the second loose rope, Rom climbed on the rail, ready to dive overboard to rescue his comrades, but before he could jump, the end of the second rope came dripping out of the water, still tied to the woven belt that had been ripped free from the wishpearl diver. Tangled in the belt were flaccid, wet loops of torn intestine and three connected vertebrae, as if an attacker had simply ripped the belt entirely through the diver’s spine and abdomen.
The sailors howled in fear, backing away.
“But how—?” Rom staggered backward, falling onto the deck. “We didn’t see anything down there.”
“Something killed Pell and Buna,” Sol said. “What could have caused this? What attacked them?”
Elgin glared over at Nicci. “Maybe Death’s Mistress summoned a monster.”
The three surviving divers stared at the sorceress in horror and fear, which quickly turned to obvious hatred.
Bannon whispered to Nicci in am
azement, “Did you really do that? Just like you killed the thieves in the alley?”
She quietly chided him for his foolish statement, but after having seen the potential violence in the wishpearl divers, she was glad that they feared her.
CHAPTER 12
The crew stared from the dissipating bloom of blood in the water to the shreds of flopping intestines that dangled from the loop of woven belt. Captain Eli shouted for the sailors to set the sails and weigh anchor as clouds gathered in the dusk. Although the Wavewalker was in warm latitudes, far to the south of Tanimura, the wind seemed to carry a chill of death.
Nimble sailors scrambled out on the yardarms to untie the ropes, while others pulled on the halyards and stretched the canvas. The ship moved away from the reefs, slinking like a whipped dog, while the navigator pushed hard on the rudder and the lookouts guided the course to keep from scraping the dangerous rocks.
The captain called in a hoarse voice, “We’ve already lost two men today. I do not wish to lose more.”
Catching the wind, the ship retreated from the angry line of reefs and reached open water again. As full night fell, clouds obscured the stars, which mattered little since the captain could not navigate by the unfamiliar night sky anyway. He simply wanted to put distance between their ship and the reefs.
Although the crew was superstitious about deadly sea monsters, Nicci simply assumed that some shark or other aquatic predator had attacked Pell and Buna in the reefs. Nevertheless, she remained alert for danger. An ominous mood surrounded the crew like a cold and suffocating mist. After several hours, the blame the three surly wishpearl divers cast on Nicci took hold like an infection among the jittery sailors, and they all looked at her with fear. She did nothing to dispel their concerns. At least they left her alone.
The Wavewalker sailed for three more days, and the weather worsened, like an overripe fruit slowly spoiling. Troubled, the captain emerged from his chart room to stare at the clotted gray skies and the uneasy froth-capped waves. He spoke to Nicci as if she were his confidante. “With a full chest of wishpearls harvested, this voyage has been very profitable, despite the cost in blood. Every captain knows he might lose a crewman or two, though I doubt those divers will ever sail with me again.”
Nicci gave the man a pragmatic look. “You’ll find others. Where are they trained? One of the coastal cities? An island?”
“Serrimundi. Wishpearl divers are revered among their people.”
“I noticed the arrogance.”
“It won’t be easy to replace them.” The captain sighed. “Those three will talk once we get back to a port city.”
“Then invest your new fortune wisely,” Nicci said. “Those pearls in your hold may be the last you ever harvest.” The single pearl Bannon had given her was tucked away in a fold pocket of her black dress.
When the watch changed, a lookout climbed down from the high platform, and another scrambled up the ratlines to take his place. Nathan joined Nicci and the captain on the deck as the windblown, deeply tanned lookout approached. “The clouds look angry, Captain. You can smell a storm on the wind.”
Captain Eli nodded. “We may have to batten down for a rough night.”
“Are there more reefs to worry about ahead?” Nathan asked. “Will we run aground? It would be much harder to find Kol Adair if we’re stranded out on a reef somewhere.”
“Yes, I’m sure it would be quite inconvenient all around.” The captain sucked on his unlit pipe and pressed a hand on his cap to keep the wind from snatching it away. “We are in open water. No reefs that I know of.” The sailor nodded and went back to his duties.
When the other man was gone, Nicci lowered her voice. “You said that your charts were no longer accurate and you weren’t exactly sure where we were.”
Captain Eli’s expression was distant. “True, but I don’t think reefs appear out of nowhere.”
As the blustery wind increased, the anxious crew performed only the most important chores. The potbellied cook came up with a bucket of frothy milk, fresh from the cow kept tied below. “She doesn’t like the rocking of the waves,” he said. “Next time the milk may be curdled when it comes out of her teats.”
“Then we’ll have fresh cheese.” Captain Eli took a ladle of the proffered milk.
Nicci declined, but the wizard was happy to taste it. He smacked his lips after he drank. The cook offered milk to the surly wishpearl divers, but they scowled at the bucket, focusing their glares on Nicci.
“She might have poisoned it,” said Rom.
Hearing this, Nicci decided to drink from the ladle after all.
As the wind whistled through the rigging and the hours dragged on, Nathan suggested that he and Bannon practice their swordplay on deck. The clang of steel rang out in a flurry as the two pranced back and forth, dodging coiled ropes and open rain barrels that had been set out to collect fresh water in anticipation of the imminent storm.
Bannon had gotten noticeably better as a swordsman. He had a reckless energy that served to counteract his gracelessness, and Sturdy lived up to its name, receiving and deflecting blow after blow from Nathan’s much finer blade. For a while, the performance distracted the uneasy crewmen from their gloom.
By the time the young man and the wizard were both exhausted, the afternoon clouds were so thick with the oncoming storm that Nicci couldn’t even see the sunset on the open water. Instead, she merely watched the daylight die.
“Will you show me some magic?” Bannon suggested to Nathan, climbing up on a crate that was too high to serve as a comfortable chair.
“Why would I show you magic?” Nathan asked.
“Because you’re a wizard, aren’t you? Wizards do magic tricks.”
“Wizards use magic. Performing monkeys do tricks.” Nathan raised his thick eyebrows. “Ask the sorceress. Maybe she’ll perform a trick for you.”
Bannon glanced over at Nicci, swallowed hard, then turned back. “I’ve already seen her magic. I know what she can do.”
“You know some of what I can do,” said Nicci.
The carrack rocked back and forth in the rough seas, rising on the swells, then dropping into the troughs. Though most of the Wavewalker’s crew had iron stomachs, some sailors bent over the rail and retched into the open ocean. The masts creaked and groaned; the sails rippled and flapped.
Captain Eli stood with hands on hips and his woolen jacket secured with silver buttons across his chest. “Trim the sails! The wind is getting stronger, and we don’t need any torn canvas.”
Above, the lookout had strapped himself to the mast to keep from being flung overboard when the ship lurched.
With an exaggerated sigh, Nathan acceded to Bannon’s request for a demonstration of magic, even though the young man had not continued to pester him. “All right, watch this, my boy.” The wizard knelt down, smoothed the ruffles of his fine travel shirt, and briskly rubbed his palms together as if to warm them up. “This is just a small hand light, a flame we could use to ignite a fire or illuminate our way.”
“I use sulfur matches, or flint and steel,” Bannon said.
“Then you have magic of your own. You don’t need to see mine.”
“No, I want to see it!” He leaned closer, his eyes bright. “Make fire. Show me.”
Nathan cupped his hands to form a bowl. His brow wrinkled, and he stared into the air, concentrating until a glimmer of light appeared. The wisp of flame curled up and wavered, but when a gust of wind whipped across the deck, the hand fire flickered, then went out. Nathan could not sustain it.
The wizard looked completely baffled. Nicci had seen him create blazing balls of fire before with barely a glance, not to mention far more horrific wizard’s fire that caused great destruction. As if incensed, he concentrated again, then scowled when only a tiny thread of fire appeared, which was again extinguished by the breezes.
“Is it supposed to be that difficult?” Bannon asked.
“I’m not feeling at all well, my boy,” he sai
d, in an obvious, awkward excuse. “Magic requires concentration, and my mind is troubled. Besides, there’s too much wind for a proper demonstration.”
Bannon looked disappointed. “I wasn’t aware that wizards could use magic only under ideal conditions. You told me I had to be ready to fight with my sword, no matter my mood.”
“What do you know of wizards?” Nathan snapped. “Your sulfur matches couldn’t light a fire in a situation like this either.”
Stung, Bannon conceded.
In a more apologetic voice, Nathan said, “It isn’t you, my boy. My Han seems to be … troubled. I’m not entirely sure what to do about it.”
“Your Han?”
“It is what we call the force of magic, the force of life within us, particularly within a wizard. The Han manifests differently in different people. My Han was intertwined with prophecy as well as the ability to use magic, but now that’s all untangled. I’m certain I’ll get it sorted out.”
“Are you sure you’re not just seasick?” Bannon asked, with a teasing lilt in his voice.
“Maybe that’s exactly it,” Nathan said.
Disturbed by what she had seen, Nicci wondered what might be bothering the wizard. Nathan had lost his gift of prophecy with the shift in the world, but his core magic should have remained unaffected. Still, a fire spell was supposed to be quite simple.
“I’m retiring to my cabin.” Nathan turned away, trying to keep his dignity and balance on the rocking deck. “If I am hungry, I may go to the galley for supper when it’s ready.”
Nicci decided to take shelter in her own cabin as well. She didn’t want to distract the superstitious sailors by staying out in the worsening weather.
* * *
Despite the sorceress’s cold beauty, Sol had known that she was evil and dangerous from the moment he first saw her. His companions noticed only Nicci’s shapely figure, her long blond hair, and a face even more attractive than carvings of the Sea Mother.
When stuck alone on a ship, long at sea, sailors tended to lower their standards of beauty, but there was no denying that this Death’s Mistress was more beautiful than the most expensive whore in the cleanest brothel in Serrimundi. And Nicci was right here for the taking. Whenever the woman flaunted herself on deck, her black dress clung to her curves and rippled around her in the breezes, tightening against her full breasts. Sol imagined the breasts would be soft and pliable, just waiting to be squeezed. He tried to picture her nipples, wondering whether they were dark or pale pink, whether she would gasp if he pinched them.
Death's Mistress--Sister of Darkness Page 9