Murdagh rumbled and looked at his crew. “A squirt like you’s keepin’ the Danék?”
Wull tensed. He felt Mix’s hand on his arm.
“My father was the keep before me. . . .”
“And?” said Murdagh. “I reckon yer father was a big man with hair on his backside. An’ what are you?”
“I’m the Riverkeep,” said Wull, “an’ I’ve plenty hair on my backside.”
Mix groaned as Murdagh and his crew exploded in laughter.
“Have you? Isn’t that a fine thing? An’ yer a waterman who tends his gentle puddle and stays out o’ harm’s way. Good for you, cut-squirt. But don’t you stan’ there an’ tell me yer a man o’ the water who can look me in my clear eye just ’cause you can row a boat.”
All eyes in the room were on Wull, except Murdagh’s, who had returned his attention to the fruit.
“Be gettin’ yerself out o’ here,” he growled, “while ye’ve still got the legs to carry you.”
Color burned on Wull’s face. “The Danék’s a treacherous—” he began.
“Is it?” said Murdagh, whirling round and pointing the blade of his knife under Wull’s chin, his crutch falling noisily over, the fruit bouncing away on the floor. Murdagh’s rotten breath was sharp in Wull’s eyes and, close to, he saw that the surface of the old sailor’s hidden, bloodied eyeball was pulled tight by scar tissue.
“Let me tell you, hairy-backside cut-squirt, that yer wee pond an’ yer rowboat mean nothin’ to me or mine,” said Murdagh. “There ye have a backyard to make pretty; out here ye’ll hear the whistle o’ hell comin’ an’ spend endless days wrestlin’ broken waters an’ waves the size o’ churches. On the sea, on the real sea, a man o’ the water stands against storms that could gut his boat like a fish an’ send him rag-dolled into the deep, an’ he does so without blinkin’ or lettin’ fear take him. He sleeps standin’ up wi’ his muscles an’ bones screamin’ for ungranted mercy till his dreams and his wakin’ thoughts become a single, painful howl. A real man o’ the water sails toward empty skies knowin’ that in a thousand miles he’ll not pass a hearthstone or find a soft place to lay his head an’ he does so in a boat that’s no more’n a feather in a gale.
“You sit in yer boathouse, watchin’ the same trees and the same skyline, chuckin’ scraps to the seulas an’ thinkin’ yersel’ threatened because once yer safely tucked up behind iron bars an’ locked doors an ursa might shuffle past. Ye’ve never felt through the skin o’ yer feet that eternal war below, where all things prey on all others an’ would eat you in a heartbeat were ye to but dip yer toe into their freezing hell. You think ye’ve a tough time fillin’ lamps wi’ whale oil, but ye’ve never killed such a beast yerself, chased one down in a tiny, delicate boat, then torn its flesh under yer blade, dragged it aboard, flensed its skin, an’ boiled its flesh in stinkin’ try-pots for days to make the oil for lightin’ up cozy houses . . . like yours.”
The knife broke Wull’s skin.
“An’ let me tell you, cut-squirt keep . . .”
“Wulliam,” said Wull, meeting his stare.
Murdagh smiled appreciatively. “Wulliam Cut-Squirt,” he said, licking his teeth. He used his empty hand to lift the flap of skin over his injured eye. “Let me tell you, little man, that the real sea’ll take from you every ounce o’ fortitude and deal you such blows . . . fatal to the last degree o’ fatality.”
Wull watched as Murdagh blinked, the passage of the torn lid over his split eyeball painful and slow.
“I need to kill the mormorach, sir,” said Wull. “I’ve brought good harpoons and good rope for its catchin’, an’ I’ve no fear of it. It’s not a question of just wantin’ to—I need jus’ one part of it to cure my pappa. The money you can have for all I care.”
Murdagh kept his knife in place and shifted in his seat.
“That’s fair kind o’ you, offerin’ to share a bounty ye’ve no hope of catchin’. If ye think ye’re goin’ after some fish who’ll roll over for a tickled belly and let ye whisk him into yer little boat, then ye’ll be dead in a day. So, ye’ve harpoons? Ha! Might as well tickle an ursa’s lad with a feather.”
His men laughed, and Wull felt the sizzle of embarrassment burning on his cheeks. His shoulders swelled.
“I’s been huntin’ the world’s seas for longer than you’ve been squattin’ on privies,” said Murdagh, warming to his theme, “so let me tell you jus’ how this is goin’ to go for you, with those little pointy sticks you could barely lift. Most land-walkin’ animals has in their veins some valves so that when they’s wounded, their blood stops spurtin’, an’ they can get away an’ survive. Not so with the whale—the whale ’in’t got no valves anywhere in ’im, so when he’s pierced even by so small a point as a harpoon . . .”
Wull felt a trickle of blood run down his neck and onto his chest.
“A deadly drain starts in his whole system. Then he dives, deeper and deeper, tryin’ to live and flee the harpoons, blades bein’ thrown hard by men wi’ sturdy hands an’ sure hearts. But what he dun’t know’s that the drain o’ his blood pours out even quicker in the pressure o’ the deep, an’ the life jus’ floods out o’ him in great red waves. But there’s so much blood in ’im, an’ so many are the little fountains of it inside his grand bulk, that he bleeds for hours, hoverin’ there in the dark o’ the water while Gilt waits above, ropes fastened on the barbs o’ the little harpoons, which is all’s needed to break so great a creature.
“Even wi’ an ursa, I’m told, though I’s never hunted on land an’ don’t much care for the notion, there’s weak spots: little nooks an’ crannies in its hide that a decent marksman might find one time in ten, an’ if he fancies ’is chances the ursa’s there for the takin’.
“But the mormorach ’in’t got no soft points: his hide can’t be breached by normal barbs such as ye’ll find on the end o’ yer pointy sticks, an’ even if ye can manage to cut him, his leaks stop the second they touches water. He’s got gills so’s he never needs to surface for breath, he’s stronger than a hundred men, stronger than any ship or any wind or any number of gods you cares to call on for help. He’ll grow, bigger an’ bigger without stoppin’ so long as he’s got enough to eat, an’ his jaws could smash through the transom of a keep’s bäta like it was a floatin’ wafer. Today I had ’im on the ropes, hurtin’ an’ blind, jus’ where I wanted ’im, an’ he jumped up regardless and took one o’ my masts from me—cut me with the spines o’ his tail, too.”
Murdagh shifted in his seat and showed Wull the bandages, wetly blotched with claret, on his right arm.
“Gilt’s had worse’n that,” said Murdagh, slow-blinking his damaged eye, “an’ he can take it. But you’s not got any idea what you’s wantin’ to face, Wulliam Cut-Squirt, an’ for all the gumption you’s shown comin’ here I’s not impressed, ’cause front like that’ll jus’ get you killed.”
Wull formed a reply, but felt the swollen warmth of his cut cheek and the impassive stares of Murdagh’s crew and bit it back.
“All I want is his name,” Murdagh carried on, “an’ his skull for my prow; what value might be in his flesh is mine, but I got little enough int’rest in that. My crew can have the bounty, an’ I ’spect they’s no plans to share it with any other, least not some cut-squirt keep who shows up wi’ a hard-luck tale an’ a bad attitude,” said Murdagh. “Now—leave.”
He found the fruit on the floor, kicked it toward himself with the tip of his whalebone leg, and lifted it, resuming the work of his knife at its husk while Mix dragged Wull from the tavern and onto the freezing, cobbled ground of the market.
“Let me go!” he said, wriggling in her grip.
“Why?” she said. “So you can go back an’ make a bigger fool o’ yourself?”
“I wasn’t . . . he’s—”
“He’s a mean old man whose head’s full o’ the sea, an’ goin’ back
in ’in’t goin’ to change his mind, is it? All it’ll do is get you another scar for your cheek.”
Wull sagged in her grip. “How did you get so strong?” he said. “I thought you were a tiny little girl?”
“When it suits me,” said Mix, releasing him.
They turned and started the slippery walk back to the guesthouse.
“Now what will you do?” she said.
“I don’t know. Take the bäta, I s’pose.”
“But Mrs. Vihv said—”
“I know what she said! But what’s my choice? Row it back an’ watch Pappa die quietly on the way? What did I come here for if not to go out for it?”
“But you’ll die,” said Mix. “You think Paps wants that to happen in tryin’ to save him?”
“I don’t know what he wants anymore,” said Wull, rounding the corner and spying the guesthouse through the mist.
“Yes, you do,” said Mix quietly.
Mrs. Vihv burst through the door. “You’re there!” she said. “I’ve been worried out my box here! He’s gone!”
“What? Who’s gone?” said Wull, his guts collapsing. “My pappa?”
“No! The babby! Bonn! He jumped up and ran off an’ she’s near to—”
“But Pappa’s all right?” said Wull.
“Bonn’s alive?” said Mix.
“What?” said Mrs. Vihv. “What d’you mean he’s alive?”
“Wulliam! Mix!” said Remedie, bursting into the street. Her eyes were frantic, her skin pale. “Bonn is gone! He’s gone!”
“What’s this ’bout the babby bein’ alive?” said Mrs. Vihv.
“Nothing, Mrs. Vihv, thank you, we’ll go an’ look for him now. I’m sure it’s all right,” said Wull, leading the landlady by the arm toward her front door.
“Strange things’s happ’nin’ of late,” she said. “It’s that thing an’ its magic! I swear I saw one o’ my sand frogs twitchin’ in its jar the other day. . . .”
“We’ll be back soon,” said Wull, pulling the door closed. “Keep an eye on Pappa for me, please. When did he go?” he asked Remedie, turning.
“Moments ago. The landlady wouldn’t believe me, at first; she held me back from going after him, and now he’s gods know where. . . .”
“We’ll find him,” said Wull. “Don’t worry. He can’t have gone far.”
Remedie snatched up his hand. “He’s so strong, Wulliam,” she said hurriedly. “Not like a flesh-child. He’ll run without cease, and he’s no need for food, save the sun and clean water. I must away now to have any chance!” She kissed Wull’s forehead and held his face. “Take care of your father. Be brave.”
As she set off, she pulled Mix into a firm hug, whispered in her ear, then ran into the green darkness beyond the houses.
Mix watched her go, then looked at Wull, eyes twinkling. “Bonn’s alive,” she said. “Boy, am I glad I snuck onto your boat. It would have been right borin’ on that bradai skiff!”
“We need to find them,” said Wull. “Remedie needs our help.”
“No problem,” said Mix. She pulled back her sleeve, exposing a thin wrist that was marked with pale, elegant lines near to the elbow. Close to, Wull saw that they were husked and rough, like bark.
“What are you doing?” he said.
“Ssh,” said Mix, grinning. She reached for his hand, linking their fingers together.
Wull watched the skin of her free hand change, becoming looser, almost jagged. “Mix? What did you steal?” he said, knowing the answer by the feeling that surged through his arm.
“This,” whispered Mix, and closed her eyes.
Wull watched as she pushed her free hand into the wet ground and felt, through her skin, the moment it dissolved and broke like wave-battered sand. He felt her consciousness disappear, her senses taking over his mind as she began to see, to really see, the forest: she saw, and Wull saw, the breeze—not as it moved their bodies and tugged their hair, but as it played on the white leaves of trees, waved stiff grasses in the clearings, and toppled crumbs of earth; together they felt the slow, constant stirring of the soil, a great soup of roots and insects and worms and burrowing things turning over each other and moving the earth like breathing lungs; they felt the sudden, thrumming strike of fast mammalian heartbeats around them like little pools of light, the sonic tingle of the animals’ frayed nerves playing through their bodies like hammer strikes on iron.
They felt each other’s presence in the world, the weight of all their unique strengths and separate energies drawn to the other like water gathering in a rock pool. Wull felt Mix’s heart thudding alongside his own, and knew in that moment that his heart beat in her chest.
And then they found what they’d been looking for: two sets of footsteps, running, one light and quick, the other farther back—frantic but sure.
Mix opened her eyes and smiled, drew back her hand, and rolled down her sleeves.
“What was that?” said Wull, once he’d recovered his breath. He found he couldn’t look Mix in the eyes.
“How’d you think I found you in the woods before?” she said. “Got pretty tricky when your heart slowed down in the cold—a real close one. An’ it’s how I know what’s really happened to your paps.”
Tears welled in Wull’s eyes. “There’s still some o’ him left in there,” he said. “I know it.”
She nodded. “I know there is,” she said. “Just enough. Remedie’s already half a mile away. I need to go after them. She’s goin’ to need my help, I’m sure of it.”
“Don’t go,” said Wull. “I mean, if Remedie needs help, then go, of course, I don’t mean—”
“There’s . . . people . . . lookin’ for me, too—people that won’t ever stop lookin’. I need to keep movin’.”
“Because you stole that . . . thing by accident?”
She smiled. “I really didn’t mean to, you know, I just . . .” She pulled back her sleeve, showing Wull the barklike markings on her skin. “The folk chasin’ me, they don’t care. It’s theirs, this power. They’s wantin’ it back, an’ they’ll kill me, I know it—I’ve felt their thoughts through the world the way we felt Remedie an’ Bonn jus’ now. You don’t need me here. You’ve got everythin’ in your steady hand, Wulliam Riverkeep.”
Mix lifted onto her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. Wull pressed his hand to where her lips had touched him and felt the green lightness of spring on his skin.
“I don’t want you to go,” he said, startling himself.
“I know.”
“Will I see you again?”
“Count on it. Look after Paps.”
Wull nodded.
“It’s goin’ to be all right,” said Mix, then she turned and ran into the frosted shadows of the forest.
Wull watched until she disappeared, then headed for the guesthouse.
“Have you found him?” said Mrs. Vihv as he entered, dragging his feet. She was bent over the gut-splayed frog, a magnifying lens strapped to her head.
“Remedie’s gone after him,” said Wull. “Mix went after her.”
“They’ve gone alone? All the gods, we’ll have to send folk after them!”
“No,” said Wull, stopping her by the arm and shaking his head. “They’ll be fine. They’re . . . very strong. They’ll be fine on their own. I had to stay for Pappa.”
Mrs. Vihv placed her hands on her hips and looked at him. “You’re sure?” she said.
“Definitely,” said Wull, thinking about what Mix had done.
“All right then. How’d you get on with the captain?”
“Badly. He told me where to go an’ no mistake,” said Wull. “I’ve never met anyone like him in my life.”
Mrs. Vihv nodded and returned to the frog. “There’s not many who have, the way I hear it. An’ imagine—there’s not even much o’ him left. What must
he have been as a younger man? You shudder to think.”
“I felt sorry for him,” said Wull.
Mrs. Vihv flashed him a look. “All o’ us are worthy o’ pity,” she said, “even the worst behaved o’ us. Especially the worst behaved, sometimes. Sit down then—your pappa’s been asleep since you left, pretty much. Woke up an’ ate some fish then nodded off. His . . . eyes, they’re interestin’, aren’t they?”
Wull looked up from the armchair, his nose smoke-stung and his vision running in the acrid press of the room.
“What?” he said.
“I said your pappa’s eyes are interestin’. How long have they looked like that?”
“Since he got sick,” said Wull. “They . . . clouded up, an’ he doesn’t see so well now.”
Mrs. Vihv gave him a prolonged stare. “An’ you know why that is, don’t you?” she said softly.
“No,” said Wull. “He’s ill, something in his mind, is all. This thing in the mormorach can cure him. It’s why I need it. An’ why I’m goin’ after it even without Captain Murdagh an’ his damn boat, an’ it doesn’t matter what you say to me!”
“All right, son, you know your own mind,” said Mrs. Vihv. “It’s jus’ that . . . I’ve seen eyes like that before, once, before I came here, when I was still set up in the city an’ payin’ someone to fetch me samples from the coast. They were in a goat’s head at the time, but it wasn’t a goat was lookin’ at me.”
Wull kept his face turned away, looking at the flames.
“It was a bohdan,” said Mrs. Vihv, “an’ I only found out later how lucky I’d been. That’s why his arms are tied, isn’t it? An’ why he’s only eatin’ fish.”
“He’s still in there!” said Wull. “He is! I see it sometimes and I hear him . . . jus’ at the edge o’ his voice I hear him!”
“All right,” said Mrs. Vihv as Pappa, coughing and cursing, woke in his chair and started to mouth the sour crust of scales on his lips.
“It that speaks?” he said, looking around. “Untie the arms!”
“You need be careful o’ this,” said Mrs. Vihv. “I won’t talk you out o’ it because I can’t imagine what you’s been through to get him here, but be careful. It’d live inside you as quick as look at you—you’ve done right to keep his hands bound. There’s no guarantee this creature’ll cure ’im, though there’s magic enough in it. But you need to understand it’s not jus’ a mind sickness your pappa’s got. There’s another creature livin’ in ’im.”
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