“Right now it keeps me warm.”
Her father appeared at a loss. Whatever he might have eventually said was interrupted by a shout. “Land ho!”
Isiilde leaned over the side, watching the flurry of activity that followed.
Sailors scurried up the shrouds and along the yards, furling the sails. Carvil called for the anchor to be dropped. A chain rattled, setting Isiilde’s ears on edge. The anchor crashed into the water, and the ship groaned as the anchor dragged along the seabed.
The nymph closed her palm, extinguishing the flame. “We’re here.”
The crash of waves boomed in the fog. Land was close. The nymph stood at the starboard rail with the rest of the crew. She could feel the sun trying to burn its way through the grey blanket. It would not be long.
Marsais stood stiffly at her side, his hands clasped behind his back. It was disconcerting—to know him, to have felt his spirit burn in her breast, and now, to have him so distant, yet so close.
Out of habit, Isiilde reached for their bond. Her fire answered, burning sentimentality to a crisp.
The fog swirled, rolling over the ship, thinning until the sun broke through its cloak to shine on the shore. Land was an optimistic word. Sheer black-and-red banded cliffs rose from the sea, shaped into hexagonal columns of colossal heights. There was a gap in the strange cliffs—a dark mouth where the sea rushed in with foamy white waves. The fifth talon. Isiilde could see nothing of the land above the cliffs that dwarfed the ship.
“Are those carved pillars?” she asked.
Marsais’ coins gave a soft chime as he shifted. “Cooling lava flow.” He turned to Nimlesh. “Prepare the longboats.”
“Before I send my men in there, I want information, Seer.”
Marsais inclined his head. The others, Oenghus, the paladins, and Elite drifted closer. “The inlet is a graveyard,” he said, gesturing towards the gap between cliffs. “The water is deep, and the current strong. Old, sick, and injured sea creatures often get caught in the currents, and then are too weak to swim out. I’m told that their carcasses litter the inlet.”
Isiilde looked at the water. She could see the current. A deep black gulf of water split the grey-blue sea. The Squall had anchored well away from the current.
“Is there a landing?” Nimlesh asked.
Marsais roused himself. “There are sea caves, and a stairway.”
“Is there a Fomorri encampment near these stairs?” ask Acacia.
“Not precisely.”
Everyone waited. Marsais scratched his chest.
“A precise answer would be welcome,” Acacia pressed.
“The Fomorri do not venture into the inlet often.”
“And why is that?” Nimlesh asked.
It was like coaxing a confession from a criminal.
“There is a scavenger in the inlet. One that feeds on whale carcasses, and larger creatures. It’s ancient.”
Isiilde frowned. Marsais had said ancient as if it were older than he.
“And large,” Oenghus guessed.
“Large, but...” Marsais held up a finger, “I imagine lazy.”
Acacia arched a brow. “You imagine?”
“I’ve never seen it.”
“Why do you imagine it’s lazy?” Rivan asked.
The edge of Marsais’ lip quirked upwards. “I’m basing that presumption on my own personal experience with being long-lived.”
“How do you know this scavenger lives in there?” Nimlesh asked.
“Saamu.”
“The sea god’s daughter?” the sergeant asked.
“Yes.”
Murmurs traveled through the crew like a cold wave.
Acacia frowned in thought. “How many years ago was that, Marsais?”
“Hmm.” He rubbed one of the coins woven into his goatee, eyes growing distant with thought. “One thousand years ago... perhaps twelve hundred. I can’t recall.”
“You knew me when it happened,” Oenghus grunted.
“Did I?”
“That’s what you claimed.”
Marsais blinked, eyes darting around the ship, as if he had only just woken from a dream. Long fingers dropped from his goatee to his chest, where he laid his hand flat. He looked lost.
“It doesn’t matter,” Acacia soothed. “Give or take a few hundred years, it’s still a long time. Things might have changed.”
“Perhaps,” he agreed.
“And how do you know where Finnow’s Spire is?” Nimlesh asked. The man might have had the face of a rock, but his voice betrayed doubt.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“I don’t believe half of what you say, Seer,” Lucas spoke up. “But you usually say it anyway.”
Marsais chuckled. “A Guardian told me.”
As the men dispersed to prepare the boats, Isiilde heard Oenghus mutter under his breath. “Who really told you?”
“A dragon.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Three longboats hit the water. The Elite scrambled down rope ladders like a line of ants. The soldiers looked identical, one indistinguishable from the next. Each wore a Kilnish turban wrapped loosely around head and throat, a leather breastplate, and sand-colored clothing ideal for the sun and its unrelenting touch.
At the moment, it was simply cold and dreary, but that would change soon enough. Isiilde could not wait.
“How long do you want us to remain here?” Carvil asked Marsais.
“Set sail as soon as we’ve cleared the cliffs. We will not be coming back by sea.”
The nymph cocked her head, gauging the man at her side. In turban, wide-sleeved robe, and a wider sash, he looked like a perfectly sane and noble desert nomad.
“You don’t have camels, or enough supplies to traverse the whole desert. How will you return?”
Marsais thrust a curved dagger under his sash. “That’s for me to worry over, Captain.”
“May the gods...” Carvil faltered. The gods were not with the ancient. “Good luck.”
Marsais slung an enchanted pack over his shoulder. He swept his gaze over the cliffs, the roaring waves, and the cold dark of waiting death, and finally, his eyes settled on Isiilde. She raised her chin. No one would stop her from coming.
A movement drew her attention. A small boy scurried over the rail. The deck shuddered, and her father rushed past, bending over the rail to haul not one, but two figures aboard. Kasja and Elam fell onto the deck.
“You’re staying—the both of you,” Oenghus growled. “There’s no room in the boats.” Since neither could understand common, he used angry gestures to get his point across.
“Kiss my arse,” Elam argued.
Marsais translated for the Lome, but that didn’t seem to help either. Kasja hissed at the translator too. Marsais shrugged, and pointed at Oenghus, blaming it all on the giant. With a parting word, he climbed down the ladder.
“You both are staying.” Oenghus thrust a finger at the pair, and then at the deck. He placed his hands on the boy’s shoulder, and kissed the top of his head. Kasja shuffled back and forth, nearing and straying from the giant like a fearful dog that ached to trust.
Isiilde felt for the two, but she agreed. It was probably best if they stayed. She turned towards the rail. The longboat that Marsais sat in was full, so she went to the next, and climbed down the ladder.
The boat bobbed and bumped against the bigger ship. She balanced between rowers and sat on a bench at the fore. Oenghus climbed down after, and when he touched the boat, it tilted alarmingly with his weight.
Isiilde flung out her arm, gripping the edge. He quickly crouched and the other soldiers made room. When he sat down, Cas slapped his thigh, and looked at him with a smirk. Thin cabin walls gave testament to the fact that the two had been making the most of the journey. But as far as Isiilde could tell, it seemed merely a way to pass the time.
The nymph studied the backs of the soldiers. A thoughtful furrow lined her brow. Could she ever be so c
asual with men? The thought made her shudder. She quickly turned towards the cliffs.
The paladins sat in the second boat, and the third held Marsais. In total, the Elite numbered thirty. Their own party added another six. It seemed a small number to infiltrate Fomorri, but then again, perhaps that was best.
“Cast off!” Nimlesh ordered. Lines were untied, and gathered, and the longboats broke free, drifting from the anchored ship.
Mist clung to the black water, and the boats rose with rolling swells. At Nimlesh’s signal, the oars were lowered with a splash that seemed too loud in the desolate sea. At another gesture from their leader, the Elite put their backs into rowing, and the boat glided forward.
As the longboat neared the great divide of dark water, she half-stood, peering into that expanse. It was as if the sea floor had simply fallen away, leaving an abyss where light feared to touch. Two splashes whipped her head around.
“Man overboard!” a muted call came from the cutter, so distant now. Two flailing people splashed in the water, swimming towards the longboats.
“Void,” Oenghus spat.
Isiilde looked at her father. “They are both warriors.”
With a sigh, he ordered the men to reverse course, and row towards the swimmers. When the gap closed, Oenghus hauled Elam into the boat. The boy shivered, grinning from ear to ear. He climbed over the benches and sat next to Isiilde. Kasja avoided Oenghus, and pulled herself into the boat. She stopped to run a hand over Isiilde’s hair in greeting, and then crouched on the bow like a tangled figurehead.
The oars dipped back into the water. The other two boats had gained some distance, but Oenghus and Cas looked as though they meant to make it up.
Steadily, the longboats moved towards the inlet. As the boats passed into the shadows of the colossal cliffs, the crash of sea against rock drowned the scrape of oars. Isiilde could feel the sea’s thunder in her heart. Given the swelling waves, there was a good chance that her feet would never touch Fomorri soil.
Ahead, in the lead boat, she saw Marsais stiffen, his eyes on the water. A swell rose, and the longboat disappeared. When the lead boat bobbed over the next crest, its oars were raised and the crew stared into the water.
Marsais gestured frantically, and a ripple of alarm passed over the second boat. The oars were raised, and all eyes focused on the dark deep. No one moved.
Seeing the other soldiers’ reaction, the rowers in Isiilde’s boat followed suit. For scant heartbeats they drifted, bobbing on swells, caught in a current that tugged them towards the cliffs. Strangely, the other two boats were moving towards them, opposing the current, and then all at once, the water shifted, pulling Isiilde’s boat back out to sea.
Isiilde’s ears quivered, and her eyes widened. Everyone in the boat froze. The sea had turned white—a great pale swath rippled underneath the longboat. Something moved under the water, a primal, ancient presence that wore terror like a cloak. It stretched in all directions, as far as she could see from her low vantage point. The sheer size was daunting, and her mind grappled with what it could not contain.
The swath of paleness flowed under them like a river, moving towards the distant cutter. Isiilde slowly turned her head, looking back at the ship between snatches of mist. The anchor had been raised, and sailors were crawling over the yards, unfurling sails. There was no hope.
Between longboats, a long length of white scales breached the water. Barnacles clung to the creature’s hide. And then it disappeared, diving back under. The current released its hold on the longboats, and Isiilde looked to the cutter.
The sea burst, spewing a pale creature from the deepest dark. It was a worm hatched from the earth itself, and it rose like a cobra, armored in barnacles with a head of reaching tentacles and a maw of pillar-sized swords.
A scream caught in her throat.
The creature dove at the Squall, splintering the tall ship like a child’s toy. Death howled in her ears, and the sea churned as pieces of the ship broke in all directions. A wave rose with the destruction, displaced water fleeing the Leviathan, rushing towards the longboats.
“Row for your lives!” Nimlesh bellowed.
Oenghus reached over the woman who shared his bench, and gripped her oar. She scrambled aside as he moved to the center and braced his feet. “Row!” he ordered. The Elite followed his lead. Oars dipped, and Oenghus heaved. The longboat leapt forward.
Isiilde was helpless. Her eyes were fixed on the rising wave, and the tail of the Leviathan plunging back beneath the sea.
The wave caught the longboat, pushing it towards the cliffs. They gained momentum, racing down its side towards the gap in the rocks. The land rose on either side, a roar drowned out all other sound, and the water came crashing down. It stole her breath, leaving her icy and drenched.
Waves battered the longboat. All was thunder and chaos, and wet doom. Another swell sped towards them, pushed by the beast beneath the water’s surface. The Leviathan was coming.
Oenghus abruptly stood, his voice boomed in the narrow straight. His chant soared over the crashing waves and the cliffs rumbled in answer. Oenghus wove a brutal weave, all quick and heavy, of air and fire and water. Lightning cracked the sky, hitting rock. A massive slag broke free, and the whole cliff face plunged into the narrow straight, crashing into the water.
Oenghus sat back down, panting. Arms trembling from the weave, he fumbled for his oars. As they rowed, all eyes were fixed on the spot where the rock had fallen.
Isiilde wondered if he had crushed the beast? Had the falling stone blocked the Leviathan’s path? Her questions were answered a moment later. The Leviathan surged from the sea and the creature’s head consumed Isiilde’s world. But the Leviathan fell short like a striking snake that had misjudged distance.
A wave of water slammed into the longboat. Wood splintered, and a cold, gripping death embraced her. Isiilde spiraled in a watery grave, battered from all sides, caught in a current of confusion. Up, down, right, left; the words had lost all meaning.
Her back hit something solid, ripping her skin. She bounced, and came back down against something rough. Blind and spinning, Isiilde flung out a hand. She grabbed onto a wall of barnacles and sped through the water. Her palms burned with pain, but she did not let go.
The great body of the Leviathan pulled her from the whirlpool. Her lungs burned, and her mind screamed at her to breathe. Blackness threatened. She was weightless, devoid of air and substance. A single breath would stop the terror.
Isiilde steeled herself. She planted her feet on the creature’s body and pushed with all her remaining strength, shooting towards a lighter world. She clawed and fought, but for every stroke, the creature’s wake sucked her back. Pinpricks danced at the end of a narrow tunnel. She kicked harder, reaching towards the fading light. With a final kick, she broke the surface.
Isiilde gulped in air. And began to choke. The air smelled of rotting fish guts and bloated decay. She retched water and bile, and flailed on the surface, caught in the Leviathan’s powerful pull.
She rose with a swell, and it gave her a different vantage point. Inland the channel widened, letting a dim ray of sunlight into the crevice. But at the end of the inlet the water churned creating a great bubbling wash of angry white water.
Struggling against the chop, she made for the cliff wall, climbing crests and dipping into the valleys between waves. There was a dark cleft in the rock.
As she swam for the cave, bodies of soldiers and sailors, splintered masts and wreckage floated past. A tangle of hair and netting caught her eye. She kicked over, and grabbed the woman. The current released its hold, and Isiilde broke free with her burden. She drifted into an eddy, and finally slapped a hand against slick rock.
Dark pillars rose along the cave wall. They were natural, like the pillars along the cliffs. In the dim, she saw the outline of a ledge. Keeping one hand on rock, she wrapped the other arm around the feral woman’s shoulder, and turned her over. Kasja stared at the stony sky. A shard o
f wood protruded from her breast.
A slippery swift movement bumped the nymph’s leg. She jerked back, nearly losing her grip. The water broke, and a black eel wiggled on Kasja, slithering towards her wound with a needle-filled mouth.
Isiilde grabbed the eel, ripped it off the woman, and threw it as far as she could. Desperate, Isiilde let go of Kasja for a moment, and pulled her way onto the ledge. When she was on her belly, she swung up her legs, turned, and reached for the woman.
Isiilde clenched her teeth, braced herself, and heaved. But the body was too heavy. Something large splashed in the water. The cave was dark, and the back of her throat went dry. Envisioning a tooth-filled predator swimming from the sea, she renewed her efforts to drag the woman to safety.
A man’s head surfaced with a gasp. Brown hair dripped in his eyes.
“Rivan!” she breathed.
He slapped a hand on shore. Half out of the water, he panted against the slick rock. His eyes strayed to the woman in the water.
“Help me get her on land,” Isiilde said.
With a weak nod, he assisted, and while he pushed from below, Isiilde pulled. When Kasja’s body had flopped on the rock, Rivan scraped and pulled himself up after.
As soon as he was out of the water, he wrapped his arms around Kasja’s stomach, and lifted. Water gushed from her mouth and nose, but no breath came. Two more heaves and the sea fled her lungs. He rolled her over, and waited. Nothing. Isiilde drew her knife, and sliced through netting and rope, cutting around the stake protruding from her chest.
Rivan put his hands over the wound, bowed his head, and began to pray. Light suffused his hands, and a spark of hope stilled Isiilde’s breath. But that spark quickly died.
Rivan broke the link, sitting back, hard. “She’s dead.”
An eel sucked on Kasja’s leg. Isiilde grabbed the creature, ripped it away, and tossed it back into the water. She wanted to scream at the sea.
Rivan shuddered once, and looked up. He looked as battered as she felt. “Are you all right?”
The Broken God (Legends of Fyrsta Book 3) Page 14