Sword of Fire and Sea tck-1

by Erin Hoffman

  Men and women scrambled for their posts. From the bow, Vidarian tested the security of the jackline anchored there and extending back to the stern. A series of metal hooks guided the line over the forecastle, and he checked each as well as he moved down the deck. Below on the gundeck, three young sailors were moving to secure and check the cannon, and Vidarian joined them in hauling and tying rope. Above, rain began to drum the deck.

  The thunder was echoing closer as they sailed into the reach of the storm, and the ship pitched to steeper and steeper angles, testing the cannon-lines. Wind lifted the rigging, howling through the sails, and at last on one great pitch to port, the sea broke over the rails, coursing over the spar deck in a rush that sank his stomach before cascading down the ladders and onto their heads.

  Vidarian had worked his way to midships at this point, and stood with the ladders and capstan just before him to stern. Ruby's voice came down from overhead: “Heave to! Get me in front of that-!” Vidarian had not heard that word in over a decade: a particularly creative bedroom maneuver unmentionable in polite company.

  Despite the pitching of the ship, the cannon were secure, and none too soon with the full wrath of the storm upon them. Vidarian looked with dread at the dripping ladder, then took courage between his teeth and mounted up it.

  Abovedeck the world was in chaos. The thunderheads bore down on them from above, blackening the sky. Lanterns had been lit across the ship, bolstering the thin light from beyond the storm at the horizons, where, somewhere, the moon still shone. Vidarian staggered under the assault of rain and wind to fix his harness to the swinging jackline.

  The ship tilted down a swell nose-first at a speed and angle that gripped Vidarian's stomach with vertigo. He took hold of his lifeline with both hands as his boots lifted off the deck-only for a split second, but the crash as they bottomed out, the long bowsprit ahead knifing through saltwater, knocked hardened sailors to the deck across the entire ship. The sea came pouring over the gunwales, drenching the decks and everyone on them.

  “Cast drogue!” Ruby shouted over the din, and the command was relayed to the quarterdeck, where hands rushed to toss a series of linked heavy buoys overboard to snake across the undulating swells. As the drogue line snapped taut, the ship steadied for a few precious moments. Vidarian fought to join Ruby at the wheel.

  “It's driving us into the reef!” he yelled, sputtering as torrential rainwater streamed down his face, and pointed out across the bow. The ship now angled to port, running from the storm but straight into the murderous embrace of the knife-reefs, the glistening tips of which surged into view in the lee of the swells.

  “I realize,” Ruby said dryly, an impressive feat, “this is that ‘worst’ I was talking about.” She eyed the bow, and for the first time, Vidarian realized that she was humming. It was a low sea shanty, old and familiar, but her voice imbued it with strange energy, and a great strength poured out from her through the base of the ship. She paused in her humming long enough to shout, “Bare poles! All hands to lifelines! This is it!”

  Vidarian saluted, one hand on the jackline, and hauled himself along it toward the bow. It was a long fight, and for every step forward he lost three more to the pitching deck and howling winds. At last he was climbing the ladder to the forecastle deck, clinging to the rail against what seemed the worst of the storm.

  From here the black glittering spines of the horn's reef were far too close for comfort. Knowing his duty, though not how it would be accomplished, he thrust his awareness down into the turbulent sea.

  The shock of the ocean's cold presence stunned him for several long moments. This was not the peaceful sea of the northern empire, but an angry, wild place that had nothing but hostility for the minds of men. It stalked around him with patient curiosity, and he knew that his death would be but an afterthought in its power. Beloved Nistra, he thought, my life has been yours, and my fathers’ lives before me.

  And then, unequivocally, a presence was there. It restrained the angry ocean with the gentle absolution of a woman's touch on the neck of a snarling guard dog. But there was curiosity in the presence, too, and an unfathomable depth unlike any he had ever experienced. Show me, came the impression, clear as tropic waters, but wordless, an assault of a thousand images and sensations.

  He opened himself fully to the ocean, as he had only in dreams before. It coursed into him, became him, subsumed him. There was no Vidarian, only the current, without constraint or barrier. He was cold and strong, full and relentless. With the slightest movement, he reached to turn the ship away from the reef, and from his distant body felt the deck move beneath his feet.

  Deep within him, fighting within that distant body, was dissonance-something not cold and substantive but bright and ephemeral, light but untouchable, electric and hot. And from the heart of this dissonance came a snarling voice: He isn't yours! He's MINE!

  A sensation of distaste, sulfurous, wafted at him from the presence in the sea. It turned from him, and with it, he lost his grip on the ocean currents. They pulled him down into darkness, and it would have been without hope, save that, even as he descended, he saw the bowsprit ahead emerging into early morning sunlight, out of the grasp of the terrible storm. Behind them curved Maladar's Horn, and he collapsed to the deck, exhausted.

  The curl of land that encircled the Selturian Islands protected them from the wrath of land or sea. This spur of mainland in the southwest corner of the Alturian Empire was technically held by the emperor, but it was a wild place, full of strange creatures that had no love of humankind. The Selturians were sparsely populated despite their tropical weather-it was simply too much trouble to reach them by any means, save perhaps flight.

  Vidarian woke with the warmth of sunlight slowly drying his soaked clothes and hair. Gulls cried overhead, approaching curiously from the islands to inspect the ship for scraps of food. He struggled upright, first to a sitting position and finally pulling himself to his feet. Dizziness hammered at his head, the night and storm and ocean reawakening the ache in his still-battered skull.

  When he staggered down the ladder, Ruby was waiting, looking tired but cheerful.

  “You did well,” Ruby said, “if a little impetuously. They'll have felt you in the wastes, I'd wager.”

  “Better than in the deeps,” he said, and she laughed, with a gesture of concession. He shaded his eyes and looked out over the water. The three green Selturians surrounded them. They were close enough for him to catch sight of the strange furred animals that swung between the trees.

  “I've had a pram prepared,” Ruby said. “You and Ariadel may set off when ready. I've given the crew leave to explore the islands if they'd like, but most are interested in sleep.”

  When he made his way to the boathook, Ariadel was waiting, looking across to the islands. Her skin was pale and her eyes sunken-she'd likely fared no better than he in the aftcastle. He helped her into the pram, and two men at the winches lowered them down into the water. Vidarian took up the oars himself, pushing them away from the steep sides of the Viere and settling in to row. Between strokes, he asked, “How long has it been since you saw your father?”

  “Years,” Ariadel said. “The islands are so remote.”

  “And his occupation not-encouraged.”

  She shook her head, surprising him. “There's little reason for interchange between the priestesshood and the rare elemental monks. Their magics are just so different. Men,” she paused, and smiled gently, “most of them, anyway, cannot wield the greater magics. You'll see.”

  In a few minutes he was helping her from the boat and onto the sand, and then pushing the little craft above the tideline. Ariadel had directed him where to land, and by the time he had shipped the oars and set the pram aright, a modestly dressed figure awaited them at the tree line beyond the sand.

  Ariadel set off toward the figure, and Vidarian was surprised to find nervous energy swirling in his gut. What was that Ariadel had said about “mates” to Ruby? He realized he
had no idea what Velinese wedding or courtship customs were. But confidence, perhaps, could overcome. He advanced up the beach, taking care to keep Ariadel beside him, and approached the figure, which turned out to be an elderly man with age-spotted skin and hair that had most likely once been black, like Ariadel's.

  “Lord Windhammer, I presume,” Vidarian extended his hand, and caught Ariadel's flinch out of the corner of his eye.

  The older man's smile was sad as he took Vidarian's hand and clasped it briefly. “It's been quite some time since I bore that name,” he said. “It's Aldous Windfell, the name of my birth.” He turned to Ariadel, who embraced him warmly, but gingerly. “How is your mother?”

  “It's some years since I saw her,” Ariadel admitted, returning to Vidarian's side. “She's been off on another of her collection trips, and-well, you know how she is about time.”

  Aldous smiled, and his eyes disappeared beneath folds of wrinkled skin. “I do indeed.” He made a motion with one hand. “Her goddess, or mine, or yours,” the hint of another smile turned his tone, “protect her. But we can discuss this later. You will be exhausted after your night at sea,” he said. “We have a number of guest cottages. Sleep now. We'll speak again in the evening. I am sure there's much to discuss.”

  Collapsing on the deck of the Viere didn't quite constitute “sleep” so much as “lack of consciousness,” and Vidarian was too exhausted to argue with Aldous's prescription of true rest. He and Ariadel fell into their beds, and when they woke, sunset colored the peaceful sky beyond the cottage's window. Ariadel's movement woke him, and once she realized he was awake, she rose and lit a peculiar blown-glass sphere designed, it would seem, to respond to the touch of life flame.

  “Your father didn't seem surprised to see us,” Vidarian said, finding rest had returned coherent thoughts to his head. He hoped he hadn't said anything too unforgivable yesterday.

  “He is Air,” she said, as if this explained everything. “I don't think they know the word ‘surprise.'”

  Vidarian wanted to quiz her further about her father to avoid another misstep, but knew that they must not linger. Continually he felt the pull of the Quest, and the knowledge that the longer he stayed away from her, the greater her danger from overzealous priestesses.

  This island, one of three that bore the name Selturian, was small but ample enough for a large, airy plantation house, three guest cottages, a thorough vegetable garden, and several acres of jungle besides. Silent young men and women tended the gardens and the goats that provided sustenance for Aldous and themselves; plain-clothed as they were, Vidarian would not have recognized them for apprentices without Ariadel's telling him so.

  In the main house a simple but luxurious spread of goat cheese, tree nuts, and tropical fruit was laid out, and both Vidarian and Ariadel found themselves ravenous. Aldous sat with them, shelling and slowly eating a few nuts for politeness’ sake, but his gaze was distant and his thought clearly elsewhere. Finally, he turned to Vidarian.

  “So,” he said, a gentle humor seemed constant in his voice, “you're the Tesseract, then?”

  Vidarian paused, a dark-juiced berry halfway to his mouth. He looked across at Ariadel and was somewhat gratified to note she seemed surprised by his abruptness also.

  Aldous laughed softly. “We do little but research, here,” he said, “and the winds of destiny flow freely about you.” He gestured to Vidarian's neck, where the small crystal whistle, given him by the priestess at Siane's Eye, still hung on its silver chain, all but forgotten. “That is the Breath of Siane, is it not?” When Vidarian nodded, Aldous smiled. “May I?”

  Vidarian looped the chain free from his neck and passed the little whistle over to Aldous.

  “You didn't tell me you carried an artifact,” Ariadel said, her tone dangerously light and neutral.

  “You didn't ask,” he said, and Aldous smiled again, his eyes still on the whistle.

  The older man turned the whistle over in his hands, sending light reflecting across its crystal surface. Then, he breathed across it, an odd tone emanating from his chest that made the hair on the back of Vidarian's neck stand up. The whistle glowed and seemed to hold the man's breath within and around it, a spiral of air that hummed like the rim of a crystal goblet touched with water.

  “It's quite beautiful,” Aldous murmured, then passed it back to Vidarian. “But what you need are the storm sapphires.”

  Vidarian put the silver chain back on and tucked the whistle into his shirt. “Storm…sapphires?”

  “Well, yes, if you're to journey to the gate between worlds.” Aldous speared a slice of burgundy-colored citrus with a fork and proceeded to eat it slowly.

  “The Great Gate?” Ariadel managed around a mouthful of goat cheese. “I thought that was just a legend.”

  Aldous smiled again. Vidarian was coming to dread that expression. “Much knowledge is lost to the priestesshoods, my dear, including the closing of the gate some two thousand years ago. When they do acknowledge it, the priestesshoods hold that the Tesseract should seal it shut.”

  “Legends said the gate must not be opened,” Ariadel agreed, though irritation edged her voice. “That it should let chaos into the world.” At her words, something sent a chill up Vidarian's neck again, but neither of the other two seemed to notice.

  “Chaos, yes. Change,” Aldous said, brushing crumbs from his fingers. “And those who hold power rightly fear change.” He looked up at Vidarian, his eyes grey with age but missing no sharpness. “You should be on your way.”

  Ariadel all but squawked. “But-I've only just brought him here. I thought you might-”

  “There's little time to lose,” Aldous said, addressing them both. “Little time, I'm afraid. And this coming from an Air master.” He rose, pushing his chair back behind him with a soft scud across the slate floor. “Ariadel, if you wouldn't mind, in my study is a book that will help us. Mayene will know which one-our collected learnings on the Great Gate.”

  Ariadel stood and nodded, looking between them intently for a moment, then leaving to find Mayene.

  The old man lifted a hand wizened like dried ginger to point the way out of the hall. When Ariadel had quite left their hearing, he set off slowly, speaking without turning. “You must be worthy of her, Vidarian,” Aldous said, his gaze going distant like the air priestess's had at Siane's Eye, what seemed so long ago. “Be worthy of her,” he said, and smiled, “or I'll break your knees.”

  A whistle from the island's watchtower split the air the next morning. As Vidarian and Aridel emerged from the tiny guest cottage, eyes bloodshot from a night spent scrutinizing Aldous's books, they caught sight of what the watch had seen: three gryphons, flying in ragged formation in from the east. As they drew closer, the cause of their ragged flight became apparent: the lead gryphon flew irregularly, and the two that followed were forced to rush ahead or backwing alternately to keep up. When they came upon the island, their wings stretched outward in a long glide, and they fell to earth quickly in the heavy tropical air.

  The three banked together in a wide curve as they came in to land, and now their differences were clear. In the lead was Thalnarra, her feathers battered and thin; she was missing a primary on her right wing, among other things. The gryphon back and to her left was bizarre, unlike anything Vidarian had seen in statues or paintings, much less live and real: it had a long, triangular head and an even longer beak with a hooked tip and a huge flap of loose skin below the lower jaw, like a fishing bird. Its neck, too, was long and crooked, and its broad rectangular wings were longer than Thalnarra's, though its body was smaller. The third gryphon was strange as well, with huge sapphire-blue eyes against snowy white feathers and a compact black-tipped beak; the feathers at the end of its leonine tail forked in a swallow-tail, beginning with white feathers that gave way to slender black ones, matched also on the tips of its otherwise white wings.

  They landed on the sand several yards from the cottages, but the wind of their passing rattled the fronds
at the top of the tall trees. The landing was not graceful; the strange fisher-bird-gryphon seemed unaccustomed to landing on solid ground, and Thalnarra stumbled as she touched the ground, favoring a wounded foreleg. Vidarian and Ariadel exchanged a look, not quite believing what they were seeing, and ran for the three creatures. As they did so, Ariadel turned to call for medical supplies, sending three of the apprentices scrambling for the large house.

  Thalnarra's breath was labored when they reached her, and close inspection revealed her condition to be even worse than it had seemed from afar. Numerous open cuts wept fluid sluggishly across her body from five-taloned slashes on her shoulders and hindquarters. They'd been treated at some point, for they ran clean, but the flight had broken them open again. She had more body feathers missing, and those that remained were tattered and drab.

  “What on earth happened to you?” Ariadel asked, then turned to the other gryphons in apology. “Be welcome, friends, to the Selturian Islands and the home of my father, Aldous Windfell.”

  // We are in need of friends, // Thalnarra said. // Though my battle, for now, is won. //

  The white gryphon with the large eyes and pointed face spoke with a voice like a low flute. // It was ritual combat. Her people use the old gryphon law to resolve disagreements.

  // Being an old tradition, hurr, // the fisher-gryphon agreed, his voice like drifting kelp, peaceful and remote. He shook his head, sending his chin flap flopping, and lifted his feathers, from the white and grey stripes of his face to his blue-black wing-feathers.

  // But it was won, // Thalnarra said, exhaustion in her voice, and a steely insistence, rebutting the disapproval of the other two. // The gryphons of the fire clans stand with us. It will take some time to gather them, but gather they will, and our allies.// She indicated the other two with the tip of her beak, and they nodded each in turn-water and air, Vidarian realized.