Wincing, she dipped her head low before fleeing the room. Her feet still remembered the way to her old room even as her eyes blurred with welling tears. Slamming the door shut, she found herself peering through the net of her fingers to a set of familiar walls. The last time the bareness hadn’t bothered her, still fragile after having left her family for the first time. Now the empty walls leered at her, leaving her bereft and cold.
Inside, The Rook stirred, pushing at the barrier she tried to put up between them. It thrashed and raged until she finally let go, head thudding against the stone wall. “What did you just do?”
The Rook flooded her mind with images – of herself mid-battle, a furious warrior with features twisted in determination, light from above setting her aglow with an aura of pure silver swirling around her. She lifted her head from her hands and blinked into the darkness of the room, picturing The Rook as she saw it, blinding white and fierce, hooked beak and shining eyes.
“Is that really how you see me?”
Strong.
“I don’t feel very strong right now.”
Strong!
It was not a word, so much as a sentiment shoved into her mind with an insistence that made her smile. What a curious thing, that after all this time bonded to one another they were finally learning how to communicate. It had to mean something, that The Rook cared enough to fight on her behalf. It had to mean something, that they were learning how to work as two halves of one whole.
Rook could only hope it wasn’t too little, too late.
*
“Are you sure this is worth it?”
Kilai looked down the short drop to the midnight dark waves where Ivor and Makku were arguing over the dinghy and then back to Nogan by her side, holding up the vial of blue liquid. In the gathering darkness it almost seemed to glow, flaring and receding faintly like a firebug in her palm.
“I am never sure of anything. But we have to try.”
“It’s really so bad you would entrust a group of strangers with it?” Holding it up to her face, she squinted at the swirling shades of blue and green within.
“Kallan trusted you. That will have to be enough.”
“What is it? You must have some idea.”
Nogan hesitated for a beat too long, rubbing at his chin. “It has properties that can make you stronger, faster. For different people it can give different abilities, but it’s dangerous. Many die afterwards. Those who survive are never the same.”
Kilai frowned, slipping it back into her pocket, keen to be rid of it. She would need to keep it safe on the journey ahead. “Your contacts on the continent… they know about this?”
Nogan nodded. “Kallan was supposed to ship a crate of it to Wo Temlin before she was lost to the sea.” When he looked out towards the moonlit horizon, his jaw clenched, eyes distant. “I would go myself but someone has to look after the people here. I fear the way things are going. It is imperative that we unite together more than ever, if we are to weather this storm.”
Kilai followed his gaze, remembering the confusion and terror of the storm. Feeling the icy cold water on her skin and the burning in her lungs as she had struggled. Perhaps the gods had watched over her, determined that she still had more to do before they would take her from this life. If that was the case, she had to make the most of her second chance at life. She was still alive – still gloriously, beautifully alive – and that had to count for something.
“Hey, Shaikuro, are you ready to go? The ship is going to depart.”
She met Nogan’s sombre gaze and dipped her head. “I wish you luck for the future, Nogan-wei.”
“And you, Kilai-wei.” He reached out a hand and she accepted his arm, tapping her temple with two fingers in a mirror of his gesture. “Dusk fall.”
“Dawn rise.”
She slipped and slid down the incline to the waves lapping the small sliver of stony beach nestled between the rocks. “I’m coming, stop whining will you?” she said, nudging past Makku to climb into the dinghy and take a seat. Looking out at them still on the shore, she raised her arms in a gesture as if to say, well?
The two of them shared a grimace and then shoved the boat out into the water. It rocked beneath her, churning up froth. Bracing herself, she tightened her grip on the wooden bench as Ivor splashed into the water and then swung himself into the boat, shaking it enough to make her teeth judder. Makku followed, nearly tipping them all out as the dinghy swung so far to one side that water rained down upon her, laughing at her as she swept her damp locks from her face.
“That was entirely unnecessary.”
“Maybe. But it was fun.”
She grabbed an oar, attempting to match her rhythm up to Ivor’s with wheezing puffs of breath. “Do try to take this seriously, will you? I’ve had enough near death experiences to last a lifetime.”
“It builds character,” said Makku, tugging off his boot to tip the water into the sea.
“We’re supposed to look like we’ve just survived a shipwreck, you imbecile.”
“We did just survive a shipwreck.”
Silence fell, but for the swishing of their oars through the waves. The ship grew larger and larger in their sights, a black silhouette against a bright, moonlit sky. It bode well for them if the sky was clear. Kilai was not keen to see another storm any time soon; even stepping foot on another ship was making her tense, muscles locking up in memory of the fear she had felt that night. If she lost focus the sound of the ocean drew her back into the whirlwind of the raging tempest around her, fighting the ship for refuge against the elements. Her shoulder ached as she rowed, pausing to rub at the tender flesh with a hiss.
“Give it here,” Makku sighed, wrestling the oar from her. “We’re going in circles.”
“That’s because you’re contributing nothing.”
“Both of you snap your tooth wagons shut. They’ll hear us from here and they’ll know right away that neither of you are even remotely Sonlin.”
“Tooth wagons?” mouthed Makku.
Kilai rolled her eyes but she fell silent as the ship cast a shadow over them, blocking out the light of the moon. This close it was far more imposing, an impressive frigate well over a hundred and twenty feet long, freshly painted if showing signs of wear, with a long prow that extended out in the form of a pouncing tiger, claws extended and teeth bared. Above voices sounded, followed by the steady thump of footsteps. Her heart pounded in her chest and she willed it to calm, grasping for her turtle pin as was her instinct in moments of uncertainty.
A head peeked over the edge of the ship. “Who goes there?”
Kilai met Ivor’s gaze and gestured to him.
Grumbling, he shouted up in Sonlin, “We are the survivors of the ship Sea Dragon that perished some ways south of this part of the coast. We seek passage back to the continent.”
“I didn’t think there were any survivors. Who are you?”
“My name is Johan Ivor, of the forty-third regiment, under Commander Rellak. We were sailing under Captain Zanzeer with his crew, on our way to Kar Anwan. All were lost to the storm some days ago.”
“How did you manage to survive, then?”
“I wish I knew the answer to that myself,” he said, enough despair in his tone that Kilai saw the man shift above.
The man drew back and a long passage of quiet followed with nothing but the splash of the waves against the side of the ship. With the mass of it blocking their light, Kilai could barely see, shaking her head at Makku as he attempted to mouth something at her. Giving up, he gestured with his hands, but she had no idea what he was trying to say. Anxiety coiled her gut in knots and she buried her hands in her shirt to keep herself from fidgeting.
A scratching noise drew their attention and then a rope ladder was dropped from above, unfurling down before their noses. Kilai looked at both her companions, checking to see if they were sure they wanted to do this. All she could see was the outlines of their faces as both dipped their heads and then she sighed, m
oving precariously across the dinghy to grab hold of the ladder. Testing the sturdiness with her foot, she found it held her weight even if the rope was slick beneath her hand and looked old enough to have outlived her. After the first step her climbing grew more assured, until she was poised with her head level with the deck, staring into the face of a young deckhand.
She gave him a placid smile as she hauled herself over, stumbling on an awkward landing, her ankle sparking with pain, and she bit down on her whimpers to make sure that Ivor and Makku made it onto the ship safely. After so much time taking charge it was difficult to step aside and let Ivor take the lead but he was the only native of the three of them and physically much more imposing, his height and broad shoulders stretching out the fabric of his coat. Why he was willing to help them, she could not fathom. The cynic in her was still wary, still braced for him to turn and betray them both. So easily could he see both of them locked away for good, or worse, should he denounce them traitors. But he had shown contempt of his own people, and had stuck by them thus far, so she would have to trust that whatever his motivations, they steered him true.
“Thank you,” said Ivor gruffly, “it has been a time of it, so it has. Swam all the way to the bloody shore only for this one to have me swim back out to get her and then after nearly being eaten by sharks we had to wander for days without food in search of shelter and water. When we spotted this ship I fell to my knees and nearly said a prayer to that wretched false god of theirs that I hadn’t drowned in his godforsaken Locker.”
By now quite a crowd had gathered around them, poking and prodding one another out the way to get a look at them. Ivor puffed out his chest, arm movements growing wilder and wilder. “The storm was worse than I’ve ever seen in my life. The waves were more than sixty feet high, like the water went all the way to the horizon.” He gestured upwards, gaze following like he could picture it and Kilai watched the crew’s heads follow.
“How did you survive it?” piped up one of the crowd.
Ivor grimaced and shook his head. “It seems I have not reached my purpose yet, friends. It means fate wanted to take me home and that is how I have managed to find my way to you now.”
Suddenly the crowd parted for an older man, dressed in a long, dark coat that was custom of the Sonlin navy. A face like worn leather surveyed the scene, a hush following wherever his flinty eyes landed. Crossing his arms, he raked his gaze over the three of them and Kilai could only keep her own expression composed, unsure how to act. A soldier would not be meek by any means but before a ship’s captain she would be expected to be submissive.
Ivor was none of those things. “You must be the captain,” he said, extending a hand. A few of the crew stared at him, the captain regarding the appendage as if it was an insult before his gaze flicked back up, as hard as before. Unperturbed, Ivor swept his hand outwards to the crew. “I am Johan Ivor, of the forthy-third regiment. We were travelling aboard the Sea Dragon when it sank in the storm. Didn’t think I’d ever see land again but if you would be so honourable as to take us home, I swear I’m never leaving the continent again. Sweet, sweet land.”
“Who was your captain?”
Ivor straightened, expression sobering. Perhaps he was realising that even if the crew were rapt with his ramblings, the captain was less enthused. “Captain Zanzeer, rest his poor soul. One of those Bluestone hicks, you know?” he said with a genuine fondness. “Did his best but even he couldn’t win a duel with the ocean.”
“And yet the three of you stand before me.” His gaze flickered past Ivor and Kilai stiffened on instinct, hands tightening at her sides. “What makes you so special, hm?” he said, looking back to Ivor. “Why should you be the one to survive?”
So abruptly it startled the crew around him, Ivor threw himself into a full body laugh that rang out against the gentle lull of the waves around them. Clutching his stomach, he wiped a tear that shone on the crease of his eye and then sobered. “Between you and me, I think fate is playing a cruel joke on me. Honestly, I didn’t ask for this, Captain. I just want to go home.”
Kilai nodded, nudging a gormless Makku to mimic the gesture. He clearly didn’t understand a word of what was being spoken but she needed him to be less obvious about it.
“And this Captain Zanzeer, what was his drink order?”
“Blood rum with a dash of lime. Top shelf, always.”
“My name is Captain Gerad. We are heading for Kar Anwan. You will pull your weight or you will be thrown overboard. I’m sorry to hear the news of old Zanzeer. Terrible sailor, right enough, but he was a decent fellow.”
“Thank you, Captain. Thank you.”
It took Kilai some effort not to turn her head to stare at Ivor, shocked by the sincerity in his tone. She hadn’t thought him capable but perhaps she had underestimated him. The man had survived this much; some kind of resilience had nestled in his heart to keep him going after all he had been through. There was something kindred in them in that respect.
“Come,” said a middle aged woman with dark skin and long white hair that fell to her waist, “I will show you where you can sleep.”
She couldn’t help the stiffness as she walked with so many eyes on her but Kilai kept her chin up, following the woman who introduced herself as Lieutenant Nyebi below the deck. The sleeping quarters were confined to hammocks strung from posts in a cramped room next to the forecastle. Kilai examined the one she had been assigned and schooled her features, wondering when her life had spiralled so far out of control that she had simply taken in the worn fabric stained with lichen and mould and thought, at least I will have somewhere to sleep tonight.
A sharp jerk of the ship had her stumbling into Ivor, who caught her in his grip. It made her nauseous, grasping her stomach as her mind tumbled into memories of the storm from that night. Into memories of the black, hungry waves and icy cold biting into her skin. How the fear had been much, much colder, leaving her bones stiff with its frosty touch.
“You all right, Shaikuro?”
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Makku flop onto his own hammock, stretching out, and nodded. Then she realised she was still standing with barely a gap between her and the soldier and she took a quick step backwards, gaze slipping away under the guise of testing out her own hammock. “Thank you, for what you did. I think you might have just saved us.”
Gruff, he coughed and scratched his beard. “Aye, it seems I might be good for something, at least.”
“Let’s just wait and see how this goes. We haven’t survived it yet.”
“And here I thought I was the pessimist.”
She smiled at his tone, turning to meet his exaggerated grimace. “Make no mistakes, Johan, I can best you at everything.”
His grimace turned genuine, nose wrinkling. “You didn’t hear that. No one calls me that. Not even my own mother when she was still alive.”
She faltered slightly but when he didn’t appear upset, she cocked her head and said, “Stop calling me Shaikuro and I’ll think about it.”
Ivor looked like he had tasted something bitter. “Kilai,” he tested, drawing her name out.
She nodded, satisfied. “That’s more like it.”
A deep rumbling noise disturbed the tentative peace that had settled between them and they both turned in unison to see Makku face down on his hammock, arm trailing the ground as another snore erupted from his lips. The laugh that escaped her startled her, slapping a hand over her mouth as she looked to Ivor. It was a small piece of normality that, after so much upheaval and turmoil, put some of her tension at ease.
“There’s a man who knows what he’s about,” said Ivor, tossing himself into another hammock.
And after everything, there was nothing Kilai desired more than a decent night’s sleep, even if she had no idea what tomorrow would bring. So she curled up and let the gentle waves rock her into slumber.
*
“He is human no longer and the sooner you accept it the better we will all be. Look at what h
e has wrought upon us all.”
Ziko could see his father’s wrinkled face, cast in shadow. The days never got bright, never got warm. There was only a dark, heavy sky above, steeped in a brew of roiling clouds like bruises upon the skin. It hung over the sands like the thick drapery of his mother’s curtains, so heavy that he thought one day it might fall upon them all. It overshadowed his father, made him look so small when to Seeker he had always been a figure larger than life. The town priest. The lantern in the dark. The one who gave them refuge in their hearts.
“He is not human,” he spat, eyes folded into the pockets of his flesh. “He is our adversary now. He wishes to see this world burn.”
Seeker tried to protest but the words would not come, stuck in the back of his throat and tickling the flesh like a feather until his tonsils clenched. His hand searched his face only to find he had no mouth. No lips, no teeth. His heart dropped, the fear spiking so high he swore it shrieked in his ears. When he roamed over the rest of his skull he found nothing but smooth flesh. No eyes, no nose. No ears, hair. There was nothing. He was nothing.
The door shut closed, sealing him into his tomb with the darkness and the dust. His tiny fist hit the door but once, too frightened to summon a mere whimper let alone a scream. It was as if the sand had been poured down his throat, burying his voice so deep it might never resurface. The tears that pricked his eyes did not fall. The hand that pressed against the door could not push any harder, his knuckles bruised and swollen. His body shook with all the contained emotion Seeker was not allowed to feel. For he was no one and a no one could not feel anything.
“He can atone for what has been done wrong. He could help us.”
The voice was nothing but a whisper drifting around his ears, startling him from his position curled upon the wooden floorboards. His heart trembled with want. He could be better. Seeker could do better.
“There is nothing human left to save. It would be a kindness to put him out of his misery. What he is… it is not natural. It perverts the laws of this world.”
The Rising Tide Page 25