by Jena Rey
Lauret returned with a carefully wrapped parcel under her arm. She crossed the room and knelt before Ephema. “I wish to show you something.” At her nod, Lauret unwrapped the parcel to reveal a torn, bloody ship’s standard.
The standard’s background was black, adorned with two wickedly curved swords stitched in white thread that dropped blood made from silk strings sewn to their tips. They crossed over top of a white, ragged crown of thorns, worn by a skull with an arrow drawn through the left eye socket. “Did it look like this?”
The sight of the flag made Ephema’s skin crawl, and she very carefully didn’t touch it as though it might infect her with something if she did. She cleared her throat, wanting to look away, but she couldn’t. “Yes.”
Lauret leaned back on her haunches, crossing her arms over her chest. “And you’ve never seen it before now, except in vision?”
Ephema shook her head, managing to tear her gaze away from the scarlet and black fabric. She drank from the mug, trying to ground herself in something that felt real. “No. Only in the dream.”
“Damnit.”
Chapter Twelve
“Bosun! Sound the alarm! We are under attack!”
The shout echoed across the ship, picked up by the sailors and passed along. A clanging bell followed, waking anyone who had managed to sleep through the shouts.
Darian startled awake, trying to get out of the hammock he’d slept in and wishing he’d followed Tabor’s example and rested on the floor. He pulled himself free and yanked on his boots while the other Knights donned their armor. Without armor to worry about, Darian only had to grab his mace as he ran out of the berth and raced to the ladders that lead to the deck.
When he emerged above, the mace began to vibrate. He glanced down and saw the runes flickering and snapping with brilliant white light. He grimaced. “That’s not a good sign, is it?” But there was no one to answer.
Men ran around the deck, some keeping the ship steady in her course and others tying down anything they could to keep it from flying about as the boat rose and dipped. One of the top sails was ablaze, far too high for anyone to get to easily, though the men were trying, scrambling up the ropes like clever rodents. The wind whipped the ruined sail and thick rain splattered on the ship as a volley of burning tar flew in from the darkness.
Darian held a hand over his eyes just as a flash of lightning illuminated a large war ship approaching the steamer at speed, though it wasn’t on a collision course. The angle of travel would bring it alongside the steamer. They’d timed it perfectly for when the full power of the engines couldn’t be used in a narrow strait.
“Why are they not trying to ram…” He paled as the realization hit. “Osephetin’s Blood, they’re going to board!”
Sinking a steamer would be catastrophic, capturing one maybe even more so. Darian ignored the bits of flaming tar that were scattered around the deck as he ran to the railing nearest where he’d seen the ship.
Another flash of light tore the sky, and Darian growled. Men hung from the rigging of the enemy vessel, waiting for the ship to get close enough that they could cross the distance, clad in armor that wasn’t familiar to him. From the rigging above came the call to arms as the first raiders swung into the gap.
The captain managed to keep the ships from colliding, but the maneuvering he had to do cost them more speed and made it simple for the raiders to drop between the ships. They were met with violence by the Knights, joined by the ship's hands that weren’t busy dealing with fire. The Knights were trained for battle, but no one was going to stand aside and simply let the ship be taken.
One of the invaders landed beside Darian, dropping to a half crouch to absorb the force of his landing. The sailor on Darian’s other side startled and drew a sharp nasty curved knife, more designed for use against ropes and tackle than an armored enemy. Before Darian could stop him, the sailor lunged at the enemy, but the man’s armor turned the sharp blade.
Sneering, the invader dodged and shoved his sword deep into the sailor’s side as though he was gutting a pig. The sailor dropped heavily, dead before he landed. Darian was no stranger to combat, but the speed of the violence was stunning even to him.
His shock nearly cost him his life as the enemy spun from one attack to the next, and it was luck and training as much as skill that put Darian’s mace between himself and the edge of the attacker’s blade.
The mace flashed as white as the raging lightning. The black steel sword shattered, one of the metal shards skipping along Darian’s forearm. The pain was swift, but minor and before the stunned invader could react, Darian slammed the mace into the man’s exposed face with all his might. The sickening crunch of flesh and bone could be heard even over the wailing winds. The man fell, bleeding out onto the deck.
Darian stared at the corpse, though he knew better than to lose his focus again. This was the first time he’d killed a living human. Even in the dark of the storm, light from the shielded lanterns glimmered in the dying man’s blood as it pooled on the shifting deck. The undead didn’t bleed.
He grimaced and spun away. More invaders were swarming the deck, the rain pelting down as though it too were on the attack. There would be time to deal with the emotions rolling through his guts later. For now, there was only survival.
The sound of the bells sent Ephema scrambling to her feet in time to see the back of the Knight Proctor as the woman sprinted out of the room they shared. She followed, not knowing what the alarm meant, but recognizing the danger. The rungs of the ladder were slick with rain water, but she scampered up it without slipping.
She emerged to the pounding rain and the chaos of battle. The shifting lantern lights and flashes of lightning made it difficult to tell friend from foe, but wherever the Knights of Osephetin fought the pale blue light of Osephetin’s divine magic followed them. The urge to flee filled Ephema’s body, warring with the desire to help. But these were her friends, and they were in danger. Courage won out, and she threw herself forward onto the rocking deck.
Outside of the safety of below decks, the noise was deafening. The sounds of the waves and the weather was joined by the cries of combat and the screams of the dying. A flash of light illuminated one of the enemy bodies, and her breath caught in her throat. She recognized the armor from her dream.
Not her dream. Her vision.
A scream from above her made Ephema jerk to one side, a body narrowly missing her as a man dropped to the deck. She ran to his side, her feet struggling to find purchase on the slippery wood. The man drew in a shaky breath, alive, but only barely, broken and burned. She sent a whispered prayer to the Mother and rested her fingers against the side of his face. Power raced through her hands and into his broken form. She didn’t have time to fix everything that was wrong, but she did what she could as quickly as possible. He gasped and clutched his chest, breathing in rain. She rolled him to his side, letting him cough until his breath evened out. His eyes were wide, and she grabbed his shoulder, yelling in his ear to be heard over the din.
“You have to get up!”
He blinked, and his face screwed up in confusion. “But… I fell. I remember.” His hand pressed against his ribs, and he hissed softly at the remaining pain. “Are you an angel?”
Ephema shook her head and pushed to her feet. “Just a friend. Go on.”
A flash of eldritch light and movement caught her gaze, and Ephema turned. What she saw made her breath catch in her throat, but whether it was from fear, awe, or some combination of the two she didn’t know. Five of the invaders had advanced on the Knight Proctor, though two of them were already sprawled on the deck, bleeding and twitching. The other three warily looked for an opening in the deadly dance created by the knight and the staff that spun so quickly in her hands, creating wide circles of light.
Where Tabor was a force of nature, destroying everything in his path, the Knight Proctor’s movements were so delicate and graceful it hardly made sense they were also deadly. She parried thei
r attacks almost effortlessly, slapping them with breaking force on exposed wrists, hands, and necks at each opportunity.
Enraged with her onslaught, one of the men launched an impassioned attack that pushed through her whirling defenses. A thin line of blood rose from a small cut on her arm, and she glanced at it, unperturbed.
Her voice was calm against the rage of the storm, and clearly audible. “Very well. May Osephetin have mercy on your souls, for I will not! Lord Osephetin, guide me!” She spat, the words of power echoing against the booming thunder. Her bone staff flashed with magic and moved under her hands as the three attackers stepped back involuntarily.
With a snap, metal and bone moved outward from each end of the staff at a right angle, forming a double-bladed scythe. Divine magic dripped from the weapon, not the pale blue light Ephema had seen before, but darkness so deep it was like liquid shadow. She lunged and though her opponent raised his sword to the defense, his arm tumbled to the deck uselessly. He shrieked and stared at the severed limb as Lauret kicked him, sending him backward over the ship’s railing.
Ephema shook herself out of her stupor. It felt like she’d been watching forever, but only a few seconds had passed. She saw a few men charging up the stairs to where the Captain stood at the ship’s wheel and shouted, trying to draw Lauret’s attention. It was useless as the wind whipped her voice away.
She didn’t know much about ships, but the captain had shown them around yesterday. He said the ship’s wheel directed where the ship went. If the invaders took control of it, they had control of the ship. Someone had to help him, and Ephema ran for the stairs.
As she ran, her gaze caught on one of the long fishing spears kept on deck. While the steamer wasn’t designed as a fishing vessel, that didn’t mean the crew didn’t enjoy fishing when there was occasion. She stooped in her run, catching up the spear which had come loose from its ties. It was shorter than she had guessed, but the wooden shaft felt good in her hands. Much better than charging the enemy with nothing but her fists and her magic.
She reached the top of the stairs as the invaders threw themselves on the captain’s men. Captain Aham clung to the wheel despite the blood running down his face from a long gash across his forehead. A sailor fell heavily to the deck, sliding off of an invader’s sword. Ephema hesitated, her attention pulled to the injured and dying. Another man approached the captain, but Darian landed in front of him, dropping from somewhere above. He pushed the attacker back, taking the stroke meant for the captain on his mace and kicking the man away.
Ephema was surprised by Darian’s arrival, but it shook her from her shock. She ran into one of the men, holding the spear tightly. The multi-headed fishing spear hit his armor, and the barbs bent uselessly, meant to pierce fish scales not metal. But it turned his attention from the captain.
She saw only the bottom of his face, which was mostly covered by a coarse shaggy beard, his eyes shadowed by his helmet. He sneered and slashed at her with a sword as broad as her arm. Instinctively, she threw the spear up to block the swing.
The sea-aged wood didn’t stand a chance against forged metal, but when the two met white light poured from her fingers into the weapon. The spear took the blow and exploded, throwing both combatants backward. The man landed, stunned, at the captain’s feet and the first mate stabbed the invader in the throat.
Ephema flew back, knocked from her feet. She landed on her hip and skidded across the rain-soaked deck as the ship dipped wildly. She grabbed for the deck, but felt nothing as she slipped through a broken piece of rail. The rain pelted her as she tumbled, and she caught her breath and lost it again as she crashed into the sea.
The flash of light on deck distracted Darian’s enemy long enough that he smashed his mace into his opponent’s knee, crushing the armor and sending him to the deck where a nearby sailor finished him off. Darian nodded his thanks, trying to spot his next opponent.
“The girl went overboard!”
The shout was close enough Darian heard it over the rain. He spun, searching the deck for Ephema, but she was nowhere to be seen. “Which way?”
The deckhand waved toward the shattered railing on the starboard side of the ship. “There!”
“Osephetin’s Blood!” Darian raced to the railing, the sounds of combat around him suddenly less important to his ears. The waves below raged, black and thick, but about fifteen yards from the ship a thin light bobbed in the water. “I see her!”
“You see who?” A voice at his elbow drew his attention, and he turned to see his mother looking at him with cold curiosity. Her bone staff-scythe dripped with blood and darkness. “What are you doing? Inattention will get you killed, Journeyman!”
“Here!” Darian shoved his mace at her. He wished he had time to unlace his boots, but wet as the laces were, it would take too long. He wasn’t going to lose Ephema now. He’d promised to protect her and that she’d be safe.
Lauret caught the mace, puzzlement breaking through her expression. “What are you doing, Darian?”
“I can’t let her drown, Mother.”
She stared as he sprang off of the edge of the ship, throwing himself out as far as he could before he plunged into the waters below. Hitting the water was like taking a punch to the jaw, but he was prepared for it and shook off the impact, pushing himself to the surface and reorienting again.
He identified the mass of the ship and put it behind him, pushing along the waves toward where he’d seen the light. As fierce as the storm was, it was nearly impossible to make progress, but Darian refused to give up. He’d find her, or Oesphetin would take him, there were no other options.
“Please, Lord Osephetin.” He didn’t speak the prayer aloud, nor was there much substance beyond pleading. Where was she?
Another flash of lightning, this one close and low in the sky, lit up the seas illuminating the boats, combatants, and a bobbing form just beyond him.
He swam to her as quickly as possible, dragged back by his boots and clothing, letting the waves do much of the work. Once he was close enough, he could hear her struggling to stay afloat. “Ephema! I’m here! Come this way!”
A response floated over the crash of the waves, a shout of wordless terror. The choking cry of someone being pulled under the waters. He’d heard that agonizing sound many times on the shores of Hawthan while learning to swim; not everyone that sailed should. His direction now firm, he kicked and pulled himself through the water until the splashing and choking cries brought him to her.
As he reached her, Ephema slipped under the water, but Darian wasn’t about to let her go. He knew it wasn’t her time to join Osephetin, or Lianna. Not while he drew breath. He followed her down, grabbing her from behind and kicking for the surface. A moment later, they breached again, and he gasped for air.
Ephema sucked in a gargling breath, coughing as she began to struggle again in earnest. She fought the waves, and lashed out at his grip, throwing off his stroke. Darian rolled onto his back, doing his best to keep their heads above water.
“Ephema!” His shout was garbled by the water splashing his face, and he had to yell a second time before her terrified eyes focused on him. “Stop fighting! I’ve got you!”
She stared at him until his words made their way through her terror. The globe hanging against her chest took on a silvery white glow, and Darian felt warmth rush through his limbs bringing him extra strength he hadn’t had before. Ephema stopped thrashing, but she grabbed onto him, still too much in his way.
Darian thanked Osephetin and Lianna and anyone else that might be listening and pushed Ephema to her back, throwing an arm across her chest so he could protect them both. She latched onto his arm, but he could handle that.
Darian treaded water as he tried to figure out how to get them back to the ship, the thoughts of battle overwhelmed by those of survival.
A loud whistle blast from the enemy vessel interrupted his thoughts. It was followed by a second whistle and men jumped between the ships, scuttling for t
heir home territory as the vessels parted.
Retreat.
They’d won.
Grunting and heaving, the assembled men pulled the dinghy up the side of the ship. The storm had eased, though rain still pelted the deck, and the small boat bounced as it was raised. Once it was secured, the sailors helped their soggy passengers back aboard the steamer.
Knight Proctor Lauret waited patiently as Darian and Ephema sloshed their way across the deck. “I must say, you could have picked a better time and place for a swim, but no matter.” She smacked Darian none-to-gently on the back of the head. “Don’t scare me like that again.”
“I’m sorry, Mother. But there wasn’t time.”
“I understand.” Lauret nodded and handed him his mace. “You’ll need this again, I’m sure.” She glanced at Ephema. “I’ve never seen a weapon shatter blades and cleave through armor as this does. It’s very curious.”
“Did you use it?” Darian accepted the mace, holding it in his hands given how wet his belt was.
“Indeed. I think the first time it broke a blade, I was as surprised as the enemy. You could have warned me.”
Darian heard his mother’s tone relaxing under the absent chatter. He knew they’d worried her, but she would never show it. He shrugged a little, repeating himself. “There wasn’t time for that either.”
“No. There wasn’t, was there?” She turned to Ephema, her tones gentle. “Are you all right, my dear? How did you end up down there?”
Ephema tried to answer but she was shivering too hard. She wrapped her arms around herself, huddling in her wet clothes and tried again. “Captain…in danger…try…tried to help.”
Lauret shook her head. “Bah, I’m a fool.” Lauret gently took Ephema by the hand. “Questions can wait. Let’s get you inside into something dry and warm.” She nodded at Darian. “Come, you too.”