Starless

by Jacqueline Carey

  How long did it take? Not long, I think; I ran like the very wind I could not summon. Below deck in Zariya’s chamber, Nalah was cowering and begging to know what transpired. Although I felt guilty at it, I said tersely that we were under attack and then ignored her, rummaging through Zariya’s trunks until I found the coffer. Stashing it beneath one arm, I scrambled up the ladders.

  Atop the uppermost deck, everything was chaos. Stink-lizards circled the masts, spewing bile.

  Men screamed in agony, clawing at skin that bubbled and dissolved in broad patches beneath the viscous yellow bile. There were holes in the sails, acid-eaten and fraying lines swaying loose in the wind. The Granthian war-ships were crowding close. Both King Azarkal and Lord Rygil were attempting to rally their respective guards, but the stink-lizards made it impossible to mount any kind of cohesive defense.

  Zariya was nowhere to be seen and I panicked, cursing myself for having left her side; but then I saw one outstretched wing of the dead lizard I’d slain shift and Zariya beckoned to me from beneath it.

  I raced across the deck and slid in beside her. “Thank all the fallen stars you thought to take shelter!”

  “I’d read that the lizards’ hides are impervious to their own bile.” Her breath came in short gasps; at close range, the stench was even worse. “But my darling, I fear I must stand to do this properly.”

  “Wait.” I handed her the coffer. Clambering from beneath the lizard’s wing, I drew my yakhan once more. Even a small specimen was large enough that it took several strokes to cleave the lizard’s other wing from its body, but being composed of nothing but leathery membrane stretched over hollow bones, it weighed surprisingly little. I held it above my head, just as I’d done with the soaked hide during the harvest. “Now.”

  Zariya crawled out from beneath the remaining wing. Opening the coffer, she levered herself upright and held the fate-changer aloft. For a moment, it sparkled in her palm, and then she closed her fingers around it. “Ilharis, change my fate!” she shouted defiantly, dashing the gem upon the planks.

  It burst.

  It burst in a blast of brightness, and there was a pause like an indrawn breath before everything changed.

  Lightning forked down from the cloudless sky, sowing panic in the circling stink-lizards. The wind shifted, springing up behind us. It filled our myriad sails, and even with the damage they’d sustained, it was enough to lend increasing momentum to the state-ship, which began pulling away from the Granthian fleet. Slowly but steadily, the gap between us began to widen.

  King Azarkal strode across the deck. The skin of his face and throat was blistered and seeping where droplets of bile had struck him, but he appeared heedless of the fact. “Are you harmed?”

  Zariya shook her head, her veil swaying. “No, Father.”

  “Thanks be to all the children of the heavens.” His hands gripped her shoulders. “Do you know what you’ve done?”

  “Well, of course not. That’s the nature of a fate-changer, isn’t it?” Lord Rygil limped over to join us; a splash of bile had eaten through the calf of his left boot and the flesh beneath it. “One never does know. But in this case, it seems my trifling courtship gift came in handy.”

  Zariya let out a ragged laugh. “I’m sorry to have used it without consulting you, my lord.”

  “It was yours to dispose of as you wished, Your Highness,” he said lightly. “Your courage in doing so humbles me. I suppose my left leg and I can but wish you’d done it sooner.”

  King Azarkal glanced astern, frowning. Behind us, the Granthians were beginning to regroup, their intent to continue their pursuit manifest. “How long can we expect this wind to last?”

  “Expect?” Lord Rygil laughed, but there was a shadow behind his bright eyes. “That is a very definitive word with which to speak of the favor of Ilharis the Two-Faced, Your Majesty.” He tucked his hair behind his ears. “The face that has smiled upon us today may yet change, and Granth is nothing if not persistent. But if I’m not terribly mistaken,” he continued in an apologetic tone, “I suspect the injured and dying might appreciate our attention. Once they’ve been tended to, perhaps we might venture to consider our next course of action.”

  So it went, the massive Therinian state-ship running before the fate-changer’s wind, the deft Granthian war-ships pursuing at a distance.

  I tried in vain to persuade Zariya to rest belowdecks. Having set this course of events in motion, she was adamant about seeing it through.

  “I’ll do as you say if the Granthians overtake us,” she promised me. “But until then, I can’t bear the thought of being closeted away in ignorance.”

  For that, I could not blame her; and in truth, I’d rather witness our fate unfold than be closeted away myself. And so I found an out-of-the-way spot on the leeward side of the forecastle where Zariya could rest and catch her breath.

  It was a grim scene. Two Therinian sailors and one of our own guardsmen were dead, and there were scores of grievous injuries. The ship’s physician ordered a cask of wine brought from the hold and washed their wounds with a sponge dipped in it, for the astringent liquid was the only thing that would dissolve the thick bile and counter its effects.

  In an hour’s time, the worst of the human damage had been addressed and the Granthian fleet was only a smudge on the horizon. Those sailors who were uninjured or hale enough to work set about repairing the worst of the damage done to the lines. Patching the sails would have to wait until we made safe harbor in Merabaht, assuming we were able to do so.

  What we would do after that was another matter.

  I’d already begun to give thought to it, and when I saw the sailors attempting to wrestle the stink-lizard’s carcass to the railing and heave it overboard, I hastened to halt them.

  Lord Rygil, his injury bandaged, came to intercede. “I understand that you want your trophy, young dragon-slayer, but it’s taking up a considerable amount of space,” he said to me.

  “I want its hide,” I said. “They’re proof against their own bile. I thought we could use it. If we had a dozen skilled archers with some measure of protection, they might be able to handle the stink-lizards.”

  He stared at me a moment. “So says the young warrior who brought down the dragon with a bit of string and some rocks. Very well, start skinning. I imagine that will be a treat.”

  It was a messy, arduous business, but once I’d cut out the bile sac with my belt-knife, taking care not to puncture it, it was no more difficult than skinning an exceptionally large goat. The segments of membrane in the veined wings were the easiest, so I dispatched those first. I worked as quickly as I could on the body of the creature, periodically glancing to make sure Zariya was safe, wishing I were a man that I might strip to my breeches to avoid gore soaking my tunic. When I was done, a handful of sailors did just that and disposed of the skinned carcass.

  I was in the process of scraping the hide when the wind faltered.

  It didn’t die or shift course, only slowed; still, it was cause for alarm. I listened with half an ear to Lord Rygil and King Azarkal consulting with the ship’s captain in worried tones. Folding the stink-lizard’s hide into a sloppy bundle, I dragged it over to Zariya, who wrinkled her nose at it. “You do bring me the most unlikely gifts, my darling.”

  “You sound like a Therinian,” I informed her. There was a bucket of seawater used for sluicing the deck nearby. I pushed up my sleeves, unbuckled my brace of zims, and plunged my arms into it, scrubbing away the gore.

  “I shall take that as a compliment.” Her voice was light, but her eyes were grave. “What did you overhear? Even with the great current, we must be some days’ journey from Merabaht. Do they think we might reach it before the Granthian fleet catches us?”

  I wiped my hands on my breeches. “It will be close. Nothing is certain.”

  Zariya closed her eyes briefly. Her knees were drawn up and her arms wrapped around them. “Perhaps I used the fate-changer in vain,” she murmured. “Perhaps I
should not have done it.”

  I shook my head. “Don’t say that. It’s done. Would you rather the Granthians had caught us? There’s no point in second-guessing.”

  There was another cry of alarm from the lookout in the crow’s nest; two unfamiliar Therinian words, high and shrill.

  Zariya’s eyelids flew open.

  Hastening to buckle my brace of throwing knives in place, I peered around the forecastle toward the stern; but no, the Granthian fleet was still barely visible in the distance. I returned to find that Zariya had levered herself to her feet, her gaze fixed on the lookout, who was pointing toward the south.

  What or who under the starless sky might be threatening us from the south?

  The two Therinian words were repeated, echoed from sailor to sailor. King Azarkal’s voice rose hard and commanding above the fray, demanding someone, anyone translate the alarm into the traders’ tongue.

  At length someone did.

  Wyrm-raiders.

  Zariya’s gaze met mine, her pupils huge and fearful. “Oh, Khai! By all the fallen stars, what have I done?”

  “I don’t know,” I whispered.

  THIRTY-NINE

  They came swiftly toward us, a lone ship arrowing its way across the currents.

  “Why such a panic over one little raiding ship?” There was an edge of contempt to King Azarkal’s tone. “Surely our fighting men outnumber theirs by a goodly measure.”

  “I assure Your Majesty, I am quite capable of counting.” Sweat beaded on Lord Rygil’s brow. “In this case, the number that matters is two.”

  “The sea-wyrms,” Zariya murmured.

  “Quite so,” her betrothed agreed. “It seems we’ve the interesting dilemma of being caught between lizards and serpents.”

  “But I thought Dulumu the Deep gave the Elehuddin command of the sea-wyrms.” Zariya looked pensive. “And Liko of Koronis wrote that the Elehuddin were a peaceable folk. He said nothing of wyrm-raiders.”

  “’Tis a more recent fad, I suspect,” Lord Rygil said wryly. “Still, it’s said they prefer robbing to killing. If we cooperate, we may even have the good fortune to survive long enough for the Granthians to catch us.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Zariya’s voice broke. “This is all my fault.”

  The ship was drawing nearer, an odd single-masted vessel with a steep, sharp keel that rode high atop the water. I could make out the heads of the sea-wyrms above the waves; nothing of their bodies was visible save a long trail of wake. “We’re going belowdecks,” I said to Zariya. “Now.”

  “No.”

  “You promised,” I reminded her.

  “I promised to do so if the Granthians overtook us, which has not happened yet, my darling.” Below the edge of her veil, the set of her jaw was mutinous. “This is my fault and I will stand and face it.”

  “You most certainly will not.” King Azarkal grabbed his daughter unceremoniously about the waist and slung her over his shoulder, her veil falling over her eyes and her canes clattering to the deck. I could sense the bone-deep humiliation piled upon Zariya’s fear and remorse.

  Honor beyond honor.

  Here on the open seas, the tang of salt water on my lips, I could feel the arid breath of the desert stirring within me. With a certain sense of regret, I drew my weapons. “No, Your Majesty. Zariya is right. If she wishes to stay, she stays.”

  The king stared at me. “Are you mad? Do your duty, shadow!”

  “You do not understand my duty,” I said gently to him. I could see the spaces between within him; between his love for his daughter and his fear for her safety; between the guilty knowledge that he had ruled unwisely and his desire to make amends for it. “Only Zariya and I and the Sacred Twins themselves understand it. In the name of Pahrkun the Scouring Wind, I am telling you, put her down or I will cut your legs out from underneath you.”

  Lord Rygil glanced back and forth between us and held his tongue.

  King Azarkal set Zariya on her feet, holding her upright. “Why must you break my heart, little lioness?” he whispered to her.

  I sheathed my weapons in silence, retrieved her canes, and handed them to her.

  “Why do you ask me to be less than you have named me, Father?” Zariya answered quietly, supporting herself.

  And then there was no time for an answer, for the raiding ship was nigh upon us, closing the gap with incredible speed.

  The heads of the sea-wyrms reared high above the water on sinuous necks, larger at close range than I could have imagined at a distance. I had an impression of shimmering blue-green scales; round, iridescent eyes; long snouts with flared nostrils; and jaws parted in toothy grins to grip something like the bit on a horse’s bridle before the sea-wyrms vanished, plunging beneath the waves. One impossibly long shadow passed beneath our state-ship.

  I drew my weapons again and shot Zariya a look. “Will you at least stand behind me?”

  This, she obeyed.

  One of the sea-wyrms burst from the waves in a shower of dripping water to launch itself skyward, wrapping two lengths of muscular blue-green coils around the prow of the ship. It no longer gripped its bit, and its powerful jaws were closed in what looked like a secret smile. A ridge of translucent pale blue fins fanned out along the nape of its neck, and there were smaller fins framing its jaws and the length of its body.

  There was a great deal of shouting and trampling as sailors fled toward the stern of the ship. I ignored it and considered how I might best kill the sea-wyrm.

  “Hail, Therin!” a clear voice shouted, speaking the traders’ tongue with a strange, fluting accent. “That’s a mighty big ship you have there, but I’m guessing it will sink all the same if Eeeio breaks off the bow. Which he will do if anyone raises a hand against us, so let’s not do that, yah?”

  “At the risk of stating the obvious, Your Majesty,” Lord Rygil observed, “this is why one does not seek to engage wyrm-raiders in battle.”

  “Do you understand, Therin?” the voice called. Timbers creaked in protest as the wyrm tightened its coils.

  “Yes, I daresay we do!” Lord Rygil called in response. “We’re in a bit of a hurry. May I ask what you want?”

  The second wyrm surfaced between our massive state-ship and the smaller vessel, offering up an obliging loop of coil. Several figures stepped onto it, swaying comfortably atop its mass as it rose to our level.

  Elehuddin.

  I guessed it must be so; they had sleek, greenish-tan inhuman skin speckled with darker brown, vertically slitted golden-yellow eyes, manelike heads of green hair, and narrow, pinched nostrils. But there were others among them, too; foremost the speaker, who had skin almost as dark as a Barakhan’s; long, glossy black hair; and light silvery-grey eyes.

  “Oh, well, whatever you have,” he said carelessly. “Are you prepared to be reasonable?”

  “Are we?” Lord Rygil inquired pointedly.

  King Azarkal gritted his teeth. “Have we any choice?”

  “Well, we might let them sink our ship and take our chances with the wyrms,” the Therinian lord offered. “It’s not a choice I’d recommend, mind you.” At the king’s dour nod, he addressed the speaker. “Yes, messire pirate, provided you’re prepared to leave us in peace if we comply. We do outnumber you.”

  “Numbers and swords won’t do you any good at the bottom of the ocean,” the speaker said cheerfully. One of the Elehuddin added a whistling series of notes and a warbling trill. “Oh yah, unless you’re Elehuddin. Anyway, we’re prophecy-hunters, not pirates.” He leapt from the wyrm’s coil to land lightly atop the deck, followed by the others. “Give us your valuables and you’ll come to no harm.”

  Behind me, I felt Zariya startle at the words “prophecy-hunters,” and my skin began to prickle.

  “Funny, that sounds a lot like piracy to me,” Lord Rygil said in a dry reply.

  The speaker shrugged and gestured to the others, who fanned out: three Elehuddin; a tall, fair-skinned man with a bald head and a thick black
beard; a wiry brown-skinned figure whose skin was inked with designs. Long knives hung from their belts, but they bore no other weapons, and my palms itched with the knowledge that I could easily have taken all six of them by myself. “Prophecy doesn’t fill our bellies. But maybe you do have something special we want, Therin.” He scratched his chin. “A fate-changer, maybe?”

  “Oh, I do hope you’ll appreciate the irony of this,” Lord Rygil said. “Because that’s exactly what put us in your path.”

  The speaker’s insouciant manner vanished. “What?”

  “This is ridiculous.” Pushing past the Therinian, King Azarkal strode forward to confront the speaker. “Listen to me,” he said in an impatient voice infused with the unmistakable command born of three hundred years of rulership. “I am King Azarkal of the House of the Ageless, Sun-Blessed King of Zarkhoum, and this ship bears what was to be my daughter’s wedding party.” He pointed toward the stern. “However, there’s a Granthian war-fleet with a full contingent of stink-lizards not a league behind us. Unless you want to tangle with them as well, I suggest you be on your way.”

  Whatever response the king was expecting, it wasn’t the one he got. The speaker’s silvery eyes widened in awe; one hand flew to cover his mouth and the other to clutch a pendant at his throat.

  “Jahno…” the tall man whispered, tears in his eyes. “We found them.”

  The Elehuddin whistled to each other in sharp, surprised tones. Only the tattooed figure—whom I realized with a shock was a woman—remained impassive.

  “I know,” the speaker—Jahno—whispered to the tall man. “I heard.” He turned to the king, his voice trembling. “Your Sun-Blessed Majesty … do you perchance possess a shadow?”

  King Azarkal frowned. “I do not.”

  Their faces fell.

  Leaning on her canes, Zariya emerged from behind me. “I do.”

  Letting go his pendant, the speaker stared at her in disbelief. “You?”

  “She is the Sun-Blessed Princess Zariya of the House of the Ageless,” I said grimly. “I am her shadow, chosen by Pahrkun the Scouring Wind himself, and I swear to you, if you lay a hand on her, you will die.”