Chapter 21. Home Waters
Panamindorah’s three moons play a complex role in sailing and in the life of the inhabitants of Wefrivain. The temple festivals are centered around lunar events. Most islands use red moon, with its predictable sixty-day cycle, to measure the months. However, some islands and many hunti still use fifteen-day yellow months. Blue moon is sometimes called Sailor’s Plague, because of its unpredictable behavior. It can influence the tides in unexpected ways, and a great deal of ink is expended each year on almanacs that claim to predict the patterns of blue moon. Most of them are useless.
—Gwain, A Guide to Wefrivain
The ship’s healer was a smallish grishnard of about sixty—a sour creature, overfond of sweet leaf. He washed Gerard’s wound in stinging salt water, smeared nettle paste on it, and bound it up tight in boiled linen. By this time, Gerard’s ribs were aching worse than the knife wound. He knew he was going to be black and blue where the rope had caught him and wondered if he’d broken ribs. He was swaying in a hammock, watching the healer finish the bandage, when his eyes fluttered closed.
Gerard awoke to the sound of voices. The lantern on its chain in the ceiling was still swinging crazily, but Gerard thought the motion had diminished a bit. Several other sailors had crowded into the room. One was the youngest of his wardens, whimpering as he leaned against the wall. He appeared to have a dislocated shoulder. Silveo was talking to the healer. When he saw Gerard stir, he gave a brisk motion with his hand. “Come.”
Gerard struggled to his feet and followed Silveo unsteadily out the door and along the dark passage. “How’s your arm?” asked Silveo over his shoulder.
“Alright, I suppose,” said Gerard.
“Don’t ever do that again,” said Silveo.
“Don’t ever do what again?”
“Pick me up like that!” They had reached the hatch to the upper deck, and Silveo climbed into the dusky light.
Gerard saw that it was almost dark again. “I thought you were going overboard! You didn’t have a lifeline! Why did you stab me?”
Silveo turned to glare at him. “I…panicked.” He spat out the word as though he hated it, but couldn’t think of any more appropriate. “Just don’t do it again.”
Gerard nodded. You never say ‘thank you,’ do you? Or ‘I’m sorry.’ “My ribs hurt worse than where you cut me.”
Silveo grunted. He was scanning the dark sky.
“You could have cut my lifeline,” said Gerard.
“Ran out of knives,” said Silveo, who was famously never without a sharp object. “Besides, I think you’re about to be useful. There it is. Look.”
He was pointing at something in the sky. Gerard squinted. A griffin! He skidded down to the main deck. The rain had slackened, but they were still running before a strong wind in heavy seas.
Gerard ran up and down the deck, waving his arms. The circling griffin dropped at once, struggling to control his descent in the high winds. Gerard knew well before he hit the deck that it was Alsair. He was soaking wet and shivering. He looked thinner, and Gerard’s heart lurched at the sight. He was angry, too, but he kept his face neutral. This was not the time to discuss what had happened on Sern.
“Where are we?” demanded Gerard.
“Almost home,” shouted Alsair. “I lost you three days ago. I’ve been looking and looking.”
Gerard knew Alsair would have been following the ship, and he had suspected that the storm had separated them. He nodded. “Where is ‘almost home’?”
Alsair ducked his head to their right. “Malabar is off that way. Scorp is back behind you.”
Gerard’s eyes opened wide. “That means we’re headed straight between Malabar-3 and Malabar-5!”
Alsair nodded. “That’s what I came to tell you.”
Gerard drew a deep breath. “There’s still time. Get out there and look for the buoys. You can guide us through.”
Alsair didn’t argue. He turned, ran along the ship, and launched himself into the air. For one moment, it looked like he might be driven into the sea, but then he gained height, beating madly, jerking this way and that in the high winds.
Gerard turned and ran back towards Silveo. “We’re near Holovarus,” he began when he reached the quarterdeck.
“I guessed that,” said Silveo impatiently. “We need a port. We’re leaking badly, and we’ve lost so many spars and so much rigging that we’d be crippled even in a calm sea. We’re on our third and last sea anchor. Maps of the Small Kingdoms are abysmal. I’ve never sailed here without a local guide. Also, my coxswain seems to have gotten himself swept overboard. No one can find him.”
Gerard nodded. “We could probably make port on Malabar if we survive the night. The problem is we’re headed between Malabar-3 and Malabar-5. There’s a solid line of reef between those two islands. It’s a ship graveyard. My brother and I used to pick up trinkets that washed up from the wrecks after every storm. There’s one place to cross, and it’s marked with a couple of buoys. If Alsair can find them, he can guide us through.”
Silveo considered this, looking out at the darkening sea. “How big are these buoys?”
About as big as you. Gerard almost said it aloud, but opted to hold out his arms instead.
Silveo made a face. “And how long until we reach them. Could we try to veer away?”
Gerard shook his head. “We’d run aground on the sandbars around the islands. We’ve been lucky to keep away from them without knowing where we were. We’ll reach the reef in perhaps half a watch. That should give Alsair plenty of time to find the buoys.”
But he did not find them. Twice Alsair returned to the ship to report. Gerard could hear the breakers now, crashing across the horns of coral. The rain had picked up again, and the night was black.
The third time he returned to the main deck, Alsair looked wild. “The buoys must have washed away!” he panted. He leaned over and spoke in Gerard’s ear, “Please, let me take you off. This ship is going to founder!”
It was all Gerard could do to keep from cuffing his ear and shouting at him. “And leave Thessalyn?”
“I’ll come back for her,” said Alsair. “Please, Gerard; you don’t know how bad it is out there. The rowboats will never make it. I saw another ship already grounded on the reef. I couldn’t find a single shelt alive!”
“No,” said Gerard. “We’re not leaving anyone.” He thought for a moment. “Take me up.”
Alsair stepped away from him, shaking his head violently. “Oh, no!”
“Yes!” shouted Gerard against the wind. “You’re too busy trying to stay airborne to look properly!” Gerard saw that Silveo and Farell had come down onto the lower deck, but they did not try to interfere. He jumped forward suddenly, grabbed Alsair’s ruff, and vaulted onto his back. He knew there was a danger of Alsair trying to take him away, as he’d wanted to, but Gerard didn’t think Alsair would act against a direct order. He’d been too well trained.
Alsair responded by lying down on the deck. “Gerard, no, no, please. You don’t understand. I flipped four times just now. I almost went into the sea. Gerard, we’ll both drown!”
“I said go!” bellowed Gerard, but Alsair only whimpered.
“You’re just punishing me,” he whispered.
Gerard ran a hand under the griffin’s throat and along his lower beak. He tilted Alsair’s head up to look at him upside down. “Have I ever taken you into a situation I couldn’t get you out of?”
Alsair looked at him for a long moment. Finally, he shook his head.
“Trust me,” said Gerard.
Alsair drew a shuddering breath. “I suppose I’d rather die with you than with anyone else.” He stood and leapt into the wind.
The Guild of the Cowry Catchers, Book 1: Embers Page 26