Seamaster

by C. E. Murphy

  A serpent erupted from the sea.

  Chapter 7

  It was massive, the length of three ships or more. Scales the size of Rasim's fist glittered deep blue along its back, fading toward smoother-looking white skin on its belly. A spiny fin crested its spine from a yard or two behind its head all the way to the tip of its tail. It had no other fins at all, but its slim hook-jawed mouth opened to show long glittering teeth as it blasted another call frighteningly like the wake-up whistle.

  It dove over the ship closest to the Wafiya, wrapped around it, and snapped the ship in two with a single sharp contraction.

  Screams broke out, sailors suddenly rushing to action. For a moment Rasim still couldn't move, paralyzed by awe and horror. Then he too jolted, leaping from the captain's nest to join others at the rail. None of them had remained frozen for more than a handful of seconds: that was how quickly the serpent moved, how fast it had destroyed one of the fleet. It was gone now, deep in the water, invisible while it feasted on the other ship's crew. Survivors in the water brought their magic to fore, creating tiny storm systems to protect themselves, but Rasim knew the elemental fight was useless. The serpent was too big, too wild. It would barely notice a storm built by the entire fleet, when it lived in waters where a typhoon could rage for days.

  It burst out of the water again beside another ship, diving and crushing it as quickly as the first one. Spears and harpoons flew from the ships closest, bouncing harmlessly off the serpent's small thick scales. Rasim said, "The eyes," and heard the words spread through the sailors beside him.

  Kisia squirmed between him and the man beside him, her own eyes wide with terror but her mouth set in a grim determined line. "But how do we get to the eyes?"

  "I don't know." Rasim reached for the water with his magic, feeling it slap and brush against the Wafiya's planks. There were no schools of fish below the surface: they could usually be felt, disturbing the flow of water even when they moved with it. They had fled the serpent, just as the fleet would if it could. The creature itself was too far away for Rasim's magic to sense it, but his head snapped up. "Captain! Can you feel it down there?"

  "I've got it," Hassin said less than a breath later. His face was pale already, a long night's shift no friend to a need for working strong magic. "I can feel it, but I can't—I can't—"

  The serpent flew from the water again, bringing down a third ship with its coiled strength. Screams were a constant now, like gulls at the harbor: almost unheard, because to pay attention would be to go mad. Sea witches still on ships, the ones nearest to those in the sea, were lifting their guildmates up, funnels of water whipping around to dump them safely on deck. Half a dozen rescued sailors and gallons of water were splashed across the Wafiya's deck, some of them clutching small wounds and all of them sallow with shock. Rasim turned to look at them, hardly breathing as he tried to think.

  "I can't stop it," Hassin said through his teeth. "I can't even slow it down. It's not like changing currents to bring fish to nets. It can swim against any current I can make."

  "Take it out of the water." Rasim barely heard himself whisper, his gaze still locked on the half-drowned sailors and his thoughts not yet coherent. Then he seized Hassin's arm, disrupting his concentration, but certainly earning his attention. "Take it out of the water like they've done the crew! If we can see it we can fight it!"

  Hassin said, "I can't," dumbly, though he turned back to the sea as he spoke. "Desimi. Misin." He named others of the witches able to raise storm waves, then snapped, "Rasim, make yourself useful, signal the other ships what we're doing. We can't do it alone, the beast weighs too much. A skin of water," he shouted at the crew gathering around him. "Contain it with a skin of water, enough that we can hold it but too little for it to breathe long! Rasim! Hurry!"

  The sea boiled, magic and monster creating a froth as they crashed together. Rasim scrambled up the mast and grabbed signal flags from the crow's nest. Storm wave surrounds— There was no signal for serpent. Rasim spelled out eel, but from the nest's high vantage he could see that no one had time to watch for signals from another ship. The serpent had all their attention, diving and surfacing again as it burst through the magic Asindo's crew worked. The air turned heavy again, storm warning in a clear morning: if other ships noticed that, they might recognize that magic was being made, and lend their strength to it. Otherwise, no, they'd never see it, and given the ease with which the serpent broke through Hassin's weaving, that meant the fleet was doomed.

  Down below, Kisia grabbed Hassin's arm the same way Rasim had only a minute earlier. He was angrier this time, but Kisia shoved forward, demanding he listen as she pointed at Rasim, then gestured sharply from their ship to the next, floating beyond the wreckage of the one they'd lost. Hassin followed her argument, though the words were lost to Rasim thanks to height and the sounds of battle. Then he nodded and twisted his hands, a whirlpool of sea water rising at his command.

  Kisia threw herself from the deck without hesitation, splashing madly into Hassin's water devil. It spun across the water, throwing wreckage aside. Seconds later Kisia flung herself out of the whirlpool onto the deck of the next ship. She grabbed another sailor, pointed toward Rasim, then ran for the ship's far side. The whirlpool caught her again and she was gone, rushing for the next ship, and the next.

  Rasim howled, a soundless cheer beneath the shrieking serpent and noise of fighting, and began his signals again. A moment later the next ship's sea witches came in line with Asindo's, all of them save Hassin bent to the same goal. He still swept Kisia from one deck to another, until distance made her small and Rasim could no longer easily count the ships she'd visited. She landed on yet another deck and caught yet another sailor's attention. She pointed back the way she'd come, visibly triumphant even from so far away. With hardly a missed beat, the sailors saw what was happening and began to come together, working their magic to support Hassin's.

  The serpent soared from the water and crushed Kisia's ship.

  #

  Screams ripped through the fleet, Rasim's among them. Kisia was a trader, not a born sailor. She couldn't swim, nor did she have the water witchery skill to keep her alive in the water. It was hard to drown a sea witch, but much less so a baker's daughter. And she was here because of him, even if the choice had been entirely her own. He stretched his hands out, almost able to feel Kisia's weight in them, almost feel her fear pounding through the waves as she struggled to stay above water, to stay free of the serpent's hooked jaws. He was so far away, and not much of a witch at all, but desperation made him push from within, like he could somehow shove her to safety.

  Energy rushed out of him. Rasim dropped to his knees. He couldn't even pretend he might rescue his friend without exhausting himself. Fingers wrapped around the crow's nest railing, he stared outward bleakly, trying to make sense of the chaos on the sea.

  The serpent's leap out of the water had given the witches the chance they needed. For that moment, they'd been able to see it, and what they could see, they could capture. The creature was airborne, thrashing wildly in an element not its own. Water splashed and broke away in bucketsful, and more rose up from the sea so the witches could maintain their hold on the beast. Even emotionally wrung out as he was, Rasim felt the magic they worked, and the strain of working it over so much distance.

  More than once the serpent managed to dive again, narrowly missing ships as it fell and was dragged back into the air. Taken from the water, it seemed even larger, a thing out of nightmares. It was beautiful, too, in a terrible way.

  And they would never be able to drown it in air. Too much new water came up from the sea, holding the serpent aloft. The witches would tire long before it did: their magic was meant to survive a storm, not reshape one. Rasim slid back down the mast, defeated in spirit before his crewmates were defeated in body. Kisia was likely dead, and the rest of the fleet would soon be as well, all because of the wretched whistle.

  The whistle. Rasim thumped to a stop at t
he base of the mast, looking to where the whistle usually hung. It was gone now, probably never replaced in the moments between waking the crew and the serpent's attack. Exhaustion and defeat forgotten, Rasim whipped around, searching for the crewman whose job it was to blast it.

  She was at the rail with everyone else, brass whistle still clenched in one hand as she did her part against the serpent. Rasim ran for her, lurching as the sea rocked the ship. He pried the whistle free of her grip and snatched a long knife from another sailor's belt. Neither of them even looked around, all their concentration on the sky-swimming serpent.

  Knife in his teeth, Rasim swarmed the mast again. The serpent was swimming through the air, changing directions and making forward motion, though not with the grace or speed it would have in the water. Still, it could go where it wanted.

  Or where Rasim wanted it to go. He slammed the knife's point in to the crow's nest railing and brought the whistle to his lips as he leaped into the crow's nest himself.

  The blast was dismayingly quiet beneath the sounds of fighting. Determined, Rasim filled his lungs like they were a sun witch's forge bellows and tried again. It was stronger, but still not enough.

  The third blast took his air away. His vision blackened, spots dancing in his eyes. He grabbed the rail to keep from falling down again. When his vision cleared, the serpent had turned his way.

  Rasim, grinning viciously, loosened the knife from the rail and waited for the moment to wreak vengeance for his friend.

  Awkward in the air or not, the serpent was still fast. It seemed to use the very magic that supported it as the resistance it needed to swim. Between one whistle blast and the next it closed the distance to the Wafiya by half, screaming its own whistle-like howl as it approached.

  Panicked voices rose up from below, Asindo and Hassin demanding to know what Rasim was doing. He glanced down, but only briefly, seeing their grip on the magic faltered as their concentration broke. Desimi, of all people, grabbed Hassin's shoulder and snapped a commanding finger toward the serpent as it slid back into the water. Hassin's face contorted with anger, but he focused on the gathered power again. Asindo brought his own attention back to the serpent, but kept a scowling eye on Rasim too.

  In the breath it had taken to look down, the serpent was nearly upon the Wafiya. Rasim sprang onto the crow's nest railing, abandoning the whistle to catch a cross-beam for support. He coiled, waiting. Water sprayed and scattered across him as the serpent came closer, close enough that he could smell it. It smelled cold, fresh, like the sea, not like a killing monster, but Kisia's memory was fresh in Rasim's mind.

  The serpent dove at him, howling, and the ship plunged to the side, sea witches turning their magic to avoid the behemoth's blow.

  Rasim sprang, using the ship falling away and the serpent's oncoming speed to cross more free air than he might have imagined possible. He splashed into the watery barrier that held the serpent above the sea, and only barely remembered to bring air with him: that much, at least, his magic could manage. It was harder than he expected, his witchery trembling and weak. Desimi would tease him about that, if Rasim survived to admit it.

  The serpent twisted, losing sight of Rasim as he crashed against it. He didn't even need to touch the beast: the water surrounding it was deeper than he was tall, and a touch of magic pushed him through it even as the monster thrashed. He swam in the water, in the air, just as the serpent did, and for an instant it was glorious. No one had ever swum alongside one of the legendary sea monsters, much less done it in the air, in full view of a fleet of ships. A grin pulled at Rasim's lips.

  Then Asindo and Hassin, struggling to save their ship, lost control of the fleet's magic, and of the serpent.

  It dived, taking Rasim into the depths.

  Chapter 8

  It was cold beneath the surface. The water shone a deep, quiet blue that turned black the deeper they went. Rasim forgot everything but maintaining the air he'd brought with him. He thrust himself closer to the serpent, folding one hand around a sharp-edged scale. He couldn't let the knife go, not if he wanted to kill the thing, but he couldn't hold on or pull himself forward with the blade in one hand, either.

  A memory of how the knife had stuck in the crow's nest railing, vibrating with energy, struck him. Rasim slammed the blade into the serpent's side, giving himself purchase to edge forward with.

  The beast didn't even shudder, only swam more deeply. A pin-prick, that's what the knife's cut was. Maybe not even that, although a thin stream of blood trailed out when Rasim pulled the knife free so he could drive it in again, a little farther ahead, pulling himself toward the serpent's head. If the beast didn't even feel the blade as he climbed its body, he wasn't sure he could strike deeply enough to kill it, but he would try. In Kisia's memory, he would try.

  The pressure around him grew more intense, making moving more difficult. He breathed as normally as he could, afraid his heart would burst from pressure if he held his breath. The air he carried with him would last because it had to. Length by length, he hauled himself closer to the serpent's head. It began to glow as they went deeper, a faint blue light of its own that came from beneath its scales and ran the length of its sinuous body. Beautiful, Rasim thought again. It was beautiful, and he was going to kill it so it didn't kill him.

  It noticed him when he reached its head. Their downward journey stopped, the serpent twisting round and round itself as it tried to scrape him off. Any faster and he would be dizzy, and this was hard enough with his air running out. Its eye glowed too, deep blue around a black pupil. A target, he thought gratefully, and struck.

  The serpent's scream was much worse beneath the surface. It vibrated the water, making wobbles like a stone hitting a pond. It came from just in front of Rasim, not quite from the creature's mouth, but from nose-like slits that a gilled creature couldn't possibly breathe with. He was grateful to be behind them: he would have been blasted free if the full force of the scream hit him.

  But he had only caused the thing pain, not killed it, or the scream would have died already. He squirmed forward, jamming the knife deeper into its eye, then deeper still, until his wrist, his elbow, the whole of his arm, was buried in the gelatinous ruin that had been the serpent's eye. He gritted his teeth, holding back a shriek of his own. He couldn't afford to use the air, and he was afraid he wouldn't hear himself beneath the serpent's cry. He would lose his nerve if he couldn't hear his own voice.

  Finally something scraped at the knife's end. Rasim swirled it around, stirring the beast's brain into goo. Its scream faltered, then failed. It flung itself wildly through the water, no longer diving, no longer fighting, just dying. Relief sapped Rasim's strength. He relaxed, weariness gathering him close. Water rushed by as the serpent began to sink. Rasim felt the current coming closer to his face, and shocked awake again. His air was nearly gone, if he could feel the water so closely.

  Blood flooded the water as Rasim pulled his arm free of the serpent's eye. He closed his own eyes against it, then panicked and opened them again to watch the dying serpent begin to sink. If it went that way, then air, breath, a chance to live, was the other way. Rasim flung himself away from the serpent, using his whole body like a flipper and undulating toward the surface. When that became too much for his weakening lungs, he kicked with his legs alone, praying that the air would last. It had to last.

  He pushed against the water with his magic, propelling himself upward as best he could. Desimi would be at the surface already, drinking in gulps of clean air, but Rasim's power was too slight for that. His ears blocked as he kicked up, an ache that ran all the way to his throat before they cleared in a burst of squealing discomfort. The water around him was purple with blood, swirls of it catching in the currents. There would be sharks soon, if there weren't already. The fleet had to still be nearby, or he would be dead even if he reached the surface.

  He popped through with a surge of energy he didn't know he had, then collapsed into the water on his back, heaving for
air. The sun made a soft gold ball on the horizon, still barely awakened for the day, though he felt he'd been working for hours.

  Clever, Captain Asindo had said. Rasim was clever. Not clever enough to let the serpent go when it dived, though. Not clever enough to forget vengeance and save himself. He closed his eyes and let himself sink a few inches into the pool of salty blood that surrounded him. Not clever by half, but terribly lucky. It should be him sinking toward the ocean's bottom, or, more likely, lining the serpent's stomach. He was much warmer now, the rising sun and the surface temperature enough to take the chill of the depths away. Either that or the cold had confused his mind, in which case he was far closer to death than he had hoped after such a narrow escape.

  In a moment. In a moment he would straighten himself in the water and search for the fleet. It had to be visible: the serpent had taken him into the depths, not out into the sea, hadn't it? Yes. It had, because no other option was bearable. To survive the beast only to drown or be eaten by sharks would be unforgivable, so in a moment Rasim would right himself, and wave to the fleet.

  The sea closed over his head, and he sank.

  #

  A hook fished Rasim from the water. He banged against the side of a ship as he was lifted upward, no finesse or skill in the rescue. Water poured from his lungs, coughs wracking his body as he was swung over a rail and dropped unceremoniously to a deck.

  Not one of the fleet's decks. The wood was the wrong color and not smooth enough: Rasim had time to notice that before he vomited water again. He curled up, hands clenched over his head, forehead against the deck, and coughed until tears ran from his eyes. He convulsed with shivers, cold all the way to his bones. Deeper than his bones, even. He might never warm up, the way the sea had crept into him, the way the serpent's blood still tasted sour and cool in his mouth. He wasn't sure he was alive, not really. Siliaria, goddess of the sea, might have taken him directly into her arms, though he would think a Siliarian death ship would be made of finer wood. On the other hand, he probably had to be dead, because the fleet had been alone on the water that morning, and this was not an Ilyaran ship.