Seamaster

by C. E. Murphy

  "Your plea is noted," Lorens murmured. "You surprise me, Rasim. You'd be well within your rights to be more bloody-minded."

  "Everyone I know is probably dead. How much more bloody do I need to get? Please, can I just be left alone for a while? I don't feel good."

  Lorens stood, sympathy aging his youthful features. "No, I don't imagine you do. Carley, I'll bring you to your captain, if you wish, and myself or my sister will come to visit you again soon, Rasim."

  Rasim nodded, and didn't watch as the others walked away.

  Chapter 16

  Wrung out with sorrow, Rasim slept until sunset, only wakening when bells rang a late afternoon hour. He stumbled to the window, confused by the early Northern darkness, and watched as stars broke above the horizon. The constellations were placed differently in the sky than at home. He'd known that, of course. He'd watched them shift as they sailed north, but it was different to see it from land, and to watch them peek over nearby mountains instead of the sea's distant curve.

  Someone had come in while he napped, leaving a platter of food and a jug of watered ale. The food, eaten from his curled-up spot in the window seat, helped a little, though mostly he was still too tired to feel very much.

  The idea of remaining in the North over the winter was tempting. It would be time to get used to the idea of the fleet being lost, and it would be time to see a part of the world he might never again visit. Would never again visit, if Ilyara had to rebuild its fleet for the second time in twenty years, and this time without the expertise of half its older and wiser heads.

  But a question remained in Ilyara, too. The question of what had happened to Annaken: the question of whether the fires had been set deliberately and she had been murdered. A long winter in the north might mean nothing, in terms of discovering the truth. Or it might mean everything. Asindo had known of the possibility of murder, and no doubt Guildmaster Isidri did too, but many of the others who might have suspected foul play were likely dead now, cold corpses at the bottom of the sea.

  For a sick instant Rasim wondered if the serpent could have been raised deliberately. Wondered if it was possible that the fleet had come under attack not just from sea monsters, but from some astounding magic that controlled them. For a horrible moment he distrusted even the Ilyaran fleet. But then he remembered the serpent's whistle-like blast. The beast had responded to the whistles sounding the shift change, nothing more. In most respects it was probably luck alone that had kept serpents from attacking Ilyaran ships in the past. Luck, and the fact that there were rarely as many as thirty whistles shrilling at once. The fleet didn't often sail together in such numbers.

  Rasim would still mark the maps when he returned home, though: here be serpents. The terrible creatures must have a usual range they swam in, and it would be of use to have that noted.

  A tap sounded at the door, polite knock that wouldn't waken a sleeping lad. Rasim got up to answer it, stiff from hunching in the window. Inga, looking as diffident as a woman of her height could, waited there with a jug of warm scented wine in her hands. Her face brightened when he opened the door. "Oh, good. I didn't wake you, did I?"

  "No. Come on in." Rasim stood back, letting the princess past. His head didn't come up to her shoulder. He wondered how old she was, and whether he'd be as tall as she was when he'd reached his height.

  "I brought wine. The rooms sometimes get chilly, and it's never as warm here as Ilyara." She spoke his language as if she'd been born to it. Rasim felt a flash of envy for that skill: he would like to know her tongue as well as his own. The common tongue was just that, useful but not personal to any particular people. Inga offered to pour him a cup of the wine, and he nodded.

  "Not too much, please. I only drink it watered."

  "Lorens could learn a thing or two from you." Inga poured two cups, hers with considerably less water than his own, then sat in the same chair as Lorens had, though with far more dignity. "I'm sorry for your loss, Rasim. My brother told me what had happened. Captain Donnin," she added with a lift of her eyebrows, "is astounded that you spoke on her behalf."

  Rasim wrapped his hands around his wine cup and sat down, muttering, "So am I."

  Inga flashed a smile. "We've sent a rider seek our mother's advice regarding Captain Donnin, but we probably won't help her."

  "I know." Rasim drew a breath. "You might be able to help me, though. Not just to go home, but my fleet was coming here to ask about..." He couldn't think of a polite way to say it. "About spies. About spies you might have in Ilyara. About anybody who might help us to learn if the Great Fire was an accident or not. And—"

  The princess's eyes darkened with interest, and she raised a hand to stop what he had to say next. "Do you have reason to believe it may not have been an accident?"

  "There was another fire a few weeks ago. We put it out, but it didn't act naturally. It had to be quenched by sand, not water, and it stuck to the walls." Rasim felt he was fumbling the explanation, but hurried on regardless. "It happened in daylight so people could see it. The Great Fire was at night, and destroyed so much—I don't think there was anything left to show whether it stuck to the walls or wouldn't go out properly. But if this one wasn't an accident, then maybe the last one wasn't either, and..." He faltered. "If it wasn't an accident, then everyone who died was murdered, including..."

  "Including Annaken." Inga was quiet a while, looking into her wine cup. "She was my aunt. My mother's youngest sister. I was fifteen when she went to marry your king. She was only nineteen herself. And now I'm thirty-two, and she has been dead for more than a dozen years. I still miss her very much. If there's a chance she died by murder and not accident, then we'll help you find the answers, Rasim." She finally looked up, blue eyes serious. "But you should know our people in Ilyara have never hinted at any such conspiracy. The chances are...slim."

  Rasim nodded even though disappointment rushed through him. It would be nice to be a hero, someone who found the truth behind a disaster, instead of being the sole survivor of a fleet drowned by sea monsters. "Thank you. If I can go home and talk to them—" He made a little face. "Or have Guildmaster Isidri talk to them, more like. Then at least we'll have tried. And maybe your people will know something about the more recent fire. We're not good at sneaking secrets out," he confessed. "Not the Seamasters' Guild. The Sunmasters', maybe. They're diplomats and politicians. We just—"

  "Fish and slay sea serpents?" Inga asked with a smile.

  Rasim's ears burned crimson. "Mostly fish."

  "Your fleet are soldiers, too," Inga reminded him. "They're renowned for keeping Ilyaran waters safe, up and down the sea."

  "We're not really soldiers. We just have the magic to fight with. It gives us an advantage." A thought struck him. "You must have magic here too. The sewerage water was almost as clean as ours. Why doesn't anybody know you have magic?"

  Inga shook her head. "Our magic is boiling water and reed beds, not true magic like your own. We have stories of when we had real power—you saw the murals in the council room?"

  Rasim's gaze went to the ceiling as if he expected to see the paintings appear above him. Inga smiled. "Those deeds were done by our forefathers, who had magic bred in their blood. But it faded away over the centuries, until we were as ordinary as anyone but the Ilyarans. It's part of why Annaken agreed to marry your king. We wondered if the blood could be bred back in."

  "But why have we kept the magic?" Rasim leaned forward, intense with curiosity. "If no one else has, why has Ilyara? The gods can't favor us that much, can they?"

  Inga's smile came again, and turned into a laugh. "I think a properly pious boy wouldn't ask that. But no, I don't think they do favor you that much. The guilds are made up of Ilyara's orphans, aren't they?" At Rasim's nod, she went on. "I think that must be part of it. In most places it seems the stronger magic you had, the more likely you were to marry royalty. After a time, only royalty had the magic, and after a longer time with no one from the outside to marry in and strengthen
it, it faded away. But in Ilyara you teach orphans of ever-changing bloodlines to work witchery. Do the guilds even teach their own children magic?"

  Rasim shook his head. "The guilds are for orphans, and you can't be an orphan if your birth parents are there in the guild with you. If people want kids, they leave the guilds and partner with traders or merchants."

  "So the blood disperses back into the population, giving you all the potential. Ilyara's orphans are strong with it, and then taught to use it. No one else has a system like that, not that I know of."

  "But our royal family has magic," Rasim countered. "They channel and guide the guilds in their great works."

  "And yet your current king is weak," Inga argued. "How often do guild members marry into the royal bloodline?"

  Rasim blinked. "Never. The nobility all marry each other."

  "And how often do guild members marry nobility? Or even how often does the child of a guild member and a merchant marry so high?"

  "Not very," Rasim admitted. "Sometimes."

  "So the royals marrying nobility have thinned their magic blood too, perhaps."

  Rasim sat back again and took a long drink of his watered wine, trying to hide astonishment. The world kept shifting beneath him, changeable as the sea. By the time he returned home, he would hardly know himself, not after fighting a serpent, teaching a stranger water witchery, and discussing magical heritages with a princess. "If the king has lost his witchery, then..." His head hurt with trying to understand what that might mean. "Then Ilyara is weak, and anybody who thinks they're strong might try for the crown. I thought of some people who might think they could get it, but most of them didn't have magic, so I thought they couldn't. But if even the king doesn't have magic anymore..."

  Then Ilyara was in far more danger than Rasim had realized. More than even Asindo had realized, maybe, and more than Guildmaster Isidri knew. "I have to go home. I have to go home as soon as I can, and if you'll help me at all—" He broke off, remembering the question he'd meant to ask earlier. "Never mind helping me. Why are you even talking to me? I thought I would find Captain Asindo and he'd keep you from throwing me in a dungeon after I jumped off a ship full of pirates and broke into your palace. But you're treating me like a guest."

  "Ah." The corner of Inga's mouth turned up. "That's because we need your help."

  Chapter 17

  "I can't do it." Rasim stood at the edge of a vast inland lake caught between mountaintops. It was half-frozen already, the water like slurry. He didn't need to touch it to know it was only half, and not fully, frozen, was its high salt content: he could feel the water's thickness, its sea-like consistency. "It's too much water," he said, mostly to the lake but a little to the two tall blondes standing next to him. "Why is it even salty? Shouldn't the snow run-off be fresh?"

  "It used to be. It turned sour ten years ago or so. We think perhaps the lake bottom has worn through to a salt deposit. We've survived on run-off water and hauling it from longer distances, but it's getting harder as the city grows larger." Lorens waved toward the city they'd left below.

  Rasim squatted at the water's edge, letting his eyes glaze as he looked out over slurry and ice. Inga had explained their need the night before, and he, dubiously, had agreed to come look. She'd left him shortly afterward and exhaustion had sent him back to bed. He'd slept until sunrise, which came as late as sunset came early, and had only been brought to the lake after noon. Not that it was easy to tell when noon was with the sun so low in the sky, but they'd taken a mid-day meal before setting out, so he trusted the Northern schedule. "If there's salt down there you'll need more than just a water witch. You'd need a stone witch, too, someone who can move earth. Otherwise it's just going to turn salty again."

  "Not quickly," Lorens objected.

  Rasim shook his head. "It's a lot of water, but unless it reaches the bottom of the salt lick, it'll turn salty faster than you think. You'd need a water witch—or a lot of them—to hold the water back while the salt was moved out, and then to purify it afterward. I can go in and find out if there is a salt deposit down there, but that's as much help as I can be."

  Inga said, "You'll freeze to death."

  Rasim smiled faintly. "I sailed in with a ship of pirates, broke into your palace, and asked for an army. I think the least I can do is try." More than that, he was afraid his presumption would be taken from his hide if he didn't try: the Northerners seemed reasonable enough, but he was too aware of being at their mercy. Less so than at Donnin's, maybe—Lorens and Inga probably wouldn't sell him to slavers—but he felt very far from home and far more alone than he had ever imagined being. Even if they had no intention of condemning him for failure, trying would at least make him feel useful. It would give him something to do besides being wrenched by loss, and that was important.

  Crouched there at the side of a half-frozen lake, chilly winter air making his nose hairs stiff as he breathed, Rasim had a moment of bewilderment. A moment of wondering how he had come there, or at least at how strange the world around him had become. His world had expanded and shrunk at the same time, and he wondered if that was how survivors of the Great Fire had felt. He'd survived that, too, of course, but not in conscious memory. There were journeymen a few years older than he who were terrified of fire, but Rasim didn't even have that much recollection of the fire. Like Desimi, he had been an infant, much too young to remember anything at all about the fire. Like Desimi, like all the other orphans, his birthday had become the day of the fire.

  And unlike Desimi, Rasim still lived. He straightened and kicked the boots and heavy coat he'd been given off. "I shouldn't freeze if I bring enough air down with me. It should help keep me warm. If it's too deep, though, I might not even be able to find the bottom. Light won't reach, and it'll get colder the deeper I go."

  "Rasim." Inga put her hand on his shoulder, making him turn her way. She looked quite wise, her blue eyes sad. "Rasim, you have nothing to prove."

  He shook her hand off and stepped into the water. It was shockingly cold, even colder than the harbor water, and rubbed his feet with thick salty swells. "That's where you're wrong, princess. I have everything to prove."

  He dove, and ice water closed over his head.

  #

  It was saltier than most sea water, salty enough to resist his downward passage. Rasim pushed himself deeper with magic, conserving his physical energy and the bubble of air surrounding him. The air had been cold, above the lake. Within it, the icy pressure made the bubble feel warm and comforting. That was as dangerous as the sea serpent, in its own way.

  He felt no life darting through the salt lake. It was too remote, he thought: too far above the sea, with no inlets to let fish discover it. Rasim had never swum in water so still. Only his own heartbeat and the lake's chill accompanied him, making him truly isolated for the first time in days. It should have worsened his sorrow, but he found it soothing. Nearly everyone he knew had gone to a watery grave, and he thought he felt their presence in the mountaintop lake, surrounding and encouraging him.

  Desimi would mock him if he didn't reach the bottom. Kisia would tell him not to be stupid, but then, in the week she'd had to study water witchery, it had been clear that her natural talent was greater than Rasim's. On one hand she would tell him not to be stupid; on the other, she would dive as deeply as she could, herself. For Hassin or Captain Asindo, finding the lake's bottom wouldn't even be a challenge. Rasim hadn't died with them, and so he would have to live for them. Determined, he pushed harder with his magic, feeling its power take him deeper into the lake. The indirect Northern light was almost gone, and his depth wasn't that great. It would be black before he reached the bottom. He wished he was a sun witch, able to conjure light from darkness.

  As if his thoughts had awakened it, he saw a distant brightness. Not daylight: Rasim even glanced back, making certain the water did lighten above him. Making certain he hadn't somehow turned himself around, before he looked deep again and after a few moments watche
d the light re-appear. Not daylight and certainly not the crackling warm light of fire, like a sun witch might awaken. It was more like moonlight, silver on the water, a color that was both soft and hard at the same time. Rasim forgot to breathe as he went deeper, or at least forgot until his ears started squealing a protest. He popped his jaw, taking a breath and clearing his ears all at once, and the pain subsided.

  The light brightened and the water came clearer under its brilliance. There was very little silt, no plant life, nothing but water and salt and the lake's distant rock floor, now visible in the light. Rasim squinted, turning his face away. Somehow it was easier to see the illuminated area when he wasn't looking straight at it.

  There was a dark spot at its center, a shape both familiar and so incongruous Rasim couldn't place what it might be. The pressure increased as he dove toward it, clicking his tongue furiously to keep his ears clear. The water warmed as he got closer, which made no sense. If it had been a fiery light, like a volcano bursting through the sea bed, then warmth might be understandable. But it was a cool hard light, and the closer he got, the more difficult it was to swim toward it. Rasim was almost certain he'd gone deeper than this with the serpent, so it wasn't only the water's weight. It was as if the magic he used met resistance that was trying to push him away. There was something more at the bottom of the lake, something that perhaps had magic of its own.

  The thought flared brightly in his own mind with a confidence strong enough to rival the silver glow below him. Rasim threw his legs into kicking downward too, no longer relying only on his magic, and moved through the water more easily.

  A fountain. A massive fountain sat on the lake's floor. It poured light into the water, and with the light, salt. Salt, as if it sat upon an inexhaustible supply and could let it flow for eternity. The glow's brilliance was partly from reflecting off the salt, making a cloud of white that shimmered and spun at the lake's heart. Rasim stopped swimming and hung in the water, astonished and bewildered. Whomever had made the thing must have had a staggering amount of power.