And then it happened. They both went overboard.
One minute there, the next gone. The anchor who had failed to tie down was scrambling on all fours to keep himself from following.
Instinctively, Xiala dragged her securing rope down over her hips. It pooled at her feet.
And she was running, no time to think about what she was doing.
“Man overboard!” she screamed as she leaped onto the bench, braced a foot on the railing, and dove headfirst into the water.
The sea was darkness, vast and alive, and it swallowed her whole like she was no more than the smallest minnow. She dove deeper, past the surface tumble and rain, eyes seeking her lost men. She could feel her eyes change, her Teek eyelids coming down to keep the water out, the shape changing to let in more light, the field of her vision expanding.
She spotted Baat first, kicking and struggling toward the surface but steadily sinking anyway. She spied Loob below him, hanging on the rope like a weight. Dead, her brain told her, but she corrected that to unconscious. But it made no difference to Baat whether the rock dragging him to the seafloor was dead or simply unconscious.
She pushed toward him, arms slicing through the water like blades, legs together kicking as one. Came up on him fast, knocking into his shoulder to get his attention.
He struck out, panicked, fist hitting her in the temple, before he realized someone was trying to help him. His eyes went wide, and she wondered what he saw. What he thought he saw. Her waist-length hair a black cloud around her, her multicolored eyes rounder and wider than any human’s. It was fear on his face, and not just because he was drowning.
She reached for the dagger on Baat’s belt and pulled it free. He paddled back from her, terrified. She ignored him and kicked down, past his churning legs. She grasped the rope and hacked at it until it frayed and broke. Released from Loob’s weight, Baat shot up toward the surface. She watched him rise, not knowing if he would make it to the ship, but at least she had given him a chance.
As Baat shrank away, she realized Loob, on the other end of the rope in her hand, was pulling her down now. She kicked hard, dragging him up. But her progress was too slow like this. If he was still alive, he needed air, and she needed both arms to get him to the surface. She looped the frayed rope around her upper chest. Once her arms were free, she swam.
But the body at the end of the rope was dead weight.
She pumped her legs and used her whole body to move forward, but it wasn’t enough. And her air was running out, too, even with the extra time that being Teek had bought her. Her head ached where Baat had hit her, and her limbs were tiring. She needed more. She needed her Song.
But to Sing, she needed air.
Tears of frustration fell from her eyes, washed away immediately by the salty water. She could cut Loob loose, call him dead when she found him, and maybe not be wrong. But she remembered his wife from Tova and how he had been the first to defend Serapio, and she was his captain, and she would not let him drown when she could save him.
She opened her mouth and let the water rush in. At first it choked her, dizzying and terrible. But she forced herself to think of her Song, of the way it came from deep inside her, more than simply air and pressure and vocal cords. She screamed, a desperate prayer to her mother not to kill her, to let her live and this man, too, and please, please, please.
And then she was surging upward. Cutting through the water as easily as if she was sunlight through kelp and born to it. She searched for the hull of the canoe, a disturbingly small speck on the endless surface, and angled toward it. Kick, reach, sing, pray. Again and again, until she bumped up against the ship. Her ship.
She thrust an arm up, slamming her palm against the wood as hard as she could. She heard muffled shouts and knew she had been spotted. Seconds later, she was being heaved up and over the side of the ship. She opened her mouth to suck in the precious air but found that she didn’t need it. It didn’t make sense, but she dismissed the moment as shock.
Arms were laying her on the deck and someone untangling the rope from her chest, and she could see them dragging Loob up behind her, still a dead weight. They were hitting his back and trying to force the water from his lungs, but he was still, his face slack and gray. She closed her eyes. She had taken too long; he was dead.
She shivered, frozen through. Asked through chattering teeth for a blanket. She was too tired to lift her head, but she pried her eyes open again to see where her crew was, where those gentle hands had gone. But all she saw was Callo, standing a dozen paces away, eyes steady on her.
“Callo,” she whispered. “Cold.”
But her first mate didn’t move. No one helped her.
She tried to push herself to sitting, tried to pull her legs up under her, but they wouldn’t move. Why wouldn’t her legs move? Something crashed against the benches, heavy and wet, and she glimpsed scales, black and shimmering iridescent in the rain. Her mind tried to make sense of it, but she couldn’t.
She managed to rise up on her elbows. Her crew stood around her, frozen, staring. Accusing. She could almost smell the fear in the air, acrid and animal. And directed at her.
Her chest tightened. Her eyes met Callo’s.
“Teek,” he said. A curse, this. An abomination.
Something struck her hard across the back of her head, and her world went black, darker than the depths of the sea.
CHAPTER 21
THE CRESCENT SEA
YEAR 325 OF THE SUN
(11 DAYS BEFORE CONVERGENCE)
There is a boy here, a son of one of the matron’s own Shields. I will not call him by name but know that he is mean and bullies the smaller children when no adults are there to see. Tana once told me he even bullied the crows. Today he fell from the cliffs and is dead. Mother told the boy’s parents that it was an accident, but Akel whispered to me that he saw the crows harry the boy off the ledge. I suspect it was no accident and nothing but the crow’s own justice.
—From Observations on Crows, by Saaya, age thirteen
Xiala woke, still in darkness and stretched out on the floor. She was still on the ship, that she knew immediately from the soft rocking of the waves.
Soft rocking of the waves. Which meant the storm had passed. Which meant they had survived.
She opened her eyes, cringing at the pain in her head, and looked around. She was inside, which was why it was dark. Light filtered through the wood pole walls and reed roof, which meant it was daylight. Thoughts came slowly, but she determined that she was in the shed she had come to think of as Serapio’s room.
Serapio. There he was, sitting so close she could touch the edge of his robe if she stretched out her hand. His back was against the wall and his neck tilted. He looked to be sleeping, but his body held a tension that belied rest, arms locked at his sides and body jerking in small convulsions as she watched. If she had to describe him, she would say that he was caught in a nightmare.
Around his neck hung a leather pouch, tiny shards of glimmering powder caught in the drawstring at the narrow opening. They looked like shattered light.
His face was illuminated by the slanting daylight. Jaw slack, mouth slightly open, and eyes uncovered. From here he looked like he had simply closed his eyes in sleep, lashes resting across high-boned cheeks. Smooth skin. Full lips. Hair in a soft curl that cascaded to his shoulders.
I guess I fall for the pretty ones after all, she thought to herself.
She wondered if she should wake him. He didn’t look comfortable, but she didn’t know if he would welcome her intrusion. Why was she in his room, anyway?
She tried to remember what had happened during the storm. She remembered Loob and Baat overboard. And Loob dead, gray-faced, with eyes staring at nothing. And Callo’s face, the revulsion evident in the curve of his lip, the narrowing of his eyes. And the smell of fear, and… fish scales. Black and iridescent. Beautiful but wrong.
She shook her head, trying to make sense of the jumble of memories, b
ut all it did was make her head ache worse. She rubbed a hand over the back of her skull, sure she’d find a bump under her mass of salt-soaked hair.
She pushed herself to her feet, her legs wobbly like she’d been swimming all day and forgotten how to walk. The room was small, she hadn’t realized how small. She walked to the door, careful not to wake Serapio, and tugged on the rope pull. It didn’t budge. She yanked again, harder. Nothing, and she had a flashback to being in the jail cell in Kuharan, and a half dozen other jail cells before that.
I’m a prisoner, she thought suddenly. They’ve locked me in here.
She didn’t know what exactly had happened on the deck in the heart of the storm to make her crew lock her up, but she had that same feeling she had upon waking up after a night of being blackout drunk.
I’m sober! she wanted to scream. Whatever it was, it’s over. Let me out!
“Let me out!” she cried loudly, banging a fist against the door. Another flash of memory rocked her back. Another jail cell, this one on her home island, her mother weeping outside, her auntie cursing her name. Panic welled up in her chest, and she heaved, fighting for breath, fighting back tears.
A voice outside, one of the crew, and she yelled again. But the voice was moving away, not closer.
“I’m the fucking captain!” she screamed.
“They know that.”
She whirled to find Serapio facing her, expression alert.
“What?”
“I said—”
“I know what you said! I meant why? Why am I in here?” She pushed down the anxiety threatening to overwhelm her and turned to rattle the door again, this time peering through the small spaces between the thin wooden poles. Her stomach dropped. “And why are there crates blocking the door?”
“To keep you inside.”
“Why? Why would they need to block off the door? It’s not like…” Her headache swelled again, and she tried to shake it off, pull out those memories that refused to coalesce into more than flashes. It’s not like I killed anyone! she wanted to scream, but the truth was she wasn’t sure what had happened.
“Loob didn’t survive,” he said.
She swallowed, some of her anger and confusion giving way to sorrow. “I know. I… I tried.”
“Baat is blaming you. Saying you cut the rope between them, and if you hadn’t done it, they both could have made it to the surface.”
The tick of sorrow morphed into disbelief. “Loob was dragging him down, flailing his arms in a fucking panic. If I hadn’t cut him loose, Baat would be dead, too!”
Serapio was silent for a moment before saying, “That makes sense. But it is not what Baat thinks. Or the others.”
“The others… how do they know? How do you know?”
“I can hear them.”
That pulled her up short. Quieted her, and she pressed an ear to the wall to see if she could hear anything. Voices talking, no, arguing, but she couldn’t make out any words.
“My hearing is better than yours,” he said.
“By magic?”
“No. By necessity. I am better trained.” He tapped a finger against his right eyelid, a reminder of his blindness.
She gave up on the door. Serapio had calmed her, keeping her present and not lost to bad memories. She would get out; it was only a matter of time. And if he was here with her, the wait would be tolerable.
She looked around. Nowhere to sit in this damn tiny room except on the bench next to Serapio.
“Mind if I sit?”
He straightened, reaching up to tuck the pouch back under his robe and run his hands through his hair, brushing it back from his face. “Be my guest.”
She grinned, a small twinkle of joy. His attempt at grooming was for her, she was sure of it. And she liked it.
She dropped down on the bench next to him, tucking her legs beside her. She leaned back, resting her head against the wooden slats behind her, and cursed softly. What had happened? What had she done? A familiar shame rolled through her body. Usually that feeling came after a night of drinking. She hadn’t had a drop, so why the fractured memories, why the feeling that she’d ruined something precious?
“Do my eyes uncovered bother you?” Serapio asked. His voice was quiet, almost hesitant. It was the first bit of uncertainty he’d shown since that night on the cay.
“Not at all,” she said, and meant it. This close, she could see now the jagged raised edge of flesh, a keloid scar at the lash line. Whatever had happened to his eyes, it had healed smoothly, not that terrible at all. Not terrible enough to always keep covered, unless he was ashamed.
“Does my nakedness bother you?” she asked.
He flushed. “You’re naked?”
“Very much so.”
He laughed, breathy and incredulous. “I’ve never sat next to a naked woman before,” he admitted. “Or at least, one who told me she was naked.”
“We’ll have to work on that, my friend,” she said, grinning. But of course, he couldn’t see her smile. But maybe he sensed it anyway, because he grinned back, red-stained teeth and all.
“Would you like my blanket?” he asked.
“I’d prefer some clothes if you have them,” she admitted. “Perhaps you have an extremely out-of-fashion black robe you can spare?”
“Are my clothes that terrible?”
“For a crow man, no. For the rest of us…”
He grinned a little wider, and despite her dire circumstances, she felt something untwist inside her. He doesn’t judge me, she thought, as the loosening in her chest manifested in tears. She pressed the meat of her palms to her eyes. She didn’t realize the sense of relief that would come with simply being accepted.
“I have pants and a shirt,” he offered, standing. “But I cannot promise they are any more fashionable or any less black than my robes.” He made his way over to a small chest in the corner behind the door. He opened it smoothly, hand moving inerrantly to neatly folded clothes in the top drawer. He brought them back and handed them to her. They were pale cotton, soft, almost luxurious, and thick enough to keep out the cold.
“Perfect,” she said, grateful. “And off-white. Not black at all.”
“Oh,” he said, surprised. “I assumed.”
She slid off the bench, taking her new clothes with her. She had never been the modest type. She came from a culture that lived on islands and in the water. Clothes were for protection from the elements and occasionally to show status, but generally, Teek weren’t big on covering up for any supposed moral reasons. Cuecolans and, frankly, all the mainlanders were much too uptight about nudity, so even if Serapio could have seen her, she would have done the same. No, she thought with a wicked grin, if he could see me, I’d put a little more flirt into it.
She chuckled under her breath, surprised at how much better she was feeling. Here she was, locked up for who knew what reason, memory a failed mess, and at least one crewman dead, and she was thinking about sex. Well, life-threatening circumstances did that to people, didn’t they? She’d heard that somewhere, and it sounded plausible enough.
“How do they fit?” he asked.
She held out an arm. The sleeve fell well past her fingers, and it was much the same with the pants length. At least the waist generally fit.
“Made for an Obregi giant,” she teased, “but they’ll do.”
She hopped back to her place on the bench, elbows propped on her crossed knees. “Can you hear them now? What they’re saying?”
He lifted a hand, asking for her silence. They both listened. She could tell they were still arguing, but beyond that, their voices were just a roar of distant wind.
After a moment, Serapio nodded.
“Well?” she asked.
“The crew and first mate are debating whether it would be sufficient to cut your tongue out so you can’t Sing and enslave them, or if they need to slit your throat entirely and take their chances on the sea without you.”
She stared at him in shock, heart th
umping in her ears.
“Someone is making the case that your bones are worth a lot of cacao. No need to waste those.”
She rubbed at her throat, and the missing digit on her pinkie throbbed.
“That’s Baat,” he added. “He seems to be the most outspoken advocate for your immediate demise.”
“Wonderful,” she muttered, feeling light-headed.
“Are you all right?”
She looked up at him. His face was drawn in concern, eyebrows bunched and lips pressed together tightly.
“Seven hells,” she spat, some of her shock giving way to anger. “I saved that bastard’s life. I should have let him drown.”
“Yes,” Serapio agreed. “It would have been better for you had he drowned. Wait…” He lifted his hand again, listening. After a moment, he said, a note of surprise in his voice, “Callo appears to be cautioning the crew to patience. He doesn’t want to make any decisions until they’re within sight of land. They might need you after all. Although…”
Dread curled in her belly. “What?”
“Patu seems to think we’re both bad luck and they should slaughter us now and take their chances.” He laughed, light and amused. “I don’t recall doing anything to earn that kind of vitriol.”
“And I did?”
He cocked his head toward her, as if listening to her now. For what, she wasn’t sure, but she was suddenly aware of her breathing and the beat of her heart. And the rustle of her pants legs as they brushed against each other.
“Do you really not remember what happened when they brought you to this room?” he asked finally. “Do you really not know?”
“Know what?” she asked, voice innocent but brain thinking of that moment when she left the water and couldn’t breathe.
“Xiala,” he said, voice soft, not with reprimand but with wonder, “when they brought you here, you did not have the legs of a human. Or the throat… or eyes.”
Eyes, she knew. She always had Teek eyes. But the rest… She pressed a hand to her throat. Gills! popped into her mind. Again, the memory teased her, refused to resolve, but she remembered the glint of scales, something huge and black flopping on the deck.
Black Sun Page 19
