by A. K. Wilder
I come up under the hull and cling there like a long, lean remora. The planks are mostly strong as I tap—solid, solid, not so solid, weak… I punch my fist right through the planks, and the wood splinters to bits, water sucking into the hole. The inevitable cries and chaos ensue. I love this part.
“Shark! Shark!” they cry.
“Not yet, but soon, little baitfish.” I grab the lead ore, snap the paddle off, and flip the rower out of the boat before he can let go of his end. Such a lovely splash he makes. I circle the boat, breaking the other oars and tossing them, some with clinging landers attached, some without, into deep water.
They all climb on top of each other to reach the bow—the only part of the vessel still above water. It sinks quickly with the added weight, and they thrash about until their heads disappear under the surface. Such a noisy lot, and nary a swimmer among them. I can’t help but smile and bare my teeth. Fifteen, I count. “Shall we put you out of your misery?” I take the horrified expressions as a yes and bite them all, through skin and into belly or throat, until the crystal water is tinted red with their blood and guts.
“Now you can cry shark, my silly landers.”
They’ll be here any minute.
61
Ash
“Blazes’ dak, what’s happening out there?” We’re hiding behind a head-high mound of coiled rope, thick as an arm, stacked neatly at the edge of the dock. “Can you tell?”
Kaylin gently lays Belair down, checks his pulse, and then peers around the coils. “Mother of Ma’ata…” he mutters under his breath.
“Ma’ata?” The word is faintly familiar, but from where? I make a note to ask Kaylin later, if we survive. “What’s wrong?”
He sighs. “There was a rowboat full of savants heading for the pier.”
“Was?”
“It appears to have sunk.”
“How?” When I look back, a bit of hull sticks out of a widening circle of dark water. “What are the odds?”
“In our favor, lass.” He doesn’t look so thrilled about it. “This is our chance.”
The Aturnians guarding the ship are alarmed by their drowning comrades. Six of them bring their phantoms to ground and man a lifeboat to row out and save them.
I peer around the coils next to him, even though he can see it clearly himself. Out at the far end of the bay, the only sign of the rowboat is a few bits of floating wood.
“I’ll be back.” Kaylin draws his sword and strides away.
He’s halfway to the ship before the remaining guards notice him. They draw their swords and call their phantoms. Two gulls zing in. Kaylin ignores the birds and swings twice, slicing one guard from shoulder to hip. The other he impales in the chest. Their phantoms vanish like smoke on the wind. My stomach tightens as I’m again reminded of how fast and deadly Kaylin is with the blade. He searches the dock for more guards but finds none.
I scan the hill for the others but there’s no sign. What’s taking so long?
“They’re coming,” my inner voice reassures me.
When my eyes return to the cove, the second rowboat lurches and capsizes, spilling out the guards, the rescuers joining the victims. My brow pinches tight. What in F’ndnag is going on?
“Ash! Here you are!”
I stifle a yelp as Samsen comes crouching in behind the cover of the ropes.
“Where’s Kaylin?” he asks.
“Over there, killing people.” I check again and wrinkle my nose. “And taking off their coats.”
Samsen doesn’t seem bothered by it. “Is it safe to bring Marcus down?”
“I think so. How is he?”
“Unconscious again.” Samsen’s face is grim. “Belair?”
The Tangeen hasn’t stirred, but the rise and fall of his chest under my sheepskin coat is comforting. “He’s alive.”
Samsen nods and is gone.
The cove is empty when I check again, save for a few broken oars floating toward the docks. Beyond it, a huge fleet anchors on the far side of the surrounding reef. How we will sail past them without being stopped is beyond me, but on the pier, Kaylin heads back our way. “I hope you have a plan.” I think the thought in his direction.
“I do, and we can start by boarding the sloop.” I startle as he hands me a dead guard’s wool coat and puts one on himself. “This will fool them, from a distance.”
I start to push my arms into the sleeves. There is a slice from the shoulder to the waist, wet with copper-smelling blood. “Kaylin, this is—”
“Necessary.” His voice is light, carefree.
Naturally, it would be. He’s been chopping and slashing the enemy to bits. “They’re bringing Marcus down the hill.”
“Good.” He lifts Belair over his shoulder again. “This way.”
I trot after him down the pier. The coat is still warm and has a man’s strong scent on it. I try to focus on something else—the sound of my boots on the wooden dock, the smell of salt water and bird droppings, fish and tar, how Kaylin, once again, appears to have heard my thoughts. Anything other than the dead man whose body I’m about to step over. I avert my eyes and hurry on. How wrong can an entire initiation journey go?
“Maybe don’t ask that question until it’s over.” My inner voice’s wry tone is a warning all its own.
Kaylin takes my hand and helps me up the gangplank. “To the helm.”
I walk along the spotless deck.
“Other way,” he calls out. “Hold the wheel. Be ready to turn her hard to port.”
Back of the ship. Be ready to turn hard…I squint. “Left, isn’t it?”
“Aye, lass.”
There is no question that he heard that one. I file the information away for later, when we’re not in immediate danger of being killed by an enormous enemy fleet.
The sloop is a small ship, and it doesn’t take me long to reach the wheel behind the cabin as Kaylin takes Belair below. I stand tall and grip the smooth wooden helm that comes up to my shoulders. I’ve both hands holding on, knuckles white, eyes fixed straight ahead, even though we are moored to the berth. The others climb up the gangplank. “Piper’s keeping her phantom up?” I ask.
Samsen dips his head to the hold where he takes Marcus. “They’ll need it.”
“True.” I glance back to the plank. We’ve acquired another passenger, or is she a prisoner? The girl’s in irons, unrecognizable with her head down and long hair tangled, robes torn, a dark embroidered coat over her shoulders. Orange-robe? Samsen pauses to help her onboard.
My mouth falls open. “Tyche!” Where did they find her? Before she can respond, Kaylin ushers them all below.
“Be ready, lass,” he says to me. “This could get dangerous.”
62
Kaylin
I’ve stowed Belair in a hammock while Samsen and Piper do the same with Marcus. “There’ll be bolt cutters in the bulkheads. You can free the girl.”
I study Tyche for a moment. It’s a new development, having Yuki’s granddaughter in my care, the only survivor of the High Savant’s house, I’m guessing. One complication after another…
Piper’s snake flicks two blue tongues toward me.
“Do you want to bring it in, before we set sail?” I nod to her phantom.
“They need healing still.” She tilts her head to the hammocks. “I’ve more hours in me.”
She means more hours to keep her phantom raised. There’s no bringing it in, once over water. “Good. Stay below, for now.”
Samsen stops me. “You can’t just take over. I’ve—”
“The sea’s my realm, savant. Do as I say and we might make it across the channel alive.” I don’t wait for his answer. “Save them.” I indicate Belair and Marcus. “And arm yourselves. The girl, too.” I climb out of the hold and close the hatch. A moment later, I scramble up t
he rigging to the crow’s nest. Below, Ash has her hands on the wheel as if she’s already sailing the high seas. That’s my lass. She’s beautiful, strong, and something else…
I turn to the sea and catch a splash headed our way. “There you are, sister.” I release the jib. There’s no telling what Salila’s game is today, if she’s here to help or harm. As the sky clears, all I can think of is fog. Where is it now that we need it? “Hard to port, lass,” I call and ride the rope down to the deck.
“Like this?” She turns the wheel with all her might. It spins freely, and her face lights up with a smile.
“Aye, that’s the way.” I tie the jib, keeping it slack, then run down the plank, untie the mainlines, fly back up the plank, and haul it in. Wind fills the sail as I tighten the jib just in time to lean over the rail and catch Salila surfacing. “What are you doing?” I ask as the sloop glides out of the berth.
“Helping,” she says, her face out of the water.
“Thanks for the rowboats.” My jaw tightens. “I’ve got it from here.”
“You can’t sail this tub across the channel by yourself.”
“I’m not alone.”
“Her?” Salila submerges and comes up sputtering. “You think she can steer you out of the bay? If so, there are a hundred warships waiting on the other side, don’t forget. I can’t sink them all, if that’s what you’re going to ask.” She spits water at me and smiles. “Come, Kaylin. Come into the sea. This is where you belong.”
It’s tempting, always. “Soon enough, Salila.”
“Did you say something?” Ash calls out.
“Ease to starboard, lass. That’s it.” We’re nearly clear of the breakwater.
Ash spins the wheel, but she gazes over her shoulder, down into the water. Her eyes go round. “Kaylin? There’re sharks everywhere. I think they’re feeding on…” She turns away and keeps her eyes straight ahead. “Drowned savants.”
“Steady as she goes,” I say, ignoring her distress and leaning back over the railing. “Get out of it, Salila. Did you hear her?”
“I can out-swim a shark.”
I exhale through my teeth. “Still, I’d rather she not see you do so.”
“Why? Would it ruin your plans?” she asks.
I shrug one shoulder. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Your obvious plan. To ignore Teern’s orders to put these landers in the ground. Have you told Father what they’ve discovered, this motley crew you lead? Have you explained why they aren’t dead?”
“We don’t know anything for sure.” There is so much more to say, but there’s no time to explain this to Salila now.
“Don’t know for sure?” She laughs. “Mossman’s Shoals, Kaylin. I know they call it the Ferus River Falls now, but it’s one and the same. They came by way of Mossman’s Shoals, as foretold. Straight over the Falls. Don’t play naive. You led them to it.”
“I meant to go around—”
“Face it, Kaylin. The throw of the bones takes its course. Because of you.” She pouts but I know by the light in her eyes the whole thing excites her.
“Maybe.” I want to argue, but I was the one to set the five on the river and cut the raft free.
“Yuki thought so, or she wouldn’t have sent five ships.”
“And Teern sank them?”
“He let me do it.” She gives a smug smile that quickly turns sour. “But that Sierrak, Tann, claims it was him.”
“Was he there at the time, lobbing his catapults?”
“I guess, but the point is, Teern knows what was in those messages Yuki wrote so fervently, and if he wanted the Heir dead before, he’ll want it all the more now. Are you willing to risk so much?” Salila rears up and bares her teeth. “Behind you!”
Ash screams at the same time.
I swing around to see the hatch fling open. Tyche is forced out at knifepoint, an Aturnian guard behind her. Piper and Samsen follow, their hands bound behind their backs. The phantom serpent hisses, and its long coils writhe around Piper’s neck and chest. They drag Marcus out, even though he’s barely able to stand. “Damn the bones,” I say under my breath. It seems not all the guards had been dispatched after all. Two stowed away in the hold.
The one guarding Tyche is a broad-shouldered man with dark red hair and a reddish-black beard. He grips the girl tight, one arm around her chest. His other hand holds a knife under her chin. “Do as I say, or I end her life.”
“Aye, and what is it that you say?” I ask, as if it matters little either way.
“Turn this ship around.”
So, they can’t sail. Judging by their accents, they’re Sierrak, not Aturnian. Useless at sea.
“Happy to,” I answer. “One master is as good as another, though I do have a price.”
The others turn my way as if slapped. Even Marcus shoots me a grimace through his battered face. I hope he can keep his mouth shut, though. These enemy soldiers don’t realize who they’ve captured. Marcus must go unnoticed—just a badly wounded savant, a green-robe trying to escape. No one of import or value. Will he be aware enough to appreciate the situation?
“Ease to port,” I call to Ash without looking at her.
“What are you doing?”
“Trust me, lass.” I’m not going to announce to the captors that there’s no point running the ship aground while I work out how to kill them, so I carry on, and Ash does as I ask. Bless the bones for that.
We’re leaving the inlet behind and coming out into the larger bay. For a moment, the guards lose focus as they see the wreckage from the rowboats float by—broken oars, planks, limbs, shark fins. Bright blood spreads through the water.
Then the redheaded guard steps up to me, pushing Tyche in front of him. He keeps the knife tight on her throat. “You do that? You kill my men?”
I study the water as if considering. “Not me.”
The guards eye my coat and the bloodstained collar. “I should skewer the lot of you right now and feed you to the Drop.”
“But then how will you reach the shore? Can you maneuver the razorback reefs? They are called that for a reason, mate.”
The man glances at his companion, who shrugs.
“Worth a price if I return you to the dock, don’t you think?”
“What kind of price?”
“That gold inlaid chest I saw in the hold for a start, and my crew. You’ll have to spare their lives.”
He laughs. “I think it goes more like this. You do as I say, or I kill your crew, starting with this girl.” He shakes Tyche. “Turn the ship around.”
I raise my brow, as if impressed. “Aye, aye. Just let me set the mainsail.”
“Hold! I’m no fool,” the Sierrak guard says. “You got her out with the small one. You can sail back with it, too.”
I chuckle at that. “A sailor you are not. We will have to tack back. That means sailing into the wind, if you don’t know. It’ll be slow going without the mainsail up.”
The Sierrak again looks at the other guard, who nods. “Be quick about it then.”
I make eye contact with Ash for the first time as I climb the mast. Her jaw is set and her eyes say no as she stares back at the pier. I continue my climb and see why. The little pier is swarming with troops. That way is not an option. I can snap both their necks, but Tyche would die. Unavoidable, unless… I grab the mainline and scurry back down the rigging. When I jump the last several lengths, I land right next to Tyche. “Little lass, I’ll need you to hold the jib.”
The Sierrak doesn’t comprehend.
“Wind’s up. Can’t you see?” The mainsail dumps air, but the jib fills and strains. The sloop races through the water just an arm’s length from the shallow reefs. “If we rake the hull at this speed, it’ll gouge out the bottom. We’ll join your men in the depths.” I reconsider. “Unless you want to give me
your sword and you can hold the line.”
The guard nods to Tyche. I see what he thinks—she’s a strong girl, but harmless in her iron cuffs. An orange-robe, yes, but unable to raise her phantom over water, no matter what it is. “She can do it.”
I’m careful not to smile as I tie off the mainsail, keeping it slack, and hand Tyche the jib line.
She takes it with her bound hands.
“Lean back,” I instruct her. “Use all your weight. It’s going to be a sharp turn.”
The guard draws his sword and keeps it pointed at her chest as she throws her full weight back toward the starboard railing. “I’m watching your every move, sailor.”
“But are you watching mine?” a woman’s voice calls from above.
63
Ash
My heart’s hammering as it is, but when the woman jumps out of the sea to stand on the railing, my mouth falls open. I fix my eyes on her as a single thought reverberates through my mind. Mar… Mar… Mar… There is nothing else that explains her, this living, breathing vision from legends and myths. She balances effortlessly on the narrow rail, her long toes gripping tight, water sluicing off her body. All that creamy white skin and wavy, coppery gold hair falling down to her thighs.
“Mar,” I whisper, both hands glued to the wheel, heart banging double-time in my chest. I can’t pull my eyes away. She’s very tall, incredibly beautiful, and terrifying all at once. Water beads on her skin and drips from the ends of her hair and fingertips down to her feet. Strands of the honey hair cling to her body. And, most disturbing, her eyeteeth are showing as she snarls at the guards. Before anyone moves, she leaps onto the nearest one, breaks his neck with her bare hands, and rips out his throat.
My blood and bones freeze.
Kaylin, already moving, draws his knife and slices the jib line in two. Tyche falls backward over the railing and into the sea before the guard can skewer her. He tries to turn his sword on Kaylin, but our sailor’s already plunged a knife in his neck. The guard staggers, clutching at the short hilt, blood spurting in a high arc. Effortlessly, Kaylin hoists him overhead and throws him into the sea, but not before pulling his knife out of the man’s throat. Ever practical, my Kaylin.
