The Bone Ship's Wake

by Rj Barker

  “You underestimate the power Madorra holds over it.”

  “What power?” said Joron, anger suddenly rising. “It so often seems to me I am in the middle of conversations where everyone has all the facts but none share them with me.” Gilbryn cocked her head, smiled.

  “You really don’t know?”

  “Know what?” Joron found himself shouting, took a deep breath, regained control.

  “Do you ever wonder why men are given so little power, Joron?”

  “Because the Maiden, Mother and Hag…”

  “That is what we say, and maybe it is even true. But more than that, it is because we have seen what happens when you give males power.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Joron.

  “The gullaime,” she said, “the windtalkers are female, always.”

  “The Gullaime is a she?” he said, and now he knew it seemed right. Correct. Maybe inside he had always known, or maybe he had simply never thought of it. But he was not surprised.

  “Yes, and the windshorn are male. When they need to control the windtalkers in their society they steal their eggs.” Joron opened his mouth but had no words, no speech. Nothing would come. He cleared his throat.

  “She has a child,” he said, and it filled him with wonder. With an odd joy.

  “An egg,” said Gilbryn.

  “So that is Madorra’s control over our gullaime.” He spoke more to himself than to the women in the cell. “She is protecting her child and I have not known and I have not done anything to help.”

  “Your gullaime will give in, eventually, Twiner. It will do what this Madorra wants. What mother would not?”

  “But if the prophecy is true,” he said, “the Gullaime will die, and its egg along with it.” Gilbryn shook her head.

  “Gullaime eggs are resilient, can be left for decades in all conditions and still hatch when the right warmth is applied. But the egg is more than a child to them. It is how they believe they live again, Twiner. All will be destroyed but their eggs will live through the fire, they will still hatch.” He found he was sitting, suddenly overcome by her words.

  “I have been so foolish, I never even thought to ask what…”

  “And how do you have that conversation?”

  “I could have asked its…” he caught himself, “her name. All this time, and I never even asked her name.” Then he looked up. “She will not do it,” he said. “Egg or not. She will not do it.”

  “Then you have another reason you need to get out, Joron Twiner,” she said. “The gullaime believe in reincarnation, and they are patient but Karrad was right. If this Madorra becomes sure your gullaime will never do what it wants,” she shrugged, “then Madorra will kill it.”

  He turned to Meas.

  “Shipwife?”

  “If my mother is right, we need to get back to our ship. We need a plan.”

  “A plan needs resources,” said Gilbryn, “and what do we have? An old woman, a broken woman and a one-legged man, it is not much of an army.” Meas stood, he saw her wince with pain, her hand came up to touch the bandage over her eye, making sure that it had not moved.

  “And me,” said another voice. They turned. Cwell stood in the doorway. Had entered so quietly none had heard her. She stood closer to the barred door.

  “Cwell,” said Joron.

  “You doubted me?” she said.

  “No,” he said. “I did not.”

  “I cannot stay long, they will realise I have gone.”

  “Why have you come?” said Meas.

  “I have been asking around. Your position is stronger than you know,” she said, glanced over her shoulder. “Karrad holds on to power by his fingertips, D’keeper. That he moved so quick surprised many who would have seen him gone the moment the Thirteenbern was snatched up. He keeps those most loyal to him nearest but knows if he missteps, they will move on him. He needs you, Deckkeeper.”

  “Then we must use that,” said Meas. She limped over, put a hand on Joron’s arm and leaned in close. “Forget about me. He will never let me free, get yourself away. Do whatever you need to do. Tell him whatever he needs to hear.” He shook his head.

  “I have not come this far, and through so much, to walk away now, Meas,” he said. “Both of us or neither of us.” She stared up at him. Smiled a little, looked over at her mother.

  “That’s the trouble when you raise someone up from being lowborn,” Meas said to her, “no respect for the chain of command.” She patted his arm and turned to Cwell. “Does Karrad trust you?”

  “Not really, but he needs me. Already I have four of my uncle’s lieutenants on my side.”

  “Good, we may need that trust.”

  “Now I must go,” said Cwell. “I should not be down here and they will notice I am missing soon.” She slipped out of the cell.

  “You have a plan, daughter?” said Gilbryn. Meas nodded.

  “Ey, you want to catch a fish? You offer it the bait it likes best,” she said. “Karrad wants the power to raise keyshans? Well, Joron will offer it to him in exchange for our freedom.” She glanced at her mother. “Freedom for all.” And Meas began to talk, haltingly, voice hoarse, body slow to obey and nicked with new scars. “You said we do not have an army, Mother,” said Meas, “but we do, the gullaime, none think about them, but they can fight like devils when aroused.”

  “You think gullaime will fight for you?” said the Thirteenbern.

  “No,” said Meas, “they will not fight for me, nor for Joron. But they will fight for their windseer.” Then she unfurled her plan, delicate, full of risk and dependant on more than a fair amount of luck. And as she did a small joy rose within Joron. They have not broken you, he thought, they have done nothing to diminish your brilliance.

  That night, while Meas slept, he could not. He lay there, listening to the regular in and out of Meas’s breathing and wishing for sleep, wishing for the morning when the plan could be put into action. And when he tried to banish those thoughts, others intruded, of the way Meas was hurt, of the scars on her body, of what it must have taken to make the indomitable women he knew give him up. Of the bandage over her eye. He felt a tug on his sleeve, and found the Thirteenbern looking at him. She beckoned him over to a corner of the cell, away from Meas.

  “I would not wake her,” she said quietly.

  “What do you wish her not to hear?

  “It is about her plan,” said Gilbryn.

  “Ah, criticism.” She shook her head.

  “No, it is risky but it is a good plan. All of it, but one part.”

  “So it is criticism?”

  “Ey, but gentle,” she said. “Take her with you, as you both want. He would expect that, but do not ask to take me.”

  “Meas was—”

  “Insistent, ey, and I see that confused you. Hate and love live closer together than most know, boy. But if you ask to take me from this place,” she whispered, “Karrad will be suspicious, more suspicious.”

  “She asked, she is my shipwife.”

  “If rank matters so much to you,” she said, her voice harsh with restrained anger, “I am Thirteenbern of the Hundred Isles.” Her hand tightened around his bicep. Then he felt it loose. Saw her breathe in, regain control. “Sorry, Twiner, for my anger. I am not used to being questioned. I want her to live, you understand?” He nodded.

  “If you both…”

  “Karrad cannot let me leave this place, my loyal shipwives will come straight to me the moment I am free. No, for him to be successful, I must die. There is no other way, and if that is the price of her life, I will pay it.” He nodded. “Promise me,” she said, and her hand once more tightened on his arm. “Promise me you will do whatever it takes to get her out.” Her eyes so intent it felt like she pierced his chest, looked right into him.

  “I promise,” he said.

  “Whatever it takes,” she said again, her hand closing even tighter around his wrist.

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” She le
t go of him. “And thank you.”

  “Wait,” he said. She stopped. “My face, the rot, you have not even mentioned it.”

  “Anyone can get sick, Twiner.” She moved away, pausing only to add quietly, “She chose well in you. Now try and sleep, you will need your wits about you to deal with Karrad.”

  He lay awake long into the night, all too aware of how fragile their plan was, how easily it could go wrong. He did sleep, eventually, but it was not a comforting or good sleep, it was a fitful slumber full of half-remembered nightmares and strange and mournful keyshan songs that felt like being entombed in walls of sound.

  35

  A Test

  They woke him by shaking the bars of the cell, calling out his name. Two well-dressed Kept, chests gleaming beneath leather straps, the embroidery around their groin freshly done, the thread still shiny with new metal woven into it.

  “Twiner,” said the taller of the two. “You have had your thinking time, the Bernholder wants you.” He looked up, stood. Turned to look at the two women lying on the pallets behind him and straightened his jacket.

  “Go,” said the Thirteenbern, “prove yourself as weak as we know men are,” and even though he knew she play-acted a part, he still felt the sting of her words. The two Kept only smiled at him.

  “She says weak, but it is not men who lie in a cell with no power, aye, Twiner?” said one of them, and then opened the door, letting Joron out and locking it again behind him. “Put this on and come with us,” said the smaller of the two, handing him a scarf. “No one wants to look at what remains of your face.” Joron wrapped the scarf around his mouth and nose and followed, up and into the building. Once more through and into Kept Karrad’s room where he sat once again at the desk, writing in a ledger. He did not look up as the two Kept brought Joron. Or as they left. He did not invite Joron to sit, so rather than stand and wait and feel as if Karrad was in control Joron walked forward and sat down in the seat opposite the desk. For a moment he was sure Karrad’s writing slowed a little, but not for long. Finishing whatever it was he was involved in, sanding the page to dry the ink. Blowing the sand from the page before closing the ledger. Then he looked up. Stared at Joron. Said nothing, barely moved, only considered him.

  “Well?” he said.

  “Well?” asked Joron.

  “Do not play games. You were asked a question, now I desire an answer. Do you waste your life, or do you join me?” He sat back in his chair. In better light Joron saw that his muscle tone, so defined once, was no longer really so. He had applied sparkling make-up around his eyes but it could not hide the lines wrought by stress and worry.

  “You call yourself Bernholder now, I hear?”

  “People like titles,” he said, “and this one provides some continuity. Now, give me your answer.” Was there desperation there?

  “I will join you,” said Joron, and he tried to understand the look on Karrad’s face. It was not disappointment, not exactly. Neither was it relief and it was there and gone so quickly that he was not even sure he had seen it.

  “Good,” said Karrad, though he hardly sounded filled with joy, barely met Joron’s eye. “You had little choice, of course.”

  “There is always a choice,” said Joron. “And I also have conditions.” Karrad tapped his hand on the desk, smiled.

  “Conditions?” He grinned at Joron. “I hardly think that you are in a position to have conditions. You must prove yourself first. Maybe in a few months, when I trust you a little more, then we will talk of conditions.” Joron shook his head.

  “I think not. You no longer deal with the frightened boy I was when Meas first brought me here, Kept Karrad. I am Joron Twiner, the Black Pirate. I have wrought my vengeance upon the Hundred Isles from east to west, north to south. I have commanded fleets, and sent women and men to die on my word.” He leaned forward. “I am not someone who will simply bow down.”

  “You do not fear death?”

  “I have walked hand in hand with the Hag since you had me sent to the black ships, I am inured to death.” Karrad stared at him, then nodded.

  “Well,” he said, “I had forgotten you were so fearsome.” He could not keep the mockery from his voice. He let out a short laugh, then was serious once more. “Tell me of your conditions and I will consider them.” He looked away and Joron felt like he had won a small victory, and if he could win one then he could win more. What had felt to him like a desperate plan – a last-ditch effort, hatched with no surety in the dead of night in a cell – suddenly became more possible. Because now he knew that Cwell had been right, he was not the only one in this room on a knife edge, not the only one whose survival was precarious. Karrad was just as vulnerable as Joron; oh, he ruled Bernshulme right now, but there were still ships out there loyal to the Thirteenbern, and should they turn against him he would not last. The people would not accept a man in charge in all but name unless his power was absolute. Thirteenbern Gilbryn had been right, Karrad would never release her, but as for the other things Joron wished for? Well, he suddenly thought them far more likely than they had felt in the dead of night after this plan was hatched.

  “I want Meas,” he said. Karrad laughed and shook his head.

  “The daughter of the Thirteenbern? I think not.”

  “The traitorous daughter of the Thirteenbern,” said Joron. “And you have broken her.” As he said it his own voice almost cracked at what felt like a betrayal of her.

  “Then she is of no use to you.”

  “All I have done has been in her name. All my crews have suffered has been to bring her back.” Karrad stared at him. “All she wants,” said Joron, “all she has ever wanted, is peace. You have said you wanted that, and you need it, do you not? There will be enough strife here without the Gaunt Islander fleet arriving on your borders.” Karrad stared at him. “Give her to me, give us permission for a colony.” He leaned forward. “If I go back to my people without her, I will lose all their support. All I have put them through and then I walk away from the shipwife? They will throw me to the longthresh and you will not get what it is you want most.”

  “What about,” said Karrad slowly, “if I give you her body. None but you and I will know.” He nodded, just a small nod, as if that could influence Joron’s decision.

  “No,” said Joron. “She walks on the slate of Tide Child again, or you may as well put us both to death.”

  “And if she walks the slate? In return I get you?”

  “I am not done yet,” he said, and Karrad laughed again.

  “I think you overreach yourself, Twiner.”

  “No.” Joron shook his head, with a growing confidence. “You want to raise keyshans? You want that power because you think it will ensure your rule?” Karrad did not reply, only stared at Joron, and he could almost feel the worry coming off the man. Chose to press Karrad a little. “Have you even told the people you rule yet?” Karrad sat back, made a slight noise, a “hmph.”

  “Not yet,” he said at last. “When the time comes I will rule through a female proxy, I think it is for the best. While people get used to the title of Bernholder.”

  “If the Bern you choose does not have you killed first.” Joron saw he had scored a point there, hit on a very real fear.

  “Twiner, tell me what it is you want.” Karrad sounded tired. As if this was all more than he could bear.

  “It is not what I want, it is what you need, and what you are prepared to offer for it.”

  “Explain.”

  “You understand I need the gullaime aboard Tide Child to raise the keyshans for you?” He nodded.

  “Meas’s explanations were quite full, in the end,” he said. Joron made a fist out of sight beneath the table. Dug his nails into his flesh.

  “So you want me to bring the Gullaime to you?”

  “I expect you to.”

  “You have clearly not met it, or really listened to any description of it that Meas may have given to you. The Gullaime will not come simply because I ask,
and it will not come to you simply to save human lives. It—” he caught himself, still getting used to how to refer to the Gullaime correctly. “She does not care about me, or Meas.”

  “It is a gullaime,” said Karrad, as if talking to a child, “you order them, you do not ask.”

  “She is a gullaime unlike any other, and you ask her, you do not order. You must offer our gullaime something she wants if you wish her to help you. It is what I did, it is what Meas did.” Karrad did not speak, not immediately. He blinked, twice. Letting this thought filter through his mind, no doubt comparing it to what Meas had said under the unkind attentions of his torturer.

  “And what do I have, that it wants?”

  “Her people, Indyl Karrad. You have her people.”

  Karrad burst out laughing. It was true, and real and immediate laughter. As if Joron had said something ridiculous.

  “The first man to rule the Hundred Isles is also the one that frees all his gullaime? Leaves the fleets without the power to manoeuvre in battle? Do you think me an idiot, Twiner? I had thought you serious, realistic in what you asked for. I had thought us men who may have disagreements, but could find a common ground in not being under the boot of the Bern—”

  “You misunderstand,” said Joron, and was there an edge of panic in his voice? Fear he was losing Karrad. The Kept sat back, spreading his arms mockingly.

  “Make me understand then, or find yourself back in the cells and awaiting the attention of my pet hagpriest.”

  “I know you cannot give up all the gullaime, only a fool would.” He tried to stay calm, for without gullaime all was lost. “But some? You can spare some. Send me your weakest. Make them mostly windshorn if you must. A hundred, can you spare that from the lamyards? You have fewer ships now, I saw to that, ey?” Karrad stared at him. Weighing up what he said. “And do not forget,” continued Joron, “that when I bring my fleet across to you, as it comes with me, you will get these gullaime back.”

  “If Meas does not steal them away to this ‘colony’ you speak of,” he said.

  “What are a hundred gullaime, to the power to raise keyshans? Destroy islands? Bring your enemy to their knees by calling a sea dragon? You will not even need a fleet.” Silence, sand passing slowly through a glass. “But you will only get that if you can bring the Gullaime onto your side. It wants its people free, offer it that and she will come gladly.”