by Rj Barker
They saw the shipwives off, again with all the ceremony that could be mustered. Brekir was last to leave and as the dour woman stood at the rail Meas did something Joron had never seen her do. Rather than simply saluting her, Meas clasped Brekir to her. For a moment Snarltooth’s shipwife looked confused, her face almost comical, and then she closed her eyes and clasped Meas also. Then the two split apart.
“We have served together a long time,” said Brekir.
“Ey,” said Meas, “and I trust no other with a job as important as bringing the Gaunt Island fleet.”
“Thank you,” said Brekir. “What if they will not come? What if Tenbern Aileen has no wish to—”
“They will,” said Meas. Then she stepped a little closer. Spoke so softly only Brekir and Joron could hear. “And if they will not, then for the Maiden’s sake, Brekir, do not come back. And I do not say that in reprimand, you understand. Only that we are the longest serving shipwives of this fleet, we believe in the same future, and I would have at least one of us survive.” Brekir nodded.
“Needless advice,” she said, a rare smile on her face. “I will bring the Tenbern to you if I have to carry her on my shoulders. You need not worry.” Then she leaned in close. “Let the others take the strain, Meas, you have been through much, more than any other ’cept perhaps your deckkeeper. Wait a while before you throw yourself into another battle where you are wildly outnumbered and must work your miracles.” Meas snorted a laugh, quickly regained her control.
“I will heed your advice, good Brekir. Now, away, the sooner you are back the sooner I can cease worrying about that fleet that follows in our wake.”
“I will fly with all speed. Snarltooth has two good gullaime, we call them Clack and Crark for the noises they make. The windtalkers seem well pleased with those names and willing to aid us however they can.” She put one leg over the rail then paused. “And I should add, as none said it, something that has become normal to us while Joron was away finding you: use the windshorn!”
“For what?” said Meas, and did Joron hear some cloud in that, some worry that Brekir would lay a new problem at her door?
“They make excellent crew,” she laughed, “who would have thought it? A good head for heights, good at intricate work like knots too. Many of them serve now and they serve well.”
“They get on with the deckchilder?” Meas asked, and Brekir smiled, a rare thing.
“Shipmother, they are deckchilder.” With that she was over the rail and her flukeboat was casting off to take her back to her ship and the desperate journey she must make. Joron could already see her ship preparing to make way, as Brekir was a sly one and probably knew Meas’s wishes before she had spoken them. Meas stayed at the rail, looking out at the assembled fleet of black ships, all in station around the two brownbones that contained their people.
“Did you know about these gullaime deckchilder, Joron?” she said.
“I did not, Shipwife.”
“Well, you can make up for that oversight by bringing some aboard, it does not do that the shipmother of a fleet is lacking something all others have.”
“No, Shipwife,” he said. She remained at the rail.
“Do you know, Joron,” she said, staring out at the forest of spines as her fleet beat through the waves, “from the moment I first set foot on a boneship I dreamed of being a shipmother, of commanding fleets and sending them to battle.”
“And now you are that,” he said.
“Ey,” she replied, barely louder than the breeze, “now I am. If you had told me that my fleet would be black ships I would have hated you for it. But I have never been prouder.” She let out a breath, the cloud hanging in the air for just a moment and he made a mental note to get out the cold weather clothes. She turned to him. “There has never been a group of people I have less wanted to put in harm’s way than the crew of those ships out there. Only now, I realise that it is a poor shipmother who wants to send her people out, or one who has lost touch with them, at least.” For a moment, he thought she would cry, but she gritted her teeth. “Nonetheless, it must be done. Those shipwives I saw today, it will be the last time I see many of them before I sit at the Hag’s fire. All our conversations now will be by message flags or messenger flukeboats.” She sighed. “We must decide, you and I, which of those great souls out there is first to die for us. What a task,” she said, “to make a list, and decide on the value of each life on it.”
“Give me a ship,” he said, “and I will—”
“No,” she put her hand on his arm, gripped it tightly. “Not you,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “I need you. There is barely a face on this deck left from when we started our journey, and if I stumble, I trust you to catch me.” She looked up at him, one good eye, skin wrinkled beneath the black lines and shining colours. He wondered when she had become old. Could he really be surprised she had aged considering what she had been through? “Who would ever have guessed it, ey, Deckkeeper,” she said, “all that time ago on the beach, that we would still be here.” She let go and walked past him. “I will be in my cabin making hard decisions. Call me if you need me.”
“Ey, Shipwife, if I need you,” he said. She stopped, turned to him and the look she gave him was rueful, at once proud and sad.
“Though,” she said, “you will not.” Then she was gone below, into the darkness of the ship and he was left upon the rump. The cold air biting into him as they journeyed north, towards the darkest and most dangerous of the storms that ringed their world, and islands of ice that could destroy an unwary ship. He watched the sea, the ships before him and watched Snarltooth setting off, signal flags flying. He took out his nearglass and read them. Hearing the message as it was shouted down to him from above.
“Message from Snarltooth, D’keeper,” came the topboy’s voice. “Reads: ‘Leaving formation. Fly well and fly safe.’” He smiled. Raised his voice.
“Send back, ‘Message received,’ and give Shipwife Brekir our best wishes for a safe journey and swift return.”
“Ey, D’keeper,” came the reply. And he returned to watching the sea slowly changing from blue to icy grey, and the ships as they moved through it toward the greatest storm in the Scattered Archipelago.
49
Last Sight/First Sight
They flew on, running ahead of an enemy fleet that remained, a few outriders apart, mostly over the horizon. On each day it became noticeably colder, the winds rising until the whistling of air through the rigging of the ships was a constant. Stinker coats were brought out. The windshorn who Meas brought aboard did not notice the cold and, just as had been promised, acquitted themselves admirably as deckchilder. Quick to follow orders, if anything Joron found them a little too subservient and unwilling to think for themselves, but he supposed that was to be expected from a people who had been little more than slaves. They were used to a life where to do anything but exactly what they were told had put them in danger of their lives, and such habits were hard to change. So he practised patience as best he could when they did not show initiative, or when they were too literal with commands, sure they would come around eventually. In those rare moments when Tide Child’s Gullaime came on deck they were even more subservient, creeping round as though terrified, bowing before her which served to do nothing but annoy the Gullaime. Twice Meas had to severely reprimand her for biting the windshorn, once so badly the unfortunate creature had to be sent to Garriya for the wound to be stitched up.
He discovered the windshorn were useless when it came to crewing the gallowbows, but good with knots and rigging, and they made quite wonderful topboys, their eyesight being far superior to a human’s, though their understanding of flags and signals was somewhat wanting.
On the morning of the third day, with Skearith’s Spine growing to seaward of them, black and forbidding, they finally lost contact with Snarltooth. And as if the Maiden thought that a ship out of view needed a replacement, the call came from above:
“Ship riser!
Ship riser!” And though there was a tightening of all on deck at that call, and what it meant, that another ship of the pursuing fleet could now be seen, there was also humour and smiles exchanged, because no matter how many times they were told, the windshorn could not get the calls quite right.
Despite the danger, and the worry and the fear, those days were strangely light. Maybe it was news of Farys’s babe – she had named the girl Muffaz and all aboard thought that a good and right name. A steady stream of deckchilder made their way down into the ship, quiet as could be, to talk to her and coo at the child.
By the fifth day the Hundred Isles fleet was plain for all to see, three fighting ships to every one that Meas’s black fleet could muster, but the deckchilder of Tide Child gave them no thought. As Joron passed through the ship he heard their talk – “For sure, do we not have Lucky Meas in charge, and that Hag-cursed Karrad couldn’t kill her when he ’ad ’er in his dungeon, can’t think he will manage now,” and, “A babe, what more luck could there be than that, what more of a new beginning?” He noticed some of the deckchilder about some task they hid from him, but he let them have their secrets as they seemed in good spirits. Joron did his best to share their good cheer but he struggled. Only he saw the other side of Meas, sunk into a darkness so deep he could not reach her. Struggling with the pain in her body, or – and this was worst for him – on the point of despair, unable to see where they would go should the Gaunt Islands fleet not come to their aid.
Too often, he found her sat at her desk, pouring over charts, making plans with Aelerin, or calling him to make plans of the most desperate kind, choosing who first to send against the pursuing fleet. She made lists of the fastest ships, the ones most likely to escape. Imagined ways to turn the brownbones into fireships, send their people off on other vessels. Thought up decoys and feints, worried over the best ways to use their stores of bolts. Each day a different plan, and each night she sunk further and further into a dark place, as dangerous and cold as the sea floor where those denied the Hag’s fire walked. Each day he walked the deck, wishing she would show her face because he knew the crew’s good spirits could not last. The fleet behind them held a weight, a knowledge that would wear away at good spirits, and Meas being seen on deck would alleviate that, put off that moment when the crew began to feel it.
But she stayed below.
On the evening of the sixth day, when the sky was slowly pinking, and the clouds were gathering around the tops of Skearith’s Spine, he went below again. Found her in the great cabin, back turned to the ships on the darkening horizon, wanelights burning as she sorted through the charts on her desk. There was a franticness to her that he did not much like.
“You have not been on deck for a long time, Shipwife,” he said.
“It is likely Karrad will catch and overrun us. Aelerin says those ships are gaining, even if only slowly. I have too much to do.” No shrift given, his presence barely acknowledged.
“Always much to do aboard a boneship,” he said.
“Ey, so leave me to it.”
“It would mean a lot to the crew,” he said softly, “to see you on the rump.”
“They have done fine without me so far,” her words sharp.
“They have longed for your return.”
“Then they will not mind waiting.” She snapped the words at him and he was ready to bite back. He held his tongue, knowing it would not help.
“I will leave you to your charts then,” he said with a bow of his head and turned. As his hand touched the door handle she spoke again.
“Wait!” and that one word was an entreaty, not an order. So he let go of the door, turned back to his shipwife.
“Always,” he said. She stood, hunched over the charts. Looked up, her one eye sparkling. Then let herself fall back into her chair.
“I do not deserve you, Joron,” she said. “It would be better for this ship to put me in a flukeboat and send me back to Karrad. Maybe he would be happy with that. Maybe he would let the rest of you go.”
“He would not.” She stared at him, only the sounds of the ship accompanying them in the great cabin, the groan of strained bone, the rush of water past the hull, the whistle of the wind in the rigging. “I think we have rather upset him,” said Joron, “and as you said, he cannot risk me being free.” She blinked once.
“Did they break me, Joron?” she spoke in barely a whisper, and lifted her twisted hands to show him. “I can hardly hold a pen some days, never mind pull on a rope or dash up the rigging. I make a good show of holding my sword, but I could not hold it tight enough to fight with, no matter how desperate the action.”
“You managed on Gueste’s ship.”
“Barely,” she said. “I am expected to work miracles when I am not sure I work at all.” She stared at him. “When I close my eyes, I see that hagpriest coming at me, Joron, with all her tools at the ready.” She rubbed her eyepatch. “I cannot sleep at all.”
“After I was put in the box,” he said, “and Gueste took my voice, I was plagued with bad dreams. Garriya gave me tinctures that helped me sleep, and in that sleep I did not dream.”
“I cannot show weakness.”
“It is not weakness to confront a problem. Maybe if you saw Farys,” he said, “saw her babe, rather than locked yourself in here, it may lift your spirits a little?”
“The babe that would most likely be dead had Solemn Muffaz not interfered? I got it wrong and do not need reminding of it. Now, when it matters, I do not know what is wrong and what is right. I plan, replan, second-guess.” She stared at the desk. “Truthfully, do you believe the Gaunt Islanders will come?”
“I do not know,” he said. “I would hope so. Tenbern Aileen said that if I could get Karrad’s fleet out far enough she would move on it.” Meas nodded. “She has no love for the Hundred Isles.”
“I hear the deckchilder, and they talk of me as if I am as powerful as the Maiden, Mother or Hag,” she said quietly. “They think me unbeatable, but I am just a woman like any other.” She looked up, her face drawn, thin and angular. Pained. “It is too much for me.”
He stared at her, at this woman who had been through so much, who meant so much to him, and the naked pain on her face was almost more than he could bear. She always had the words, when they were needed, or the action, when it was needed. Now she needed those words, now she needed an action, and there was only him to speak or do. He started to talk, got as far as ‘I…’ Stopped. Regrouped. Considered. Spoke.
“Nothing has changed, Meas.” He stood a little straighter. “From the moment you stepped on the slate of Tide Child there have been those who would gladly die for you. Not many at first, and I did not count myself among them. Indeed, I would have gladly seen you die.” He laughed, “I was a fool then. The more you have led, the more we have believed. The deckchilder talk of you as legend, and they are right to do so, for you are. But you need not feel like it weighs upon you, Meas, for it is simply who you are, may as well ask you to stop breathing as to stop being that. It is your nature, and even if none of us survive – and I believe we will, but even if we all die, we die for what we believe is right. There is not one of us who will see our death as your failure. Better to die attempting something grand, than live in the world the Bern gave us.” She stared at him, as if she needed more. “Do you know,” and he could not keep the smile from his face, “that they think I am your son? And I have, not once, ever, tried to disabuse them of that fact. Sometimes, the fact that they could even think that – well, it was all that kept me going.”
“If the Gaunt Islanders do not come,” she said softly, “can you bring the keyshans to help us?” He shook his head.
“I do not believe that is how it works. Even the wakewyrm, when it saved us. If it had not been there, by us at the time, I doubt we could have called it. I am still not sure I did.” She nodded.
“I knew as much. I am sure Karrad thinks you control them, he does not understand that you may as well try and control a storm
.” She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. “We have few options; in truth, it looks like we will all die, Joron, or worse, be taken by Karrad and sacrificed in an attempt to make hiyl so he can hunt the keyshans and the whole vile business of war can start again.”
“No,” said Joron, and he was surprised by the strength in his voice. He stepped forward, pulled out a chart of the north from the mess of charts on her deck. “If they do not come, we go north-west before Namwen’s Pass, steer into those small islands.”
“I have thought of that. He will still catch us within them, send his two-ribbers in after us. His big ships will go around to hem us in at the far side. Maybe a few ships will escape but…”
“You misunderstand. It is his ships that will not escape – granted we may not either but it is worth the risk. Those islands are mostly uninhabited, but Aelerin said many had windspires,” Joron said, his mouth drawn into a thin line, his voice like waves breaking on rocks. “I will sing every keyshan there up, and I will bring them out of those islands in our wake.” You saw what it was like at McLean’s Rock, the chaos will be terrible. She stared at him. Then gave a nod and pulled the chart over to her.
“From there,” she said, “what ships escape can skirt the Northstorm, also a risk, and we may lose some, but so will they. Karrad may baulk at such a risk, especially after any losses he suffers in the islands. But I trust my shipwives.”
“Ey, Shipwife,” he said. She stood.
“North then,” she said, “if all goes wrong. But it is a desperate plan, Joron, so let us hope it does not.”
“Let us hope that,” he said. Meas straightened her jacket and ran her fingers through her hair.
“Farys is still with Garriya?” He nodded. She screwed her eye shut, ran a hand down her face. He had never seen her look so tired. “Then I will go see her, and young Muffaz. And you were right, I should show my face on deck.”
