by Rj Barker
Silence, filling the room, swelling until it became unbearable.
“Of course,” he said. “I will do as you order, Shipwife.”
“Thank you,” she said, and returned to sit once more. “Thank you.”
54
The Black Pirate
Skearith’s Eye was falling behind Sleighthulme as the fleet made its way from the island. And he could still see her, through his nearglass – her nearglass – a small figure on the battlements of the dock gate, hair streaming in the wind as she watched her fleet leave. He told himself the tears streaming from his eyes were because of the wind, and the crew of Tide Child must have known it was so because they did not comment on it, nor make a ribald joke behind their hands. Behind him stood Cwell, and Narza, who Meas had commanded to go with him.
Farys stepped forward. In her hands she held something which she lifted up, showing him the same two-tailed hat that Meas had taken from his head so long ago on a beach on Shipshulme Island.
“The shipwife,” she said, and wiped a tear from her eye, because the wind was awful unkind on that hard deck. “The shipwife said I were to give you this when we were out of sight of Sleighthulme. Said you are the shipwife now and we must treat you as such.” He stared at the hat. Raised the nearglass and glanced back at Sleighthulme, at the figure so small on the tower of the island silhouetted by the burning eye of the godbird.
“No,” he said. “You keep hold of that, and you call me deckkeeper, Farys, for that is my rank. It is a deckkeeper’s job to safeguard the shipwife and keep the ship in good order for her return. And that is what I will do. She will stand on this slate with us again, Farys.”
“How, Deckkeeper?” she said.
“I do not know,” he said. “Not yet. I only know it is my duty and I shall see it done.”
“And I also,” said Farys.
“And I,” said Mevans.
“And I,” said Solemn Muffaz, and the call of “and I’ went around the ship and even those who could not know what Joron had said joined it, because they did not care. They only knew that their shipwife believed in the deckkeeper, and that he had proven worthy of her. And so he was worthy of them. And whatever he promised, well, they would promise also.
Joron knew he should have felt thankful for that belief. But did not. Because there had been so much pain, so much loss in the name of the Hundred Isles. His mother, his father, his lover, his leg, his voice, his shipwife. He felt that pain as a raging, furious hate for those who blew wind into the wings of this eternal war, and he understood now his shipwife’s burning desire for peace. And though he did not know how he would return Meas Gilbryn, Lucky Meas, the witch of Keelhulme Sounding, to the deck of Tide Child, he knew he would do anything to make it happen.
Anything.
There would be no quarter.
No surrender
No mercy.
He would do anything.
And within him, a powerful song became louder.
Such fury on her face they saw
Would see that hate forever more
Raiders all on land had taken
Her Kept would never be forsaken
She searched up high, she searched down low
Heave on, crew, heave on.
From north to south she flew the storms
Heave on, crew, heave on.
She searched to east, she searched to west
Heave on, crew, heave on.
With no pity in her soul hey!
No pity in her soul.
No love she had for woman or man
Once on her quest she had began
“My Kept you must return,” she said
And all she left behind were dead
She searched up high, she searched down low
Heave on, crew, heave on.
From north to south she flew the storms
Heave on, crew, heave on.
She searched to east, she searched to west
Heave on, crew, heave on.
With no pity in her soul, hey!
No pity in her soul.
From “The Black Pirate” – traditional ballad
The story will continue in book three of the Tide Child trilogy.
The story continues in . . .
THE BONE SHIP’S WAKE
Book THREE of The Tide Child Trilogy
Coming in Fall 2021!
Appendix: Ranks in the Fleet and the Hundred Isles
Bern The ruling class of the Hundred Isles consisting of women who have birthed children well-formed and unmarred.
Berncast Second-class Citizens of the Hundred Isles. Those who are born malformed or whose mothers die in childbirth proving their blood “weak”.
Bonemaster In charge of the upkeep of the ship’s hull and spines.
Bonewright Specialist crew member who answers to the bonemaster.
Bowsell Head of a gallowbow team. A bowsell of the deck is in charge of all the gallowbows on each deck of a boneship.
Courser Ship’s navigator and holder of the charts. Although all officers are expected to be able to navigate, the sect of coursers are specialists. They are believed to be able to dream the coming weather and hear the songs of the storms.
Deckholder Third officer, generally known as the d’older. Larger ships may have up to four deckholders, who are known as the first d’older (most senior), the second d’older, and so on.
Deckkeeper Second to the shipwife and speaks with their authority. Larger ships may have up to three deckkeepers, who are traditionally known as the d’keeper (most senior), the keepsall and the decksall.
Deckchild A crew member who has proved themselves capable of all the minor tasks required in the running of a boneship.
Deckchilder A generic term for the entire crew of a ship below the rank of whoever is using it.
Deckmother In charge of discipline aboard a boneship. A traditionally unpopular rank.
Gullaime Also called windtalker and weathermage. An avian race of magicians able to control the winds and as such invaluable to the running of a boneship.
Hagshand The ship’s surgeon, who works in the hagbower. Few who go under the knife of the hagshand survive.
Hatkeep Steward to the shipwife. A post often given to a deckchild who has proved particularly loyal or clever.
Kept The chosen men of the Bern.
Oarturner In charge of steering the ship.
Purseholder In charge of the ship’s funds, weapons and food supplies.
Seakeep A seasoned deckchild with thorough knowledge of a boneship and how it should be run. The seakeep is expected to run the ship if there are no officers on deck and often acts as a go-between should the crew wish to communicate something to the shipwife.
Shipmother Commander of the fleet. There are five shipmothers. The ruler of the Hundred Isles is the most senior and has four deputies. These are named for the Northstorm, the Eaststorm, the Southstorm and the Weststorm. Shipmother of the North, Shipmother of the East, etc.
Shipwife Master and commander of a ship. The shipwife’s word is law aboard their ship. To disobey is punishable by anything up to being sent to a black ship or death, depending on the shipwife’s whim.
Stonebound The lowest rank on a ship. Used as an insult or as a quick way of denoting that someone does not really understand how the ship works or is not fleet.
Topboy The lookouts posted at the top of a ship’s spines.
Wingmaster In charge of the wings and rigging of a boneship.
Wingwright Specialist crew member who answers to the wingmaster.
Afterword and Acknowledgements
In fantasy, we often deal with huge and world-changing events. Even when the focus may be, like in my own writing, largely on the way it affects people on a more personal level, there’s still big history-making events happening. So it feels strange that I should be writing this afterword while living through an event that will doubtlessly be written about in the history books of future generations. Of course, b
eing stuck at home because of the coronavirus isn’t hugely different for me, I’m generally at home anyway. But it’s amazing what a creature of habit you can become as a writer. Monday to Friday when there’s no one about is writing time. But there are people about, and even though these are people I dearly love it’s not normal and I can’t quite settle. But it seems that “not normal” will become the new normal for us all and, just like you in your life, I’ll have to learn to get through it. However, it really cheers me to see hundreds of small acts of kindness happening. I hope we don’t forget how much we need each other once this has passed.
By the time you are reading this, I will have finished writing the saga of Joron, Meas, the gullaime and Tide Child and moved on to something else. Such are the ways of publishing but it seems really odd that you’ll be partway through when I am finished. Anyway, I hope you’ve enjoyed the second part of their story and I must apologise for leaving things on a – literal – cliffhanger. It’s always a thing I’ve said to myself I would never do, but I am also an incredibly contrary person who absolutely cannot be relied on to do as I say, and anyway, it was what the story needed.i
In The Bone Ships we saw Joron built up from nothing, and in Call of the Bone Ships we see Joron, quite literally in some ways, taken apart again, going through the pain and the loss that we all have go through at some point and in the end losing the one thing he has depended on the most. In fact, this book is about loss and sacrifice in many ways. Now Joron must strike out on his own without the person he has relied upon for so long. This cycle of growth seems to be one that fascinates me as Girton, in the Wounded Kingdom books, went through a similar process. We all grow and change; it is our nature, and the more elastic you can keep your mind and ability to change the better really. Or so I tend to think.
As ever, when I write I am supported by my wonderful wife and (somewhat) helped by my son and definitely given no help at all by our cat. There’s also my very patient early reading group, Fiona, Richard and Matt, who very kindly give up their time and probably get a massive headache from reading very early versions of these books. They also offer me some invaluable cheerleading which every author needs now and again.
One of those little-known facts outside the publishing world is that writers write, but other people make us look good, or at least a lot less foolish than we really are. So thanks to my agent, Ed Wilson at Johnson and Alcock, for making sure I can afford to eat, which is always useful. My editor, Jenni Hill, who is wonderful, and the team at Orbit; Joanna Kramer, who helps make sure I don’t take YEARS to bring you these things and put them out riddled with errors; and my copy-editor, Saxon Bullock, who really locked into the style of these books and made the usually onorous task of doing the copy-edit, well, if not fun exactly than at least less onorous.
I owe a lot of authors a thank you for supporting me and these books with kind words and, probably more importantly, friendship: Robin Hobb, James Barclay, Adrian Tchaikovsky, Pete McClean, Tasha Suri, Sam Hawk, Devin Madson, Melissa Caruso, Evan Winter, Chaz Brenchly, Steve Aryan, Anne Stephens, Nicholas Eames, Luke Arnold, Rowenna Miller, Alix Harrow, Jenn Williams, and oh my there is so many of you I would run out of ink. You know who you are and you are all brilliant.
I suppose I should also thank Tom Parker for his interior art and the astounding work he’s done on the special edition hardbacks from the lovely people at Anderida Books. Even though he is TOO FAMOUS to read books now.
I’d also like to thank Austin Farr and Chris Shrewsbury who talked to me about what it is like to be an amputee, and the process of getting used to being without a limb and what that feels like. I’ve tried to stay as true as I can to what they were kind enough to share with me and any errors are mine (though I will of course claim they were forced upon me by the requirements of drama and plotii). But thank you ever so much for being generous enough to share your experiences. I’d also like to thank Wilfred Berghof who made a very generous donation to the Worldbuilders charity in exchange for having his name appear in this book. I did say you wouldn’t make it out, Wilfred. . .
As ever, thanks to probably the most important people of this entire process: you, dear reader. For reading, leaving reviews, talking about the books and helping put me in a position where hopefully I’ll get to write more.
I’d like to share one last thing, and it might seem a bit trite but I promise you it’s true. Be kind to others whenever you can be and it will reward you. You’ll see “be kind” said a lot, and sometimes it’s hard to think the best of people when our own situation is tough. But if you can try, if you can always meet a stranger and presume the best of them, then you will be one of the people out there making the world into a better place. Maybe sometimes you’ll be let down, but that’s on them not you. More often than not you will be rewarded, often in very small ways. Sometimes you won’t even know about the good you’ve done, or how you’ve made someone’s day a little bit better just by sharing a smile. But you will have done it, and you will carry that with you. The world is a strange place right now, and it’s a little bit scary, so try and go through life making it a bit better. Cos even a bit better is a step in the right direction, and sometimes a tiny gesture on one person’s part is a huge gift to another.
Life is hard, look after one another.
RJ Barker
Leeds. March 2020
Footnotes
i The author’s favourite excuse
ii Or maybe this is
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extras
meet the author
RJ BARKER lives in Leeds with his wife, son and a collection of questionable taxidermy, odd art, scary music and more books than they have room for. He grew up reading whatever he could get his hands on, and has always been “that one with the book in his pocket.” Having played in a rock band before deciding he was a rubbish musician, RJ returned to his first love, fiction, to find he is rather better at that. As well as his debut epic fantasy novel, Age of Assassins, RJ has written short stories and historical scripts which have been performed across the country. He has the sort of flowing locks any cavalier would be proud of.
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if you enjoyed
CALL OF THE BONE SHIPS
look out for
THE RANGER OF MARZANNA
The Goddess War: Book One
by
Jon Skovron
Sonya is training to be a Ranger of Marzanna, an ancient sect of warriors who have protected the land for generations. But the old ways are dying, and the Rangers have all been forced into hiding or killed off by the invading empire.
When her father is murdered by imperial soldiers, she decides to finally take action. Using her skills as a Ranger, she will travel across the bitter cold tundra and gain the allegiance of the only other force strong enough to take down the invaders.
But nothing about her quest will be easy. Because not everyone is on her side. Her brother, Sebastian, is the most powerful sorcerer the world has ever seen. And he’s fighting for the empire.
1
Istoki was not the smallest, poorest, or most remote village in Izmoroz, but it was close. The land was owned by the noble Ovstrovsky family, and the peasants who lived and worked there paid an annual tithe in crops every year at harvest time. The Ovstrovskys were not known for their diligence, and the older folk in Istoki remembered a time when they would even forget to request their tithe. That was before the war. Before the empire.
But now imperial soldiers arrived each year to collect their own tithe, as well as the Ovstrovsky family’s. And they never forgot.
Little Vadim, age eight and a half, sat on a snow-covered log at the eastern edge of the village and played with his rag doll, which was fashioned into the likeness of a
rabbit. He saw the imperial soldiers coming on horseback along the dirt road. Their steel helmets and breastplates gleamed in the winter sun as their horses rode in two neat, orderly lines. Behind them trundled a wagon already half-full with the tithes of other villages in the area.
They came to a halt before Vadim with a great deal of clanking, their faces grim. Each one seemed to bristle with sharp metal and quiet animosity. Their leader, a man dressed not in armor but in a bright green wool uniform with a funny cylindrical hat, looked down at Vadim.
“You there. Boy.” The man in green had black hair, olive skin, and a disdainful expression.
Vadim hugged his doll tightly and said nothing. His mother had told him it was best not to talk to imperial soldiers because you never knew when you might say the wrong thing to them.
“Run along and tell your elder we’re here to collect the annual tithe. And tell him to bring it all here. I’d rather not go slogging through this frozen mudhole just to get it.”
He knew he should obey the soldier, but when he looked at the men and horses looming above him, his whole body stiffened. He had never seen real swords before. They were buckled to the soldiers’ waists with blades laid bare so he could see their keen edges. He stared at them, clutched the doll to his chest, and did not move.
The man in green sighed heavily. “Dear God in Heaven, they’re all inbred imbeciles out here. Boy! I’m speaking to you! Are you deaf?”
