by Mel Odom
Jherek set up the pieces on his side of the board, appreciating the smooth feel of them.
“Is it the ship’s captain I saw you with?” Tarnar persisted. “The half-elf? Or the young red haired girl that seemed so upset by your leaving?”
“I’d rather not speak of this,” Jherek said.
“Nonsense. Men at sea always talk of women,” the captain persisted. “First, they speak of their mothers, then of lovers, then of women they’ve left in different ports. When they start speaking of wives, you’d best start looking for another crewman.”
Candles lit the room and filled it with the smoky haze of herbs that eddied out the open windows in the ship’s stern. A generous portion of the room was given over to the large bed that extended across the stern a good eight feet. Shelves and closets occupied the remaining space along the wall on either side of the bed.
There was a large rolltop desk that held map scrolls and nautical plotting and marking tools. Ship’s journals sat neatly ranked on one side. The current journal occupied the center of the table, open to the entry Tarnar last made. A quill and an inkwell sat nearby.
A shelf on the opposite side of the room from the desk held a row of books. Most of them, Jherek found upon inspection, were treatises regarding the worship of Mystra. Beside the bookshelves was a locked armory that held swords of different makes and styles.
Jherek nodded at the shelves and said, “I’ve noticed your interest in books.”
“The worship of Mystra. Yes.” Tarnar swirled the dregs of his wine. “I am a failed priest of her order.”
Stunned that the man announced the fact so casually, Jherek opened his mouth to speak but found no words.
The captain grinned. “It’s nothing I’m ashamed of,” he said. “While I attended the Lady of Mysteries’ schools and talked with her priests, I learned a great many things. All of them have helped me become a better man. I begrudge none of the experience, not even when I took myself from the order.”
“Why did you?” Jherek asked.
“Because I felt the calling, but I never felt I could devote myself to the priesthood. Not the way I wanted to, wholly and without reservation. So I went to sea, which seemed as wild and as restless as any mysteries I might seek to uncover under Mystra’s guidance.”
“But your interest remains,” Jherek observed. “Why would you keep the books otherwise?”
“Aye,” Tarnar replied. “My fascination remains. Mystra is also known as She of the Wild Tides here in the Sea of Fallen Stars. I love her because she seems so much a part of this world, yet above it. Legend has it that during the Time of Troubles she even walked on this plane as a mortal herself.”
Jherek remained silent.
“Today I tried to divine something of what lies in your future,” Tarnar said.
Shaking his head, Jherek grumbled, “I don’t want to know.”
“There’s not much to tell,” Tarnar told him. “I never learned how to divine properly, though I was told by my teachers that I possessed some mean skills at it. I only got two impressions from the attempt. I know that something shapes your future—though you have a choice in that—and that the guiding hand does not belong to Mystra.”
“What choice?”
Tarnar ran his finger around the rim of his wineglass and said, “I could not say. Have you any stronger feelings about where we’re supposed to go? By the afternoon of the day after tomorrow we’ll be at the mouth of the Alamber Sea. Providing the wind stays with us, the trip to Aglarond will not be long.”
“No. I have just the steady need to travel east—and even that is not as sharp as it once was.”
Even as the young sailor’s words faded away, a low, mournful croon echoed inside the captain’s quarters. Drawn by the sound, Jherek excused himself from the table and headed through the door.
Men stood out on the deck, lit by a few lanterns secured in the rigging to warn other ships of their presence and to allow them to see in the dark night. None of the sailors appeared relaxed.
“What in the Nine Hells is that?” one man grumbled.
“It’s enough to wake the dead,” another volunteered.
“You ask me,” a third stated, “that’s the cry of someone or something dead. Come to call us on home ourselves.”
“Stow that bilge, Klyngir,” Tarnar ordered as he followed Jherek up the steps to the stern castle.
“Aye, sir,” the sailor snapped.
The mournful moaning continued, just loud enough to be heard over the waves lapping at Steadfast’s sides. It echoed on the wind, as if carried a great distance.
Jherek stepped up on Steadfast’s stern castle deck. The chill wind snaked icy fingers under his clothing, prickling his skin. His hair whipped about, blown forward from the stern. He scanned the horizon where the star-filled black sky met the rolling, green-black sea.
“I want men circling this ship along the railings,” Tarnar roared as he stood overlooking the deck. “Those blasted sea devils are known to be thick in this area.”
“Sounds far away, Cap’n,” the mate behind the wheel stated.
“I don’t want to take any chances,” Tarnar snapped.
Steadfast creaked and the rigging popped in the wind, but the ship’s noises never covered the mournful moans. Jherek listened to the sounds, finally recognizing them for what they were.
“Whale song,” he said.
“Aye, Cap’n, it is,” the mate at the wheel said. “I know it now, too.”
The cadence of the whale song rode up and down the scale, sounding eerie and menacing.
“I’ve been told whales can sing the length and breadth of the Inner Sea,” the mate said, “but I’ve never heard anything like this.”
“Nor have I,” Tarnar agreed. He glanced at Jherek.
“Wherever they are,” Jherek said, “that’s where we must go.”
“You’re sure?” Tarnar asked.
Men scurried along Steadfast’s railing, holding lanterns out over the sides as they scoured the dark water.
“Aye,” Jherek replied. The pulling sensation inside him was growing, accompanied by an increased anxiety to get there.
“What direction?”
The young sailor listened, but the mournful moaning seemed to come from everywhere.
“I don’t know,” Jherek mumbled, frustration chafing at him.
Tarnar approached him and spoke soft enough that his words didn’t carry. “Close your eyes, my friend. If this is a message for you, as you believe, it will be made known to you.”
Filled with tense doubt, Jherek closed his eyes. The moaning continued to echo around him, faint and distant. He couldn’t guess in what direction it truly lay.
He shook his head and said, “It doesn’t help.”
“That’s because you’re still listening with your ears,” Tarnar said patiently. “Listen with your heart, Jherek, not your head, not your body. Breathe out slowly. Relax.”
Jherek exhaled, concentrating on the sound.
“Your heart,” Tarnar said, “not your ears. You’re still trying to listen with your ears.”
“I can’t do it,” Jherek whispered hoarsely.
“You can,” Tarnar told him. “Think of some other place, some other time. Get some distance between here and now. Think of a place you like to go. One that has no bad memories, no pressure.”
With difficulty, Jherek imagined Madame Iitaar’s house at the top of Widow’s Hill in Velen. He remembered the trails he’d raced up and down while working at the shipwright’s shop and living with Madame Iitaar.
Breathing out, he recalled the cool breeze that lingered under the apple tree where he’d often stood and watched the ships out in Velen’s harbor. He’d spent hours there, hungering after the opportunity to put to sea again. Out in the harbor, he watched Butterfly pull out of port, her sails popped full of a favoring wind, knowing that he had Finaren’s promise that the next time she sailed he’d be part of her crew.
Whalefrien
d. The voice in Jherek’s mind was rusty with fatigue. You must come as quickly as you can. Time grows short. The Taker moves more swiftly than our legends foretold. He is already on his way.
Who are you? Jherek knew the voice wasn’t the one that had been with him for the last fourteen years of his life. This wasn’t the voice that told him time and time again, “Live, that you may serve.”
I am called Song Who Brings Bright Rains.
What do you want?
Only to do that which I have been given to do, Jherek Whalefriend. As we all must. The voice sounded weaker, farther away, like a light growing dim in a long corridor.
You are not the one who has talked to me before.
No. I am but a piece of the tapestry that is your destiny. Another’s hand has wrought it.
Who’s hand?
That is not for me to say, Jherek Whalefriend. It is not yet the time of choosing. Follow, and may all your songs be strong.
When the communication ended, Jherek opened his eyes. The wind blew cold over the perspiration that covered him. He stared hard into the darkness.
“Do you know the direction?” Tarnar asked.
“East,” the young sailor replied. “We need to adjust four points to starboard.” He felt the direction like a compass needle.
“Make it so,” Tarnar told the mate.
As soon as Steadfast came about on her new course, the sensation within Jherek’s breast felt a little stronger.
“How far is our destination?” Tarnar asked.
“I don’t know.”
The captain hesitated, picking up the small lantern near the plotting desk beside the wheel. He glanced at the compass, traced a map with his finger, and said, “If we stay on this course, we’re going to end up in the middle of the Alamber Sea.”
“When?”
“By the day after tomorrow. That’s the very heart of the sea devils’ empire. I can’t ask these men to go there, and I won’t order them to.”
“I understand,” Jherek replied. “If the time comes that you’re faced with that, I’ll go on alone.”
Grim-faced, Tarnar folded his map and put it away. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“There is another problem,” Jherek said. “I was told we’re not the only ones headed this way.”
“Told?” For the first time, doubt showed on Tarnar’s face. “Who told you this?”
“The whale who sings,” Jherek replied.
The young sailor noticed the look the mate swapped with his captain and chose not to respond to it.
“Who else is supposed to be coming?” Tarnar asked.
“The Taker,” Jherek said.
Confusion lit Tarnar’s face in the glare from the small lantern he held. “Do you know what the Taker is?”
While Azla pursued Vurgrom, mention had been made of the Taker. In fact, some of the people the pirate captain questioned suggested that Vurgrom was somehow in league with this mythological terror.
“A story,” the young sailor said. “I’ve heard a few legends about the Taker.”
“And what if this thing is real?”
The possibility seemed overwhelming to Jherek. His life was troubled enough.
“How could the Taker be real?” he asked. “The Taker is a legend. No one has ever seen him.”
“If you have spoken to a whale,” Tarnar said, “then you know someone must have. Whales never lie.”
XVI
2 Eleasias, the Year of the Gauntlet
Follow me more closely, little malenti, Iakhovas ordered as they swam through the currents around Vahaxtyl. I would not have the princes know we are divided in any way.
Laaqueel obeyed reluctantly, drawing two feet closer to Iakhovas. The sahuagin princes of Aleaxtis had sent warriors to escort them from Tarjana. The great galley sat at anchor above the ruined city. All around them, the whale song echoed.
No one in the sahuagin city seemed happy to see Iakhovas return.
How easily they forget, Iakhovas commented as they swam to the amphitheater. During their absence, the princes ordered the amphitheater cleared so meetings could once again be held there.
Crews of sahuagin women and children still labored to clear the city of debris, but Laaqueel knew the area would never be fit to live in again. Black chunks, shelves, and mountains of cooled lava covered the place where the city had once been. Here and there were pockets, mostly intact, that left a few landmarks to distinguish where proud Vahaxtyl once stood. Warriors stood guard and foraged for food to feed the populace.
The ringed seats around the amphitheater were only a quarter full but there were still thousands seated. The three surviving sahuagin princes stood in the center of the mosaic of black and gray stones. Fully four dozen guardsmen flanked them, outnumbering the warriors Iakhovas had brought four to one.
Iakhovas sank easily before the princes and stood to his full height.
As the malenti priestess gazed around, she saw that the princes were accompanied by their priestesses as well. Evidently it was hoped that all of their combined power might stand against Iakhovas’s might.
Panic sailed through Laaqueel as she looked at the full-blooded sahuagin priestesses. They stood in stark contrast to Laaqueel.
Relax, the feminine voice whispered in her mind. Make no untoward moves. For now, let Iakhovas have his way.
Laaqueel glanced at Iakhovas, but his attention was on the princes.
“Honored Ones,” Iakhovas addressed them. His voice boomed, carrying easily throughout the amphitheater.
Ruubuuiz, as most senior among the three princes, strode forward. He planted his webbed feet flat on the amphitheater floor and held his trident beside him. The prince wore his best combat harness, adorned with sigils representing Sekolah as well as his own station. Made of soft gold and adorned with finger bones taken from enemies as well as bits of fire coral, his crown gleamed.
“You have journeyed safely,” Ruubuuiz stated.
“I have journeyed on a true sahuagin warrior’s path,” Iakhovas countered with a warning edge in his voice. “I have left broken enemies in my wake, feasted upon them that I might maintain my strength, eaten of my fallen brothers that they might forever stay with me, and created currents that will send all of our enemies cringing in fear.”
Ruubuuiz shifted uncertainly.
“I came back here,” Iakhovas roared, “to lead the army you were supposed to have readied in my absence. Instead, I find you and your people grubbing around the corpse of this city long after the marrow is gone.”
Laaqueel held herself proudly, listening to the words Iakhovas spoke. Confusion vibrated inside her. As Iakhovas had stated, he moved more truly along the currents a sahuagin would, and he gave voice to thoughts only a sahuagin would have. She felt proud and shamed and conflicted all at once. How could he, who Laaqueel knew was not a sahuagin, be better at playing one of her kind than she was?
“Our people were not meant to live as carrion feeders,” Iakhovas yelled. “In the days after the destruction of this city, you princes teach your people the way to live their lives. In turn will they teach their children. Now is not the time to be cautious.”
“Now is not the time to foolishly throw away the lives of our warriors,” Ruubuuiz countered. “We must rebuild, and—”
“While you are rebuilding,” Iakhovas accused, “you’re going to allow the sea elves and mermen time to rebuild the Sharksbane Wall. You might as well help lay the stones yourself.”
“Carefully,” Ruubuuiz growled, flaring his fins and puffing up his chest angrily. “Your words here this day will not be forgotten.”
“I will have my priestess put them in a singing bundle for you to remember always,” Iakhovas declared, referring to the strings of shells, rocks, and knots tied to bone or sinew rings that the sahuagin used as books.
Iakhovas turned to look at the amphitheater seats and called out, “I did not come to Serôs to free you only so you could trap yourselves again. The wall i
s broken, a world lies in wait out there to feel the caress of your claws and mighty teeth. Are you predators or prey?”
The crowd rose from their seats, clacking their claws against each other, shaking their tridents and spears. They hooted, whistled, and clicked their support of his words. Thousands made the cacophony almost deafening.
Iakhovas turned back to the three princes, strong and tall in triumph.
Maartaaugh stepped forward and gazed at the yelling sahuagin. “Don’t be easily swayed by his words,” he screamed at them. “Remember the thousands who have left this place already under his guidance, and remember that only hundreds of them have returned—or still may live.”
Some of the audience’s celebration died away.
“Those who fell in battle fell as true warriors should,” Iakhovas rebutted. “With their claws in an enemy’s heart or their teeth in an enemy’s throat. Through me, they got the chance to die with nobility rather than live out their days behind a sea elf’s wall.”
Cheering started again, but it wasn’t as loud as before. Laaqueel knew it was because there was a lot of truth in Maartaaugh’s words. She eyed the other priestesses. Laaqueel knew that if Iakhovas fell out of favor suddenly, or made himself appear the slightest bit weak in the eyes of the sahuagin, the priestesses would kill her first, then turn on him. Their obvious resentment of her spurred her on, overcoming her own reluctance to champion Iakhovas. Her own dignity and self-worth was at risk.
Laaqueel strode forward imperiously, letting her anger bury any hesitation she felt about her actions. Every eye focused on her—she was so different from both the outer sea and Serôsian sahuagin.
“You shame me,” she accused the priestesses.
“N’Tel’Quess,” one of the priestesses snarled. She touched the holy symbol of Sekolah hanging over her ridged chest and threw out a hand.
Laaqueel braced herself, summoning her own powers. She felt the spell tingle over her body as she clasped the holy symbol hanging between her bare breasts. The tingle went away and the priestess who’d attacked her burst into green flames.
