That’s done it. Zastra signalled down to Mata, who raised her hand in acknowledgement. The crew rushed to the lines. Zastra felt the ship vibrate as the sails were pulled taut and they sprang forward like a bolt released from its bow. Yet the migaradon was closing fast.
Zastra stood tall at the tip of the mast. ‘That’s right!’ she yelled. ‘I’m Leodra’s daughter. Tell Thorlberd he will have to answer to me for his crimes.’
Zastra felt the mindweaver try again to delve into her thoughts, but she had closed off her mind and was able to resist the attack. She readied her crossbow, silently urging Mata to make the ship go faster. The Wind of Golmeira began to heel over, the masts leaning out over the sea. Beneath Zastra’s feet was only air and the churning, white tipped water far below. Their prow threw up a huge bow wave as they cut through the choppy surface and she could see Mata and Ithgol battling with the wheel. The migaradon was straining to keep up, but still it closed, an inch at a time. Murthen Island was almost swallowed by the horizon. Behind them, the Darkhorse had at last raised a new rear sail and was making progress in a northerly direction.
The migaradon was concerned only with Zastra. As it approached, Zastra raised her bow and aimed for its head. The bolt hit it between the eyes, bouncing off without making a mark. The beast opened its wide mouth and shrieked in derision. Zastra took a moment, raised the bow again and aimed at the rider. Since the migaradon was higher in the sky than her, most of the rider was shielded by the body of the beast. Zastra’s bolt shaved the shoulder of the migaradon and the rider ducked. The bolt missed, but in ducking, the rider jerked on the chains pulling the beast up. The migaradon flapped round in an uneven circle before resuming the chase. Zastra had gained them a few moments, nothing more. Soon the migaradon was directly above her again. It dived down. Zastra waited until the last possible minute before she released her last bolt. It struck the sole of the rider’s right boot, just visible in its stirrup. Both the rider and migaradon let out a cry of surprised pain. The beast bucked higher into the air with a messy flapping of its great wings. Zastra pulled another three bolts from her jacket and reloaded the crossbow, trying to keep her hands steady.
‘Can’t you go any faster?’ she shouted towards the deck.
‘We’ve giving it everything!’ Mata cried.
‘I need more.’
She saw Mata take a handful of the crew below decks. There was no time to ponder why Mata had deserted her post. The migaradon was back under the rider’s control and its eyes were fixed angrily on Zastra. She was out of ideas. She released three bolts towards the rider but this time the migaradon was ready. As each bolt sprung towards its target, the beast rolled slightly, just enough to protect the rider with its impervious body. The bolts bounced off harmlessly and fell to the sea below. The migaradon was now so close that Zastra could feel its hot, wet breath on her face. A colossal, double-taloned claw swiped towards her, whipping past her head as she ducked out of its reach. The beast squealed with frustrated rage. It swung for her again, lower this time and its claw brushed Zastra’s chest as she swayed backwards so hard that she overbalanced. Only the crook of her knees catching on the cross trees preventing her plummeting to the deck below. Suspended upside down, her crossbow flew from her grip and into the sea below. She grabbed the rigging by her head and yanked her legs from the cross trees, swinging her body downwards just as the migaradon snapped the tip of the mast clean off, taking the perch that Zastra had been hanging from with it. Zastra was left dangling from the rigging, swaying helplessly above the waves. Somehow, the ship began right itself and in the process gained more speed. The migaradon strained to keep pace. Zastra whispered a silent word of thanks to Mata and the crew, as she and the migaradon stared at each other. It flew not five paces behind her, but was unable to catch up.
We will hunt you down. The voice echoed in her head, the parting cry of the rider as, with a cry of frustration, the beast wheeled away and headed back towards the point where Murthen Island had just disappeared beyond the horizon. Zastra managed to hook her feet onto the rigging and clamber down, relieved to feel the solid deck beneath her feet. Mata had reappeared.
‘I don’t know how you did it,’ Zastra said, in an undertone, ‘but that last burst of speed was what saved us.’
‘An old sailing trick. Lose some weight, rearrange the distribution of what’s left.’
‘Lose some weight?’
‘I made the decision that you didn’t really need all that nice furniture of Dastrin’s. And most of the food and water, I’m afraid.’
‘So, having got the crew to risk their lives, I have to tell them the reward for their courage is half rations?’
Mata shrugged.
‘Welcome to life as a ship’s captain.’
Chapter Thirty-seven
Zastra took the Wind of Golmeira towards the agreed rendezvous point south of the Pyramid Isle. They were first to arrive, but within a day, the Obala and the Darkhorse joined them. Justyn waved from the stern of the Darkhorse.
‘Glad you made it. We were worried you might have made a tasty snack for that migaradon.’
‘Not a chance,’ returned Zastra. ‘Nice of you slowpokes to finally join us.’
Justyn responded with a good natured salute, then sent Polina across to guide them through the Western Spur. Zastra and Mata paid close attention as Polina pointed out the particular arrangement of three Smoking Giants that served to identify the entrance to the hidden channel. The dense mist that hung over the coastline of the Western Spur meant that once they had used the landmarks to set course, they had to steer through the fog with blind trust that the channel would appear in front of them. They waited until high tide before they followed the Darkhorse through. Polina pointed out the locations of hidden rocks and sandbanks, helping them chart a safe course. Only once did they scrape the bottom of the ship, such was Mata’s skill as a ship-handler. Still, it was a tense journey, and it seemed an age before they reached the other side. It was worth the wait. The mist and rough seas on the Golmeiran side were replaced by a calm expanse of ocean, stretching out to a distant horizon.
‘We’ve named it the Serene Sea,’ said Polina, with a hint of pride.
‘I can see why,’ Mata remarked. ‘It’s magnificent.’
The mood of Zastra’s crew, brought low by their short rations, lifted as they followed the Darkhorse across the calm waters. Two days of perfect sailing brought them to a group of islands, green and fertile, rising out of the sea in a loose semi-circle. They did indeed have some resemblance to a human jaw-line, albeit one with a few teeth damaged and missing. They made anchor in a natural harbour belonging to the largest of the islands. A narrow wooden jetty stuck out from the shore, supported by hundreds of upright stilts. Sturdy wooden huts spread out along a gently curving beach. At the far end of the settlement, a large watermill sat astride a small cataract as it flowed into the bay. On either side of the mill, fields stepped up the hillside, some empty, some full of ripening harvest.
‘We named the town Port Krysfera,’ said Polina. ‘In honour of the Marl of Seacastle.’
Mata whistled in appreciation.
‘Impressive.’
Three blunt-ended canoes, hollowed out from large tree trunks, headed out from the shore. They were full of men and women waving in greeting and inviting them to board. Zastra looked down at them distrustfully.
‘Are they safe?’
‘By and large, as long as you sit very still,’ said Polina.
‘I’ll wait for the yacht,’ remarked Ithgol.
‘Me too,’ said Mata. ‘But you should go, Zastra. You don’t want to offend these people the first time you meet them.’
Zastra followed Polina’s lead, stepping gingerly into the waiting canoe. Jerenik decided to join them, their extra weight causing the canoe to sink lower in the water. Zastra sat bolt upright, gripping the sides of the flimsy craft as she was paddled towards the jetty. It would be highly embarrassing to be tipped up and have to sw
im to shore – not the way to make a good impression. More people lined the shore, shouting out a welcome. Justyn and Nerika had made it ahead of her and Justyn stepped forward to help Zastra disembark.
‘Lord Justyn. Oh, Lord Justyn!’ A short man with curly hair and fat cheeks skipped down to meet them. ‘Thank the stars you are alive! We have so missed you all.’
‘We’ve a lot to tell you, Pitwyn.’ Justyn slapped the man’s back heartily. ‘How was the harvest?’
‘Mighty fine, my Lord.’ Pitwyn had a strange little moustache that didn’t quite meet the top of his upper lip. The thin line of hair trembled with its owner’s excitement. ‘The best yet. Marvellous yellow root. And we’ve discovered a new species of bird that tastes absolutely divine boiled in… I’ve called it the moccasin bird. The wild birds here don’t seem to know how to run away. I’ve been experimenting with recipes, and I think you’ll be… Oh, and you’ll never guess, we’ve finished the bathhouse, it’s so… You simply must come and look.’ His words tumbled out so fast, it was almost impossible to keep up.
‘It is good that the harvest went well.’ Justyn gestured towards the ships that filled the bay. ‘We have many guests.’
Canoes full of Sendorans were making for the shore. Pitwyn gave a small shriek of horror.
‘Sendorans?’ he exclaimed. His thin moustache twitched as if he were about to sneeze.
‘Yes,’ Justyn confirmed. ‘And they will be made welcome.’
‘Of course, Lord Justyn.’ Pitwyn bowed low. ‘I just hope they won’t lower the tone. Sendorans can be such…’
Jerenik snorted.
‘If he thinks Sendorans lower the tone, I can’t wait until he meets our friend Ithgol.’
Pitwyn turned his attention towards them. His naked upper lip pursed in disapproval. Zastra realised that she must look a state dressed as she was in her crewmember’s attire. Her grey vest and half trousers were salt-stained and faded with wear.
The yacht moored to the jetty and Ithgol joined them. Zastra thought Pitwyn might faint with horror but the curly-haired man recovered his composure when Mata arrived in her lieutenant’s uniform.
‘Are you going to introduce me to your new captain, Lord Justyn?’ he asked, smiling and bowing at Mata.
‘I’m no captain,’ Mata protested.
Justyn and Nerika shared a complicit grin. Zastra wondered what was so funny as Justyn gestured towards her.
‘Zastra, this is Pitwyn, who organises things for us here at Uden’s Teeth. A most excellent administrator, responsible for much of what we have built. Pitwyn was once, um, what was it again, Pitwyn?’
‘Deputy Chief of Household to the Lady Grinsilla, half cousin to Marl Julan herself,’ Pitwyn recited, his back straightening noticeably. ‘Only four steps away from royalty and a Lady down to her toenails.’
‘Pitwyn, I have the great pleasure of introducing Zastra, daughter of Leodra, rightful heir to the throne of Golmeira.’
Pitwyn staggered back as if a full quarry of crossbow bolts had landed in his ample chest. His mouth sagged into a giant ‘O’ shape. To Zastra’s intense embarrassment, he knelt down before her with a gracious movement and bowed his head so low his forehead almost touched the ground. Jerenik snorted with laughter.
‘Oh, to think we have… Royalty. I’ve always dreamed… But what an honour! If only things weren’t in such a terrible state. I’ve tried, but I’m afraid there’s so little… How deeply mortifying. My dear Lady Zastra…’
‘It all looks wonderful.’ Zastra felt her face flush as she hastily helped Pitwyn to his feet. ‘There’s nothing to be ashamed of. You have built all this from nothing?’
‘Indeed, my Lady. You are so gracious. But it is all rather pastoral… We do now have a bathhouse at least. I’d be honoured to show…You must be in need of a bath. What I mean to say is… Not that you smell anything less than… Oh, my Lady, I’m too unworthy…’
‘A bath sounds wonderful.’ Zastra tried to ignore Jerenik’s silent convulsions. ‘But I must see to our guests first and then to my ship and crew. Have you a healer?’
Pitwyn nodded eagerly. ‘Oh, yes, my Lady Zastra. We have almost everything you could want. Except for clothing. It is so difficult. We are trying with a loom… Only a little thing as yet, but… Won’t you come and see? A royal seal of approval would be so…’
Justyn stepped in to rescue her.
‘Zastra is right,’ he said firmly. ‘We must see to the children and the Sendorans. But tomorrow a celebration is in order, wouldn’t you agree?’
‘Oh, yes indeed!’ Pitwyn’s face flushed with joy. ‘A feast in honour of the Lady Zastra, what a wonderful… Although you must be gentle with us. It will be but poor fare compared to what you are used to, I’m sure.’
‘For the last few years I’ve eaten nothing but porridge and salted goat, so I shall be glad of anything Uden’s Teeth has to offer.’ Zastra began to feel distinctly uncomfortable at being the focus of such attention.
‘Oh! So gracious. Just like Lady Grinsilla. Royalty always knows how to behave.’
‘When he really gets to know you, he’s going to be mightily disappointed,’ remarked Jerenik.
Chapter Thirty-eight
All the Sendorans were offloaded and tended to. The rescued children, although not starving like the Sendorans, also needed care. The fifteen year-old boy who had responded to Zastra’s questions on the transport was among the eldest and one of the few able to talk about his experiences. His name was Waylin. He told how Golmeiran soldiers had come to his village.
‘They rounded up all the children and cut our hands with knives.’ He opened his palm to display a small scar near his thumb. ‘They took some of my blood and put it in a little bottle. Something got them excited and and they took me to some castle. I didn’t have a choice. They put me with the others and them black ravens made us drink that horrible brown stuff. Cintara bark. I didn’t like it so I spat it out when they weren’t looking. I reckons I done the right thing, because after a few days the other littluns were crying out for it like they would die if they didn’t have any.’
Waylin shuddered. ‘Then they brought Orika. She refused to take it at first, like me, but they reckoned she was special and they forced it down her throat. They got more than they bargained for.’
A bag filled with cintara bark had been recovered from one of the transports. Port Krysfera’s healer, a stout, practical woman called Sinisa suggested that the children be given small doses, decreasing daily to try and wean them from their dependence. Dobery agreed that that was the best plan and so it was decided.
The settlers of Uden’s Teeth lived in the small wooden huts that lined the beach either side of the jetty. Most of the island was covered in forest, so wood was plentiful. In addition, the settlers had recently finished the construction of two stone buildings, a bath-house and a feasting hall. The hall was a large rectangular building with a sloping roof of oiled wooden tiles. The day after they arrived, Pitwyn insisted on giving Justyn and Zastra a personal tour.
‘We finished it last Moonscrescent, but I insisted we wait for you to return before we used it for the first… I knew you could not be long in… After all, you can’t have a proper hall without a Lord.’
‘Has anyone told him that you’re not a real Lord?’ Zastra asked in a low voice.
‘No one has dared,’ returned Justyn. ‘But now you’re here, I don’t think I need worry.’
Pitwyn insisted they make use of the bath-house facilities. For that at least, Zastra was grateful. It had been years since she’d had a proper bath. She submerged herself in the steaming water, washing the salt from her hair and luxuriating in the warmth. Pitwyn had constructed ingenious devices for heating and piping the water, allowing Zastra to keep topping up her bath until an impatient Jerenik poked his head round the curtain to her chamber and asked if she was planning to stay there the whole day. Zastra jumped out, mortified that in her delight she had forgotten that there were only ten baths a
nd hundreds of people waiting.
That evening, as promised, Pitwyn delivered a feast. Two lines of tables stretched the full length of the hall, with benches either side. A large fire at each end served for both cooking and warmth. Although the hall was large, not everyone could fit in at the same time and so the feast was to be taken in three sittings. There was plenty of food and drink for everyone. Zastra’s crew, following their enforced period of rationing, ate with as much gusto as the starved Sendorans. The island supplied a variety of interesting fruits, and the roasted forest fowl, its meat noticeably darker than those from Golmeira, was particularly tasty. The settlers had brought with them seeds for yellow-root and onions as well as other Golmeiran vegetables. Most had grown well in the fertile soil.
‘Lady Zastra, what say you to our little hall?’ asked Pitwyn, who had somehow arranged to be seated next to her. ‘Do you find it cosy? I invented a special mixture of bunion wax and sand to fill the cracks and keep out the wind.’
‘Bunion wax?’ spluttered Jerenik, his mouth full of mashed yellow-root and gravy.
‘Pitwyn likes to name all the new plants and animals we find here,’ Justyn explained. ‘His mother and father were both shoemakers, so many of the names appear to be related to feet.’
‘My father was shoemaker to Lady Grinsilla herself, such an… It was because she was so pleased with his shoes that she agreed to take me into her service. A mere serving boy to start with, but then… well, one doesn’t wish to boast… The bunion tree is well named, though I say so myself. The wax oozes out of large bumps as if it were…’
‘Oy!’ Jerenik protested. ‘You’re putting me off my food.’
‘Perhaps he is trying to ensure there is some left for the next sitting,’ remarked Zastra, as Jerenik piled more food onto his plate.
‘Oh, my Lady Zastra, how witty!’ Pitwyn enthused, in a high falsetto. Zastra leaned towards Justyn.
Murthen Island: Book Two: Tales of Golmeira Page 19
