“But Master! The mountain is exploding!” As if to confirm this, the ground shook violently. The tall palms swayed, and coconuts thudded to the ground.
“Yes, I believe you are right.” Whuafa gestured toward the water’s edge. The last of the dugouts were being hurriedly prepared for departure, but there weren’t enough boats to take everyone. They would have a rough paddle to windward to clear the outer reef, then north through the long ocean swells to the next island up the chain. If they were lucky, they would make it before dark. If not…well, his people were experienced mariners, and they knew the reefs like they knew their own village. That was good, because they might have to start a new village on a new island. “You had better hurry. They need someone along who knows the tales of our tribe, and I am staying.”
His apprentice looked up. The mountains loomed above their village, but a towering pall of ash and smoke filled the sky behind the northern peak, blown west by the winds. He bit his lip, looked back to Whuafa and said, “Then I will stay too, Master.”
“No.” Whuafa shook his head and gestured toward the boats. The last canoe was being pushed into the lagoon. “You are young, my grandson, and you have all the stories in your mind now. You must go, and you must make sons and daughters, who will make you grandsons and granddaughters. Then you will pick one of them, as I did, to be your apprentice. Now go, or they will leave you here.”
The old man’s heart softened as he saw the tears well in his grandson’s dark eyes. The boy had not known that he was the lorekeeper’s grandson. It was their way, for the lorekeeper’s apprentice had to work hard to learn the old stories for his own sake, not merely to please his grandsire. The young man smiled hesitantly, then turned away before the tears spilled down his cheeks, and ran to the last outrigger. Only once did he look back as the dozen strong paddlers propelled the craft out of the cove and into the choppy sea. He raised his hand in farewell, and Whuafa did the same.
As the canoes dwindled in the distance, the old lorekeeper sighed and closed his eyes, reveling in the warmth of the sun, the kiss of the trade winds, and the scents of the jungle. This was his home; he would live nowhere else. He rested easily as the tremors continued, and the plume of ash and smoke climbed higher into the sky behind him.
≈
“Trim those sails, Mister Parks! We need every bit of speed we can get.” Captain Donnely was furious. He was responsible for the lives of hundreds of sailors and marines, and that damned Norris had risked every one of them for a few dozen natives. It wasn’t that he thought they didn’t deserve saving, but if they didn’t get away from this bloody burning city, and now this bloody burning mountain, the entire ship would go up in flames. They were pulling away from Akrotia, but the plume of ash now hung directly overhead. He wouldn’t breathe freely again until they were well clear. He pulled out his spyglass and stepped to the taffrail.
Akrotia was just rounding the southern point, the early morning sun glinting off of its highest spires. The seamage had described Akrotia as a mountain of fire. Lieutenant Jundis said that it had come upon them in darkness, glowing only after the attack began. It just looked like a mountain of rock now, an islet alongside Vulture Isle, but even that was extraordinary, given that it was moving.
“Unbelievable!” The low voice surprised him. The count’s son stood at his side, squinting into the distance, awe painting his features. He considered ordering the young man off the quarterdeck, but relented; by all accounts, the boy was capable and intelligent.
“I scarcely believe it myself.” He lowered the glass and offered it to Tim. “How and why such a thing should be constructed is beyond me.”
“Master Ghelfan told the Mistress that the elves wanted to build an alliance between land and sea, or between the elves and the merfolk, at least.” Tim held the glass expertly, flexing his knees to keep it steady. “My father thinks that would have been a worthy goal if it had worked.”
“Mmm,” mumbled Donnely. He couldn’t fathom a world where merfolk were considered citizens, and wasn’t sure he wanted to. He gestured to the island with disdain. “Unfortunately their folly has left us with this.”
A deep vibration reverberated through the soles of his boots. “What the—”
“Deck there,” the lookout called. “The north peak, Captain!”
“By the gods!” Donnely said, grabbing his glass back and focusing on the mountain. As the image of the jungle-covered peak came into focus, however, he realized that he didn’t need a glass.
As he watched, fissures cracked open, spraying more ash and smoke. Then the entire northwest face of the peak heaved up, as if a long-buried giant was shrugging awake. Thousands of tons of rock slid down the slope, stripping the jungle from the mountainside as easily as a steward wipes crumbs from a table. Fire erupted from the earth, belching out an enormous cloud of ash that glowed from within. Molten rock geysered into the air, and liquid fire coursed down the side of the mountain, burning a canyon into the earth with its passage. It met the sea in an explosion of steam that engulfed the entire north end of the island.
An eerie silence settled over the deck as everyone clung to the starboard rail, staring at the destruction of the island. The plume of superheated ash and rock fell to the sea a full half mile behind the ship, but they continued north. Donnely wanted to be well clear. Slowly, the pall of steam thinned, pulled apart by the trade winds, and there was Akrotia, moving to the point where the torrent of molten fire met the sea. As the floating city neared the conflagration, even more fountains of lava leapt up and showered down in streamers of incandescence. But something else was happening. Steam, smoke and glowing embers swirled in a cyclone of wind. The fire of the earth climbed high into the air, a furnace stoked by a howling tornado.
Akrotia began to glow.
“Edan always loved a fire,” Tim whispered, his voice tinged with awe.
“What?” Donnely asked.
“Edan. He’s the pyromage. It’s his magic.” Tim stared at the spectacle. “He would sit and stare at a fire for hours. Fire Isle erupted during Edan’s ascension, and the sailors on the Pride said that he walked down the mountain afterward, right through the fire and molten rock.”
Donnely stared at the city. It glowed brighter and brighter as the fires soared into the sky, brilliant even in the light of day. A horrible thought occurred to him, and he turned to Tim. “The seamage. How does she get her power?”
“Mistress?” Tim said. “I…don’t know. Her power comes from the sea, I guess.” His words dwindled off and he stared at the captain in horror. “You think Edan’s getting power from the volcano?”
Donnely shook his head slowly, and looked north. The plume of Fire Isle could be seen clearly, and he knew that there was one other island with an active, if dormant, volcano. “I don’t know,” he said finally, “but if he is, and Akrotia continues up the island chain…” A new sense of urgency drove him from the rail. “Mister Parks! Set course for Plume Isle, and set every sail she’ll bear. We have no time to waste.”
“Aye, sir!” the lieutenant replied, and as the orders were relayed, every hand leapt to. Canvas billowed and cracked in the fresh trade winds, and the rumble of the erupting mountain receded into the distance behind them.
≈
Faint vibrations sent silt drifting down from the grotto’s ceiling, and Broadtail felt it through his sensitive lateral line. Silverfin looked up to meet his gaze as their finlings darted and dashed about in sudden panic.
*The sea shakes, Husband,* she signed, worry shifting her colors pale. She forced herself to more sedate hues in an attempt to calm their nervous offspring. *Does magic stir the sea?*
Broadtail concentrated for a moment, then shook his head. *No. I feel nothing manipulating the sea, good or bad. I have felt no magic since before Tailwalker returned. This is something else.* He flipped his tail, but before he could venture into the
corridor outside his grotto, a thrum of announcement sounded. The school of finlings darted into hiding as Tailwalker entered, Chaser following in his wake.
*Father, did you feel that?* his son signed, fins fluttering nervously.
*Yes. We both did.*
*It felt like when the burning island erupted, but different. We should go—*
*We are not going anywhere, Tailwalker,* the trident holder signed, his scales dark with determination. *I will send scouts to investigate.*
The water shook around them again, and Chaser darted forward. *Trident Holder. Let me go. I can find the source of this shaking and be back before any of the others even flip their lazy tails.*
Broadtail looked at the enthusiastic scout and shifted his colors even darker with displeasure. He did not like the idea of sending Chaser out again so soon after his long and dangerous trip to Akrotia, but he knew that the scout was right. Chaser was the fastest swimmer in the school; he could find the source of this strange phenomenon and be back in less than a full tide.
*Very well, Chaser, but take a pair of dolphins with you. They can search ahead of you.* The dolphins, he knew, would also be able to evade danger more readily than Chaser.
*Thank you, Trident Holder! I will go at once!* Chaser shot a triumphant look at Tailwalker and darted from the grotto.
*May I at least go see my friend off, Father?* Tailwalker signed, his motions clipped. Broadtail could tell that his son was not happy, but that was too bad. The trident holder was not about to risk his eldest son’s life again.
*You may, my son, but you will not venture from the city. Is that understood?*
*Yes, Father,* Tailwalker signed, flipping his tail and leaving his concerned parents in a cloud of silt.
*You cannot protect him forever, Husband,* Silverfin signed when he turned back. *He will resent it, and you, if you try.*
*Perhaps not forever, Wife,* he signed, *but for a while yet, I am going to try. Let him resent me, but let him do so in safety.*
≈
“Say so long to the Shattered Isles, lads,” Farin called out to his crew, doffing his hat and sweeping it in an arc to windward as they passed Rocky Cay, the northernmost of the isles. Ahead loomed the mountains of the mainland, and far to the north lay the city of Tsing. “They treated us well enough, but there’s nothin’ for it. They’re not fit for piratin’ no more, not with the emperor’s whole navy packed into Plume Isle like pork in a barrel.”
Most of the men hooted and whistled their assent, though there were a few disgruntled grumbles. These islands were all some of them had ever known. They’d pirated here their entire lives, preying on fat merchants and living on the spoils. But now they were leaving, and not likely to ever return.
The fact was, King Gull was not a corsair, and was not fit for someone considering serious pirating. But that fact had also undoubtedly saved their lives. To the admiral, they had looked like any other merchant. If he’d have found any hard evidence of their true nature, they’d all be dancing by their necks from a warship’s yardarms by now.
“How much do you think we’ll get for the cargo, Captain?” Vik the helmsman asked. He was keeping an eye on the distinctive rocks of Point Haze as they hove from the misty air ahead, an easy steering point that would keep them clear of the dangerous reefs.
“Don’t know, Vik, but I wasn’t lyin’ to that admiral when I told him we’d make a pretty profit. We’ll pay our tariffs like good merchants, and sell direct to the bazaar vendors. Captain Seoril used to do that, and it worked well enough. It’ll take a bit longer, but we’ll make a better margin than sellin’ to one of them cutthroat wholesalers, and the vendors’ll ask no questions about where we got all this bric-a-brac.”
Vik cocked an eyebrow as if impressed by his captain’s savvy. “And then?”
The question hung heavily; Farin had pondered it for many days. He clapped the helmsman on the shoulder. “Then I think every man aboard the King Gull has to make a decision. Tsing’s a big city, and we’ll all have a fair stake; there’s plenty of honest work to be had.”
“Honest work?” asked one of the crew, slack-jawed. “What’s that?”
Laughter from the deck crew brought a grin to Farin’s lips. “Well, it ain’t piratin’, I’ll give ya that. I mean to pick up cargo and take King Gull north; there’s worse ways to make a livin’ than plyin’ the seas aboard a merchantman. Some of you’ve done it before, so don’t scoff. There’s not much excitement, but you’ll see more’n that backwater on Middle Cay, I guarantee that, and there’s less chance of dancin’ on the end of a rope.”
“And there’s doxies in every port!” another foremast jack shouted.
“Aye, there is that!” Farin agreed with a grin. “So it’s north to Tsing, and new lives for us, mates!”
The crew of the King Gull cried out their assent, eager for the lures of the city. Some were even eager for futures as honest men.
Chapter 18
Warnings
The water had a familiar flavor, one that made Chaser’s fins shiver with dread. It tasted burnt, as it had when the firemage had made the burning island explode during his ascension and falling ash had stained the water gray. But he had just passed the burning island, and the taste of ash grew ever stronger.
Chaser was tired, having followed the tremors well into the night in search of the disturbance. He could feel the vibrations more clearly now, confirming that he was headed in the right direction. He had passed a warship heading northwest, then the burning island off to his east, and still the vibrations drew him south.
He was nearing the next island in the chain when he detected something ahead—the roar of water like a ship, yet different—but it was too dark for him to see far underwater. Chaser sent out a thrum of sound, calling back his dolphin scouts, hoping they had detected something with their sensitive sonar.
The dolphins arrived in a swirl of phosphorescence, and a clatter of clicks and pops too fast for him to interpret. They spun in short circles, obviously nervous. He thrummed again to stop their chatter.
*What do you see?* he signed, knowing they could read his gestures even in the dark.
“Island,” one of them clicked. Then the other added, “Coming this way.”
This was typical dolphin; one question, two different answers. Of course they saw islands, they were in the middle of a whole chain of islands. But they had also seen something else coming, and that was what he wanted to know. *What is coming?*
“Island,” they clicked simultaneously.
Hoping this wasn’t some silly dolphin joke, he flipped his tail and shot to the surface, intending to find out for himself what was going on. He arched high into the air, his dark-attuned eyes looking far and wide. At the apex of his leap, Chaser knew instantly that this was no joke; a huge column of smoke blotted out the stars to the south. The southernmost island, though it had slept for uncounted generations, was erupting.
But the real danger loomed closer: Akrotia surged through the sea, water foaming before it, its runes glimmering with fire. The dolphins circled him excitedly as he plunged back into the water, repeating their message. These were not the dolphins that had accompanied him to Akrotia, so they knew nothing of the floating city. Consequently, they had told him exactly what they had seen; an island coming this way.
Chaser was a good scout not only because he was fast, but also because he was clever, and everything clicked together in his mind. The new vibrations they had felt, the smoking island to the south, and Akrotia. Cynthia Flaxal-Brelak had told Chaser and Tailwalker that the firemage now controlled Akrotia—was Akrotia. Somehow it had travelled all this way and the firemage had called up fire from the bowels of the earth to create a new burning island. This was bad. Mer legend said that all the islands had fire buried deep within them, and it seemed that Akrotia could call it
forth. Even the seamount upon which the mer city was built was a long-dormant volcano. If Akrotia came to their home, it could call up the fire from below, and destroy them all.
≈
“Lieutenant Parks!” snapped Donnely as he looked despairingly around the ship’s main deck. Natives were clustered about, most in shocked silence. He pitied their situation, but Cape Storm was a warship, not a ferry boat. The sun had ascended halfway to its apex before Cape Storm finally hove to in the lee of Plume Isle. “Keep the ship on station here and see about transporting our guests to one of the supply ships. Ready the launch to take me ashore.”
“Aye, sir,” was the reply, but a cry from aloft brought Donnely up short.
“Captain! Admiral’s launch off the port bow, headed this way.”
“Oh, hells,” he muttered, retrieving his spyglass and focusing on the launch. A sigh of relief escaped his lips; the admiral was not aboard. “Belay the launch, Mister Parks. It seems that the admiral has sent transport.” The lieutenant barked compliance, but Donnely was already heading below.
He rapped on the door to the sailing master’s cabin, and opened it; there was no time for niceties. Inside, Lady Camilla lay on the bunk looking much as she had after her rescue; pale and still. Norris, his son, and the secretary all sat about, looking morose.
“Milord Count, I would like you to accompany me ashore to provide your perspective to Admiral Joslan on the routing of the cannibals and the issue with Akrotia,” he said briskly. He turned to leave, but Norris’ words stopped him short.
“No, Captain. I’m sorry, but I can’t leave Camilla.” His voice was listless, and the man’s eyes looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. “Huffington, you go with the captain. You know as much as I do about these things. Please tender my regrets to the admiral.”
Donnely reared up to protest, then stopped.
“Sir,” Huffington stood. “I’d be pleased to go ashore with you and speak to Admiral Joslan in the count’s stead. I’m afraid I don’t have his eloquence, but,” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “I don’t think Count Norris could provide a very coherent report right now.”
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