by Garry Spoor
“Reef the mainsail,” Captain Dotol called out behind her.
The crazy old sailor, standing in the rain with the lightning flashing behind him, had an iron grip on the wheel. He seemed unfazed by the storm. One would think he had done this before.
“Reef the mainsail!” he said again.
She wasn’t sure what reefing a sail meant, but she had a feeling it wasn’t being done fast enough. However, she knew all too well what his next command meant.
“Hold tight.”
Turning back to the bow, Kile saw a wall of water looming over the ship. She quickly grabbed a hanging rope as the wave broke over the bow. The water slammed into her, knocking her off her feet. She was carried across the deck and almost washed into the sea. The rope went taut. Holding on tightly, she waited until the wave passed over her before she pulled herself away from the water’s edge.
She couldn’t help but think back to when she was taking the entry examination. With only a knife and fork, she’d crawled along a tilted floor, trying to reach a door at the end of a hall. It seemed like a matter of life and death back then, but if she had let go, she would have slid into an eight-foot-deep pit. Not quite the same as falling into the ocean.
“You all right, Vesper?” she called to yarrow, who was now digging his claws into her shoulder.
-No like water,- he chattered.
“I don’t blame you,” she said.
Only when she thought she was far enough away from the ship’s edge, did she stop pulling. She held tightly to the rope while trying to catch her breath. Maybe coming on deck wasn’t the smartest thing she could have done.
“Kile.” She heard someone call her name.
Looking up, she spotted a figure reaching out to her. He was still too far away, but there was no mistaking Lothran, even in the driving rain. The giant held on to the mast with one hand and reached out with the other. Kile started pulling herself along the rope again, making her way toward him, when something heavy hit the deck beside her with a sickening thud. Turning to look, she stared into the vacant eyes of a sailor. She wasn’t sure where he came from, but she had an idea where he was going. She grabbed him before he slid away. With one hand on the rope and the other on the collar of the sailor’s shirt, she was sort of stuck.
“How do I get myself into these situations?” she asked while trying to pull the man alongside her, but he was much too heavy.
The ship suddenly pitched in the opposite direction. Kile released the rope.
“Hold on, Vesper,” she cried as they slid across the deck. She probably would have gone off the other side if Lothran hadn’t grabbed her first.
“What the hell are you doing out here, lass?” he demanded after pulling her to safety. The cook and two other sailors had taken refuge at the base of the mainmast, between the lifeboats and the doghouse. It gave them a bit of reprieve from the heavy winds.
“I couldn’t stay in there any longer,” Kile said.
“You’re better off in there than you are out here.”
“Especially since your damn mystic is trying to get us killed,” one of the sailors added. He was an older man, with short black hair and pockmarks on his face. “I think he wants to send the Charlotte to the bottom of the sea.”
Kile turned to the bow of the ship, where Elmac was still shouting at the storm, but the green light was gone. What magic he wielded now, was being forced back by the wind.
“Thomas? Thomas, can you hear me?”
The second sailor, a younger man with long blond hair and vivid grey eyes, was trying to revive his fallen companion.
“Is he hurt badly?” Kile asked, although she already knew the answer. She had seen him face-plant into the deck of a ship from who knows how far up.
The dark-haired sailor shook his head. “It doesn’t look good.”
“We have to get him to the captain’s quarters,” she told them. “My friend’s a healer—he might be able to help him.”
“I got this.” Lothran placed a hand on her shoulder. “If you try, you’ll be swept off by the wind.”
Unwrapping a thick rope, from around his wrist, he handed it to Kile before tucking the fallen sailor under his arm. He slowly made his way across the deck toward the captain’s quarters.
“Little good saving one man if we lose the ship,” the dark-haired sailor remarked.
“What do you mean?” Kile asked.
“The mainsail’s pinched. If we can’t cut her free, she’s liable to take the mast with her, leaving the Charlotte at the mercy of the storm.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Not unless you want to cut down the sail yourself.” He pointed to the sky.
Slowly, Kile looked up, staring into the falling rain. The sail was forty feet above her. She’d climbed trees that were higher, although not in the middle of a storm. What remained of the sail was a large tattered piece of cloth. It was hung up on the yard and catching the wind, causing the mainmast to bend beyond what was normal. It was a wonder it hadn’t snapped off already. Was that where Tom was when he decided to drop in on her? How did he even get up there? Kile followed the angled yardarm down to the forecastle. That, to her, seemed the fastest way up, but getting there wouldn’t be easy. She could barely cross the deck without sliding over the rails.
Kicking off her boots, she stuffed them into one of the longboats.
“What are you doing?” the dark-haired sailor asked.
“If I’m going to try to free that sail, I’ll need some traction.”
“Are you crazy, lass?”
Kile laughed.
“Tom was the most surefooted of us, and ya saw what happen to him,” the blond-haired man added, but Kile ignored their warnings. Closing her eyes, she fell into her Edge. There was no need to hold back now. She let her feral side free.
It was like the world opened up to her. There were new smells in the air, new sounds she had not heard. The fear she’d experienced only moments ago was gone. It wasn’t replaced by any form of courage; that would be taking things too far. Instead, it was replaced by a sense of urgency, an instinct stronger than her desire for safety. Before either sailor could stop her, she released the rope and sprinted to the bow of the ship.
It felt so right, her feet free of the restraints. Why was she even wearing those things? Her bare feet gripped the wet wood of the deck so much easier, like those of a cat, or possibly a cougar.
She was up the ladder and on the foredeck before Elmac knew she was there. The mystic called out to her, but she ignored him; there wasn’t time. She jumped up onto the railing, merely feet from where Master Boraro was still trying to get his storm legs and leaped for the yardarm. Like an insane squirrel, she scurried up the narrow piece of wood.
The wind was stronger the higher she climbed, and the swaying of the ship was more severe this far off deck. Gripping with her front paws and pushing off with her back feet, she used her tail for balance.
Tail? No, she didn’t have a tail, at least she didn’t think so.
Passing over the mast, she continued up the yard. She had to reach the place where the sail was hung up, but all she found was a mess of ropes and lines. They were wrapped around the yard, hanging down the yard, or draped over the yard. Some were simply blowing in the wind. Which lines did she have to cut? It probably would have been a good idea to ask one of the sailors before climbing all the way up here.
Sliding her long knife out, she held it against the first rope she came to and was about the cut through it when something told her to stop. That particular rope was securing the yardarm. Probably not the best one to cut since she was clinging to the yardarm at the time. She closed her eyes and listened to the voice in her head. It was Custard, and the cat was watching her from somewhere far below. Thankfully, he knew which lines led where. Holding on to the vision, she saw the pattern of ropes in a whole new light. Now they made sense in some strange cat sort of way. Passing over three lines, she cut through the fourth and continued f
arther up the yard. With each rope she cut, the tattered remains of the sail fell away. When enough lines were cut, the wind finished the job. Like a large, dingy grey bat, the sail flew off into the storm, sucked into the clouds. She hadn’t expected the mast to right itself so quickly, and when it sprang back to its upright position, it nearly flung her into the ocean.
Clinging tightly to the yard, she waited until the mast stopped wobbling before she tried to climb down. She stopped when she reached the crow’s nest. Climbing inside the rickety old bucket, she braced herself against the sides and stared out into the storm.
It all made sense now: the wind, the rain, the sea. Was she finally hearing the song Captain Dotol told her about? If only she could get higher. If only she could get above the clouds, she’d understand it. There were paths cut through the storm, and all she had to do was open her eyes to see them. This must be how birds navigate, she thought.
They needed the ship to move to the right, or starboard, assuming Custard taught her the right terminology. The only problem now was convincing the captain. There was no reason he would listen to her. Not only was she the least knowledgeable person on the ship when it came to maritime navigation, hell, the cat knew more than she did, but he was also some forty feet below her. Screaming at the top of her lungs, over the roar of the wind, wasn’t the best way to get her point across, assuming he could even hear her. That left the cat. Custard would listen to her. All she had to do was send the information to the cat, and the cat would relay it to his master… somehow.
Gripping the lip of the crow’s nest, Kile closed her eyes and reached out to Custard once again. It didn’t take long to find the cat. He was hunkered down among the coils of rope, trying to keep dry. At first, he was unwilling to move, but Kile convinced him. It wasn’t difficult. She made it a choice between her skills or the mystic magic. Animals never had much use for magic, and even Custard saw the folly in Elmac’s plan.
Reluctantly, the cat left the safety of his cover and ventured out into the driving rain. Using his claws, and keeping close to the deck, he crawled his way to where Captain Dotol was wrestling with the ship’s wheel. There was only one way Custard could think of to get the old man’s attention. Without hesitating, he jumped up and grabbed the captain’s right leg.
Dotol screamed. Letting go of the wheel he tried to dislodge the cat. The ship veered off course.
“What in all the realms?” Heaney shouted, grabbing the ship’s wheel and regaining control.
“Bloody cat’s gone mad,” Dotol answered, holding Custard by the scruff of the neck. The cat was not pleased.
“Cat?” Heaney repeated while he scanned the decks. It wasn’t until he looked up, he spotted Kile in the crow’s nest. He shook his head and grinned. “Bring the cat over here,” he told the captain.
“What for?”
“Just give him to me.”
Dotol turned and thrust the wet cat at Heaney, claws and all. The Hunter barely avoided being savaged by the animal before dropping him onto the wheel’s drum. As soon as Custard was released, he tried to roll the drum with little success.
“He’s trying to tell us something.” Heaney laughed.
“Are ye daft, man?” Dotol exclaimed.
“Probably, but it may well be our best chance of getting through this storm alive.”
Dotol quickly stumbled to the rail. “Hard tack starboard,” he shouted over the roar of the wind. Heaney gave the wheel a sharp turn.
The bow of the ship rose high out of the water as the Charlotte swung past point.
Kile tightened her grip on the lip of the crow’s nest, and for one brief moment, thought they were going to flip over backward. When the ship came down again, she realized Custard must have gotten his message across. They were now heading toward the storm trail. It wasn’t so much something she could see as it was something she could feel.
It was a buffer zone between two storms, creating an alley of wind. Once Kile got the ship lined up, with the help of Custard and Heaney, the Charlotte was pulled through the stormwall. It was simply a matter of keeping the nose of the ship on the trail. It wasn’t long before the rain let up and the clouds parted that Kile saw the sky again.
10
The far side of the stormwall didn’t look any different from the near side. It was still a large body of water with no land in sight. Kile sat in the crow’s nest, watching the sun set on the horizon. In spite of the exaggerated motion of the mast, she wasn’t nearly as nauseous as when she stood on the deck. And she was doing something useful and not just getting in the way. The crew had their hands full, making repairs to the ship, and ship repairs were on the long list of things Kile wasn’t good at. Besides, she liked the idea of sitting in the crow’s nest, since one of her friends was a crow. What would Kaza say if he could see her now?
It also proved to be a simple job. All she did was stare at the ocean. It was a bit mesmerizing at times since there wasn’t anything to look at, although she did spot a few large fish break the surface of the water earlier that morning. Not worthy enough to report to the captain, but still, an incredible sight.
Getting in and out of the crow’s nest proved easier, once she knew how. Instead of scrambling up the yardarm, like she did during the storm, she simply used the shrouds. It was basically a rope ladder that ran from the rail right up to the nest. Why didn’t anyone tell her about it before?
The storm had taken its toll on the Charlotte and her crew. The sea claimed four men, and it was waiting for one more. The sailor, known as Thomas, had yet to regain consciousness. Daniel did all he could and now it was only a matter of time. Kile had high hopes for the young man, only because she hadn’t sensed the Lasting, but that was more wishful thinking than anything else. She knew the Lasting came and went without warning; it never waited for an invitation. Of the other four sailors, she knew very little. She never socialized much with the crew, and when she did, it was brief. They didn’t have much use for Hunters or any landlubber for that matter. It was almost like talking to an entirely different species of vir. She eventually learned the names of the men who died, not that it mattered anymore.
Oliver Kristian and Marius Lindseth were the two sailors who were washed overboard, with the mizzen mast. Benjamin Anders was crushed down in the hull. He was trying to secure the cargo when it broke loose. They didn’t find him until after they breached the storm, and at that point, the Lasting had come and gone. Finally, there was the young sailor with the leg wound. His name was Olav Carlsen and this was his first voyage on the Charlotte. Daniel did what he could, but in the end, it wasn’t enough.
The expedition had taken four lives so far, and they hadn’t even reached their destination. How many more lives would they have to spend for this Heart of Nilak, and would it be worth it? They weren’t even sure it existed.
Kile turned her attention away from the ocean, which was something she had to do from time to time. The glare of the sun, off the water, would give her a headache if she stared at it for too long. Looking below her at the deck, she spotted the Alva standing on the bow of the ship. They were carrying on a conversation, but she couldn’t hear what they were saying. It was the first time she had seen them since passing through the stormwall. They spent most of their time hiding below deck.
Behind her, Captain Dotol was at the helm… again. He seemed happiest when he was in control of the ship. He honestly believed nobody could handle the Charlotte as well as he could, and he was probably right. It was clear sailing for the remainder of the voyage, or so he would have them believe. The only problem was, they had no idea where they were going. During the height of the storm, Elmac dropped the compass. By now the glowing piece of green wood was at the bottom of the sea or eaten by a nearsighted fish. Either way, it was lost to them. Without it, they had no way of finding the island.
Dotol waved to her when he noticed her watching him.
Below him, the door to the captain’s quarters opened and Heaney stepped out on the main d
eck, followed closely by Elmac. The mystic didn’t appear to be in a good mood. He blamed himself for getting the expedition lost, or at least that’s what Daniel thought. Kile wasn’t so sure. In a way, she felt he blamed her. His attitude toward her had changed since the beginning of the voyage. Lately, whenever she tried talking to him, he would reply with short, curt answers—out of character for the otherwise long-winded mystic.
As Kile continued to watch, she could sense the tension between them. Something had happened and it placed them on opposite sides of a heated discussion. It was a shame she was so far up mainmast. Even with her oversensitive hearing, she could only make out the odd word. Something about letting something know about something because somebody did something they shouldn’t have done. All in all, it was about as interesting a conversation as she had heard in a long time. She leaned out of the crow’s nest, trying to catch more of the exchange, but all she heard was the sound of flapping sails and creaking ropes. She was about to give up when she spotted Daniel.
He was passing right under her, coming from the kitchen and heading back to the captain’s quarters where he would continue his vigil over Thomas. The loss of the young sailor, Olav, hit him pretty hard and he was determined not to lose anyone else.
Vesper was riding happily on Daniel’s shoulder since the yarrow absolutely hated being up in the crow’s nest. The first few times he went up with Kile, he would cling to her, digging his sharp little claws into her shoulder and not letting go until he was back on deck. It was not a pleasant experience for either of them. That’s when she made arrangements with Daniel to watch Vesper while she was in the nest.
