Without looking at him, she pointed to the steering board side. “The sun is over there, west. We have five, maybe six hours of daylight remaining.”
Owen snorted. “You call this mist daylight?”
Kora, a sour expression on her face, said, “We’re drifting.”
“Aye,” admitted Fioni, joining her, leaning out over the hull and staring into the still waters.
So that’s it then, Owen thought bitterly. With the sea becalmed, we’re drifting off course, away from Serl’s path.
Some of the crew stood around the small cooking hearth near the prow, warming their hands and softly conversing. Others sat or lay about, wrapped in leather sleep sacks. Some played at dice or a board game, while others groomed themselves. Lady Danika slept nearby, wedged between two rowing benches, with only her dark hair visible beneath the blanket she had pulled over herself.
“Why don’t we row?” Owen asked.
Fioni snorted, shaking her head.
“Rowing is hard work, Owen,” said Kora. “Even for a man with shoulders like you. We row when we have to, but we can only keep it up for a few hours. Best to wait. The wind will return. It always does.”
“If it doesn’t,” said Fioni, “you’ll soon get your chance to pull an oar.”
“How will we know if we’re near this... Godswall?” he asked. “We can only see... what, a hundred, two hundred feet in any direction. We could sail right past it and never know.”
Fioni shook her head. “According to Serl’s journal, we’ll see the lightning first—from leagues away.”
Owen stared at her. “Like a storm?”
Fioni flicked a lock of hair away from her eyes. “No, Owen. Like magic. There’s always lightning over the Godswall. Every day, every night, never-ending.”
“That’s not possible,” he said. “Even in the north, in the mountains during the winter storms, the weather is ugly, but…”
Fioni shrugged and began cleaning her fingernails with a small knife. Kora frowned at her and then began to explain. “You’re not Fenyir, Owen, so there’s no way you could know our legends. Torin Island isn’t just an island. Nor is the Godswall simply a ring of cliffs. Ages ago, when the world was new, the gods themselves lived on Torin Island. Wodor stood atop the mountain on the island and, pointing out to sea, turned in place. The Godswall rose up out of the ocean, answering Wodor’s call, creating a shield to guard the home of the gods. And on Torin Island, the gods created men and women to serve them—us, the Fenyir. Then, because the Fenyir were hungry, the gods created fish and birds, and all other animals. For a time, all was bliss and happiness… but only for a time.”
“The Dark Shark,” said Fioni. “Serina’s master.”
“Aye,” agreed Kora. “The Dark Shark, the younger brother to Wodor, the Father of Lies. He was jealous and filled with hatred for his brother. In secret, he began to turn the hearts of the Fenyir away from Wodor, Fenya, and the other gods. There was a war… and the gods—enraged that their creations turned against them—abandoned us. Almost all of the gods left Torin Island, departing for the stars. So, you see, Torin Island was the Gateway to the Gods. Because of this, because of the island’s connection to our creators, the island is special to us. Torin Island is the only place in the entire world where the Fenyir can speak to the gods without going through the wights. And—if one is pious enough—perhaps the gods might even answer.”
“You said almost all of the gods.”
Kora nodded. “Orkinus, the god of the sea, he who loves us best. Orkinus defied his father, Wodor, to remain behind and watch over the Fenyir. He resides beneath the sea in Nifalgen, his mead hall. There, he collects the souls of fallen Fenyir warriors and judges those worthy of special reward, another chance at life, albeit a different life.”
“Orkinus was not the only god who remained,” said Fioni softly. “There was one other, one that does not love us.”
“We do not speak the Dark Shark’s name,” whispered Kora. “But it is said Serina serves him.”
“Owen’s heard his name already, Kora. My father spoke it in his study—the night before he died.”
Owen remembered now—Ator. Did Taios bring about his own death by naming their dark god? Owen shivered. “In Conarck, we do not share your beliefs. We worship only one god, Father Craftsman, but we know of one other, Old Grim. He sounds much like your Dark Shark.”
“Worship whichever god you want, Owen,” said Fioni. “I don’t think they care one way or another. The point that Kora is trying to make is that Torin Island, the Gateway to the Gods, is a mystical place. It resides between our world and that of the gods. Nature and the elements behave... differently over that island. If lightning forever strikes the peaks of the Godswall, it is because the gods will it so. When we get closer—”
A huge wave of water fell over Fioni and Kora, soaking both women and causing them to jump away from the gunwale in surprise. Behind them, on their port side, a giant black fish—more than half the length of Fen Wolf—leapt from the water once again to fall back with another splash that drenched the ship, eliciting cries of surprise from the crew. Then three massive heads—each larger than a wagon, with small shining black eyes—bobbed in the water, watching the longship, their huge tooth-lined mouths open wide, as if they were laughing at the consternation they had caused in Fen Wolf’s crew.
“Black Fish!” Kora cried out in wonder.
Owen’s breath caught in his throat, and he rushed to the gunwale, leaning out and staring at the creatures. One of the monstrous fish swam lazily past the hull, so close that Owen could almost reach out and touch its pebbly dark flesh. Although almost completely black, each fish had a patch of white flesh above and behind their shining black eyes, as well as a larger white patch on their bellies next to their fins. Along their backs rose a single huge dorsal fin, similar to a shark’s but larger, some taller than a man. The crew rushed excitedly to the gunwale as more of the massive heads surfaced, bobbing on either side of the still waters, staring at Fen Wolf and its crew. Now, Owen saw much smaller fish with yellow tints to their white patches—calves, he guessed. But even the young were at least eight feet long. None of the black fish seemed hostile, despite the rows of sharp teeth, nor did the crew seem at all concerned. In fact, they were all smiling and pointing excitedly.
One black fish lifted its tail and splashed, sending a wave to rock the ship. Lady Danika, awake now, gripped Owen’s arm, a glowing smile on her freckled face. The same black fish that had just splashed them opened its massive mouth, filled with rows of razor-sharp teeth, and sprayed water at the crew, drenching them. The creatures cried out, screeching to one another in excitement.
“They’re talking,” said Lady Danika in wonder as seawater dripped from her face.
“They’re a good omen for us,” said Fioni.
“Do you hunt such creatures?” Lady Danika asked.
“Never,” said Fioni quickly. “They are special to us.”
At that moment, one particularly large brute leaped out of the water at least fifteen feet into the air. It spun about in a midair somersault before diving back into the water again. “Very special,” she said with a smile.
Another black fish shot out of the waters. But, at the very height of its jump, the waters beneath it erupted as a giant serpentine form thrust up, catching the black fish in midair in its huge jaws. Then, in a frenzy of bloody bubbles and foam, both serpent and black fish disappeared beneath the waves.
“Vole serpent!” Kora screamed.
Another of the monstrous serpentine heads broke the surface of the water, this one holding a still-thrashing black fish calf in its mouth. Eellike in appearance, the vole serpent was at least a hundred feet long, its bloated body covered with glistening blue-and-green scales. Massive bulbous yellow eyes sat on opposite sides of an eel head crowned by thick spikes.
“Ancestors, save us!” cried Gali, staggering back in horror.
In one savage bite, the monster bit the black fish calf in half, let
ting its severed tail end fall free. As it ate, the vole serpent’s head thrashed violently, sending waves of frothy gore to rock Fen Wolf. The other black fish were gone, scattered beneath the waves in a desperate attempt to escape the monsters.
A snapping noise resonated nearby, and a shaft flew through the air, hitting one of the vole serpent’s bulbous yellow eyes. A crew member raised his crossbow into the air and cheered.
“No, you idiot!” screamed Fioni, running toward him.
She made it only two steps before the wounded vole serpent exploded out of the water, drenching them all and violently rocking the longship, throwing Fioni and the others to the deck. As Lady Danika fell back against the gunwale, Owen desperately grabbed at her arm, stopping her from going over the side. The vole serpent lifted its tail and smashed it down upon the waters, sending a wave that lifted the ship up, sending it skidding sideways. The crew screamed and grabbed at anything they could as the ship spun about. Owen, holding onto Lady Danika’s wrist with one hand, gripped the rigging with the other and held on with all his strength. They had just stopped their mad spin when he saw the vole serpent, half-submerged, swimming straight for their hull, its wounded eye streaming blood.
It’s going to ram us.
“Brace yourselves!” Fioni yelled.
The serpentine head slipped beneath the waves as the monster dove beneath the hull. It’s not going to hit us! His relief was short lived, because the entire ship shuddered, rising out of the water as the vole serpent slammed up against its hull from below. The longship fell back upon the waves. Cold water sprayed through broken wooden thwarts in the deck, but the creature made no further attacks. As the seconds passed and the ship’s violent rocking settled, Owen began to hope the monster had swum away.
He heard screams coming from the water. “Hang on to the rigging!” he yelled to Lady Danika as he sprinted to the ship’s stern. There, bobbing in the waters behind them, was a white face—one of the crew, a young woman named Lenta. “She’s fallen overboard!” he cried out, pointing to her.
Erik Gull-Song joined him. “Where?”
Owen pointed to where he had seen Lenta, but she was no longer visible. Someone was screaming that the ship was taking on water. Looking about the dark waters frantically, Owen saw no sign of the vole serpent. Without another word, Erik climbed atop the gunwale and dove headfirst into the water, sliding through it like a fish.
“Kora!” Fioni yelled. “A rope. Everyone else bail.”
Kora dashed to Owen’s side, a coil of walrus-hide rope in her hands. He couldn’t see Erik anymore. “They were just there,” he said, pointing. He gripped the gunwale, preparing to dive in himself.
Kora stopped him. “Wait. Erik’s the best swimmer I know.”
Then both Erik’s and Lenta’s heads broke the water. Kora swung the rope, tied with a loop at the end, around her head and then threw it far out over the water. It hit only feet from Erik, and he easily grabbed it, pulling it over Lenta’s head and arm.
“Pull!” Kora ordered, and she and Owen began to draw the woman in.
Erik swam easily beside her. Others ran over and began hauling on the rope as well, pulling Lenta in toward the hull. She was dead weight in the water, with blood streaming down the side of her head. As they began to haul her up the side, Fioni leaned over the hull, holding an oar for Erik, who gripped it and pulled himself up, falling onto the deck with a splash. When they had pulled Lenta most of the way up the hull, Owen reached over and gripped the woman by the armpits. Her head lolled to the side, but her closed eyelids fluttered. She’s still alive! Bracing himself, he had her partway over the gunwale when the vole serpent exploded from the depths beneath them, filling Owen’s vision with rows of giant bladed teeth. He yanked Lenta over the side as the ship shuddered under the impact, once again sending everyone reeling and falling to the deck, including Owen, who held Lenta against his chest, as the ship slid through the turbulent waters.
“It’s gone again!” someone yelled almost hysterically.
Thank the Craftsman, Owen thought. As the ship’s rocking eased, Owen became aware of a strange warmness soaking through his lower torso. Lenta’s eyes were open now, and she was staring at him. She opened her mouth and said, “Oh.” Then her eyes rolled up into her skull, and her head fell against his chest.
Her entire lower body was gone from the waist down.
Chapter 21
Dilan
Dilan stands once again on that damned bridge high above the gorge, the river roaring far below. A battle rages at one end of the narrow bridge as an army of rebels try to force their way past the scores of men desperately trying to hold them back. Men scream, men fall, men die—both attacker and defender. But soon the fighting moves onto the bridge itself as the outnumbered defenders give way. Dilan stands shoulder to shoulder with his comrades, elite soldiers of the Rams—blooded killers all. Next to Dilan, fighting like a demon, is his older brother, Artur, the best man Dilan has ever known.
Soon, it is only Dilan and Artur still on their feet, still fighting. The attackers pause, preparing themselves for the final assault. Dilan’s helmet is gone now, ripped loose in the fighting. Blood seeps down his arm, and his lungs burn with exertion. It’s almost over, he knows. He can’t do any more; no man could. But there are worse ways to die than standing alongside a man like Artur.
Pain lances through his skull, and he’s falling, going over the side of the bridge. He jars to a sudden stop, his arm wrenching with agony as Artur grips his wrist, holding him as he swings over the gorge and the river. The enemy rush behind Artur, hatred in their eyes.
“Let me go! Save yourself!” he pleads.
“Never!” screams Artur—a moment before the iron-tipped spearhead comes through the front of his throat.
Dilan falls.
And falls.
…falls.
“Wake, my childe,” a woman’s voice calls to him. The bridge fades away from his memory. His brother’s face fades away…
Dilan bolted upright from the corpse-pile, sending bodies tumbling down its side. All was darkness around him. Nearby, a single candle flared into life, illuminating the curved walls of the hold. Dilan pushed away the naked corpse of a young Windhelm girl with straw-colored hair and a horn-shaped birthmark on her cheek. The two deep puncture marks in her throat drew his gaze. I did that. I killed her. It had felt… good. He remembered her moaning in pain and ecstasy as he drank her blood. He had been so hungry, ravenous even.
As he was now.
He stared at his left hand, now whole and complete again. The fingers he had lost had regrown, like a sunfish when cut in half. He dropped down onto the blood-soaked deck, his toes sticking to the congealing blood. Then he reeled, almost falling, as weakness rushed through him, causing his legs to tremble. He grasped at the corpse-pile, holding himself upright by gripping the cold, dead shoulder of the young woman he had killed. A moment later, Serina caught him and held him against her naked chest. She was so beautiful, painfully beautiful. “Mother,” he mumbled, swaying. “Something is wrong.”
“It’s the sun,” she said as she held his cheek against her breast. “It’s daytime still.”
“How… why?”
“We’ve entered the Feral Sea. The sun cannot reach you through the fog. But while it cannot kill you, it will make you weaker—slow you down. The worst of the dizziness will soon pass, but you must be careful. In your weakened state… well, you shall remain strong enough for the task at hand.”
Dilan stared at her in confusion. His thoughts were lethargic, as if he was still sleeping, or drunk. “I don’t understand, Mother.”
“Gird yourself for war, my battle captain. Those we hunt, I now know where they are.”
“What must I do?”
“Do what you do best—kill.”
Chapter 22
Owen
Owen watched as Kora, naked and dripping seawater, climbed back over Fen Wolf’s hull onto the longship. Fioni wrapped a blanket aroun
d her shoulders as Kora, shivering, rubbed her arms. Her body was all lean muscles and old scars, her breasts small but firm. When Kora saw him watching her, she grinned and tossed her shoulders back, thrusting her breasts out. He looked away quickly, his face red, and Kora and several of the crew snorted with laughter. Erik Gull-Song looked from Kora to Owen with confusion. He and his fellow Windhelm clansmen weren’t yet in on the joke: the Fenyir, remarkably indifferent about nudity, often stripped naked in full view of the others without a second thought. In the weeks he had been aboard Fen Wolf, Owen had seen more naked women than at any other time in his life. But, as soon as the female crew members had realized how uncomfortable that made him, they delighted in using every opportunity to strip before him, often asking him to help them with their grooming. Even the men found it endlessly amusing.
“Well?” Fioni asked Kora.
Kora shook her head. “At least two of the center strakes are split—it may even be worse.”
“Fenya’s tits,” swore Fioni.
“What can we do?” Lady Danika asked.
Kora dressed quickly, her skin pebbling with the cold as she stepped into her breeches. “For now we can ram caulking into the gaps below the deck-boards, but what we really need to do is to find land, haul Fen Wolf out, and re-caulk the boards.”
“No,” said Fioni. “What we really need to do is put her up on blocks for a few weeks and replace the strakes entirely—maybe some of the older ones as well.”
“But we’re still becalmed,” said Owen.
Fioni looked down her nose at him, as if he were a stupid little boy. “Yes, Owen. We’re still becalmed. I had no idea you kingdom types were such natural mariners.”
Erik snorted, and Owen glared at him. Lady Danika pushed past Owen to stand before Fioni. “What then? How far are we from Torin Island?”
Fioni sat back on a bench, resting her back against the hull. “In truth, my lady, I don’t know.”
“But your great-grandfather’s journal—”
The Vampire Queen Saga: Books 1-3: (The Vampire Queen Saga Boxset) Page 66
