Sorcery's Child (The Mindbender's Rise Book 2)

by D J Salisbury

  “Surely not.” He didn’t remember if he had or not, but he would never admit that to Lorel. She seemed to think he remembered everything.

  The narrow stairway leading beneath the deck was unlit, and faint morning sunlight did little to ease the gloom. The room below, lit only by a pair of tiny round windows near the ceiling, was even darker.

  Viper’s stomach sank. “This is where we’re going to live?”

  Lorel looked too shocked to answer.

  The room was crammed with bunks, four across, three deep, and three high, with a scarce foot of air between them for passageways. They were placed head to foot, and sacked less than three feet apart. A tall man – or Lorel – couldn’t sit upright in the lower bunks. Each narrow mattress had a trunk sitting at one end, creating a minor barrier between the beds.

  Lorel leaned against the wall and groaned. “I’m never gonna fit in one of those.”

  Viper silently agreed. She was much longer than the bed. There are unexpected advantages to being short, he thought wryly.

  “Ye’ll learn, little missy,” said a deep, friendly voice. “If naught else ye’ll learn to sleep on yer side, curled up a whit.”

  “Who’s here, please?” Viper asked. He stepped on Lorel’s foot to silence her. “Be nice, he sounds old,” he mouthed at her.

  The offended expression on her face softened.

  “Gharon, I call meself, laddie.” A long, long, long form rolled off a top bunk in the far corner.

  Lorel stared up at the old man and closed her dangling jaw. “If he can fit on one of those things, so can I.”

  The old sailor was not only tribesman tall, his hair was grass gold streaked with white, and his eyes were thunder dark, if the dim light was showing the truth. Viper thought his heart would stop, from fear or hope he wasn’t sure. “Are you Setoyan?” he whispered.

  “Nay, not I laddie, though ye’re not the first to think so.” Gharon ran his fingers through his hair. “I hail from Kerov, east of the plains. Why should it worry ye?”

  “I was born on the plains.” Viper touched his own blond hair.

  Gharon’s dark eyes flickered and he nodded. “To pick a bunk, are ye?”

  Lorel nodded eagerly. “My grandparents are from Kerov.” She elbowed Viper when he didn’t move. “Don’t stare.”

  He grabbed at the nearest bunk’s supporting pole and gave her a dirty look, but said nothing. He’d tell her exactly what he thought when no one was around. If that ever happened on a ship.

  “I’m thinking you’d best pick a top bunk along the wall.” Gharon patted a mattress and chuckled. “Ye’re both young enow to made the scramble, high seas or no. Ye’ll have a whit more head room there, and it’s a fair shake drier. We get a bit of flooding in here on occasion.”

  Lorel looked at the bunks suspiciously. “Why aren’t all the top beds taken?”

  “Because they’re ten feet off the floor, turybird.” Viper wrinkled his nose. “Not many people are willing to sleep that high. Not mention they’ll be hard to get into.” Not hard at all, but he didn’t want to admit to his climbing skills. What if they decided to assign him work on the top of the mast?

  “Not that hard, kid. Not even for you.” She tossed his pack and mandolin up to the nearest top bunk and reached for him.

  She wouldn’t. Who was he kidding? Of course she would.

  He backed away, spun, and sprinted for the stairwell.

  She grabbed his hair and hauled him backwards.

  “Stop! Let go, you turybird. Don’t!”

  She grabbed his ribs, swung him upward between the rows of bunks, twisted at the last second, and tossed him beside the pack.

  “Don’t do that.” Thunderer. He sounded worse than his mother scolding the babies, but he couldn’t seem to shut down his chatter. “You’ll break both my legs if you miss that little tunnel. Besides, I don’t like this one. I’ll take the back corner across from Gharon.” He crawled across the locker between the bunks.

  “I’ll take the middle one.” She hauled herself up to the bed with a kick and a grunt. “Unless these are taken.” She glanced at Gharon.

  “They’re not. Listen up. Limit yer rough games, especially if anyone’s near. And no games at all on deck. We’ve no way to save a body gone overboard.”

  Gharon watched them for a moment before turning toward the stairs. “Get yer gear into the lockers quick now,” he said over his shoulder. “We’ll be casting off, and that can get rough. Get down on the floor when the whistle blows and stay there until ye be called for.”

  “Can’t we watch?” Lorel dropped from the bunk and followed him to the stairs.

  “Nay, not the first time ye try it.” Gharon waved her back down the steps. “It’s frightening enow when ye know what to expect. Stay put.”

  Lorel trudged back to her bunk and climbed up. She shoved her clothing into the locker. “What’s so thread-fraying scary about casting off?” She wrapped the harp case in her spare blanket and tucked it securely between the wall and the mattress.

  Viper nodded approval. The harp case was brilliant camouflage, but it would be useless if it broke. And bahtdor bone swords would definitely cause comment, possibly fury on the captain’s part. If the insulting sandcrab tried to confiscate them, Lorel would start a war.

  “Think about what casting off means.” He relaxed onto his mattress. “They’re going to drop us into the ocean.”

  “Coward crap. I seen it done. They’ll lower us real slow. It takes forever. Ain’t nothing scary about that. I wanna go watch.”

  “If they catch us before the ship is free of the seawall they’ll throw us off. If we wait until things start moving, we can go sit at the top of the staircase. Everybody will be too busy to notice us.”

  Lorel clasped her hands behind her head. “I like the way you think.” She settled into the bunk to wait.

  He breathed a sigh of relief. Now that he was started, he didn’t want to go on this journey alone. He could see where he’d better keep a rope on Lorel’s enthusiasms, if for no other reason than to keep anyone from tossing her to the sea out of pure annoyance.

  A whistle shrilled.

  He slithered down a bunk pole to the floor.

  Lorel lowered herself by simply stretching to her full length, with less than a foot to drop.

  “Show off.” He flicked his fingers at her.

  She grinned at him. “Let’s hit the stairs.”

  “Patience.” Viper leaned against the bunk pole. “Wait for the ship to start moving.”

  Lorel growled, but held her ground. “Patience, patience,” she mimicked. “I hate that word.”

  The ship groaned.

  Viper’s gut dropped through the floor. A dizzy, swinging sensation swept through him. Out. And back.

  The ship paused, creaked like a sticky door hinge, and swayed gently.

  The floor dropped out from under his feet. He grabbed at the nearest bed pole and discovered he hadn’t moved at all.

  Wood crashed, grated, screeched. The impact knocked both of them hard against the bunks. Viper guessed the ship had bounced off the seawall.

  “It’s time.” He crouched down on the swaying floor. “Do you mind if we crawl?”

  The ship jerked with the force of another impact.

  “Maybe that’s a good idea.” Lorel dropped back to the floor and crawled towards the stairs.

  The ship shuddered from another blow.

  She collided with the wall. “Weaver’s chamberpot.”

  He crawled to her. “Should we stay down here?”

  “No way, kid.” She hurried to the staircase and wedged herself between the walls in time to save herself from another concussion. “Get over here and you’ll be safe enough.”

  Viper sighed and dashed to the stairwell.

  She held him steady as another impact wracked the ship. “Just put your back against one wall and your feet against the other.”

  “I’m not that long.”

  She studied hi
m for a moment, shrugged, and grabbed him before the next impact knocked him off the stairs. “You gotta hold on to me.”

  He braced against the next blow. “This’ll work. Let’s start up.”

  Four jolts later, and long before he was ready, they were at the top of the stairs. “This is far enough,” he whispered.

  “But I can’t see nothing.” She tried to scoot a little higher.

  He pulled her down. “We don’t want anybody to see us.”

  She subsided, but huffed and cussed under her breath. “Weaver crush the Loom, I can’t see nothing.”

  He could see more than he wanted to. Than he ever wanted to again. The seawall cliff was treacherously close. The ship swung slowly toward it.

  Another collision shook them.

  His bones vibrated like the Cantor’s drum when the old man pounded on it with his heaviest mallet. He braced against Lorel’s waist and measured the arc of the swing with his eyes. If they oscillated any farther they’d hit the wall harder, and if they hit harder the ship might break up. He shuddered and fought down a moan of terror.

  Salt spray misted around the edges of the groaning ship. Two jolts later the spray was followed by a small wave.

  Another jolt. A huge wave washed across the deck, into the stairwell.

  “Hold on.” Lorel stretched and strained to maintain her place between the walls.

  Icy water smashed over them. Viper held his breath and clung to her waist until the wave slithered down the stairwell. He blinked briny water out of his eyes and plucked slimy seaweed out of his hair. It reminded him of that first awful stew he’d cooked for Trevor.

  Trevor would have known the name of this species of seaweed. Trevor would have known everything about it, would have explained its lifecycle to him with so much joy even a slimy weed sounded interesting. Now he’d never know what it was, or what the old man thought.

  He tossed the seaweed out onto the deck.

  The ship slapped against the ocean. It shrieked and bounced, but without the jarring impact of the seawall cliff. Another wave splashed over them and washed the seaweed away.

  Lorel gathered herself as if she was going to spring out onto the deck. Was she crazy? The whole ship was dancing over the waves like the Cantor’s hands over the leather of his drum. Who could walk on that?

  Viper pointed to the sailors releasing the huge hooks that had lowered them. “We’d better get downstairs. They’ll be coming to check on us soon.”

  She sagged and pried his fingers free of her shirt. “Well, hurry it, kid. Here comes another wave.”

  They dashed down the steps, sloshed to the closest bunks, and anchored themselves to the bedposts. A large, cold wave splashed over them. Another followed, and soon the floor was covered with six inches of cold, briny water.

  All of the lower bunks were soaked. Water sloshed along the walls and soaked the middle bunks each time a wave slapped the ship.

  “I’m glad Gharon told us to take top bunks,” Lorel muttered.

  “We’ll be lucky if nobody takes them away.”

  “They’ll have to fight me for them, kid.”

  Viper looked up at her. The turybird would fight for the fun of it, much less to keep territory she’d claimed. “Then we’ve got a chance to sleep dry.”

  Lorel grinned and leaned against the nearest bunk.

  “Tidedrinker’s tits!” roared a voice from above. “Who left the drunken hatch open? Fo’c’sle be half drowned.”

  “There’s kids down there,” called a distant voice.

  “They be fine,” said the first voice. “Wet, but who isn’t? Find them buckets. They can bail as well as us.”

  “Nay, open the head,” called the distant voice. “Don’t make work.”

  A stout young man clattered down the steps. He knelt in water on the landing, felt around on the floor, and yanked open a round trap door the size of a dinner plate. The sloshing water began to drain out, swirling into the hole. After a quick smile and a wave of his hand, the sailor stamped up the stairs.

  Lorel stared at the hole with murder in her eyes. “Where do you suppose they put the crapper?”

  Viper groaned. He was supposed to pee in public? In front of everyone? In front of Lorel?

  He already felt like people gawked at him all the time. Well, a lot of people did stare, since Setoyans were rarely seen off the plains.

  But even on the plains, where nudity was appropriate during important ceremonies, everyone did their business in private, not out in the middle of the common room.

  Maybe they were supposed to drape a towel around them. He’d have to watch the others and see. Or rather, not watch. Or…

  Sandblast it. He’d just ask Gharon. The sailor was too old to be embarrassed by a turybird question like, “How do I use the potty?”

  Chapter 13.

  Nine grim days later, Kresh’s seawall cliff loomed over them as though it was about collapse on them. Heavy wooden cranes flung a dozen huge hooks down toward the lurching ship, each one attached to thick cables that lurched and waggled like the arms of a hungry kraken.

  Why hadn’t he stayed below deck? It might not be any safer, but why watch disaster head his way?

  Because he was too blasted curious to hide.

  Viper nudged Lorel aside and peered out the stairwell hatch. Steam rose from the seawater washing over the deck. The desert sun blazed down on the ship as if it were trying to dry away the ocean.

  He nearly puked when the first hook caught in the front-stern ring. The ship dangled like a trout fighting the line. No, like a salmon. A big, wiggly, desperate salmon trying to escape a bahtdor’s fangs. He clutched the hatch and clung like the barnacle Pavimigar accused him of being.

  Within seconds sailors forced three other hooks into the matching rings. The cables jerked tight, and the ship’s deck was nearly horizontal for the first time in nine ghastly days.

  He gusted out a sigh of relief as sailors hooked two more huge bronze rings. “Praise the Thunderer. It’s finally over.” He released his death grip on the hatch opening.

  Lorel chuckled at him. “It weren’t that bad, kid. Kresh’s seawall ain’t nearly so tall as Zedista’s.”

  “You’d enjoy rafting over a waterfall. Didn’t it occur to you that somebody could get killed when the hooks miss? We’re lucky they made us stay out of the way.”

  “You’re just too cautious, kid.” She leaned against the cabin and adjusted the swords hanging from her belt. A snarky smile played on her lips. “I won’t say cowardly ’cuz don’t wanna fight with you. But you know Loom-warping well that getting mashed is one of the risks of the job.”

  “That doesn’t mean I have to like it. If there were anything I could do about it– And you better believe I’d be mad at you for calling me coward.” The turybird had been cocky ever since she attached her sheathed swords to her belt, an hour ago. She was beginning to get on his nerves.

  “Well, I didn’t, so pipe down.” Lorel looked across the deck, suddenly somber. “And straighten up fast.” She nodded at the captain.

  Pavimigar stalked across the deck toward them, his steps creating a solid dance across the pitching deck.

  Thunderer, he still amazes me. Is it that he’s got unbelievable balance or that his feet grow into the deck with every step?

  Lorel is beginning to walk like that.

  Viper stood up and saluted respectfully, smothering a sigh of pure envy. He was lucky when he could stagger across the hold without falling over. The captain had rarely let him out on deck over the last nine days.

  “We’ll be lowered into dry dock pretty quick.” Pavimigar glared down at him. “Did anybody tell you that you’ll need to find your own housing during shore leave?”

  They both nodded.

  “We ship out at dawn in nineteen days, as soon as the Alignment tides ease up. Be here or I’ll leave you.” Pavimigar stalked back toward the stern, still grumbling about his tight schedule. Even as he spoke, the ship cleared the seawall clif
f and began the jerky descent into the shipyard.

  Viper grabbed at the hatch. “Personally, I’ll be grateful to have dry land under my feet for a while.”

  The ship pitched sideways.

  He toppled down on the top step and decided to sit there, in the shade. The sun here was hotter than it had any right to be.

  “Land looks a little too dry for my liking.” Lorel wiped the sweat out of her eyes.

  Too dry? He stood, braced himself against the ship’s jolting movements, and studied the area. It looked drier than the Setoyan plains, brown grass showing only in the distant east. It was almost as dry as the Great Dunes and far rockier, with sporadic patches of fleshy brush. Small grayish plants grew even upon the rocky seawall, apparently holding the jumble of mismatched stones in place.

  The top edge of the wall looked new, and that newness gave him a sick feeling deep in his gut. Could the Alignment tide spill over the seawall of this parched city?

  The village itself amazed him, since Gharon called Kresh a large city. A few stone shacks daubed the landscape. Enormous, ugly birds straddled the pointed, mud-wattle roofs – dirty white birds with beaks resembling daggers, and a gangling sack hanging from each neck that looked to be filled with blood.

  No one lingered on the heat-wavering paths. Did everyone walk in fear of the feathered demons? What kind of bird was bigger and scarier than a Setoyan vulture?

  The ship thumped into its cradle. Theirs was only the third ship in the whole dockyard. Handlers unharnessed ox teams from the hoisting mechanism and led them into a large cavern.

  “Grab your gear,” Pavimigar said quietly.

  Viper jumped, as startled as a sand lizard, and almost fell down the steps.

  The captain grabbed his arm and hauled him upright. “I have business to attend, and I don’t want you in the way. Somebody’s likely to think you’re for sale, and I might just give in. Move.”

  They tumbled down the stairs for their gear. They scrambled down the deck’s rope ladder before the first prospective clients arrived to make a bid.

  Amazing what an idle threat did to a leisurely attitude. At least, he hoped it was idle.