by Kat Ross
Meb scowled and grabbed a barreleye from another bucket. It had a smooth, almost featureless body, like a potato with fins. Barreleyes were deep-water fish. This one had been hauled up into the moonlight by the power and still wore a startled look on its face. With a practiced flick of the wrist, Meb slit its belly open and poked through the innards. Sometimes she found smaller fish. On one exciting occasion, she’d plucked out a perfect black pearl, which she traded in Tjanjin for a better knife. But this barreleye hadn’t eaten anything interesting. She discarded the innards and used her knife to scrape the scales off.
Six more buckets of fish waited on the deck. Meb blew out a breath. The fan-like sails of the Asperta trembled in a sudden northerly gust.
“Mebetimmunedjem!”
Captain Kasaika’s voice cut straight through the wind. She had years of practice at that, the captain did. Meb tensed, instantly wary. The captain only used her full name when she was displeased or worried. Had the cook told on her for sneaking an extra helping at breakfast? Or was it the slop bucket she’d spilled in the galley? She’d cleaned that up all right, though the smell lingered. Well, there was no ignoring the summons, or whatever punishment she got would be doubled.
Meb flew to the wheelhouse, scrawny limbs moving with apelike agility across the pitching deck. She looked younger than her twelve years, with furtive brown eyes nearly hidden by a mop of kinky curls. She couldn’t be bothered to comb it and nobody made her.
The Asperta had sailed from the mortal city of Delphi across the Cimmerian Sea to Val Altair at the northern tip of Nocturne, where Captain Kasaika traded a cargo of copper plates and brass buckles for chests of raw gemstones. Now they were headed south, back to the Isles of the Marakai. Meb wondered if she would ever see Delphi again. All the Marakai ships had hoisted their sails and left the same day the Oracle issued a new prophecy. Meb didn’t know what it was, not then, but she’d felt the cold stares of the men at the port. Like she was a rabid dog who might bite at any moment.
Captain Kasaika hadn’t told her anything—no one ever did—but Meb was an accomplished sneak and overheard her talking to the current master after they left the harbor. Captain Kasaika said the Oracle wanted an excuse to wage war on the Persians. That she hated magic. Meb didn’t see how you could hate magic. That would be like hating the sun or the stars. But mortals were strange. Captain Kasaika said the Five would deal with the Oracle. The Asperta would continue to make trade runs, perhaps to Tjanjin next. The seas belonged to the Marakai whether the Oracle liked it or not.
Now the captain gave her a stern look.
“I need you to check on Anuketmatma.”
Meb froze. “Me?”
“Yes, you,” the captain snapped. Her strong hands rested lightly on the wooden rail that enclosed the quarterdeck. “I’m not crazy about the idea either, but there’s no one else.”
One of the water barrels had somehow gotten contaminated and most of the Asperta’s crew were moaning in their hammocks. Those still standing were all working triple duty.
“But—”
Captain Kasaika’s eyes narrowed. “Are you arguing with me, Mebetimmunedjem?”
Meb hunched her shoulders. “No, captain.”
“Good. It’s a simple job—so simple I doubt even you can muck it up.”
Meb stared at her knobby toes. She was cautious by nature—one of the reasons they called her Meb the Mouse. She knew how to pass unnoticed, how to fade into the background. It was a habit acquired at an early age when she first realized how different she was. Unlike every other Marakai she’d ever met, Meb could hardly work water at all, nor could she read the weather beyond looking up at the sky and noting whether it was clear or cloudy. Navigating the Great Green required a subtle understanding of the currents and tides, of the surface swells and churning movements hidden in the depths. A sailor unable to commune with the sea was worse than useless.
After her parents vanished, she’d been turned over to Captain Kasaika. The captain didn’t know what to do with Meb, so she was given menial jobs like cleaning fish and scrubbing things. Meb found these tasks boring so she was always daydreaming, which led to getting yelled at. She liked to imagine her parents would come back someday, but she was also a realist and expected they were probably dead.
“No time to waste,” the captain growled when Meb failed to move. “It’s already two bells past her suppertime. We have enough problems without….”
She didn’t finish the sentence but Meb knew what she meant to say.
Without Anuketmatma waking up hungry and mad.
“Yes, captain,” Meb mumbled, slouching for the nearest hatch. She slid down the ladder into darkness.
It smelled bad below decks, like sick and overflowing latrines. Physical maladies were rare among her people. Never had everyone come down with such vile humors at once, too many to attempt healing. Meb wondered if the Greeks had poisoned their water.
She crept down the corridor, one hand trailing the wall for balance, to a hatch at the very end. Anuketmatma got her own berth, according to the contract. Meb cautiously cracked the hatch and peered inside.
Moonlight spilled through a square porthole with brass fittings, illuminating a nest of blankets on the floor. Curled up in the center of the nest was a small grey cat with dark stripes. Her eyes were closed. The rumble of her purring filled the cabin.
Meb heaved a sigh of relief. She sidled inside and rooted carefully through the blankets until she located an empty bowl. Then she slipped down the hall to the galley. It smelled of black kelp and fish. The cook arched an eyebrow when Meb handed him the bowl.
“Captain sent me,” she said briskly, trying to sound as if she did this sort of thing all the time. “I’m to care for Her.”
The cook stroked his beard. He was big, with hands roughened from saltwater and a voice like distant thunder. He wore his tattoo on the left cheek. Meb was a little afraid of him because he had a short temper and threw things when he got angry.
“What about my fish?” he demanded.
“I’ll finish it after,” she said quickly. “I was almost done anyway.”
That was a lie, but she could gut and scale with great efficiency when she wanted to, which was rarely.
The cook grunted. “See that you do. Not many’s eating, but I still need a meal for the rest of us.” He took a skin bag from under his leather vest, where it nestled against his chest, and squeezed milk into the bowl.
“She likes it warm,” he said. “Cold is bad.” A pause. “Very bad. So don’t dawdle.”
Meb nodded and cupped the bowl carefully in her hands. The Asperta wallowed through a series of deep troughs as she made her way back down the corridor. She was starting to feel better—proud, even, that she’d been given such an important job. Though Meb worked hard to be invisible, it made for a lonely life. No one treated her cruelly. Captain Kasaika was tough, but that was to be expected. She was captain. And she kept Meb’s weakness a secret. Still, Meb knew she had no future with the Asperta or any other ship. She wondered if Captain Kasaika would even let her get tattoos. Other Selk kids got theirs at thirteen, but with her inability to work water, Meb worried she might be forever barred, which would be beyond humiliating.
She reached the cabin and nudged it open with one foot, knees bent to absorb the rolling of the ship. Anuketmatma’s striped tail was snugged over her nose like a scarf. She looked soft. Meb had a sudden urge to pet her but didn’t dare.
The little grey cat was the mother of storms. As long as she was content, the weather would stay fair. But if she got angry or hungry, things could deteriorate quickly. The Selk fleet took turns carrying her. Anuketmatma had been on the Asperta for the last month. When they reached the Isles, she would become the blessing and burden of another ship.
Meb approached the blankets, the bowl in her hands. Should she leave it on the floor? But it would grow cold if Anuketmatma didn’t wake soon. And the cook said she’d be upset if she found cold milk.
I better sit and wait to see what she does.
Meb took up a cross-legged position at the edge of the blankets, cupping the bowl to keep it warm. She felt nervous being so close to the mother of storms, but it was still better than cleaning fish. If she stayed here, no one would bother her to do some dirty chore they didn’t want to do themselves. She gazed out the porthole at the sea. She’d spent the last year on the ocean, working for Captain Kasaika, yet it still scared her. It must be different for the Marakai who could wield water, but Meb felt no connection to the sea. It was unpredictable, violent and merciless. Most likely, the sea had taken her parents.
She had no brothers or sisters. There was an old woman she’d visited once when she was little, some distant ancestor. The woman asked her a lot of questions and tried to make her do things with water. It was clearly a test, and just as clearly, Meb failed it. She never saw the old woman again.
Now she opened herself to the Nexus and felt the rush of the wind outside, the creaking of the wooden planks beneath her. Air and earth came more easily, although she wasn’t strong in either. Water was the most unreliable element of all, which is why Meb had no warning when a rogue wave suddenly lifted the Asperta in a dizzying ascent and dashed it back down again like a frustrated child hurling a toy.
The bowl of milk in her hands splashed straight into Anuketmatma’s whiskered face.
Meb froze. The cat’s yellow-green eyes opened to slits. The fur on her back rose up. Her striped tail gave an angry lash.
“Oh, shit,” Meb whispered.
Chapter Two
She Comes from the Depths
Bitter cold shrouded the Chione as she sailed around Nocturne’s southern cape and took a northerly course for the Isles of the Marakai. Ice rimed the rigging and slicked the twin masts. Even the stars above looked frozen in place. Somewhere over the western horizon, past the Great Forest and the Umbra and the mortal cities, the sun beat down on a trackless desert, but in the far reaches of the Austral Ocean its light and warmth were a distant memory. Here, the three pale queens of night reigned supreme.
In her small berth, Nazafareen curled beneath a mountain of blankets. Darius lay at her side, his breathing deep and even. He slept peacefully now, though a short while before he’d woken her with panicky mutterings, twisting and clawing at his throat. He would have drawn blood if she hadn’t pinned his hands. She spoke to him, empty, reassuring words, and he grew calmer, finally passing into normal sleep. It was a nightly ritual. He never seemed to remember when he woke and Nazafareen hadn’t told him.
Sometimes he whispered a name.
Thena.
Nazafareen’s bond with Darius broke when the Chione passed beyond the Umbra, but she didn’t need it to sense the fear contained in that single word. Thena must be the one who’d punished him with the iron collar. He still refused to speak in any detail of what had happened to him at the Temple of Apollo and Nazafareen didn’t press. But she thought often of this faceless woman, and how much she would like to meet her someday.
This invariably led to brooding about the Pythia. Her pitiless blue eyes and the bellowing shrieks of the brazen bull. Now the Oracle sought the daēva talismans, to collar and enslave them.
Captain Mafuone said they’d reach the Isles within two days. Then Kallisto would try to find a bird who knew Sakhet-ra-katme and send her a message. Apparently, Sakhet knew a great deal about the talismans, more than anyone living. Nazafareen harbored secret hopes Sakhet might know how to restore her memories too, but she kept those to herself.
During their time together on the Chione, Darius had told her more about her life before Nocturne. About a woman named Tijah, who had been their comrade in the Water Dogs, and her bonded daēva, Myrri. Nazafareen asked every question she could think of and Darius dug out scraps he thought he’d forgotten, and it all left her both intrigued and deeply bitter because it was like hearing a grand adventure story about somebody else.
The truth of their past troubled her, as he’d known it would. Before the bond broke, she felt his power and the awareness she could sever him from it if she chose to. As much as Nazafareen enjoyed the intimate connection with him, it seemed too much like a form of slavery. The cuffs were designed for the express purpose of domination. For humans to control a power not meant for them.
In the bright moonlight coming through the porthole, she studied the gold cuff circling the stump of her right wrist. It was engraved with a snarling griffin—a winged lion—and had a lock with a small keyhole. The magus who first bonded them had kept the key, though it must be long gone now. Nazafareen tucked her arm under the pillow again, snuggling against Darius’s warm body.
His left arm appeared smooth and unblemished now, but it would wither again if they entered Solis. Darius had explained how the bond took a piece of him and trapped it in the cuff, and that—plus the element of fire—was what made the bond work. Every daēva suffered a different infirmity. Some lost tongues or eyes. Others had crooked backs and twisted legs. Nazafareen scowled. It all seemed utterly barbaric.
But their bond was gone in the darklands, and so was her negatory magic. Nazafareen felt naked without it, vulnerable and exposed. Darius said it drew on the power of the void, but where did that come from? Not the Nexus. Breaking magic was an inborn trait and one so rare Nazafareen didn’t know of anyone else who had it—or what ultimately became of them.
She pondered these things as she lay in the bunk, listening to the wind in the rigging. It had blown steady for days from the south, but now she heard intermittent stronger gusts that made the sails flap madly, as if the breeze couldn’t decide which way to go. Nazafareen touched Darius’s shoulder and his blue eyes flew open, wary and tense. He unconsciously reached for his elemental power, as he always did upon waking, as if to reassure himself it was still there.
His gaze softened when he saw her. She cupped his chin and ran a thumb across the dark stubble. It had been rough when it first grew in, chafing when he kissed her, but now it felt soft and silky.
“I like you with a beard,” she said. “You look distinguished, like Herodotus.”
He frowned. “It itches. But I’m not sure I want to try shaving on the Austral Ocean. You might not like me so much with one ear.”
“I’d like you with no ears at all,” she said seriously. “But listen, Darius. I think the weather is changing.”
He sat up and looked out the porthole, studying the sea and sky.
“Storm coming,” he said softly. “A bad one, I’d reckon.”
She leaned over him and pressed her face against the thick glass. It was too dark to see much, though his daēva eyes were keener.
“How bad?” she asked.
“We ought to ask the captain,” Darius replied. “She’ll have a good sense of it.”
Nazafareen had spent hours on deck observing the Marakai sailors and was deeply impressed by their grace and agility. They seemed to anticipate every swell and gust of wind. The Chione rode the waves like a water bird, perfectly at ease. And Nazafareen found herself reveling in the salt spray cast across the bow, the rush of water beneath the hull and sense of tremendous space all around, of being a tiny speck hurtling along beneath the vast starry sky. What a wonderful life, she’d thought, to sail free on the oceans!
But now she felt the power of the coming storm and was afraid.
“Better to know what we’re getting into,” she agreed. “I only hope it doesn’t delay us too much.”
With some reluctance, Nazafareen crawled out from the blankets and donned her fur-lined cloak. Darius, who seemed indifferent to the chill, pulled a tunic on and they headed up to the deck, where they found Captain Mafuone at the bow. As they approached, a gull flew past, making hard for the west.
“Rough weather ahead, captain?” Darius called.
Nazafareen gazed out at the water. It was choppy and streaked with white spindrift, but no worse than yesterday. The skies looked clear.
Captain Mafuone turned to them, ca
lm and commanding. She wore her hair in rows of tight braids that accentuated a high forehead and enviable cheekbones. “Do you see the moon?” She pointed at Hecate, which was surrounded by a bright yellow halo. “The corona is a sure sign. And the birds know. They’re headed for shore.” Her face grew thoughtful. “This storm, it isn’t natural. It appeared out of nowhere.”
“What does that mean?” Nazafareen asked. “Someone conjured it up with magic?”
The captain shook her head. Despite the cold, she wore a sleeveless leather vest and baggy trousers cinched at the ankles with cords of shell. The tattoo of Sat-bu, She With No Face and Many Arms, seemed to writhe as her lean biceps flexed. “I’m not sure. But we have a few hours yet to prepare. Go tell your friends to stay in their cabins.”
The crew was already reefing the sails and lashing down anything loose. They moved quickly and efficiently, each focused on the task at hand. None looked especially worried, which Nazafareen found reassuring. She threw a last glance at the sea. The wind had shifted again, driving long lines of swells from the north. In the thickening haze above, Hecate’s outline looked gauzy and indistinct. She clasped Darius’s hand and they hurried below, splitting up when they reached the companionway leading to the passenger quarters.
“What?” Megaera demanded grumpily in response to Nazafareen’s pounding. A blanket lay across her broad shoulders and her dark hair hung in a messy braid. Like Herodotus and Rhea, the lateral rolling of the ship made her ill and she’d been in a foul humor for days. Nazafareen tried not to recoil at the unpleasant aroma wafting from the small cabin.
