“How are they doing?” he asked.
She cast him a stricken look that told him everything. They were dead. There was a cry of pain from the younger boy, and his brother soothed him.
“I’m so sorry,” Nat whispered, and only when the child turned to her did Wes realize his mistake. He had been wrong about the new passengers. The little ones were not children. They only looked like they were. The boys were smallmen.
Wes faced the group, taking a knee.
“This is Brendon and this is Roark,” Nat said, introducing them. Brendon had curly red hair and tears in his eyes. Roark was dark and stocky. They were the size of toddlers—three feet tall, but proportioned and fully grown; Wes had never met any before, but they struck him as being about his age. The smallfolk were said to be wily and malicious; they could see in the blackest dark and hide where no hiding place could be found, giving rise to their reputations as thieves and assassins. But the two in front of him looked nothing like the sort. They had ordinary, pleasant faces, and their clothing was rough-hewn and handmade.
It was Brendon who spoke. “Thank you for taking us on board.”
“I’m sorry about your friends,” said Wes, shaking his hand.
Brendon nodded, blinking back tears; he looked as if he were about to collapse. “They sheltered us from the raids when we were separated from our families. With their help, we found Liannan and the boat. We would not be here without them.”
The smallmen told them their story. They were refugees from Upper Pangaea, where the RSA had just taken over. The smallkind had lived in the open there, along with a few tribes of sylphs. It was peaceful for a time, but things started to change. Many of them were suffering, dying from the rot, the strange plague on the marked and magical that no medicine could cure. As part of the cleansing, they had been rounded up with the rest of the marked and others like them, herded and made to live in confined areas until they were moved somewhere else. So Brendon and Roark had hidden with their friends on their farm and survived for a time, hiding in the attic, in the recesses of the walls, but it became too dangerous. The neighbors had become suspicious, so they looked for passage and decided to undertake the dangerous voyage to the Blue, where they heard there was a cure.
For a while they had been lucky; their captain was savvy and the ship was fast, and they had made good time. Then they had hit a trashberg, and their ship began taking in water, which slowed them down. Supplies began to run out, then they were ambushed and drifted for weeks, with nothing to eat . . . and being human, the young couple had taken the worst of it. They had died of starvation.
Roark put his face in his hands and sobbed. They were great, terrible sobs, and Wes felt helpless around such grief. He wondered at the depth of feeling and was envious of it, in a perverse way. He hadn’t cried like that since his parents died, since he and Eliza had been separated. Wes had seen so many of his soldiers die before him, and felt nothing but an abstract, removed sadness. Perhaps if Shakes had perished, he would feel it . . . Wes clapped Roark on the shoulder a bit awkwardly. He looked to Nat for help.
“We’ll honor their life,” Nat said. “I’ll ask Liannan to help me prepare them for burial at sea.”
Nat and Wes left the room together, Nat moving quickly and Wes following right behind. But he stopped, feeling a sharp tug on his sleeve. He looked down and saw Brendon. The smallman had a pinched, anxious look on his face and was wringing his hands in worry.
“Captain . . .”
“Just call me Wes,” he said. “We don’t go by formalities here.”
“Wes, then.” Brendon nodded. “There are more of us—more boats out there—filled with our people, headed to the same place. But during the ambush we were separated.”
Wes nodded. He knew as much from seeing the slaughter on board their ship. “The ships that attacked you, did they carry this flag?” he asked, showing the red stars of the RSA.
The smallman nodded.
Wes wiped his brow. It was just as he’d suspected: Sniper boats were circling. “Look, I’d love to help out every pilgrim in this ocean, but we’re running as tight as we can, and we can’t take any more. We don’t have enough supplies to feed ourselves, let alone you guys. We’ll be lucky if we make it to the Blue before the goop runs out.”
“Then they are lost,” Brendon whispered.
Wes sighed. “How many ships?”
“Five . . . at most. We were following them toward the Hellespont, which is when the attack happened, and then we were separated by the trashbergs. We haven’t seen them since, but we know they’re out there. Some of them must have survived. They’re lost and hungry and they don’t have anyone. Liannan was leading us. They were following our boat.”
This was why he never took these jobs anymore, Wes realized. It was too much—he couldn’t save everybody—he couldn’t even keep his soldiers alive, let alone in line. Daran was lost, and while the kid was a jerk and a lowlife, he had still entrusted his life to Wes and Wes had failed him. He couldn’t keep doing this, there were so many . . . and he was too young to watch so many kids die. Now he was being asked to save a few more . . . for what? So that he could watch them starve? Or fall victim to frostblight? He blinked; his vision had gone black again, as if to remind him.
“Please,” Brendon said. “Please . . . just give them a chance. That’s all we’re asking.”
Wes looked down at him. They were called smallmen . . . maybe they had small appetites? He wondered how they would feel about eating bark. “Look, I’ll see what I can do. We’ll do one loop around Hell Strait and if we see anyone we’ll pick them up, but that’s it. I can’t waste time circling this drain.”
“Thank you!” Brendon said, shaking his hand vigorously. “Thank you!”
Wes handed him and Roark a few fried chicken wafers he’d been saving for a dire emergency. “What is it?” Brendon asked, staring at the foil-wrapped object.
“It’s not the healthiest thing in the world, but it tastes good—share it with your brother.”
“He’s not my brother,” Brendon said excitedly, but he was already tearing off the silver wrapper and inhaling the scent.
Wes’s cheeks creased in a sad smile. So many promises he had made already. To take Nat to the Blue. Now to scour the oceans for more of the smallkind. He was soft, he’d always been too soft; it was his Achilles heel, his heart.
33
LIANNAN PREPARED THE BODIES FOR burial with the help of Brendon and Roark. Nat lent a hand as well, helping to wrap the white cloth around each one, folding and tucking the linen so the fabric did not bunch. The smallmen were somber, silent tears rolling down their cheeks as they accomplished the difficult task of caring for their dead.
“We’re ready,” Nat told Wes and Shakes, who were waiting by the doorway respectfully. Farouk had made it clear he wanted no part of this and remained on the bridge, watching. Together the boys lifted the body of the man first, then the woman, and laid them out on the deck. The small funeral party followed them upstairs.
“Would you like to say a few words?” Liannan asked the weeping friends.
“Yes.” Brendon nodded. He folded his hands together and took a moment to compose himself. Nat thought he would not be able to do it, but finally he spoke, and his voice was strong and clear. “We say good-bye today to our friends Owen and Mallory Brown. They lived simple, brave lives and were taken from us too soon. We will forever honor their memory and cherish their friendship. We give them to the sea. May they rest in the light.”
“May they rest in the light,” Roark repeated.
Nat looked at Shakes and Wes to prompt them and the three of them echoed the smallmen’s words. “May they rest in the light,” they murmured.
The group looked to Liannan.
She moved toward the still, shrouded bodies. “Owen and Mallory, may the wings of the drakon guide you to the Eternal Haven.”
The sylph nodded, and Wes and Shakes lifted the first shroud to the edge of the deck, th
en the next, and gently rolled them off the ship, giving the dead to the waves.
Three dead in one day, Nat thought. Daran was one of their team, but there had been no funeral for him. No words spoken on his behalf, no blessings, but then, perhaps he had not been worthy of any. The dead couple had given their lives for their friends, but Daran would only have brought death to his team.
Liannan, Brendon, and Roark stood at the railing for a long time, watching the sea.
Wes took Nat aside. “We’ll put them in the crew cabin.”
“Right.” Nat nodded, understanding the plan. Space had opened up with Zedric in the hold and his brother lost.
“I’m going to move back, too,” Nat said to Wes. “To the crew cabin, I mean.”
“Oh?” Wes said, taken aback.
It made sense, now that Daran was no longer a factor. “Is there a problem?” she asked, not meaning to sound brusque. But if she was going to nip this whole thing in the bud, she had to do it now, and quickly.
Wes shrugged. “Do what you want; it doesn’t matter to me.”
“Right,” she said, and couldn’t help feeling just a little hurt at his tone. Even if she wanted to push him away, she was irritated he had given up so easily. Just a few hours ago he had held her hand for a second too long when she’d saved him from the waters.
“I’ll go, then,” she said, her pride getting the best of her.
“Fine,” he said, distracted, and walked off to the bridge to join Shakes.
Nat leaned against the wall. Well, that’s done. She wrapped her arms around herself against an arctic draft, lonelier than ever.
* * *
She soon regretted the rash decision to move her belongings back to the crew cabin. She should never have decided to move. The captain’s quarters were cozier, warmer, with a real bed. Now she was back to sleeping on a blanket on cold metal mesh.
She got the lowest bunk on the port side, and above her, Brendon snored softly, while above him, Roark’s nose whistled like a high-pitched teakettle. At least Farouk, who talked in his sleep, was at the helm, on duty, or else there would be three of them in a nighttime symphony.
Liannan had taken the hammock on the other end of the room, next to Shakes, and Nat heard the two of them whispering quietly in the dark with a newfound intimacy. She missed Wes, missed knowing he was near. It wasn’t really the noise that bothered her, she realized; in fact, she liked it, after living alone, to feel the comfort of people around her. She just missed him, missed him even though he was only a few feet away. Did he miss her? she wondered. When she finally drifted off to sleep, she had no dreams.
* * *
The next morning she awoke to hear Shakes yelling. She ran up to the deck and found him kicking at the rail. Wes was holding his hands to his own head in frustration.
“What happened?”
“Zedric. Farouk,” said Wes, his cheeks red with anger.
“What did they do?” Nat asked, feeling a stab of fear.
“They’re gone,” Shakes said.
“Gone?”
“They abandoned us last night. Took one of the lifeboats and left. Farouk must have busted Zedric out,” Wes explained. He was disappointed in Farouk; he understood Zedric’s anger, but he thought the skinny kid was on his side, he’d thought he was loyal. It was difficult not being able to count on his crew, he thought. It wasn’t always like that, especially not during the war. He and Shakes were the only survivors of Delph company, but there had been others: Ragdoll, Huntin’ John, Sanjiv. All good men, all gone now.
“We’re lucky they didn’t kill us in our sleep,” Nat said.
Shakes pounded the nearest wall. “They took the rest of the supplies, left us with nothing. Not even a twig to chew on.”
“But why? They won’t survive for long out there; why would they take that risk?” asked Nat.
“Snipers took out the crew of the other ship. Somehow, one of them must have noticed, and figured that they’d rather take their chances with the RSA than with us,” said Wes.
“They’re probably eating navy rations now, while we’re going to starve,” Shakes said moodily, lifting each bin and finding it empty.
The rest of the group was gathered around the galley hopefully, but there was nothing to be found. Brendon removed a few crumbly wafers that Wes had given him from his pocket and shared them with the group.
“Thanks,” Nat said, smiling. Brendon was the same age as she, but with a wise man’s face, and Roark a little older. They weren’t brothers, but from the same tribe, it turned out. Distant cousins, maybe. The genealogy of the smallkind was too complicated for Nat to understand, although Brendon had tried to explain earlier. She bit into the cracker. “I haven’t had these since I was a kid.”
“I have never had one before,” Brendon said. “It is a very interesting flavor.”
“We’re surrounded by water, and there’s nothing to eat. Where we’re from, we cut through the ice and fish,” Roark said.
“Truly?” Shakes asked, curious. “All the fish I’ve ever had was some kind of replacement substitute. I thought the oceans were dry.”
“Not our part of it,” Roark said.
Nat shook her head. Why hadn’t she realized it before? Fish . . . the flash of the redback’s tail beneath the water . . .
Of course!
34
“I DON’T KNOW WHY I DIDN’T THINK of it before!” Nat said, her face lighting up. “We can find food.”
“Where?” Shakes asked. Even Liannan looked intrigued, although the sylph had explained that her kind did not require very much sustenance, which is why they were long-lived.
“Out there!” Nat said, pointing to the gray sea through the porthole.
Shakes shook his head. “Aw, man, I thought you had a real idea. There’s nothing out there but trash.”
“No, no,” Nat insisted. “I was there—the day that—the day that we hit the trashbergs. With Daran and Zedric. We were looking out to the sea and we saw them . . . redbacks. There are fish out there.”
Wes sighed. “There haven’t been fish in the ocean since—”
“I’m telling you, we saw them. And Daran said he’d seen them before.” It dawned on her now what the Slaine brothers had been doing that week before Daran had drowned, when they were sneaking off by themselves. They were fishing! They were eating and hiding it from the rest of the crew.
“If you’re right, then I can do it,” Roark said. “Donnie can help.”
“Yes.” Brendon beamed, glad to be useful.
“Too bad we don’t have any poles,” Wes said. “Or bait, for that matter.”
Roark was undeterred. “Poles are not necessary for this endeavor. The essence of fishing is a good line. Something strong enough to hold the redback’s weight, but light enough to allow the sinker to pull the line down. Any ideas?”
Wes smiled. Nat could tell he liked the way Roark thought. “I saw a spool of wires in the bilge, not the heavy stuff—it might be light enough to work.” He nodded to Shakes, who headed down to look for the wires.
“Next to the starboard . . . ,” Wes called.
Shakes put up a hand. “I know where it is, boss.”
“But is it safe to eat?” Nat asked. “With all the toxins in the black water?”
Wes shrugged. “It’s not ideal, but we can take the risk. We need to eat.”
Nat agreed.
An hour later the group had crafted two fishing poles, using metal tubing from the deck rails and the spool of wire Shakes found in the bilge. “There, that’ll do.” Roark nodded.
Wes made hooks from bent nails and handed them to Nat, who finished the poles by threading the spinners and hooks onto the long delicate wire.
Roark and Brendon grabbed the poles and got to work. Nat watched as they each cut a swatch of cloth from Brendon’s shirt and tied it around the wire. The cloth would act as a marker just above the waterline. If a fish tugged at the line, the little red swatch would disappear below the
water. Cool.
Nat turned to Roark. “What about bait?”
Wes sighed. “We’ve got nothing to spare. I might be able to pull a worm from somewhere under the decks, but that’s about it.”
“Again, that is not a problem,” Roark continued. “Only the bottom-feeders like worms. We don’t want to eat those anyway; they’re full of lead and who knows what else. We’ll be fishing near the surface where the water is a little cleaner. As for bait, we don’t need food. Watch.” Roark and Brendon whispered a few words, took a chunk of metal, and placed it on the hook.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Small magic,” Brendon said, grinning.
“A little something to attract the fish,” Roark said. “Once it’s in the water, it will spin and dance just like a little minnow. When the fish start biting, there will be more.”
Nat had been doubtful at first, but Roark’s idea suddenly seemed real. Her hopes soared: Perhaps they would eat today after all.
“It’s true, then, what they say about you guys,” Shakes said excitedly.
“What do they say?” Roark asked, his eyes narrowed, obviously knowing the deadly rumors about the smallfolk among mortal kind.
“Only that you are cleverer than most,” Nat said gently. “Isn’t that right, Shakes?”
“I can help, too,” Liannan said, as she leapt from the boat and onto the icy sea, her slender form light enough that she could walk on water. The group watched in delight, and Shakes looked downright worshipful.
The smallmen cast their lines and the sylph gasped. “They’re coming!” she said. “I see them down below.”
Liannan tiptoed back onto the boat and joined Nat in watching the little red dot bounce along the surface. Roark gave the line a little jerk, trying to set the hook. They didn’t have reels, so they had to wind the wire around the pole as they raised the line. Halfway up he stopped. “He got away,” Roark mumbled. He looked up from the ice at the disappointed faces of the crew. “Patience—we’ll get him next time.”
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