“Life’s… going… well… enough!” grunted Varstis, straining against his jocular adversary and finally pushing him back, oblivious to the protestations of Lithric as the older nymph tried to remind him of his infirmity. “And how are you, ‘yerself,’ y’ old pirate?”
“Well ‘nough, well ‘nough,” Berne chuckled, brushing himself off. “Never too old fer a scrape or two, just as yerself, I see…”
“Wait!” Gribly called loudly, and the two nymphs seemed to notice him again for the first time since they’d met. “Pirate?” he asked, confused. “What’s going on? First you’re rivals, now you’re friends. Have I missed something?”
“Something, indeed,” chuckled Captain Berne, “but not near as much as I’ve missed, seemingly. What say we make our peace over wave-wine and salmonsteak, aye? Then we’ll have all the time in the world fer stories…”
Chapter Three: Pirates. Pirates Indeed.
Several hours later, the two young Striders were once more sailing under the command of Captain Bernarl of the Zain… only this time they knew him for the pirate he was.
“I would have found it hard to believe, if we hadn’t had our talk… right before the Ice Demon attacked, all those nights ago,” Gribly told the nymph as they strode the decks of Berne’s new ship, the Suthway Cath, or, as Berne had been quick to explain, the Fire of the South. “You said some things there that reminded me of the thieves I knew back home in Ymeer.”
“About the Alliance?” Berne said, starting to ascend the steps that led to a higher section of the ship. He had mentioned that both he and multiple high personages in the Reethe hierarchy were a part of the mysterious group.
“Among other things, yes.”
“Well, the ‘Alliance’ be just one o’ the names we use fer… well, fer us. Thieves. Brigands. Burglars an’ pirates… all the nobler sort o’ recreant. We’ve got a bit o’ a brotherhood- an’ sisterhood, if y’can believe it- going on, all ‘round Vast and th’ Giant’s Isle. It be loose, fer sure, and not h’exactly the most loyal brotherhood… but it be workin’ well so far.”
“And you thought I was part of this… brotherhood?”
“No… I knew. You knew the thieves’ mantra as well as I know the pirates’ pledge, an’ that makes you more a Brother than blood, even if you don’t be knowin’ it.”
“Ah… I’m beginning to understand why the Old Pickpocket thought it was so important for me to know his mottos and sayings… they all mean something to this alliance.”
“Indeed, aye… but who’s the Ole’ Pickpocket?”
“The man who taught me thievery. We fought and tricked each other to no end, but he’s the closest thing to a father I’ve ever had.”
“All o’ us in t’Alliance be like that… all o’ us in families be like that, but it don’t make us no less a family, do it?” The lively captain’s voice was getting softer, as if he was in the midst of sharing some vital secret- which Gribly supposed he was, in a way.
They were near the steering wheel now, where it was attended by one of Captain Berne’s mates, a tall, silent Zain with darker than normal skin, a blue-streaked ponytail hanging down his bare back and a large silver hoop in one ear. As they passed him, the Captain suddenly let out a whoop and snapped his fingers, startling the mate. As the nymph’s grip on the wheel was lost, the ship lurched heavily to one side, almost throwing Gribly and Berne to the deck.
“Aplogiaz, Marinore,” the mate said when he had regained control.
“Don’t mention it,” Berne said dismissively, then turned slowly to face Gribly. “Family…” he said importantly, as if the word should mean something essential to the Sand Strider.
“Family?” Gribly shrugged, “What about them? I’ve never known mine- though the Pit Strider seems to look like me quite a bit…”
“Exactly!” said Captain Berne, snapping again, “You’ve never met them… but I have!”
Gribly didn’t know whether to laugh or feel sick. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve met… well, I won’t say as to whether or not it’s all th’way true… but I’ve been a’ lookin’ at you many a time, thinkin’ ‘ow similar y’are in face to… to one of us. One of the brotherhood. An’ I’ve just now realized who!”
“Who?” Gribly asked, wetting his lips and shivering a little. Could it be…
“There’s a rogue in th’ deep South as goes by th’ name o’ Gram. I’ve only met ‘im once ‘er twice, but he’s got such a face as t’ stick in one’s mind, y’see? He’s got no less’n ten ‘er more ships at ‘is command, an’ a land force t’be reckoned with, to boot. Yer th’ spit’ n’ image o’ him, fer sure!”
Gribly chewed on his bottom lip, strangely calm. It didn’t surprise him that the man who could be related to him, maybe even be his father, was a pirate and brigand. That wasn’t what was bothering him… He’d always dreamed, as a child, of being the secret son of a king or lord, someone noble and strong instead of sly and untrustworthy like most of the adults in Ymeer. It was a fantasy that died hard. He really had no hope of being a decent person of decent lineage… if what Berne said was true. He didn’t think the nymph was lying, of course, but hadn’t Byorne said the Zain were mostly isolated from the rest of Vast? He therefore chose to be skeptical of it, if only to keep his lingering hopes alive.
“Well… I suppose it’s possible,” he finally answered, letting his doubt show.
“Aye, who knows,” said Berne, looking a bit abashed and shrugging. “Could be yea or nay, an’ we’d never know th’ difference. In any case, you’ll be safe… or relatively so… whenever y’ find yerself in pirate terr’tory, just as long as y’remember t’mention th’ league, an’ ole’ Captain Berne, aye?”
“Ye- Aye, I mean.”
“Aye, then.” There was silence for a while, as they made it to the rearmost railing of the ship and peered over the stern, watching the spray leap and dive itself into a froth below them. Finally the nymph Captain broke the silence once more. “I wouldn’t’ve thought it o’ the prince, indeed I wouldn’t’ve… runnin’ off like that…”
“Acting like a true pirate, aye?” Gribly said, grinning at the unfamiliar word in his mouth. Aye. It sounded friendly, like a pat on the back. Aye.
“H’exactly… an’ he’d been so upright an’ all, before…”
“No, not exactly… I think he was always willing to do whatever he needed to, upright or not,” Gribly mused. “He’s definitely in some kind of argument with King Larion, and he seems like he’d die if he wasn’t allowed to finish this quest on his own, in whatever way he pleases. It’s almost as if he’s trying to prove something…”
“…to his father, the king?” Berne asked shrewdly. Gribly, suddenly self-conscious- he was talking to a pirate, after all- just shrugged.
“Who knows. I just know for sure he’s got to be stopped. I can’t let him do this on his own, or he’ll end up getting himself killed, and others, too. It’s-”
“Why? Why d’you need to help him?” Captain Berne asked suddenly. Before Gribly could form the words Traveller, or prophet, or even realize that it was probably safer to keep his mouth shut, Elia’s voice bought him unexpected relief.
“Captain? I need to speak to you. Hello Gribly, enjoying being a sailor?” She looked more alive than ever, so close to the water, and she almost never seemed to get tired as the Suthway Cath raced along in a wake of foam, hour after hour after hour. She’d been ecstatic to hear Captain Berne’s acceptance to help them in their mission, at least as far as the shores of the Grymclaw. “Sailing is the most wonderful thing I think I’ve ever done!” she exclaimed as she came towards them from across the raised deck.
What about dancing? Gribly wanted to say, but he didn’t. It was almost, almost reward enough to see her so happy all the time. Their moments had been few and far between, but even then it hadn’t compared to the wholesome joy the nymph girl seemed to feel on this voyage. His own memories of sailing were much more macabre: death, a wreck,
Ice Demons… and meeting Elia, he realized. Perhaps he should rethink his dislike for voyaging.
“I’m glad to see you like it,” he smiled, only half convinced. Captain Berne saluted sharply.
“What can I do fer you, m’lady?”
Elia joined them at the rear railing, leaning back against it and letting the wind whip her hair back from her face. She smiled, a little uneasily this time. “I need questions answered… about the mainland,” she said hesitantly.
“Ah…” Berne nodded. “I see. Never been there, ‘ave you? Why, couldn’t y’ask maister Gribly here about it, then?”
“No, not this time,” she responded, shuffling her feet a little. “This is a question about the Grymclaw…”
“Ah,” said the Captain.
“A bit out of my experience, true,” said Gribly.
“I’ve never been to the Grymclaw m’self,” admitted Berne, “But I’ve run a few good ‘uns back and forth from the Blackwood above it, where there’s some small bis’ness to be had. I’d be glad t’answer any questions y’might have, if they’re in my knowledge to answer, so t’speak.”
“Thank you,” Elia said. “It’s about water in the mainland, you see… I haven’t had a problem here, in the Inkwell, where it’s all around… but in the hot, dry places and places with no rivers, I need to have a source of water always at hand, or I’ll lose the ability to Change.”
“Oh blazes,” Gribly swore, “That’s going to be hard to do, if the Grymclaw’s anything like Blast, in the desert. I can’t believe I hadn’t thought of that.”
It was a pitiful and potentially fatal mistake to make on such a quest. Elia was a Treele water-nymph, which meant that she had the ability to switch between two physical shapes at will: the human-like form she and all in her species could used for daily interaction, and the enchanting, naiad-like Swimmer Form unique to her tribe. The Reethe, but not the Zain, could all do similar Changes, though their Other Form was different. It had never occurred to Gribly that they needed water to keep their ability. Would it kill them to lose it? Elia usually slept in her Swimmer Form, so she’d told him. What would she do when there was only enough water to drink?
“Hmmm,” Captain Berne said, obviously surprised and reasonably put-out. It was a serious problem, for sure. “Well…” he began, then lapsed into silence again.
“I wonder if the Aura thought of that, when they put all this into motion,” Gribly thought aloud.
“’Course they did,” grunted the nymph Captain gruffly, “T’ Aura thinks of everything… if they rightly even need to think at all, the way we mean when we say the word… Hmmm… This is a puzzle an’ no mistake.”
“Is it really that dry in the Grymclaw?” Elia asked, “I don’t need very much water to keep my Second Form, just enough to bathe most of my skin, and even then I can last a week at most between wettings.”
“Ah,” said Berne, nodding, “That makes it a mite easier, for sure. Let me put m’thinkin’ cap on fer a few more hours an’ I’ll have this ‘un out in no time.”
“You think you can?”
“Oh, most assuredly. This’s a captain’s job, y’know, mistress Wave Strider… to figure out the hard-to-chew things before they’re even in ‘is crew’s mouth…”
“That’s bizarre,” Gribly commented, but neither nymph seemed to hear him.
“Well then,” Berne continued, “I’d best be into m’cabin t’puzzle this’n out. You two can ‘ave all the time y’need to put yer own heads t’wards it, but don’t be too knotted up if’n y’can’t decide. I’ll do the heavy thinkin’ this time around.”
“Many thanks,” Elia told him before he headed below. Sighing, she turned to Gribly, some of the luster in her eyes gone. “I never thought I’d be a burden like this… No matter what the captain decides, I’ll slow you down in your hunt. Maybe… maybe I’ll stay behind.”
“No!” Gribly interjected, then, quieter, “No… I don’t think that’ll be necessary. We’ll find a way, and this is as much your quest as mine, now. With any luck we’ll all find the answers we need, once we reach the Aura.”
“Yes, I hope so…” she stepped a little closer to him, and he touched her hand reassuringly. “What was his name? I don’t remember anymore. Byorne might have told us, back before…” Before their ranger-guide had been murdered by the same beasts that had massacred her tribe. Yes. He had, now that Gribly thought about it.
“Wanderwillow. Sounds… oh, tree-ish, don’t you think?”
She smiled. “Yes, it does.”
They stood there silently for a minute, hands touching but not exactly intertwined. Gribly could barely have been happier, until he noticed the stare of the ponytailed wheelman being drawn in his direction. Elia’s hand was gone suddenly, as she twisted around to face the open water behind them. He followed her example and began to watch the undulating waves, one hand over his brow to shade his eyes from the sun.
Elia had stretched her hand out now, and was moving it in leisurely S-shapes, like a swimming fish. For a moment nothing out of the ordinary happened, and Gribly’s gaze dropped to the foamy water below. Then, like an apparition, the water directly under the Treele girl’s hand, yards below, began to imitate her movement, defying gravity and the swell of the sea. It looked like a little blue-green river amid the white foam, sloshing and swimming almost directly perpendicular to the current left in the ship’s wake. Gribly smiled.
“Nice trick,” he told her. She smiled back, and lifted her hand.
“I’ve only started,” she said, and the water obeyed her command, rising up straight out of the waves, a wormy, jiggling mass of liquid that seemed to be pouring over and over itself in a never-ending cascade. No matter how quickly the water flowed, it never let a single drop fall back into the foam. As Elia brought her hand higher, the water followed, until she was almost pointing at the sky, and the seawater worm was wriggling and sloshing not more than two feet from her face.
“I’m impressed,” Gribly said, wriggling his own way just a little closer to Elia and stealthily slipping an arm in hers.
She threw the water-worm right at him.
~
As the Suthway Cath plowed through the Inkwell faster than an eagle in flight, the dark bulk of the Grymclaw grew closer and closer. Soon it was a high wall of looming gray cliffs not far in the distance. Down in Captain Berne’s cabin, Elia talked to him earnestly about the possibilities that could help her survive in the dry expanse of the Grymclaw. Once Gribly had dried himself off, he joined them.
“Why couldn’t you dry me with that trick of yours, that you used on Lauro and me back on the iceberg?” he asked, shaking his wet hair at Elia like a dog.
“Oh… I didn’t think of it,” she answered, leaning away with a too-innocent smile.
“All right, calm yerselves,” Berne interceded, tapping the edge of his map table with a heavy metal device used for navigation. “I’ve consulted what few charts o’ the Grymclaw are avail’ble with th’ Zain, an’ I think I may’ve come up with an answer to yer problem, mis’tress Elia.”
“Oh?” she said, turning her attention to the yellowed papyrus sheets laid out in front of the captain. Soon the two nymphs were deep in a discussion about water and carrying capacity, distances and available water sources. Gribly tried as hard as he genuinely could to stay interested, but his attention soon wandered and he found himself looking around at the interior of Berne’s cabin.
A large but mostly unadorned mattress-bed stood in one corner, a curious suit of armor in another. There was a carved hearth in the wall nearest to the navigation table, with several chairs pushed up against the wall on either side. Odd… He hadn’t thought to find anything like that on a ship. On each wall were various trophies and maps of past voyages, along with one strangely realistic painting above the hearth. When it seemed as if his absence wouldn’t be noticed, Gribly slipped away from the table to examine it. Elia and Berne soon drifted into the nymphtongue behind him.
In the
background of the painting was a ship much like the Suthway, beached on a sandy shore with green trees in the background. The foreground was a jagged cliff and series of small pools, where a ragged group of nymphs he assumed to be the ship’s crew were gathered, staring and pointing. The object of their attention was a strange, womanlike creature made of green-blue scales, rising from depths of the largest pool. What in Vast it was, Gribly couldn’t tell, but the malicious expression written across the fish-woman’s face made him cringe. He looked away, and something above the picture caught his eye.
“Like the looks o’ that, do you?” Berne’s voice came from behind him, where he had apparently finished his conversation with Elia.
“What is it?” Gribly inquired, frowning. “A weapon?”
Grym Prophet (Song of the Aura, Book Three) Page 3
