Even with Ivrian watching, she had the terrible sense something was creeping up from the dark void on her right. She ignored it and worked carefully with a small pry bar. The ancient bolts were anchored more securely in the old wood than she would ever have guessed. Just as the first came free, a flash from above her right shoulder set her heart pounding.
But it was Jekka, drifting down. He used hand signals to ask if they were all right. She signaled that she was, and then he quickly retreated.
With the first bolt clear, the bracket now hung down from the bow of the vessel. After a little more work the rest of the mounting popped free, and it was only her quick reflexes that kept it from drifting off to her right and into the abyss.
She stowed the gem in her pack and then, alert to the spread of darkness, swam to the port side of the prow and the other eye.
Ivrian swam just before her. His rings, like Mirian’s, imbued him with glowing fins and gills, which illuminated the hull. He hung in the darkness like a beacon, constantly shifting his position to peer into the enveloping gloom.
She turned to the prow and worked quickly. In only a few moments she had the portside ship’s eye partly free. She was finishing with the second and final bolt when something flashed in the corner of her vision. She jerked around to see Ivrian moving swiftly toward the ship.
No—he wasn’t moving under his own power. A tentacle had dragged him up and out of sight.
Her blood chilled. The devilfish still prowled the wreck.
She shoved the second great jewel in her pack and swam after her friend.
As soon as she rose, a long, hook-lined tentacle swept streamed past her face, missing her ear by a cat’s whisker. She found the creature’s bulbous body rooted to the prow, where it crouched spiderlike, its baleful blue eyes glowing dully. How long had it been watching them? It must have swum up from the hold, alerted by her noisy work with the bolts.
So far as Mirian knew, devilfish normally grew no larger than horse-sized, but this thing must have been ancient, for it was half again as large, with ten-foot-long tentacles. Three were now wrapped around Ivrian. The creature drew him in even as he hacked with his sword. A tentacle snared his weapon arm, making it impossible for him to aim his wand. The creature rose up to reveal its pale underside. A beak emerged, clacking eagerly for Ivrian’s flesh.
Revulsion and fear rose up so strongly within her. Every sense beat at her to swim fast and far away. She surprised herself when she kicked toward the thing.
The same tentacle that had struck toward her reached again, but this time it met her sword’s edge. The limb withdrew in a billow of dark fluids and another shot toward her. Mirian felt the hooks of the tentacle bite into her leg. Pain like a dozen knives ripped at her calf and she lashed out, skinning a long, deep line of flesh off the rubbery tentacle.
The thing released her as though prodded by a hot poker. It relinquished Ivrian as well and squirted out a thick cloud of the blackest ink. This swiftly concealed everything, including the beast’s glowing blue eyes and Ivrian’s magics.
“Surface!” Mirian shouted, although she had little hope Ivrian could hear her. She kicked, hard, heart slamming her rib cage. At any moment she expected to feel those coils wrap her and pull her toward that rending beak.
In vain she searched for Ivrian and the beast even as she swam free of the murky cloud.
She swam up and up, looking for Ivrian. Hadn’t he made it clear? What if it had trapped him in the ink? What if he were dying right now, being devoured within that terrible cloud? She slowed, peering at the billowing blacker darkness that hung within the depths.
The thing exploded out of the cloud, four tentacles lancing at her.
Mirian screamed as she brought up her sword, the sound dulled. She pivoted left and evaded one reaching tendril, but a second grabbed her arm. The hooks dug deep and she groaned even as a third grabbed the same leg as before. The beast dragged her toward the open beak and she brought her sword in line, gritting her teeth against the pain.
A green bolt of energy lashed past her and struck the creature’s underside.
Ivrian had fired the wand at last.
The blazing green light bubbled and sizzled and smoked along the monster’s skin even as Jekka’s spear drove through the monster’s body.
Still it wasn’t finished. The arm about Mirian’s leg tightened and her vision dimmed with the pain as she jabbed at the beak. She felt her weapon pierce flesh but was whipped around so quickly by a flailing tentacle that she couldn’t see where she’d struck. Another green bolt struck the thing’s body and then Rendak was beside her, his dark hair billowing behind him as he sliced at the tentacle holding her.
The creature released her at last, fleeing in a spasm of tentacles. The last she saw of the thing as it descended in the darkness was of a green glowing blotch of the acidic magic eating away at its side, four of its arms leaking blood.
They started up, keeping close, and Mirian was so startled it was all she could do to hold back and keep pace with the others. More than anything, she wanted to be out and away from the waters. She was in pain, yes, but it was blind, mortal fear that held her closest. Even knowing the devilfish was far too wounded to pursue them was no solace. She doubted she’d ever forget the way it had swept out of the black ink toward her, tentacles grasping while that beak gnashed hungrily …
It was then she noticed Rendak lagging. She turned her glow stone on him and saw he had one arm to his chest. Had he been hurt?
There didn’t seem to be a scratch on him. Mirian’s fears for herself suddenly vanished. Rendak had risen too quickly. Diving with air bottles was always a trick. Even an experienced salvager like Rendak could make a mistake, and mistakes down here could be fatal. If you didn’t release enough air from your lungs as you swam up, pressure could build, and burst them.
Rendak moved only feebly as she and Jekka reached him, and he seemed very pale in the light of the glow stone. His lips moved, soundless.
They tipped him backward and kicked with him toward the surface. Mirian knew that if the air sucked in from the bottle at this high-pressure depth remained inside it would expand and kill him.
And so she did what normally would have been unthinkable—she opened his mouth and cocked back his head so that the air trapped would not explode his lungs as they swam higher. She just hoped it hadn’t happened already.
Jekka kept watch as they swam on and up. Protected as she was by the ancient magics, she could sense the lessening pressures only feebly. With the waters so dark, it was hard to know for certain when they neared the surface. It seemed an impossibly long time. Rendak moved only feebly in her arms and then, more ominously, went still.
Finally, they broke the surface and breathed clean, cold air. The sky was dark above, and stars glittered through drifting clouds.
Ivrian surfaced beside her. “Is he all right?”
She was too busy digging the brass stopper out of her healing potion with her teeth to answer him. They hadn’t had time to reequip, but she’d taken Gombe’s on the dive.
Please stay with me, Rendak, she prayed. Jeneta could save him. She wasn’t as skilled as old Tokello, but she could heal him …
She supported Rendak by his back and neck as Jekka’s reptilian head broke the water nearby.
“I’ll find the ship, Mirian,” Jekka said.
She poured the potion down Rendak’s throat. “Come on!” She urged. “Come on!”
But Rendak didn’t move.
25
REVELATIONS
IVRIAN
Ivrian hated being helpless. As he stood in the captain’s cabin, his mind turned without any great interest toward the things he should be doing. Making journal entries, for one. There were a lot of details to record. Yet it had grown harder to put a romantic slant upon anything. He was used to exaggeration and embellishment, but now that he was involved personally in the adventure, it was hard to justify placing himself in any kind of heroic role, especial
ly in their latest series of encounters. All he’d done was manage to get himself captured or injured, although he supposed he’d been some help with that monster from the deep.
He’d not been as badly injured as Mirian supposed. Not nearly as badly as poor Rendak. Jeneta’s finest ministrations had barely roused him, and the first mate was resting, pale and shrunken, on Mirian’s cabin bunk. Mirian was medicating with a bottle of wine while consulting with a worn-looking Jeneta, who’d just finished helping them bandage their wounds. After all the care she’d administered to Rendak, she’d had no magical energies left to tend the savage injuries the tentacles had inflicted upon them.
“There’s nothing more I can do,” Jeneta said. “I must rest and pray before I can treat anyone else. I’m sorry,” she added.
Mirian winced as she leaned forward to offer the younger woman the bottle of rum, but Jeneta shook her head. “That stuff leaves a sour taste in my mouth.”
“Thank you,” Mirian said.
“I wish I could have done more.” Jeneta departed with a forlorn, backward glance at Ivrian, who forced a smile, hoping to encourage her.
She brightened and left.
Ivrian resumed pacing. His leg stung, but it hurt more when he sat still.
“You sure you don’t want to sit down?” Mirian sounded irritated.
Before he could answer there was a rap on the door.
“Enter,” Mirian said.
Gombe poked in his head, almost comically mournful. “How is he?”
“Alive. And sleeping.”
Gombe stepped over to look down at his friend. He bowed his head, and after a moment Ivrian realized the second mate was praying quietly. He’d never heard the man express the remotest religious sentiment, even though his cousin and uncle were in the priesthood.
Gombe had left the door open, and a moment later Jekka slipped through, followed closely by Ensara.
“The panels are secured, my sister,” Jekka said. “And this one said he’s a master helmsman.” He pointed his hand at Ensara.
Mirian glanced over to Rendak, then frowned. Ivrian had seen several of the crew man the helm over the months, though Rendak seemed to take it by default. He was certainly in no shape to do so tonight.
“A master, eh?” Mirian said. She stared, hard, then quaffed another drink.
“We should be underway,” Jekka continued. “The others have a head start.”
Jekka might not have many facial expressions, but Ivrian couldn’t help noticing his frill was taut and red spots had appeared along his neck. Ensara looked like a man hoping for a stay of execution.
Mirian sighed. “All right, you damned pirate. Take the wheel and steer wherever Jekka guides you. Gombe, get us underway—every inch of canvas we can raise. There’s still a chance we can beat the pirates there.”
“Yes, Captain,” the two men said at once. Ensara seemed to think better of adding more, and left on the heels of the second mate. He closed the door behind him.
“Wine, Jekka?” Mirian pushed the bottle across the table toward him.
His tongue slipped out, but he didn’t advance. “What’s wrong, my sister?”
“It’s been a trying few days.”
Jekka cocked his head to one side, then swiveled it over to the form huddled under the dark stern gallery window. He stepped over on his long, scaled feet and peered down at Rendak. “He will recover?”
“Probably.”
Ivrian heard a sailor shout that the anchor was up, heard the rumble of feet on the deck as Gombe ordered sails spread.
Jekka stepped over to the table and took the proffered drink. He tipped it far back into his mouth, then set it down and stared unblinking at Mirian.
“Mirian,” he said finally, “we should stop this quest. I will live with you, and be your brother. I wish no more of your clan that is not a clan to be endangered. I have seen a clan perish before. Kalina would agree with me. We will look elsewhere.”
Ivrian smiled sadly. This wasn’t what Jekka wanted, at all, but he had grown cognizant enough of human expressions to recognize Mirian’s, and to guess why she was so upset.
“My friend,” Mirian said stiffly. “My brother. It’s no longer about what you wish. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let Rajana get anywhere near that dragon’s tear.”
“My people won’t let them take it.”
“I’m going to do my damnedest to make sure your people don’t ever have to see them,” she said, though how she meant to accomplish that Ivrian couldn’t guess. “We’ve risked too much now to end this.”
“If that’s your wish,” Jekka said.
“Yes. Now go out there and keep your eye on Ensara.”
“You don’t trust him.”
“Do you?”
“I don’t think he plans to wreck us.”
“No. And I don’t think he has some clever plan for betraying us, either. But I still don’t trust him, and neither should you.”
“Of course.” He lowered his head to her with a swift, birdlike bob, then exited. The door clicked shut behind him.
“Should I go?” Ivrian asked. “Do you need to rest?”
“I’ll probably grab some shut-eye in Rendak’s cabin,” she said. “But there’s one little thing.” She sighed, pushed back in the chair, and stretched a leg. “These wounds still sting. I hope Jeneta can tend us one more time before we have to do anything else.”
“Me too.”
Mirian cleared her throat. “Have a seat.”
Very strange. Ivrian pulled out the chair nearest her and sank into it, conscious now that the Daughter of the Mist was underway. He couldn’t help thinking that if they’d invested in a larger ship, they wouldn’t now be worried about running into Ensara’s old pirate vessel. They’d have extra warriors and weapons aboard should it come down to combat.
Mirian’s dark eyes were intent upon his. “We have a small problem that might interfere with the way the crew works, and you’re involved.”
“Me?” Ivrian’s mind raced. “If it’s that I didn’t keep a sharp enough eye—”
“No,” she said quickly. “You’re an asset to the team. I’m talking about Jeneta.”
He repeated her name, stupidly. “Jeneta? How am I—”
“She’s in love with you. Or she thinks she is.”
He chuckled in disbelief. “What makes you say that?”
“Because I’ve seen the way she tends you, and looks at you when she thinks you’re not paying attention.”
He blinked in astonishment. “But she’s … I’m…”
“I know. She’s very young.”
“Well, yes. I mean, even if I were interested, she’d be too young, wouldn’t she?”
“You only have five years on her.”
“But can’t she tell I’m not interested in women?”
Mirian smiled tiredly. “She’s a lovestruck girl. She’s probably more worried that you’re rich and…” she hesitated, “… a colonial.”
“Well.” Ivrian couldn’t think of anything more to say. It wasn’t as if they actually spent that much time together. “I don’t even know her that well. How could she be in love?”
“Look at it from her side. Everything she’s seen of you has been impressive.”
He laughed. “I’ve managed to get myself captured, and injured, and—”
“And you leap selflessly into danger, are cool under fire, are sharp-eyed enough to detect an ambush, and in a matter of months rose to become one of her most trusted friends. And,” she added, “you’ve a way with words. That’s always appealing, especially if you’re successful at it. Throw in the mystique of you being from another culture, and—”
“—we might as well be doomed lovers from a stage play.”
“Exactly.”
“Except that I’ve no interest in her.”
“Which feeds into many a young person’s fantasy, doesn’t it?”
Ivrian sighed and put a hand to his forehead. “That’s definitely a
problem.” Ivrian massaged his forehead and looked down at where the bandage around his leg bulged under his leggings. “Should I speak to her when she wakes up?”
Mirian shook her head. “No. I’ll handle that. I just think you should be aware of it so you don’t accidentally encourage her.”
“I wouldn’t!”
“I know you wouldn’t on purpose. But remember when you rested against her on the boat ride?”
“Gods,” Ivrian groaned. “All right. Is there anything else?”
“Yes.” She pushed the bottle toward him. “Help me finish this damned thing. I hate drinking alone.”
26
THE VEIL
JEKKA
The simplest part of the task had been affixing the ancient metal plates to the ship’s prow. The chief carpenter and bosun managed it in less than a quarter hour. Now Jekka stood near the helm, eyeing a dark horizon lit by flashes of lightning. A misty rain typical of the region was washing down, a cooling spray that left them a wind strong enough they crowded their masts with canvas.
“She handles well,” Ensara said quietly. It was the first thing he’d said to Jekka since he’d taken the wheel.
He didn’t know how to answer.
“She’s got a narrow profile and sleek lines. Good for short, quick runs, I expect.”
“Useful for outrunning pirates,” Jekka said.
Ensara glanced at him.
“So … this fellow that’s wounded. Mir— The captain’s taking it pretty hard.”
“He is like clan to her.”
“That’s too bad.”
“He is first mate. Perhaps you understand.”
“Ah. My first mate tried to kill me yesterday.”
Jekka didn’t care. “You can maintain the heading?”
“Aye. Everyone knows where the Lizard Kings reefs lie. So … is this fellow the captain’s lover?”
Now Jekka glared at Ensara, and he felt his frill rise. Ensara seemed to understand what that meant, for Jekka smelled fear on him.
Pathfinder Tales--Through the Gate in the Sea Page 23
