Dead Stars - Part Two (The Emaneska Series)

by Ben Galley

  The whale beat him to it.

  ‘A brave one…’ it started, its words elongated and dragged out like dough over a hook. It had the guttural hiss of a throat not used to speaking, and yet had the booming resonance of an avalanche. Undoubtedly a male. ‘…are you.’

  Farden was frozen in shock. He could hear the feverish muttering from the deck above. Disbelief hissed back and forth. He managed to form some words. ‘Thank you?’ he replied.

  ‘Man comes little to us now. Used to sing songs with us. Now avoid us. Hunt us,’ replied the whale. He looked to where Nuka stood at the railing. ‘We smell the blood on you.’

  Farden involuntarily climbed one step higher. With a flick of its tail, the whale moved closer. Farden tried to avoid counting the rows of white teeth lining the creature’s pink mouth, but he couldn’t help it. Its tongue flicked back and forth. ‘What want you? Why you come?’

  Perhaps it was the fierce look in the whale’s beady eyes. Perhaps it was how ancient and dusty his words sounded. Perhaps it was the shock that he could speak. Whatever it was, Farden felt he owed this creature the absolute truth. And so he told it. Farden nodded towards the ice cliffs in the far distance. ‘We’re going north to stop a girl from bringing the daemons down from the sky. She means to start a war.’

  The whale rolled onto his side to look at the pale blue sky hanging above them. ‘Ah, the Othersea,’ he said. ‘We remember the day its stars were born. We remember the world before.’

  Farden felt a sudden wave of dread as he abruptly realised he had no idea which side these whales were on. For all he knew, they were in league with the daemons. Advocates of their return. There was a tense moment, but then the whale turned back to the mage, and shook its head with a splash. ‘Fire and sea mix not.’

  Farden almost wiped his brow ‘Does that mean you can help us?’ he asked. ‘We need to find where the ice thins out.’

  The whale sighed through his strange blow-hole. Farden felt the cold spray on his cheek. ‘Felt dark things in water, have we. Old things. Old as us. Old as those on your ship.’ There was an uncomfortable silence aboard the Waveblade as the crew swapped frowns and confused glances. Tyrfing and Nuka pretended to do the same. The whale flashed a line of teeth. ‘We like them not. Fight them, if we need.’

  ‘Yes, but will you guide us to thinner ice? We can fight them with you, but we need to find land.’

  The whale ducked his head under the water and Farden heard him singing his question to the others. It was an odd song, made of clicks and squeaks and notes so low that they would have given a dragon a run for its coin.

  Soon enough, the verdict was in. The elder raised his head out of the water and clapped his fins on the surface. ‘We take you to where sea meets rock. But for us, you must sing.’

  Farden grinned. ‘Sing?’ he asked.

  ‘Sing with us. When Othersea fades black. Like the old years. I smell sea in your blood. Sea and magick. You will sing like ancestors did.’

  ‘You name the song, whale, and we’ll sing it,’ Farden said, and then he did a bold thing. He reached out a hand toward the whale, drawing further mutterings and sharp words from the deck above. For a moment the whale refused to move. His blue eyes moved from the shiny red-gold of Farden’s gauntlet to its owner, and then back again. Then he slipped slowly forward, and lifted the tip of his nose to meet Farden’s hand. Even through the metal, he could feel how rough the whale’s nose was.

  ‘Felt that metal before, have we,’ he sighed, before he slipped back into the icy water. With a slap of his tail that soaked Farden and half those standing at the railing, the whale disappeared under the ship.

  ‘Well, that was certainly unexpected,’ Farden smirked as a few of the sailors hauled him over the railing. ‘Who’d have thought that whales could talk?’

  ‘If you were one of my men I’d have you flogged,’ Nuka glowered.

  ‘Luckily…’ Farden started, but the captain cut him off.

  ‘But you aren’t, so I’ll have to ask the Arkmage to make an exception,’ he said, turning to Tyrfing.

  The Arkmage crossed his arms and shook his head. ‘He has enough scars,’ he answered.

  ‘Lucky indeed,’ Nuka threw up his hands and went back to his wheel, rattling off orders as he walked. ‘Man the masts, men. Apparently we have some whales to follow!’

  Farden watched him go with a concerned face, hoping the man was simply over-tired. He was not the sort of man he wanted to lose as a friend.

  ‘Stupidity, bravery, and luck,’ his uncle was muttering hoarsely.

  ‘What’s that?’

  Tyrfing tutted, and sauntered off. ‘Sometimes I find it hard to tell the difference between them.’

  Chapter 18

  “Clap ye ears, lads, when the whales sing. Sing for ye soul they do, suck right of of ye body they will! Guard ye ears, boys, and keep that soul deep in ye chest, where it belongs.”

  Words spoken by Fishmaster Boon, recorded in the year 412

  It was a fine night for singing, according to the whales.

  It was a cold night, that was for sure.

  The north had swallowed them whole. They were embedded in it like an iron arrow in pale flesh. To say it snowed would be a drastic understatement. This snow fell like the world had never seen winter. It fell lazily, in great blankets and sheets, so thick and fluffy that when it finally alighted on the water, it refused to melt, freezing into slush instead. It was hard to see where the sea ended and the edge of the ice began. Nuka was having trouble seeing the bow, never mind the ice.

  Fortunately, the Waveblade had its whales. Their black fins and noses cut little paths through the slush as they clicked and whined and warmed up their voices. The big elder, whom Farden had imaginatively dubbed Scarnose after finding that his real name was something utterly unpronounceable, something with far too many clicks and squeals for the human tongue to cope with, called out for the ship to stop, and stop she did. Lines and hooks were dropped and the whales took them in their teeth. One by one they dragged them ashore and tethered the ship in place, nuzzling the ice with her sharp bow.

  ‘We’ll need some wind to break into the ice,’ Nuka said, eyeing the fluffy sky.

  ‘Or a push,’ suggested Farden as he absently watched the cavorting whales.

  Nuka made an uneasy face. Farden chuckled at his grumbling silence. The captain was still firmly clinging to that old whaler deep inside him, that old whaler that scowled and muttered every time one of the sleek beasts came near. He didn’t trust the whales one bit.

  Farden, on the other hand, had spent the day mesmerised by them. As the whales had led them a merry path through the fields of towering icebergs, he had ensconced himself in a lower porthole and watched them sputter and sail and surge around the ship, his pipe and a certain rat his only company.

  The whales were the very definition of incredible. Graceful and dangerous all wrapped up in patchwork, monochrome skin. Teeth and thick blubber hiding tough muscle and old wisdom. Maybe Farfallen had been right… these truly were the dragons of the sea.

  There had been other whales too that day, not just orca. A great grey whale had followed them for a time. A humpback, Nuka had called it. Longer than the ship itself, it had broken a small iceberg in half just for sport. Farden had tried to listen to the deep, sonorous words the two species traded. Though they were beyond foreign to him, their tone had sounded wary, and fearful too, and not because of the ship. Something else concerned the whales.

  Farden suppressed a chattering of his teeth. He was wearing three jerkins and a shirt under his trusty cloak, but still the cold seeped in. His armour remained defiantly lukewarm, but underneath his left gauntlet, his missing finger ached, like it always did in the cold. He clenched a half-made fist and sparks of pain shot up his arm. Curse that bloody Vice, Farden hissed in his head.

  Nuka wore a long, thick seal-fur coat that stretched down to his ankles. He looked warmer than a blacksmith’s crotch, and smug to boot. He knew
the north and her cold better than most, and had obviously packed for the occasion. Farden even spied a glistening of sweat on his brow. Swine, he inwardly muttered.

  It wasn’t long before the whales finished their slow dancing, and gathered around the ship in pairs. The sailors, Sirens, and soldiers clustered at the bulwarks to watch them. The whales were about to sing.

  ‘I’m guessing you’ve never heard a whale sing before?’ the captain asked. Farden replied with a distracted, ‘No.’ He was already leaning over the railing, thoroughly captivated. What was it about these creatures, he wondered? Nuka lashed the wheel in place and joined him.

  ‘I suppose we’re in for a treat then. Both of us, and the crew for that matter. I’ve only ever heard distant echoes. Sounds like wolves, normally, howling at the moon. Hence their name.’

  Farden turned around. A glint of humour in his eye and lip. ‘I wonder if we’ll know the song?’

  Nuka rolled his eyes.

  The song of the whales was unlike any song any ear on that ship had ever heard, or could ever dream to hear. It was a song, but not a song. It had rhythm, and melody, true, but it had the depth of the seabed, the intricacy of a honeycomb, and the deafening pound of an livid storm, all at the same time.

  It began slowly at first, slow as the snowfall. Each whale made its own tune. Some low, some piercingly high. All of them different. Some sang through the water, making the ship shake, while others spat tunes in bursts from their blowholes. Slowly, the song began to build and coalesce into a mighty tune. Fins slapped the slushy water. Huge tails lifted glittering streams of water, momentary waterfalls, only to dash them to the sea again as percussion. The elders rumbled and boomed with their heads buried in the water. Farden could feel the ship shake with every note. The young ones’ whistling skittered over the bass notes as a topline. Every eye on the ship was painfully wide. Every ear strained. Every foot and finger tapping to the odd, displaced rhythm.

  Any skald aboard would have hung himself in shame.

  Roiks was the first to start singing. Unsurprisingly, he launched into a song about drinking. On hindsight it probably wasn’t the most fitting tune to match the majestic orchestra of the whales, but it was Roiks, and his enthusiasm more than made up for it.

  With a foot on the bulwark and a hand on his chest, he bellowed out the words for all to hear. It took mere moments for the sailors to join him. Then the soldiers joined in. Then the mages. Then the Written. Those who didn’t know the tune, a smattering of mages and Sirens, just laughed and clapped along, throwing snowballs in the air and at the sails. On the aftcastle, even Nuka the once-whaler, banged his fist on the railing alongside Farden, singing as loud as they could. The only silent ones aboard were Tyrfing, whose throat was raw as a battlefield, and the two gods. But even Heimdall managed to shut his eyes and smile at the strange serenade swirling around him.

  Unbelievably, the two songs fit. Like a sword in a scabbard they slipped into each other and were forged into one. The whales boomed and slapped while the ship yelled and capered. For the brief moments the song lasted, it was pure joy, stirred up from deep within, in that place not a soul can find, not until it comes alive with music and laughter. Perhaps those aboard knew what was to come. That was the last song they might sing. It made them sing all the louder.

  As gradually as the song had built, it died away. The whales slapped their fins in a chorus of applause as the Waveblade finally caught its breath. The ship was still rocking from side to side in the echoes. In the silence that followed, all that could be heard was heavy breathing, the gentle crackle of the ice-laced waves, and the faint, feathery hiss of snow falling.

  ‘What now?’ Farden asked, to the silence and to the captain.

  Nuka shrugged. His coat rustled. ‘We just sang a duet with a pack of whales. Forgive me if I’m not completely sure what the next step is,’ he replied sarcastically. Farden smiled wryly as he wandered down the slippery steps to the main deck, where a few Written made a space for him. They nodded respectfully as he murmured his excuses.

  Farden leant over the ship’s side and looked for Scarnose. Half of the orca had sunk into the icy depths, as if to cool themselves off. They were lost to the murky darkness of the sea and snow. Only a few elders remained, and Scarnose wasn’t nearby.

  Farden was about to call out when a black and white face appeared directly underneath him, rearing up with a muted splash. The whale lifted itself out of the water so much that its scarred nose of a namesake came almost level with the deck. Farden leant back involuntarily. There was a little rustle of awe through the crowd around him.

  ‘Many tides pass since orca last sang with human. Many, many tides,’ rumbled Scarnose.

  Farden bowed respectfully. ‘Too many, in my opinion. Perhaps when we return…?’ Farden trailed off, hearing his own words in his ears. There was an uncomfortable silence from those nearby.

  The whale seemed to sense it. ‘Dark whispers in water, humans. Dark shadows beneath ice. On it, too. We hear drumming of feet across ice. Of claws. Of heavy, hurrying things. The magick draws them north. As it draws us.’

  Farden couldn’t wait to go meet it. ‘Will you come north with us?’

  Scarnose flashed a row of teeth and a pink tongue. He licked a few snowflakes from his rubbery lips. ‘As far as ice allows. We may not be seen, but we are there.’

  Farden nodded. ‘And will you help us into the ice?’ he asked. ‘There is no wind.’

  The whale began to slip back into the sea. ‘We shall,’ he said, and then added, strangely, ‘magick man,’ just before his head slipped under the surface.

  Farden watched the creature disappear into the slush. Behind him, the soldiers slowly slipped away, back to their posts or back to their beds. The Sirens quietly disappeared below. Only a few remained on deck, milling about, unsure. Whether the crew felt it or not, a sudden air of danger began to corrode the joyous afterglow of the singing, and trample it into the dirty snow of the deck.

  ‘Looks like we’re getting a push,’ Farden announced to Nuka, as he returned to the aftcastle. This time Lerel, Tyrfing, and several of the Written followed. The captain was unlashing the wheel. He didn’t look that comfortable with the idea.

  ‘It certainly does. These sea-wolves better be careful with my ship.’

  Tyrfing stamped his foot. ‘She’ll hold, Captain. Don’t you worry.’

  Nuka bowed. ‘Aye, your Mage,’ he said. No sooner had the words tumbled from his mouth did the ship shudder. A couple of cries rang out from the deck. ‘Steady as she goes!’ he shouted. Roiks echoed the order as he strode about the masts in long-legged figure of eights, clapping his snowy gloves together.

  ‘You ‘eard the Captain, lads and ladies! Stop fannying around and get to work. Eyes sharp, legs steady, and keep your wits about you! We’ve got ice to break!’

  More orders rang out from the mates. ‘Reel in those lines, boys!’

  ‘I want that ice chipped from the rigging. Don’t make me come up there!’

  ‘Mages, front and centre! Be ready with fire and light for the ice now!’

  Farden leant close to his uncle as he felt the ship begin to move. ‘I’m told you made this ship to break ice. What in Emaneska gave you the idea to make a ship that can break ice? Besides this mission, what’s the point?’

  Tyrfing had a scarf wrapped around his face. It puffed in and out as he talked. ‘It was an accident, to tell the truth, nephew. I just wanted to make a ship that could cut another ship in half. This was a fortunate, but otherwise unplanned, application. It was actually Nuka that suggested it,’ Tyrfing replied. His red-rimmed eyes were eagerly fixed on the thin shelf of ice that was getting closer by the minute. It only looked to be a foot or so thick, but that was plenty for any ship, even Waveblade. If he was nervous, he barely showed it. He just looked sweaty and feverish.

  Farden was watching the ice too, he could feel that old fear of icy-cold water flooding back to him. ‘So, you’ve tested it then?’

>   ‘Tested? Oh no. This’ll be the first time.’

  Farden slowly turned from the ice to his uncle, and found them both as worrying. ‘The first time?’

  ‘That’s right, Farden!’ Nuka called. ‘Time to put the iron of this ‘Blade to the test.’

  ‘She’ll hold,’ Tyrfing repeated hoarsely, not sounding all that convincing for Farden’s liking. His gauntlets gripped the railing a little tighter as the whales began to push harder.

  The edge of the ice disappeared beneath the bowsprit. There was a dreadful silence, full of clenching and waiting, and then a dull boom as the iron bow bit into the ice of the north. Any other ship would have had its keel staved in, split at the very least. Not the Waveblade. She lifted itself up and over the lip of the ice, and then hammered down on it with all of her massive, iron weight. The ice split like bad glass, and the Waveblade powered on.

  It took more than a few minutes for Farden’s unease to subside. In fact, it took a good half an hour, and a wincing journey to the bow to convince him that he was safe. The ‘Blade was too sharp and too powerful for the thin ice. She left a mottled, shattered path behind her, full of broken, sinking ice and curious whales. They kept pushing and the ship kept breaking.

  Ilios seemed impressed. Farden absently stroked his feathers as he watched the ice splinter below. The noise was sharp, deep.