by P. D. Kalnay
“It sure has a lot of teeth,” I said.
Another sailor finished the fish with a club. Even pinned to the deck by the spear, it came close to getting a mouthful of his leg. Long tentacle-like whiskers, running back from the sides of its mouth, continued to writhe for minutes after the fish was obviously deceased.
“Yes, and the stingers are lethal. Falling into a school of emberstrikes is certain death. They can sense blood for many leagues and schools can number in the tens of thousands. I saw a school devour a leviathan when I was still a cabin boy on my father’s ship. It gave me nightmares for years. Tonight at dinner—the tables will turn!”
He gave me a wide hawkish grin.
Given his birdish features, all of his grins were hawkish. The mouths, noses, and jaws of the Valaneese merged to a beak shape, and they were covered in fine brown or grey feathers everywhere except their faces. Even their clawed hands and feet went halfway towards being talons. Birdlike or not, the Valaneese had no wings, although I couldn’t tell for sure at first.
Valanse was crazy hot, and its natives wore heavy cloaks most of the time, even when I’d have said the weather was overly warm. Ivy told me they’d become seafarers because their desert homeland had little in the way of native luxuries or resources. The captain’s people cut their cities from towering seaside cliffs, which sounded pretty cool, but wasn’t near where we’d be going.
As I looked into Captain Danar’s almost translucent blue eyes, I realised I’d grown used to being around non-human people. In spite of my unsociable behaviour on Knight’s Haven, fairy-tale people had become my norm.
***
We joined the captain in the officers’ mess for dinner. It was where Ivy and I ate our meals and was much smaller and fancier than the big mess the sailors used. Emberstrike was on the menu, and while Ivy declined the offered meat, I more than made up for her. The cooks served the fish in a sweet sauce that had a sharp tang to it. I said as much to Captain Danar.
“That’s the poison,” he said around a mouthful of the fish.
“The poison!”
“Aye, the cooking negates most of it, but just enough remains to give the meat zest.”
I guessed that was one way of looking at it.
“This won’t make me sick, will it?”
“No,” Ivy said, “you’ll be fine. It’s a harmless amount.”
She returned to her vegetable-filled plate.
“Trying to poison someone with a florathen sitting at the table would be a chancy proposition,” the captain said with a chuckle. “This is a rare and expensive delicacy. If it were possible to preserve the emberstrike—I’d have sold it instead of eating it. We feast like kings!”
“Have you ever been to Anukdun?” I asked.
“No,” Captain Danar said. “I’m a sailor, not a scholar, but my cousin made the journey fifty years back. He returned penniless and defeated. Now, he runs a tavern on the lowest level of Aspirel. It’s a shame; we believed he had a great future ahead of him. Few are allowed to join the learned there and attaining an audience is beyond the means of most folk. It’s a long and perilous trek… for so little likelihood of success. Why do you travel to Anukdun, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Ivy gave me a sidelong glance that said: guard your tongue, and maybe—don’t be an idiot, Jack.
“We’re hoping to have a question answered,” I said. “The person who knows the answer is there.”
“I wish you luck then. They hoard countless secrets in that place, but getting a hold of them…” He spread his hands wide and shrugged.
“We have to try,” I said. It was time to change the topic. “I think we’re sailing into a storm.”
Captain Danar had just taken a sip of his wine. My comment led to coughing and spluttering. When he recovered, laughter followed.
“What’s so funny,” I asked.
“We sail the Endless Sea,” he said. “The only parts that aren’t perpetually stormy are the coastlines and centre. How could you not know?”
I knew the Endless Sea was dangerous and stormy, but I hadn’t realised it was always stormy. Ivy’s warning kick under the table was unnecessary; I’d learned my lesson about being too trusting. We were keeping our cards close to our respective chests.
“I lived most of my life… isolated from the rest of the world,” I said. That was vague enough. Most regular people on the First World didn’t know about the whole travelling-between-worlds thing—which made sense, but hadn’t occurred early on. “Now, I’m playing catch-up.”
“I see.” The captain looked thoughtful. “I shall teach you of the sea then. A mighty storm rages in a wide band surrounding Knight’s Haven, covering the majority of the sea—crossing that band is treacherous. Storms occasionally strike the centre and along the coasts, but they are pale reflections of the Maelstrom. Each passage through the Maelstrom is an accomplishment, and many ships fail to make it a single time. All that is needed for disaster to occur is getting turned around or losing direction. Half the ships that cross the Endless Sea never return home.”
“Half?” That was terrible odds.
“Half.” The captain nodded. “But the rewards of success are enough to keep us returning to our harsh mistress. With the reopening of free trade on Knight’s Haven, things will surely improve… for the rest of us.”
He looked uncomfortably at Ivy and me as though he’d said something impolite.
“Rumour has it you both played a role in that, but one can never be sure with stories told in taverns.”
“That one is true,” I said. “We helped the Order return to Knight’s Haven. Ivy did most of the work, making the island habitable again.”
Ivy shrugged.
“Then, I thank you both,” the captain said.
“How many times have you crossed the Maelstrom?” Ivy asked him.
“Once.”
“Once?” I was certain I’d misheard him.
“There was never cause to do so before,” Captain Danar explained. “Until the knights in Aspirel told me of the liberation of Knight’s Haven, crossing was a pointless risk, but I have the charts passed down through my family since the old days, and we managed with little damage or loss of life.”
That was worrisome since I’d assumed a veteran like Captain Danar had made the trip many times. He saw the concern on my face.
“Fear not, Prince Jakalain, my family were great sailors on the white long before they forced us to settle for the green. I’ll get you to Gaan. I don’t have the advantage of wind weavers, but neither did any of my ancestors.” He paused before asking a question that I suspected he’d meant to bring up from the start, “Can you read the winds?”
“I’m not great at it,” I said. Unfortunately, that was the truth; my winathen skills remained mediocre. “I’m pretty good at sensing big stuff.”
“Then perhaps I could lessen the price of your passage for the use of your talents? The big stuff concerns me most.”
I’d have helped just to keep us safe, but I’d learned a little from watching Ivy’s negotiating.
“How about, I help out—and you teach us to sail?” I countered.
Ivy and I needed practical skills for later. The captain didn’t hesitate before extending his clawed hand across the table.
“Done.”
***
Our cruise ended the next day and our apprenticeship as sailors aboard the Starburst began. The captain assigned Ivy and me to help one or another of the crew with their daily tasks. The first days were fascinating and pleasant, if tiring, and we learned much of what it took to keep the ship in a seaworthy state.
On our ninth day at sea we entered the Maelstrom. Ivy and I stood with Captain Danar by the ship’s wheel as he explained about using the currents, ringing the Endless Sea, to help pass more swiftly through the deadly storm. He pointed to a chart that looked identical to one we had tucked away in a box on our boat. The chart depicted adjacent circles, with arrows showing direction of flow.<
br />
“You’ll note that each of the ring currents passes through the Maelstrom,” he said. “All show a rimward edge and a midward edge outside of it, but that’s not to be trusted. The Maelstrom isn’t constant, and can shift enough to cover those sections of current. Unlucky sailors have come near to making a safe crossing, only to be fooled by the current and storm.”
“What happens then?” I asked.
“Some, who relied too heavily on this chart, waiting to arrive at the edges of a ring, stayed too long upon the currents and sailed back into the Maelstrom without ever seeing clear skies. The currents can be boon or curse.”
“In what way?” Ivy asked.
I’d always done well at school, but wasn’t very studious. My days studying beside Ivy had shown her to be extremely so. It explained how quickly she’d come to grips with the strangeness of living at Glastonbury Manor. That was something I hadn’t appreciated.
“The currents are never the shortest path across,” the captain continued, “but they represent the safest routes. If a ship can stay within the current, then they will, without fail, be carried through the Maelstrom. It’s the sure and slow choice when crossing, requires the least skill at reading the winds, and it allows more sailcloth to remain furled. Riding a current is less direct than sailing the straight line and means staying inside longer.”
“How do you know if you’re in a current?” I asked.
“Outside the storm, you can see them,” Captain Danar said. “The currents carry sea life and debris along their endless track. They are rich with life and danger. Careless or greedy fishermen are oft caught too close and drawn into the Maelstrom to their deaths. The currents are also the feeding grounds of more dangerous creatures for the same reason. The sea is stirred inside the Maelstrom, making the currents difficult to discern with the naked eye. Most non-fae ships, who rely upon the currents, hire a sea sprite as navigator, and they use their watersense to steer a course along the middle of a current. True sailors of the white, sail across.” He gave us a wide, roguish grin. “That is what we shall do.”
I looked at the chart. Each ring current pressed up next to another, and they alternated between clockwise and counter clockwise rotations. There were no parts of the sea without currents.
“What about where they run up against each other?” I asked. “It looks as though they turn the next one over—like gears in a machine.”
“Aye, Prince Jakalain, they do, and those waters are the most treacherous… or the most profitable. Those sailing the junction of two currents gain unmatched speed. We won’t be taking that path as it would move us off course and add substantial risk, but will instead sail here.”
The captain drew a clawed finger through the middle of the ring current directly west of the tiny dot representing Knight’s Haven. It looked to be the straightest route possible.
“There is a fine balance between daring and foolishness,” he said.
That was the moment I first felt the raw power of the Maelstrom. I’d had little success with the delicate manipulation of the winds, but, since growing my wings, I’d had no trouble determining when a storm approached. Lyrian’s touch had made my wings many times more sensitive. It might have been the only helpful thing she’d done.
High above us, the calm winds became a turbulent swirl. Straight ahead, I sensed a wall of thunderstorm which made the storms that had rolled across Knight’s Haven seem trivial. I peered toward the westward horizon and could just make out a dark line stretching north and south.
Minus my windsense, I’d have assumed it to be land. As I pointed a finger, and was going to tell my companions, a voice called down from the crow’s nest.
“Strom ho!” came the call.
“Halve the sails,” shouted Captain Danar.
The Starburst became a hive of activity as sailors moved unnecessary items below decks and secured the rest. Though the weather was still pleasant, I could sense the power of the storm ahead, and thought the intensity of the crew entirely appropriate.
Captain Danar rolled up the chart and returned it to its protective tube, “Now your education begins in earnest.”
***
The storm continued to grow on the horizon, and with nothing left to do, a quiet fell over the crew and the ship. Ivy and I stood up front watching while trying to stay out from underfoot. She saw or sensed the ring current before I did and pointed it out. A wide band of distinctive water stretched from port to starboard ahead of us. I couldn’t see any curvature, but it was the edge of a continent-sized circle.
The first whirlpool surprised me.
The band of current must have been several miles across and it created shifting whirlpools along its boundaries. Captain Danar timed our passage perfectly, threading between two giant eddies that could have easily sucked in a ship the size of the Starburst. The one on the port side swirled close enough for us to see into, and bottom of the spiral was a long way down. Spray soaked us as we gripped the rail, but neither Ivy nor I could look away. Then we were into the current, which pulled the Starburst north as we continued to sail westward.
Bits of wood, seaweed, and who knew what else floated along with us. Fish also made occasional appearances near the surface before swimming below again. The water in the current was a bright murky green from the debris and I guessed a higher concentration of plankton (or the First World equivalent of plankton).
Sooner than I’d have expected, we crossed out again. For a second time the Starburst passed between two swirls of watery death, and we returned to more normal seas. The wall of storm had grown higher, blacker, and forks of lightning filled the horizon. The surrounding waves grew as we approached. Then the horizon disappeared when we reached the bottom of the first wave that rose higher than the deck.
Not taking my small boat across the Endless Sea was a brilliant decision!
The ferocity of the Maelstrom was overwhelming, and while what I saw with my eyes was terrifying, my ability to sense the forces behind the storm made it even worse. Every fibre of my being screamed that we should turn back and run before the unimaginable might of the Maelstrom. Instead, we drove straight into it.
I had a tight grip on the rail, but it was still hard to keep my feet as powerful winds buffeted me and the waves tossed the ship. I don’t know if I’d ever felt smaller or more insignificant than in those first moments of our crossing.
My winathen heritage was a blessing and a curse under such conditions. My windsense let me anticipate the winds before they struck, but my wings caught those same winds like miniature sails and threatened to topple me, or, in the worst of it, pick me up. For the early days of the crossing, my wind magic seemed only a cruel taunt, like the bully who informs you that he’s going to hit you; adding unfortunate anticipation to an inescapable outcome.
Another part of me grew excited by the storm and the mad seas. As we pushed further in that excitement intensified, and I embraced the surrounding fury, relaxing my mind, and extending my senses. I was swept up by the power and fury.
Ivy brought me back to reality.
“Jack!” she shouted.
I vaguely heard her, but her voice was only the buzzing of a tiny bug. Then that tiny bug stomped down hard on my bare foot, and I was all the way back.
“Hey, what’d you do that for?” I shouted.
The wind, thunder, and boom of the shortened sails made shouting necessary.
“You frightened me. You were laughing like a madman.”
“I was?”
“Yes, we should go inside.”
“But this is amazing.”
Lightning struck the water all around the Starburst, now that we were properly in.
“It’s not going anywhere,” Ivy shouted, “and it is dinner time.”
That didn’t seem possible. We’d only been sailing into the storm for a few minutes. It was hard to judge the time of day in the alternately dim and lightning-filled world. Maybe we’d been in there longer than I thought.
&nbs
p; “OK,” I shouted back.
We followed a line strung along the port side, to the stairs and doorway that would take us to our cabin and the officers’ mess. Captain Danar said that later, when we were in the worst of the storm, we’d need to tie off to the safety lines every time we went on deck. The door at the bottom of the stairs blocked out much of the noise when I closed it behind me, but once inside, the rocking of the ship became more pronounced. Ivy trailed a hand along the wall as she walked to our room.
She sat on the edge of her bunk, looking tired. The lightshow continued outside our wall of windows, and rain pelted the glass.
“I guess we made it just in time to avoid a soaking,” I said.
“You worried me.”
“What?” I turned back from the windows.
“Jack, you were lost in the storm for hours.”
Hours? Was that possible?
“Really?”
“Really. Winathen sometimes lose their minds to the winds and the lightning and never return to their bodies. It’s rare, but it happens—most commonly among the wind weavers who work our ships. You must be cautious of how much of your mind you let travel.”
“I didn’t know.”
“All fae face similar dangers. For florathen, becoming too involved with other beings and entwined in their auras can lead to insanity. Even petrathen can delve too deeply into the fires of the earth and fail to return.”
“Nobody told me any of that,” I said.
“Lyrian wasn’t trying to help you, and these are matters that one learns growing up among our people.” Ivy leaked a few tears. “For a time… I believed you lost.”
Not making Ivy cry was high on the list of things I intended to do more of, and I knelt on the floor in front of her. With our disparate heights, we were eye-to-eye.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”
My attempts at reassurance led to increased tears and then full-on sobbing. I pulled Ivy close and held her as she cried. That lasted for a while, and was awkward, so I moved to sit next to her on her narrow bed. She clearly didn’t want me to let her go, and I didn’t.
The storm, the ship, and every other concern disappeared. When her sobbing stopped, I wiped away the tears that hadn’t soaked into my tunic, and that led—I’m not entirely certain how… to kissing. The first gentle kiss led to fiercer kissing than we’d done to that point, which might have led to more if Ivy had allowed it.
