The Library of Anukdun (Legend of the White Sword Book 5)

by P. D. Kalnay

  Ivy fired arrow after arrow at the kraken’s eyes. In spite of the rocking ship, the gale-force winds, and the thrashing of the monster itself, every arrow hit an eye. She extinguished each pale eye with a luminescent arrow, but Ivy ran out of arrows well before the kraken ran out of eyes.

  I didn’t need her ability to sense auras to know that the kraken was properly pissed-off. I’d have paid a high price for a pair of earplugs at that point. The kraken’s high-pitched wail went on and on like a broken car alarm. My head ached from the racket.

  There was a short lull in the battle when Ivy’s last arrow left string. The only parts of our enemy within reach were the tentacles wrapped around the hull, but Ivy hadn’t finished. I saw her necklace come alive and the bees lift off, presumably to swarm the kraken’s remaining eyes. They never got the chance. A new tentacle shot up from the water behind Ivy, and before she—or I—could react, it swept her down the deck. Ivy rolled and then dove into a gaping crack running across the middle of the ship, narrowly avoiding a crushing blow.

  She didn’t come back up.

  My first instinct was to go after her as the kraken drove the pointy tip of a tentacle at the deck, but that crack was now two tentacles away. The head of the beast hovered only a dozen paces from what remained of the aft rail, and the tentacle I’d been attacking had disappeared from my path.

  Mr. Ryan always said that the best defence is a strong defence, but that in a pinch, a good offence works too. I went on the offensive, hoping to distract the kraken. I thickened the air under my wings and ran for the rail, making an extra push at the last instant. Storm winds took me to one side, but I landed a powerful blow with my hammer in between two eyes that weren’t decorated with arrows. Each pale yellow eye was the size of a dinner plate, and they stared balefully at me for half a second before going dark. The hammer sank deep, halfway up the handle, and I struggled to hold onto the blood-covered weapon as the kraken screamed and thrashed. My bare feet found no purchase on the monster’s slippery head. I hadn’t considered that it would be slippery… then again, I had attacked without a plan.

  Wild attempts to dislodge me with its tentacles followed, but I must have landed in a sweet spot because they only brushed my wings. I’d landed a solid blow, but not a lethal one. Now, I was stuck on the what-to-do-next part. Only the hammer kept me attached, and if I extracted it, I knew I would slip into the sea. My arm was growing tired, so I needed to do something—and fast.

  As the realisation that my death was only a few breaths away, dawned, another part of me that I thought of as the other Jack, shot to the surface of my consciousness and mentally elbowed me out of the way. It was the same guy I’d watched destroy most of a clan of assassins. Faster than I’d have believed possible, he wove a ring of symbols in the air around the kraken.

  A thing I had only seen Lyrian do… once.

  The other Jack gathered the surrounding lightning, and by gathered, I mean he channelled it, making himself/me into a lightning rod. From where I stood/hung it was all blinding light, heat, and pain, but Captain Danar later described the scene from the deck of the Starburst. Every bolt of lightning for miles around passed through the air runes, my wings, me, and then the hammer—driving the combined might an electrical storm into the brain of the kraken. Captain Danar said it lasted a few seconds. It felt longer. Then the kraken fell back into the sea in a hot sizzle of smoke and with a smell like overcooked and spoiled seafood.

  I stood ankle deep in sea water on the carcase as the other Jack fled back to wherever he lived most of the time. Tentacles slid off the ship, most with help from sailors, and my corpse-raft began sinking.

  It was time to go.

  I had no jumps left in me, let alone a mighty leap up to the deck. Instead, I settled for a mad, slippery dash along a tentacle to the side of the Starburst, where tangled rope from the rigging hung down into the water. I just hooked it with my hammer before slipping off of the bobbing path; and I half-clung, half-floated, and wondered how I’d get back onboard.

  Captain Danar, along with several of the crew, hauled me partway up before I noticed I was moving. They dragged me back onboard like a sack of potatoes, where I lay panting on the deck. I’d forgotten something, but, in my stunned state, I couldn’t remember what. Long before I remembered, I realised that the wind, rain, and thunder had stopped—and that the world had grown brighter. Above, I saw clear blue sky, a thing I hadn’t glimpsed in weeks. Ivy would be excited to see it too…

  Ivy!

  I’d forgotten Ivy.

  Chapter 7 – Iron Vine

  The ship made unprecedented noises that most definitely weren’t good noises. While those noises might have been drowned out in the howl of the Maelstrom, the calm seas surrounding the Starburst made them thunderous. I’d never heard thick beams cracking in two, or the various other sounds a ship makes as it tears itself apart, but I knew that was what I heard.

  Most of the surviving crewmembers moved purposely around the ship. A few tried to secure items torn loose in the battle and storm, others looked to be prepping the remaining longboats, and one fellow stood vacant-eyed, staring at the widening crack in the deck, amidships.

  Still lying on my side, I glanced back at my boat. It looked unscathed and remained fastened and mostly covered. In my heart I knew there wouldn’t be time to free it from the ropes and certainly no time to assemble the ship’s crane to get it into the water. The Starbust was dying at a rapidly accelerating pace.

  The crack in the middle widened by another foot, and if the holds weren’t already filling with seawater, they soon would be. The juxtaposition of calm around and chaos onboard was a bizarre reversal of the voyage up till then. I needed to find Ivy. She was still below, and the Starburst would soon become a deathtrap.

  Painfully, I got to my feet.

  I’d barely grabbed my hammer from the deck and turned towards the stern when I heard the slithering. In between the louder bursts of snapping timber and the shouts of the crew, I heard a raspy slithering coming from below and then—all around.

  The death wails of the Starburst fell silent; as did the voices of the crew as they joined me in listening to the strange new sounds. It sounded as though dozens of giant snakes were crawling up and through the ship. Giant snakes wouldn’t have surprised me by then, and I raised my hammer to meet the one I heard approaching from beneath the shattered rail next to me.

  A thick woody vine rose above the edge of the ship, growing longer and thicker before my eyes. Dozens more came up, all around the deck, and then grew inward, intertwining where they met to form a lattice. The vines avoided me and the crew. I needed a few seconds to understand what was happening… the vines were drawing in the two halves and pulling the ship back together.

  The process took minutes, and when the vines finished their expansion, they were as thick as my waist. Then they sprouted trifold leaves, any of which could have sheltered several people. A moment later, Ivy followed the vines on deck. She stumbled as she climbed the stairs from below, and I dropped my hammer again, running to catch her before she fell.

  “Did you do this?” I asked.

  “Yes, Jack.” Ivy closed her eyes and laid her head against my chest. “I’m very tired.”

  A complex web of woody vines covered the whole ship. It was unbelievable.

  “I guess so!” I said. “Why don’t you rest, now?”

  Ivy was way ahead of me. Somehow… even her snoring was cute.

  The ship had grown so stable that it was almost like standing on dry land. I carried Ivy to our room and laid her on her bunk. Our cabin was a mess, with broken glass and water on the floor, but the whole ship was a mess, so once I made sure Ivy was safe and sleeping, I went back up top to find Captain Danar. The hallway was a tight squeeze in places, because, in addition to wrapping the hull, Ivy’s vines ran through much of the inner ship. The captain stood on the main deck, organising his crew.

  I took a moment to look around while he finished giving instru
ction. We floated in a patch of calm water a few miles across. The Maelstrom continued to rage outside, but above us spread blue, sunny sky. I only wore a loin cloth and the warm sunshine felt amazing as it dried the last damp from my body and wings. Captain Danar interrupted my semi-comatose sunbathing.

  “Prince Jakalain?”

  I opened my eyes, having fallen asleep on my feet.

  “What is this?” I waved my steel hand at the surrounding calm.

  “An Eye,” the captain said. “Few find them, because they shift and are small. We’re right in the middle of the Maelstrom. Each ring current has such a place at its centre, but finding respite in one is a lucky chance that occurs perhaps once in a thousand crossings.”

  “We can use some good luck, about now.”

  The ship was a disaster area. Only the front most mast remained and everywhere I looked I discovered new destruction.

  “If that kraken has any friends or family around, I don’t like our chances,” I said.

  “Until today, I’d have said kraken only existed in the stories of old, drunken sailors. To meet such a creature was ill luck.”

  That seemed an understatement.

  “What will we do now?” I asked.

  Two sailors passed by carrying salvaged rigging strung between them. They both averted their eyes from mine; they also sped up as they passed. It was a reaction I’d grown used to in Havensport.

  “We’ll continue west when the ship is as sound as we can make it. What else can we do? Only the foremast stands, and it’s cracked near the base… We live thanks to you and thanks to Princess Ivangelain, but the second half of the crossing will be more challenging than the first, given the state of the Starburst and her crew.”

  “How many people did you lose?”

  “Almost half the crew.” Captain Danar stared at his feet for a moment before visibly pulling himself together. “All who sail know the risks involved. These vines are keeping us alive and afloat, but between them and the lack of sail, it will be slow going. Excuse me, Prince Jakalain, I must finish my inspection.”

  He moved off with a new and pronounced limp. I headed aft to check on my boat. With the damage to the Starburst being so thorough, I feared for my smaller craft.

  I needn’t have worried.

  Although the deck and railing surrounding my boat were devastated, and the tarp covering it pulled aside, the boat itself looked unscathed. I crawled under the tarp to be sure and discovered cracked deck under my boat, obviously the result of a tentacle pressing on the smaller vessel. The ridiculous toughness of the stahlwood hull had been its saving grace. After checking the visible parts for damage, I re-covered my boat. There were plenty of stormy seas ahead of us.

  ***

  The Starburst stayed in the eye as repairs were made. None of it was shipshape, and the few remaining sections of railing didn’t inspire confidence. The first half of the Maelstrom had proven deadly on a fully functional ship. Ivy slept for the rest of the first day, for the night, and half of the following day. The result of her incredible magic surrounded us as the Starburst became less ship than aquatic tumbleweed. I helped with repairs, but it was obvious that the crew no longer felt comfortable around me. Eventually I gave up, figuring I brought more distraction than help.

  I found Ivy sitting, leaned back against a thicker section of vine at the front of the ship. It was the only untouched part, and, not requiring repair, was the quietest. I sat on the vine next to her, and for a time we silently enjoyed each other’s company.

  “This is amazing,” I said, touching the tough woody vine.

  Ivy looked up, startled from her thoughts.

  “It’s just an iron vine,” she said, “if an unusually large one.”

  “I didn’t know you could do stuff like this. It was amazing how fast it grew.”

  “The larger part of that is thanks to you.” Ivy touched her necklace absently. “I only hope it lives long enough to take us to safety.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My growing it in such an unnatural manner is not without consequences.”

  No surprise there. Magic often had a price or downside. Spur of the moment magic—almost always did.

  “So this won’t last long?”

  “No, and I can’t tell you how long the vine will survive. Between a lack of soil, the sea water, and the accelerated growth, its span will be far shorter than a natural vine. It might die and degrade in a year, or a month, or a week…”

  I hoped it wasn’t a week. That would be bad. Even a month wouldn’t see us to safety.

  “Can you grow another, if you have to?”

  Ivy shook her head.

  “I must return to land to restore myself. This took most of my strength, and without a tie to the earth I cannot become whole again. Your necklace gives me a different strength, but my natural abilities are now crippled.”

  Ivy said we’d become weaker away from land, but I felt all right, if tired. I said as much to her, and she considered it for a few minutes.

  “You are half winathen,” she said, “and so draw nourishment from the skies above and from the storm we’ve traversed. We’ve had no shortage of lightning or wind. Captain Danar told me you called down lightning to defeat the kraken.”

  Ivy was below decks at the time, and she’d slept a lot since, so we hadn’t gotten around to discussing the battle.

  “Yeah, I’m not sure how.”

  I’d made another try at condensing air into a solidified word from the Titans’ tongue, and, as with all my previous attempts, had failed. I told Ivy about my failure.

  “Your instincts remain sound in the heat of battle,” she said.

  I supposed that was better than nothing.

  “You should be more careful though.”

  Ivy fought fearlessly, and she’d almost been crushed as a result.

  “I should be more careful?” she asked.

  “If there wasn’t a crack to jump into, you’d be dead.” I held in that I’d rather she stayed behind me—or better yet—hid when danger approached. Ivy had been awesome and superhuman, but the thought of losing her…

  Ivy stared up at me without speaking, and I was glad I hadn’t said the second part out loud. As soon as she spoke, I knew I’d already said too much.

  “As Captain Danar tells it, you jumped from the ship onto the kraken?”

  “Well yeah, but–”

  “Did you know you could call the lightning?”

  “No, but–”

  “Had you a plan for getting back onboard?”

  I shook my head. My only thought at the time was drawing the kraken’s attention away from her.

  “I should be more careful.” Ivy looked back out to sea. “You remain an idiot.”

  I had no comeback to that.

  Chapter 8 – Pilot

  A new, makeshift boom hung from the one mast, and a single sail drove us westward out of the eye and back into the Maelstrom. We tidied our cabin, and I tacked a tarp across the broken windows resulting in a dry—if dark—environment. Not seeing the endless lightning was no loss in my book.

  Ivy surprised me by saying that from now on I should wear my shimersilk cloak while I guided the ship through the storm. The fear of the crew was palpable, and the notion that anyone on board would try to rob us… laughable. The first time I wore the silvery fabric, Captain Danar raised a surprised brow, but that was the extent of his reaction. Shimersilk proved amazing, and I suspected it was filled with magical properties. It kept me warm and dry in the most torrential deluges. Nobody else went further than giving my new cloak a speculative glance, but then nobody looked at me for very long without averting their eyes. Ivy and I had established solid reputations of sorts aboard the ship. I missed the days of being accepted as, if not quite fellow crewmembers, at least mascots.

  Those days were gone forever.

  A crippled ship with a single half-furled sail was far from ideal. Captain Danar used every trick and skill he had to keep
us moving and afloat. The ship’s pilot and first mate were among the casualties of the kraken’s attack, meaning that for the few hours Captain Danar slept, the third mate minded the wheel. After a week of that, the responsibility fell to me. The captain taught me to pilot the ship through our long hours of thunder and lightning.

  At the end of a day of watching me steer the ship, he pronounced me as competent as the third mate, and we altered our shifts so that I took the hours he slept and some of those he didn’t.

  In the beginning I was nervous, being responsible for the lives aboard the Starburst, but as days passed, I grew used to the job and became good at it. Part of my mind was focused on the ship, especially how much wind filled the sail: too much and the compromised mast would break. Even being careful, the cracks grew wider over those weeks, and we’d accepted that the ship sailed on borrowed time. The rest of my mind flew among the currents of air, and steering the ship along the best path became a challenging game that honed my windsense and brought the satisfaction of a good day’s work. The going was slower than before, and during the second week out of the Eye, the vines began to die.

  Safe landfall grew less likely with each passing day.

  ***

  The last leaf had fallen from the vines holding us together, and Ivy said a general degradation of stem would soon follow. On the twenty-second day out of the Eye, I sensed an unprecedented emptiness to the west. Hope rose in my belly at what I sensed, but I didn’t want to create false expectations for anyone else, so I said nothing to Captain Danar, giving him directions and waiting. Soon we sailed seas that were no worse than those found in ordinary, run-of-the-mill thunderstorms.

  “You’ve outdone yourself today, Prince Jakalain,” the captain said. “This is the smoothest course yet.”

  The rim of the storm was close enough that I’d grown certain.

  “We’re almost out,” I said.