The loss of inertia was so immediate that the force of it tugged at Caledonia’s body. On open seas with the current at their back, the momentum they’d gathered would have kept them going for a mile. But here, the grasses kissed their speed away, dragging them down like the mermaids of legend.
Caledonia kept her eyes on the barely there slice of water before them and saw that it narrowed. “Engines to minimum,” she said, and when they’d used up the available space, she gave the order to drift again.
They continued in this way for several hours. Moving in and out of speed whenever the grass thinned enough to warrant it. Pisces sent runners back and forth to the bridge with updates. Her team was working as fast as they could to clear the grass now threading their system. They climbed into the narrow outtake valves and hacked at the fibrous stalks, which they could only do safely when the engines were down. It took time, but they were finding their rhythm, moving forward little by little. It was slow, steady progress, and Caledonia was starting to breathe a little easier.
Until the path ahead disappeared entirely. Before them, the grasses braided together in thick cords, lying on top of the ocean as though there were nothing beneath it.
Caledonia searched for a way through the green. The path she’d chosen had taken them farther south than she’d hoped to go. So far that she could see the beginnings of a swampy shore reaching toward them. They were surely the first ruffling skirts of the Drowning Lands. There was no path to shore, and the surface of the water was flat as glass as far ahead as the eye could see.
“Captain.” A runner appeared in the doorway. “Pisces says we need to power down.”
She shook her head. “We can’t. Tell her to keep the girls out of the valves until I give the word.”
The girl hesitated, then ran off to carry the message belowdecks.
The only chance they had was to power up and hope their momentum carried them across the slick grass. “Engines to full. We need all the speed we can get.”
Her crew complied. The ship rumbled and with less agility than usual began to pick up speed. Grasses hissed against the metal hull, dragging and slapping in displeasure, when suddenly the ship bucked and the rumble of the engine vanished.
Caledonia cursed. The ship drifted, slowing until they stopped altogether. If they tried to spin the engines up again, they’d pull even more of the thick grass into the propulsion system. They could send up the masts, rig the sails. But the breeze that rippled over the water wasn’t the sort that would budge the ship.
They were stuck. And until they could clear the engines or a firm wind drove in, they’d stay that way.
Caledonia cursed again. Even now the Electra was probably preparing for her journey along the Northwater conscription routes. Every single moment was precious.
She drew a deep breath. Blood. Gunpowder. Salt. They could work through this. She just needed to be patient.
Before she could convene her command crew, a cry: “Ships! Port bow!”
There, six vessels raced across the grass-infested waters in boats that seemed to barely touch the surface. The crafts were flat, with large fans whirring behind a steering console, and on each stood several figures. They poured out from between long reeds and scrub plants, clinging to the swampy shore. Behind them, five more vessels appeared, and behind those were another seven. Eighteen vessels in all.
Immediately, her crew reached for their weapons, training sights on the approaching vessels. Steely and ready to fight.
The air hummed as the small fleet approached the Mors Navis. Each vessel held at least four figures, some more, but none less. They outnumbered Caledonia’s crew nearly two to one. They were armed, and not lightly.
One vessel pulled away from the group, aiming for the bow with guns up. A shower of gunfire scattered across the nose of the Mors Navis. None hit the ship, but the point was made. They had firepower, numbers, and mobility. Without propulsion, Caledonia only had firepower.
“Hands up, girls,” Caledonia called with bitterness in her voice.
“Captain.” Redtooth came to her side, a fight bristling in her voice. “We still have the advantage of height. We can at least thin the herd.”
“They’re not Bullets. And those were warning shots. We may be able to talk our way out of this.”
As they watched, the swarm of boats multiplied yet again, even more sliding away from shore. They circled, guns pointed at the deck, but not a single shot fired. The soldiers, men and women, trained their guns expertly and wore plates of blackened metal not unlike the armor of the Gulls. It was the presence of the women that gave Caledonia hope. Women standing shoulder to shoulder with men. They might survive this yet.
“Surrender with peace and we will do no harm!” It was a woman’s voice. Strong, firm, demanding.
“I am Caledonia Styx, and this is my crew! We will do no harm and surrender!”
In response, two hooks appeared over the rail, trailing a rope ladder. It pulled taut under the weight of someone beginning to climb.
Panic was ready to bloom in Caledonia’s chest.
Redtooth was the first to greet the newcomer as she topped the rail. She stood too close, forcing the woman to carefully straddle the railing unless she wanted to collide with Redtooth’s chest. The woman ducked her head, hiding a smile as she gripped the rail with strong hands and swung one leg over without hitting Redtooth.
She was the soft taupe of an oak tree, with arms corded like thick ropes. Her armor was plated across her chest and banded around her shoulders, each piece curved to meet her body. Her hair was pulled back from the temples in twists, clasped with metal beads in steely gray and black and the pearlescent color of an oyster shell. The woman met Redtooth eye to eye, and now that she stood on the deck, she crossed into Redtooth’s space and didn’t back down.
“Push back, girl,” the woman said, her voice dipping to show Redtooth exactly what she thought of her youth.
“Red,” Caledonia warned, though she would have liked to see Redtooth knock the woman back a few paces. She stepped between Redtooth and the woman. “We can offer you coin in exchange for aid.” She spoke as though negotiation were expected. As though these people didn’t have the obvious advantage.
The woman’s smile withered, all humor draining away. “You know that’s not how this will go, Caledonia Styx. This is the Drowning Lands, and you and your crew will disembark peacefully.”
“Or?”
“What has given you the impression that you have an alternative choice?”
“Captain.” Amina’s urgent whisper was in her ear. “Tugs. And welders.”
On the water, the mud runner boats were making room for the tugs. The crews tucked in close around the base of the hull, attaching lines fore and aft. And before another word was spoken between Caledonia and the woman, sparks flew as the welders got to work.
They were taking the Mors Navis apart.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Caledonia had lost this ship once. Every single decision she’d made in the four years since had been designed to keep it running. She’d imagined if she ever lost it again, it would be the same day she lost her life. She’d imagined it would be bloody, the Mors Navis in flames and her crew lost. Nothing like the unsettling peace of this moment.
“This ship is worth far more than its metal.” Caledonia could barely think past the hiss of fire against her hull.
But the woman was unmoved. “Not to a Slagger. You can make your case to the queen.”
A twist of dread and fury tangled in Caledonia’s throat. She was helpless. The ship was braided into the ocean, immobile and useless. And the entire crew had lowered their weapons. The only option before them was surrender.
“We’ll go peacefully.” Caledonia’s lips felt numb as she spoke.
The woman before her shouted an order, and dozens of grip hooks appeared over the rai
ling in response. From each dangled a rope ladder like the one she’d used. “I’m Ceepa.” She gestured to her own ladder. “After you, Captain.”
It was all Caledonia could do to put one foot in front of the other and descend the ladder. On deck, her crew was thoroughly subdued, their expressions just as stunned as she felt. As her hand left the cool metal of her hull, she tried not to think that it was for the last time. Distantly, she registered how quickly her crew was funneled down the rope ladders and loaded onto mud runners. She spotted Amina and Hime nestled together; Nettle’s multicolored ribbons caught her eye; Redtooth growled as she was directed to a boat apart from Caledonia. But she caught no sign of Pisces.
There was always a chance that Pisces had heard the commotion and hurried her team into the valves to avoid detection. Or perhaps she’d taken the blue lung and her tow and submerged. Whatever the reason, Caledonia hoped that her friend hadn’t been harmed.
Ceepa climbed into the mud runner with Caledonia, and with a nod of her head, the soldier at the tiller revved the engine. A humid wind embraced them as they rushed away from the ocean. It carried with it a smell of rotting wood and sunbaked mud. Water gave way to muddy terrain which gave way again to water so rapidly Caledonia couldn’t track it. The boats traveled seamlessly from one to the other, startling long-legged birds and round frogs.
After several miles, the first real trees appeared. They were scraggly, with knobby spines protruding from the water around them. Puffs of evergreen needles dripped from thin branches, allowing room for the sun to spill between them. They were not the glossy-leaved trees that sheltered the islands of the Bone Mouth, and Caledonia doubted they carried any fruit on their pale branches.
She was peering between the jagged-looking trunks when she saw a building. It was a squat wooden shack elevated above the water on stilts with a canoe tethered beneath. Once she’d spotted it, she noticed several others like it. There were dozens of the little houses, each raised on stilts and squatting high over the water. In the doorway of one stood a small child wearing a green smock that hung heavy to her knees, watching them pass as though the sight before her were a common occurrence. She raised her hand to wave, oblivious of the distress that brought them here.
Soon they arrived at a building much larger than any of the others. It was round and capped by a sloping roof trimmed in solar lanterns and surrounded by a wide, wrapping porch. From the front, a staircase led directly down to the water and on one side a ramp arched like a bow. Caledonia’s craft was the first to skid up the ramp, the vessel traveling less seamlessly over the rough tracks than it had over the swamplands.
At the top, they were met by four guards. While one relieved Caledonia of her gun, another bound her hands. She didn’t struggle. If their captors wanted them dead, they could have killed them back at the ship. And if they were meant to be prisoners, they’d have taken her blades in addition to her gun. They’d brought Caledonia and her crew into their home, which meant they wanted something from them. She just wasn’t sure what.
Caledonia was paraded down the porch to the front of the building, where she was visible to the rest of her approaching crew. The message was clear: Should anyone struggle, their captain would be the first to pay the price.
One by one, her crew was unloaded and bound. Caledonia tried to count, but once her captors were satisfied that all her crew had seen her, they directed her through the front doors of the building and into a wide hall with vaulted ceilings. Though the walls were constructed of thick wooden planks, each contained a vein of polished metal snaking through the beams like little rivers. It made the room wink and glimmer like it was surrounded by stars.
At the far end stood a throne. Like the walls, its thin wooden reeds were braided through with bands of silver, with feet that curved away from the base like the roots of a great tree. Upon it sat a woman. Her hands rested on either arm, and her chin was raised just enough to be intimidating. Long robes of purple and gray pooled around her feet, and her wrists were banded in the same polished silver that decorated the room. She was surrounded by men and women on all sides, their attention turned toward the girls now being driven across the room.
When they were still some distance from the throne, Ceepa pulled Caledonia to a halt, stepping in front of her and kneeling. “My queen, we bring you a crew of fifty-four. They have sacrificed their ship in the grass flats and surrendered without a struggle. None were injured. We lost nothing in the taking.”
The queen turned her head to survey her catch, solar lights reflecting off the elaborate earrings that dripped along the full length of her ears. Her curly black hair was braided away from her temples in a manner similar to Ceepa’s, except the queen’s hair was twisted around cords of metal. It gave the impression of a crown.
“The water provides,” the queen said at last.
The room repeated the phrase, and Ceepa rose to her feet.
The queen stood. Her skin was a pale satin brown, her eyes a cool gray, and though she wasn’t tall, her presence was towering. Everyone in the room arranged themselves so that they stood apart from her, as though her regality created a palpable perimeter around her.
“My queen,” Ceepa said. “This is Caledonia Styx. She leads this crew.”
The queen took a few steps forward, her gaze steady on Caledonia. It was a little like being approached by a towering wave, ready to submerge you.
“Caledonia Styx.” It was more a statement than a greeting. The queen moved on, passing down the line of girls. “You are in the Drowning Lands. Your ship is no longer your own, but your lives remain yours to direct.”
She continued to walk down the line as she spoke, casting her calm gaze from girl to girl. Some of them met her eyes, others looked away. She didn’t seem to prefer one response over the other but, like a wave, moved on at a steady pace.
“You are not our prisoners. The water has brought you to us, and you will always have a place among the Slaggers. But you are also free to go.”
“In what ship?” Caledonia’s voice sounded harsh after the smooth tenor of the queen.
The queen didn’t bother to turn around when she answered. “No ship. If you choose to leave, you leave by your own means.”
“On foot. Through the Drowning Lands?” Caledonia tried to keep her fury contained. “That’s a dying choice.”
The queen turned this time, not to face Caledonia but to move to the center of the room. “It is a challenging choice, just as this is a challenging world.”
Now Caledonia understood how they had maintained secrecy for so long. Once a ship had been taken in by Slaggers, its crew became Slaggers, and the room was filled with evidence of their undertakings. The fabrics of their clothing were tightly woven and missing the rips, patches, and odd seams that prevailed among her crew. Even the walls were ornamented with items that surely didn’t come from these swampy lands—long tapestries and segmented maps and even paintings and photographs of the old worlds. These people weren’t warriors or merchants. They were collectors. Scavengers.
“You’ve captured more than just my ship and my crew.” Caledonia stepped forward, setting herself apart from her crew as the queen had done from her own people. “Aric Athair has put a bounty on our heads. There’s an entire fleet of Bullet ships after us. If you hold us here, you’re making yourselves a target.”
At the mention of the Bullet fleet, a ripple passed through the men and women still standing to either side of the throne. The queen, however, gave no reaction.
“Then we are doing you a great favor,” she said. For the first time, her lips broke the plane of her face and edged a smile toward her gray eyes. “There will soon be no ship left for them to track, and once you have chosen your place among my people, we will protect you. From any threat.” She stepped back. “Now, we must have decisions from each of you. Who will say first: stay or go?”
Panic was a shock in Caledon
ia’s lungs. She needed her ship. She needed her crew. Donnally’s life depended on it. Ares’s life depended on it. Staying here was not an option. But neither was wading through the Drowning Lands with no boat, no guns, nothing but the clothing on their backs. Why would her crew choose to follow her when all she had to offer them was a potentially fatal slog through the swamp?
Suddenly, Hime broke away from the crew, racing toward the throne. Amina was there in an instant. “Hime!” she called, but Hime didn’t stop.
The room was in motion. Ceepa’s grip came down hard on Caledonia’s shoulder. Four guards converged on the queen, while two more made for Hime, and Redtooth darted after Amina.
Hime was lifted from her feet and hauled back toward the center of the room. She didn’t struggle, but she raised her hands, signing a single word: Mother.
“Hime?” A woman in a soft brown blouse and black pants stepped forward. She was short and slender in the way of willow reeds, with strength evident in the curve of her arms and legs. Her hair, tied in a long braid, was a glossy black, threaded with copious strands of gray. “Hime, is that really you?”
The guard holding Hime in his grasp placed her gently on the ground as the woman moved forward.
The closer she came, the more Caledonia saw it. The skin as pale as sparrow feathers, the eyes dark and ringed with gray and brown, the uncompromising beauty in the slope of her mouth.
In the next moment, the woman confirmed it. She took Hime’s hands in her own and, speaking softly through the fall of her tears, said, “My daughter. You’ve come home.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
There was a tangible shift in the room. The air itself seemed to hush as the woman hurriedly unbound Hime’s hands and pulled the girl into her arms. Hime collapsed into her.
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