by Richard Nell
Ruka roared and smashed smaller men aside, barreling through three without bothering to block their blows. Spear thrusts deflected and bounced from his armor as he crushed a man's arm with his club, swatting another into the sea. A few broke in panic at the sight of him, fleeing mindlessly to the far side of the ship.
For a moment Chang felt in a dream, wondering how the hell he was even here on this bizarre creation, with these insane men. But he supposed it made as much sense as anything.
"Stay with the barbarian!" he called to the others, then leapt forward and stabbed a man too distracted with the giant to fight back.
At first he had hoped neither the captain nor the pilot would survive the encounter. But watching them fight, in the midst of chaos and a mortal struggle Chang didn't even understand, he knew it wasn't possible. He followed, his sense of survival loud and trusty as always, telling him the truth, no matter what he wanted. Today the truth was this: behind the giant was the only safe place to stand.
* * *
Zaya stood in the dark at the foot of the stairs, and breathed. One of the marines had bounced a throwing knife off her scalp, and she felt blood dripping down her ear and shoulder. His corpse lay at her feet. Another pirate huddled in the corner, his hands covering exposed guts.
Zaya wasn't much of a warrior in the land of ash. Women didn't duel like the men, and her mother was far better, all her sisters had more interest and skill with both bow and spear. But it seemed these islanders were untrained. They had attacked, though trapped in a narrow passage, against an opponent with superior reach, while trying to descend stairs. So she had stabbed and skewered and let the men tumble. It seemed the only reasonable thing to do.
"Get inside! Get down there!" yelled another foolish voice from above. Zaya could hardly believe their stupidity, but as she prepared for another kill a group of the islanders pushed frantically at the man at the top, and several fell clustered down the drop. Zaya cried out and stabbed the first, but the reckless charge knocked her from her feet, crashing her into the barrels.
Her ears rung and her head throbbed from striking something hard. She'd lost her spear, but couldn't see well enough to try and find it. She stood with a hand on one of the crates, then screamed as a man gripped her wrist and slashed a knife just short of her face. His eyes were panicked, terrified, like an animal caught in a trap. She kicked the crate and knocked out his legs as she pulled away and reached for the knife under her shirt. At least five of the pirates stood in the hold now. She backed away watching them, knife raised and mouth twisted in a sneer.
Whatever fear she'd felt was gone. There was only now, only the next man, the next deed, and Zaya's heart sung with the knowing at last what it meant to be a warrior in the legends. She only wished she could have known and lived.
"Guard the stairs," one of the pirates growled, and two others groaned and stood at the bottom. He clutched a hand to the shallow wound in his side, and met Zaya's eyes. "You're going to pay for that, you bitch."
Zaya lunged, and smiled as the man pulled back.
"Come die, coward," she hissed in the island tongue. "Tonight you burn with the mountain god."
The man's surprise buried quickly beneath his rage. He tossed aside a barrel and came on, knife dancing back and forth in a clearly practiced grasp. Watch the arm, Zaya heard her mother's voice. The blade follows the arm. Don't be distracted by the blade.
The pirate attacked, and Zaya met it. She caught his wrist and held it, stabbing down with her own but just scraping the top of his shoulder as he dropped it away. She pulled back for another stab but the pirate lunged and bashed his head into her chin. She stumbled but kept her feet, feeling more blood dripping from her lips. "I'll kill you," the pirate glared with hate-filled eyes. "I'll fucking kill you."
Zaya felt light-headed as the fear returned. He was shorter, but very strong. Catching the knife had been lucky. He was too fast and too confident and she needed her spear, or a distraction, anything to keep him away.
Both their eyes turned as something huge struck the pirates at the stairs. An armored giant leapt into them, ignoring their blades as he clattered across the hold with a man grasped in each iron fist. Zaya needed no further sign from the gods.
She charged silently for her enemy, plunging her knife deep into his chest before he grabbed her and spun her to the floor, roaring in rage. They grunted and fought over the blades, twisting and pulling, clawing and thrashing with their legs.
The pirate won.
With a cry of triumph he pulled the knife from Zaya's grip, struck her across the face with his hand, and drove the knife towards her heart.
Before he could finish, a fist seized his hair and pulled him away, his blade waving in panic at whatever attacked him.
Another island pirate stood at his back, and unceremoniously slashed his throat. This new pirate tossed him aside and sniffed as if bored. He was thick and dark, with shaved stubble like cut wheat over his face and scalp. He met Zaya's eyes, and smiled.
"You have a beautiful voice," he said, his own dark baritone made of smoke.
Then the giant was standing over them both, and the pirate held up his hands in a sign of peace as he stepped away. "She's alright," he said. "Calm, mighty pilot."
Zaya blinked in the gloom of the hold, seeing spots in her vision from maybe the pain or maybe the terror. She looked up at the giant hoping it was one of her people—somehow a great warrior of the Ascom, miraculously here, to rescue her in her moment of need. She stared at the giant's golden eyes and blinked because, like any in the Ascom, she knew them.
There was only one warrior—only one man in the Ascom who could see in the dark with the sight of a wolf. It was the prophet of Noss. The Godtongue. The man who Zaya's father had served longer than she had been alive, who had taken her people across an endless sea to paradise, won a war against an empire, then just as strangely, disappeared.
She knew then it must be the imaginings of a panicked mind, and stopped fighting the dark spots that had all but swallowed her vision. She heard her blade rattle against the wood beneath her, and accepted oblivion.
Chapter 4
Zaya dreamed of music and a perfect hearth fire. She sat next to her brothers and sisters while her father sang and played his lyre, and her mother swayed at her side. The roof creaked with heavy snow, but their home was still warm, and safe. Her mother's swaying grew stronger and stronger until Zaya became annoyed and pulled away. When she looked, however, it was not her mother she found, but the golden eyes of the prophet, staring from a dark hallway.
She jerked upright and woke from her dream in a long cot that stunk of sweat. Her body pulsed with pain, rippling up and down her arms and ending in her head. She heard a woman moan and realized it was her, then closed her eyes to steady a dizzy wave.
"Slowly, Macha," said the voice made of smoke. "Your countryman comes. He is very clever, but even more ugly. Prepare your beautiful eyes."
Zaya risked a squint to find the pirate who'd saved her standing in the cabin. His dark eyes matched the smile on his lips, but faded as heavy footsteps appeared behind him.
"Move."
The deep voice swept the pirate aside, and Zaya almost gasped as the Godtongue filled her view.
"It's really you," she mumbled, then nearly wept in relief. She hadn't dared to believe. There could be no doubt now—the gods, fate itself had brought her here.
"Lay back and stop moving." The shaman knelt at her bed and scanned her with his strange gaze, speaking in the tongue of their homeland. He had removed his armor, and was dressed much like the island sailors. His shirt was open and his chest bore many more scars than Zaya remembered when she'd seen him in the capital. Even his face seemed as if it had healed from terrible burns. "Your wounds are superficial," he said, removing a glass jar of oily paste from his pocket before slathering it over her scalp. "You will heal quickly if you do as I say."
Zaya smiled and nodded, a great burden lifting from her shoulders as she
closed her eyes.
"What madness brought you to that ship." The shaman's voice soured and he whispered so only she could hear. "Does your mother know you are alone on the sea?"
"I…" Zaya was surprised to hear the shaman speak like a nursemaid. "I go where I will. I wished to see the new world."
"And your parents?"
"Didn't want to leave Orhus."
She opened her eyes to see his frown. "Your place is with them."
"My place?" Zaya sat up, feeling a bit of blood rise to her face. "Was it not the great son of Beyla, who sailed into an endless sea on little more than a raft? I came through known waters on a proper ship, and you call me reckless?"
"Call me Ruka, that is my name." The shaman sighed and wrapped a piece of white cloth around Zaya's head. He met her eyes, which was not common for men to do in their culture. "If we had not come as we did, Zaya, you would be dead now. And your father's heart would be broken."
"But you did." Zaya took a calming breath and put a hand over Ruka's. "This is not mere chance. My father was your skald for decades, and now here, in a wide sea, you find his daughter in need? I don't think so. The gods brought us together. Nothing could be clearer."
Ruka snorted. "Such arrogance. Am I not the Godtongue? If the gods had such a plan, would I not be the one to know?"
"Perhaps you've been ignoring them in your…absence." Zaya said with more anger than she'd intended. "Perhaps they sent me to remind you."
Ruka rose and gestured to the man at the door, switching to the island tongue. "Stubborn child. This is Chang. Call, and he and his men will attend you, with the utmost respect and care." The way he said this seemed directed more at the pirate than at Zaya. "I will guide us to the coast."
"What coast? Where are we going?"
"You are going to the colonies. And then we are sailing West."
"I'm coming with you."
Ruka shook his head. "I will not reward your father's service by taking his daughter to her death."
Zaya kicked off the thin blanket and stood on trembling legs, taking a stride towards the Godtongue. He frowned and lifted his arms as if prepared to catch her, but stayed where he was. Zaya fought a wave of nausea and stood until she'd steadied against the swaying of the waves.
"I am a daughter of ash," she said as she gulped saliva. "I don't need your permission, nor my father's, or anyone's else's. Edda hear my words, the gods brought me here to bear witness. Now tell me where we're going." Zaya felt lightheaded and for a moment could hardly believe she was lecturing the prophet of Noss. He smiled with what she thought was more contempt than warmth, but turned away.
"As you say, daughter of ash. Eat, and rest. The man who died to save you had no name, for these islanders are superstitious, and fear their sea gods will find them. But he was a young, competent sailor, and fought bravely." At this she thought she saw the silent pirate's eyes flicker with emotion, and stay on the shaman in surprise. "You replace a man whose life was at sea and could perform many tasks. You will be expected to do the same." Ruka stopped at the door and looked at her again. "Where we go is once again an endless sea, ready to swallow our little raft. You may find the stories more enjoyable than the truth. Perhaps later you will remember this moment. When you do, know that it was you who chose, not the gods. It was always you."
Zaya waited until he'd left, standing proudly for as long as she dared before collapsing to her bed.
* * *
Chang waited patiently for the angry giant to leave. His hands fiddled with a bundle of feminine clothes, then left them alone when he realized. Save for this foreigner, he had not even seen a woman in two years. Women were rarely reckless or desperate enough to choose life on a ship, and often unwelcome in any case. Alas the same was true of prisons.
With his best and most disarming smile, he stepped deeper into the young woman's cabin holding an armful of her things. Despite the puffed lip, the soiled and disheveled clothes and bandages, she was unassailably beautiful. Her light hair and skin, her pale green eyes, all were most exotic in the isles. Her curves, on the other hand, were most familiarly welcome, and Chang was pleased for any opportunity just to look at her.
"Out!" came her melodic voice, too light and pretty to be harsh. "Out and to hell with all of you!"
"Aye, Macha," he soothed. "But first I have your things from the ship. I thought you might like them."
The girl's eyed widened as if galled to be disobeyed. She turned and scanned Chang from feet to face before her eyes lingered on her belongings.
"I could not be sure, of course," Chang shrugged and stepped closer, placing the bundle on a chair. "It could be the marines who wore this." He lifted a long, cloth dress, then withdrew what he assumed was the barbarians small clothes, and waggled his brow. The girl finally grinned, but banished it as she snatched the clothes from his hands.
"Thank you." She turned away, running a callused hand over the wooden instrument Chang had saved from a rotting crate. She turned back and met his eyes, frowning almost shyly when he didn't look away. "My name is Zaya, not Macha."
"No, no, you must not use your name, dear girl, for one day Roa will hear, and take you down to the sea. Only good Chang and his trusty First Mate Basko are protected." Chang sighed then smiled for the girl. "Macha are sea-spirits, beautiful and terrible. They are fierce she-beasts who drown men in the sea when they are angry." When she blushed he gestured at the instrument. "You play this? You sing?"
She nodded and he rubbed his hands together as if in anticipation. "I too am a teller of stories, a singer of songs." Here he shrugged. "Admittedly, my audience…they applaud like children at most anything."
The girl smiled but to Chang it seemed mere politeness. He bowed and withdrew. "Rest, Macha. If you are in need, sing your siren's call. As before, I will come running."
He closed the door without glancing back, then chided himself. He was rusty, no question, and would have to do better. With a sigh he put the pleasant distraction of the girl from his mind and turned for his crew. Already he had failed and lost a man. Now there was one more dead brother from a once strong pack of twenty free men on two ships, picked down to ten slaves, now down to nine. Chang did not blame the girl for the young Swabbie, whose real name was Afa though none of the men ever used it. No. He blamed his 'captain', and the strange giant. And though they frightened him and did not seem evil men so much as careless with his crew's lives—one day, perhaps soon, they would pay most dearly.
Several days passed with a peaceful sea. The incredible Prince caught fine winds in her sails and flew like a sicklebell, past the ends of the Tong and the colonies of the Southerners, around the horn of the peninsula men called the last civilized lands to the West, before the long, jungle beaches that followed. There they stopped and bought supplies at the only remaining port, nearly as West now as West went before the Dark Sea, where only gods and spirits lurked to take men to the depths.
Every day Chang brought Zaya her meals and apologized for the meagerness of sailor fare. Every day she shook her head and said her people ate very plainly.
"How do you come to speak our language so well?" he asked on the third, lingering at the door.
"My father taught me," she answered. "He and the shaman came to these isles many years ago."
Chang bowed. "They have my thanks. To hear your voice speak my people's words is most appealing."
"Is it common for your men to speak to women like this?"
"Like what, Macha? To compliment?"
"Yes." The girl winced but Chang thought the discomfort only temporary.
"You are a beautiful woman, Macha. And like all women you make a plain, ugly world a little brighter. Why should I not say so?"
Zaya put down her barrel-lid plate and released a breath.
"A man of ash who wants a woman…he would boast of himself, of his deeds. In that way he lets a woman decide if he is worthy."
Chang grinned and put a hand to his chin. "Then I must tell you, it is we
ll known I am one of the richest, most dangerous, most successful pirates in the entire world."
The girl expertly hid a smile, and raised her brow.
"Like the men who attacked me?"
"No, Macha! Those were mere brutes and servants. I am a free man who lives by my wits, no need or desire for laws or kings."
"Ah," the girl's face soured, though it held a subtle humor. "We have a name for such men in the land of ash. You are a chiefless bandit."
"Is it customary to interrupt a man's boasting?" Chang raised his voice in mock offence, and the girl smiled and gestured for him to continue. He cleared his throat. "I have killed a hundred men with my own hands; I have outwitted admirals and storms and traveled a thousand ri in every direction."
At this Zaya lifted her plate and took another bite of rice before she shrugged. "Where I am from, lies are judged by the goddess of words. Any man who utters them are cast down to burn with the god of the deep mountain."
Chang nodded and stepped closer with his warmest smile. "Then I am fortunate. Here in the isles, the gods never listen."
The humor in Zaya's exotic eyes reached further down her face as she smiled. Chang considered something as bold as sitting beside her and touching her hair or hand before a voice from nowhere snorted in disapproval. Chang jumped and turned to find Captain Eka watching him with those deep, treacherous eyes.
"Good morning, Zaya."
The girl rose and bowed with a grunt of pain. "Good morning, Captain."
"Ruka tells me you'll be joining us." He pointed to the shore. "That is the last scrap of land on the coast. If you've changed your mind, you've one more chance." His eyes turned and bore deep into Chang's, as if he were not truly speaking to the young musician.
