Dark Sea's End (Beyond Ash and Sand Book 1)

by Richard Nell

  He stepped out from the line, sensing a man at his side he assumed was Basko. Two paces and he found another target, ignoring the spear that cracked on his shoulder to make another trench of blood. With a tired glance he realized the man beside him was the native prince. The foreigner swung his own metal sword and deflected another spear thrusting towards Chang's neck, then with an almost casual backstroke, cut open the man's gut.

  Chang looked back to find Basko and the Oarman close behind, throwing men back with their shields as they followed. Chang kept his sword high as he advanced. That he was here in some strange land wearing armor like a damned infantryman made it all feel like a dream, or a nightmare. But Lucky Chang was not a man to dwell on how, and why.

  The tribesmen fell back and scattered under the attack, but there were even more than Chang realized. Wave after wave, the pirates kept fighting. He didn't know how many he and his brothers cut down, the foreign prince soon in the lead, sidestepping arrows and spears, charging at enemies like a madman. He shouted words Chang didn't understand, but the meaning was clear: 'Follow me!'.

  The old crew of the Bahala, the last pirates of a dying age, howled like wild dogs as the enemy tried to stop them with rocks and arrows. They cried out in animal fury, mouths frothing in the dim light, nothing in their minds but survival. Chang saw Zaya skewering men with her spear as if she hunted wild boar; he saw the captain disappear in the fading darkness, his knives cutting men down before they could scream. As they emerged from the crossroads into flat, open ground, it was the worst, most terrible, most glorious moment of Chang's life.

  Yet still the tribesmen harassed their flanks from the fields beside the road. The men lost their shapes and faces, becoming only limbs, and spears. More wounds and bruises filled Chang's armor like a patchwork of pain. His endurance flagged, his whole body a windless sail that drooped on the mast. Ahead he saw trees and maybe safety, but didn't think he could reach it. Every step was endless and impossible, every heartbeat a pleasant surprise.

  Golden eyes stared back at him from the jungle. For a moment he couldn't understand how the shaman had got ahead of him, then he heard the familiar growl.

  The enemy screamed as Wanchoo leapt from the darkness, crushing a man with its weight, raking bloody streaks across two others with huge claws. The lingering tribesmen scattered in panic in his presence, weapons forgotten in trembling hands.

  Pacal emerged from the city behind them with a handful of warriors. They carried water and carts loaded with supplies, and began lifting wounded men on top without a word.

  Chang collapsed into the men's arms without a struggle, watching the few remaining stars as they carried him. He looked to see the Boatswain beside him, dead eyes still open and staring from his bearded face. One of the Oarman was lost, and the Swabbies; Old Mata's toothless smile sat frozen on his lifeless face. Chang knew vengeance would never come. He had failed so many of his brothers he burned with shame, but not for a ship's weight in silver would he come back to this place.

  He would give his dead brothers to the sea, for that was their home. And perhaps, if Roa was impatient, he would join them.

  The foreigners marched them along the road, the others speaking but their words incomprehensible or at least lost to Chang's ears. His mind soon wrapped in fog, and he lost track of how long they carried him. The sun rose higher and higher until the smell of salt came with the sound of waves against the foreign beach. And here, at last, the goal in sight, Chang surrendered to sleep.

  Chapter 32

  "Your men are brave warriors. I can hardly believe this one still lives."

  Zaya looked to the prince and tried to smile, emotions warring as she held Chang's hand. His breathing was steady, but he looked dreadful. At least one, maybe two of the other pirates lay dead on carts, Chang and another very close. Once on the long march the shaman had stumbled to them from his daze and forced the party to stop while he bound and inspected the wounds, saying 'it will do, but I need supplies from the ship.'

  After a few hours of quick travel along the road, they reached the coast. Zaya saw no sign of the many villagers and farmers she had seen working when she traveled to Yacat's manor before. Now everything was quiet, a few corpses scattered through the fields and towns, some tribal warriors plundering houses with the calm banality of laborers.

  The prince's eyes took everything in, though he remained silent. When it seemed he could stomach it no more he walked to Ruka's side.

  "Those shadows. Will they perish on their own?"

  The Godtongue's jaw clenched, and he shrugged. "I do not know."

  "You mean even now they might be slaughtering people?" Yacat's eyes widened, the fury and harsh toil of the day thinning his skin, and perhaps his soul.

  The shaman said nothing, and Yacat shook his head. "There's nothing to be done? No penance that can be paid?"

  "You are not being punished," Ruka snapped, then cooled. "I am not the master of such darkness. But I will seek answers. There are men across the sea who…know such things. I give you my oath, I will learn what I can, and return. You may come if you wish."

  They had reached The Prince now anchored off the coast, her sails and masts repaired and perfect, bits of cloth fluttering in the breeze. Zaya was surprised at the lump of emotion that formed, the feeling of safety and longing at the sight, and her desire to return to the sea.

  "Come with us," she said, turning to Yacat. "It's not safe here for you now."

  He took a long breath and shook his head. "I am still a prince of House Mar. All my life I have had that privilege, and responsibility. What sort of traitor would I be to flee my people now? What other function of nobility than to face hardship?"

  The land of ash had no royalty, no lords or kings—they were ruled by chiefs who gained their following by right of deed, and Zaya did not understand Yacat's heart. She shrugged, feeling helpless, wishing only that the man would come aboard.

  "Our journey will take months," Ruka explained. "I will have to find you when I return. One or both of us may not survive."

  "Our lives are in the hands of the gods," Yacat answered. "You will find me, or you will not."

  Ruka growled as he turned from the sea. His golden eyes flicked over Yacat's body as if inspecting a horse. "Do not move," he murmured, closing his eyes, a huge hand moving to the prince's shoulder. After a long, strange pause—flame sparked from beneath his hand. The same outline of sparks that had created something from nothing in the long night of shadows traced Yacat's body. In moments, where there had been just a man in torn and bloody cloth, stood an armored warrior of the valley, the same cuirass and limb guards as the prince had always worn, this time in thin metal plates of blue-tinged iron.

  Ruka grunted at his handiwork, and stepped away. "I have yet to see gods save men, but that armor might. Don't lose the sword."

  Yacat had not flinched at the flames, but now stared at himself in wonder, eyes tracing the few symbols engraved on the iron. These were 'runes', or the ancient written language of the people of ash. As an educated woman, Zaya could read them.

  "What do these mean?" Yacat whispered, but Ruka already turned away.

  "A prince is made by deed alone," Zaya told him, not surprised that mighty Vol, god of men, had found another champion.

  The leader of the tribesmen who had helped them stared in wide-eyed wonder at the metal, a thing like greed in his face. "I see your powers are not exaggerated," he spoke, his voice strange and echoing in Zaya's ears.

  The Godtongue blinked and stared until Captain Eka stepped to the foreigner's side. "They have a…divine metal here, savage. It allows this man to speak any tongue, and who knows what else. I told him you would share your own knowledge of such miracles with him for his help. We would not have found you otherwise."

  Ruka's eyes narrowed, but he nodded. "What has been promised, I will fulfill. But first I return to my own lands."

  "You may never return," echoed the foreigner's voice, though he didn't seem parti
cularly alarmed.

  "You have my word," Eka soothed. "And when we do, we'll bring more warriors and supplies, and ambassadors from my king. This is but the beginning of our friendship, Pacal of the Mist."

  The older man smiled and gestured. "I understand, my friends. We have already achieved more success than I could have hoped. We have burned the dread city of Copanoch, and destroyed the House of Mar."

  "Not quite," Yacat spit, eyes snapping to the older man.

  "I have no love of destruction," the older man raised a hand in peace. "Nor am I a fool. I know with the fall of the great city there will not be some paradise in its place. The tribes will quarrel and at best choose a new king." His voice firmed. "But your city had become monstrous and I will not apologize. Nor will any son of Mar be safe from the tribes, no matter what I say."

  Yacat stared, but his anger faded, and he looked away.

  The shaman turned from the coast and the transport that would take them to their ship. "Your pasts and petty hatreds are irrelevant. The best men are always those who could have been the worst, Pacal. Harmlessness is not a virtue. Go with him, prince. Try to survive. When I return, I will help you both." With that he stepped onto the transport and waited for the crew.

  "My place is with the shaman." Zaya smiled sadly at Yacat.

  He stepped closer and took her hand. "I understand." His jaw clenched and he spoke more softly. "Will you take my son?"

  The boy had endured the night and march bravely, but he heard his father's words and his eyes widened in terror. "Don't send me away, father. I will stay with you, I don't know them."

  The prince closed his eyes and breathed before he turned on the boy. "It isn't safe for you now, my son. Pacal is right. We are hated in these lands, and where I go—I can't protect you."

  Tears leaked down the boy's cheeks, his body trembling as he nodded and looked at the ship.

  "As you can see, he is strong, and disciplined. Tell your sailors he will earn his keep, and if you teach him he will…"

  "Of course we'll take him." Zaya squeezed Yacat's hand. "And one day, return him."

  The look of relief that flooded the man brought warmth to Zaya's chest, and she leaned forward and kissed him gently.

  "Goodbye, Tekit." She smiled, hearing his song already forming in her mind.

  The pirate crew took their men and a few supplies and loaded all into their transports, soon pushing off from the coast of the new world. Yacat and the tribesmen watched them go, some waving from the shore as The Prince set her sails and snapped her spars, and took to the strong East winds.

  Zaya did not weep as she left a man she loved. She was a daughter of ash, warrior and skald to a great hero, and her place in this story was atop the waves until the gods deemed otherwise. She helped the wounded pirate crew prepare their ship, and looked to the sea.

  * * *

  Chang woke and slept for days in mixed delirium. He heard the waves and thought it must be a dream, then he'd see golden hair and grumble as a woman coaxed him up to drink and chew before he lay down and slept again. Then the fever was gone, and he remembered a new world and fighting with landsmen and felt the loss of two more brothers like daggers in his scar-scabbed heart.

  The men cheered when he left his cabin. "Enough of that you cheeky bastards," he croaked, adjusting to the brightness of the world with his only working eye. He thought of Old Mata giving bits and pieces of himself for his men over the years, until finally he had given his life. Now, Chang supposed, it was his turn.

  His arm, at least, had begun to mend. The shaman said the bone had set and with enough stretching and pain he would regain the use entirely. Zaya left him to stand on his own, wise enough it seemed to know a man had his pride. Soon enough he was back in his bunk.

  Every day Zaya brought him food and water and helped him to the buckets. She sat with him and sang her songs, and when he realized no one in his whole life had given him such care he one day stopped her and took her hand, trying to find the words.

  "You didn't leave us," she said first. "Me, and the shaman. Why not?"

  Chang frowned, knowing he wouldn't have under any circumstances save the belief that they were dead and gone, no matter what he'd said.

  "Because you're mine," he said, then rolled his eyes at her mocking grin. "You're my crew, Macha. You and the pilot. I don't leave my own."

  "I have learned many things since leaving my homeland," she said with a smile. "I thought all chiefless men were scoundrels and thieves. I have since learned—there are many kinds of hero."

  Chang squirmed under her gaze, to change the subject he told her of life amongst the tribesmen, and listened in fascination as she told him of her life in Copanoch. His jealousy flared when she told him plainly of lying with the prince, though he knew he had no right. When she noticed his discomfort, she laughed. "Amongst my people, pirate, a woman takes whatever mate she chooses. There is no shame or insult. But she rarely takes two at a time save for brothers, for the men of ash are careful with honor."

  With some chagrin Chang confessed his own tribal conquests, but here again she laughed with genuine amusement. "I do not blame them," she said, then left him in his bunk, stopping at the door. "You are a worthy man, Lucky Chang, on land or sea."

  That night she returned and washed him, and with smiling eyes she'd leaned over his bunk and kissed his lips. They made love—very carefully, and still with at least as much pain as pleasure. Zaya slept naked in his bunk, nestled against his good arm without a hint of shame.

  He found the experience…most enjoyable. And though he knew she didn't love him, the knowledge brought a kind of comfort, for he knew too he belonged to Roa and the sea and always would, and it wouldn't hurt her when he explained.

  Still, by all the gods and spirits she was beautiful, and even in the dark he stared at her oh so welcome body in his bunk, hoping she stayed as long as possible. "Or until she comes to her senses," he whispered.

  "Mmm?" she mumbled against him, but he shook his head. "Nothing, Macha, go back to sleep."

  The voyage back across the Dark Sea was the most contradictory of Chang's life. Half filled with the pain of recovery, and the regret and loss of the crew; the other the pleasure and comfort of Zaya's company, both day and night. He had worried at first about Ruka, but the man seemed entirely changed since landfall. Whatever darkness had plagued him seemed gone, the almost child-like man intermixed with the brilliant pilot returned, the warlord not to be found. He nurtured the plants he'd taken, and took like a father to the foreign boy, teaching him the island tongue and many other things.

  "I see you have a new shadow, pilot," Chang joked one morning on his first walk of the deck. But the big man stared so hard Chang retreated and dropped his smile.

  The captain remained inscrutable and silent, smoking his cigars and watching the sea. He seemed content to let Chang manage the remaining crew, and for the pilot to guide them. The men grew restless as the voyage lingered, but to endure a known hardship was but a fraction of enduring the unknown. They knew they were going home, the ship soon to be theirs. To suffer the endless sea was nothing new and at least they knew why. A man with a good why could endure any how.

  With fair winds and a single storm, the journey home from the new world took The Prince fifty-one days to the Western coast of the continent. Chang spent most nights in Zaya's cabin. With some awkwardness he addressed the chance of pregnancy, unable to say what he knew a woman would like to hear.

  "And so?" she'd frowned.

  "It's just…I am a sailor, Macha. My place is on the sea…I don't know if I could…if I would be of any use…"

  "If I grow with child I'll return to my people, pirate, and become a matron with my own house."

  Chang shrugged helplessly until Zaya rolled her eyes. "Where I am from a woman's children are hers alone. And I have told you I'm from a wealthy family. You needn't worry about me or my children."

  He'd left it gratefully at that. After the many long days and blis
sful nights, the outline of Sri Kon—capital of the island nation of Pyu—finally formed on the blue horizon. The pirate crew stared at the end of the long, dark sea.

  "Home at last, Chiefy." Basko grinned and slurred a little—mostly drunk since he'd been back aboard.

  "Aye," the Steerman almost shivered in relief as he clutched the rail. "Will we be rich, chief? Isn't that what the pilot said?"

  Chang doubted it, but didn't say so. He was about to order the rudder turned North by North-East to reach the royal harbor, when the captain ordered them South. Chang frowned, utterly confused.

  "We won't be stopping at Sri Kon," the captain explained between puffs. When the men all stared he glanced at them with perfect innocence, then said with an edge of contempt. "I don't work for the king."

  Chang felt the blood draining from his face. His men were mostly confused, still not caught up to the sinking feeling of understanding Chang still needed to confirm. "But the prison. How did you get us out of prison?"

  "I lied." Eka flicked the stub of his cigar into the sea, and waited.

  "But the guards," Chang insisted, feeling his understanding turn to rage. "The guards let us out. They knew who you were."

  "Yes, they're as gullible as you." Eka didn't smile, but Chang still sensed it and reached for his knife. His men sensed a killing and started moving behind him now.

  "I should kill you," Chang whispered, thinking of Old Mata and the Oarman and the Swabbies, all dead because of this man. "I should kill you slow and dump your body for Roa. Why shouldn't I?"

  The assassin stood at perfect ease against the rail, no weapons visible or anywhere close to his hands. He spoke without a hint of concern, or malice. "I like you, Master Chief. And so I strongly advise against trying."