by B A Simmons
All were armed, though not with their traditional weapons. They carried wooden weapons—wasters, as Roger called them—for this was just a drill. They wanted to train these people, not kill them.
Just as the skiffs ground to a halt on the pebbly beach, Charlie launched a surprise of his own. A dozen archers loosed blunted arrows, all focused on Jacob. His reputation as a rough fighter had spread among the militiamen and none wanted to face him, even with practice weapons. At least one of these blunted arrows struck home and with a curse, Jacob fell to the wet ground and pretended to be dead.
The rest of the mock battle was chaotic, especially when the militia’s formations broke. By the time the fighting ended, both sides had far more bodies on the ground than still standing. It was a win for Pete and the mercenaries, but not by much.
“Let’s do it again!” Charlie said, wanting another chance to prove the militia’s mettle.
“Here, here!” Jacob agreed.
“We really need to get back to the real fighting,” Pete argued. “We’ve just enough time to sail the routes between Alimia, Copper Isle, and Isle de James before we’re due to meet up with the Entdecker and Anna Louisa.”
“It takes longer to set these mock battles up than it does to actually fight them,” Trina complained.
“It’s the best experience these men are going to have before going into real battle. Let’s do it once more, then you can go kill more Falcons. And this time, stay in formation. That’s how the Falcons would fight,” Charlie said.
“What? And give away our advantage?!” Jacob sneered.
They ran the whole operation over again, minus the cannon fire. The results were only marginally different. Jacob was happy not to have been killed by arrows, though he still “died” at the hands of a half dozen desperate militiamen who literally flung themselves at him at the same time.
Three days later, they were within sight of Alimia Isle. Pete sent orders to Tim for a scouting pass of the island’s western shore while he took the Alphina on a similar run around the eastern coast. They would meet off the north coast and discuss the possibility of a raid.
The next morning, Pete brought the Alphina close in by the reef, hoping for a view of the fishing vessels in the lagoon. There were quite a few still out looking for a catch. This brought him a new temptation. He knew there were several smaller openings in the reef beyond the two safe entrances in the north and south. He scanned the reef with his far-see and spotted one near the east peninsula. They could sail into the lagoon, wreak havoc with the Falcon fishermen and escape before any military ship at Port Alma could respond.
“Donald,” he called to the helmsman. “Turn us into the opening there. We’re going hunting!”
Trina looked at him oddly but said nothing.
“Load the gun! After we’re through the gap, find the nearest fishing vessel.”
The Alphina’s presence in the lagoon seemed to go unnoticed until they approached a long boat dragging a net. Two men in the boat looked up at the vessel bearing down on them with wide eyes. As if on cue, Jacob appeared over the gunwale aiming the swivel gun at them. Both men swore in Iyty and jumped into the lagoon.
Rather than waste powder, Pete ordered two men to climb down into the boat with axes and chop holes into the bottom. The Alphina then moved on to the next vessel. This one was close enough to have seen their attack on the first and was now making sail toward Port Alma.
They did not make it. However, as this crew refused to give up, Jacob fired a shot at them. Pete was saddened to see that it clipped one of the fishermen, mangling his arm before puncturing the hull.
Suddenly, a voice called out from the crow’s nest. Harland had spotted a large ship rounding the point of the east peninsula and coming out to meet them. None of them had noticed the signals flashing from the watchtowers along the shore below Alimia Castle. These signals had informed Port Alma of their presence in the lagoon. Now, the Falcons were ready for them.
The ship Pete saw through his far-see was long—long enough for two masts and twenty-three oars down each side. She was using those oars now to close the distance on them. Pete knew that such a ship was more than a match for the Alphina. He had no choice but to run.
The north gap was closer, but they’d have to tack against the wind to get out that way. The south was their best bet. Turn out there and sail north again. Perhaps with the reef to block them, the Falcon ship would give up.
“Turn us around! It’s time to leave!” Pete ordered.
The Alphina exited the lagoon before the Falcon ship could catch up. However, as Donald turned them northbound, the Falcon turned with surprising maneuverability and made as if to cut them off.
“They can’t cross over the reef, can they?!” Trina asked.
“I doubt it, but there’s a small gap ahead. They’re probably making for that.”
Indeed, they were. With both the wind and oars working for her, the Falcon ship cut through the waves like a knife. They made it to the gap before the Alphina made one complete tack northward.
“Take her east!” Pete shouted to his crew. They immediately shifted the rudder and sails to accommodate the change in course. The Falcon ship, however, was just as agile and just as speedy, if not more.
Within a few minutes of eastward sailing, the Falcon ship fired two cannons. The shots fell short . . . barely. Pete knew he could not outrun them and he could not outmaneuver them. He had to outsmart them.
Two more shots flew in. One missed, but the second clipped the Alphina’s starboard hull. Pete waited a minute then ordered Donald to turn them just a degree north. The next two shots also narrowly missed.
After another minute, another shift in course was ordered. One degree further north. Shots were fired from what Pete was now able to see were two forward-mounted cannons. Five-pounders at least, by Jacob’s estimate. They could also see a ram mounted on the prow, just below the waterline. This was a warship, clearly meant to keep Pete and the others away from Alimia. And it was doing its job well.
Pete continued the slight shifts in course to evade the cannon fire. The Falcons caught on to his strategy and slowed their rate of fire. They tried to anticipate which direction he would shift and twice caught the Alphina. As a result, Pete had two holes in his ship. They were well above the waterline, but flying bits of wood had injured two of his crew.
This continued the rest of the day. By nightfall, Pete’s crew was exhausted and at their wits’ end. The Falcons, nevertheless, continued their pursuit, even as the sun set behind them. For his part, Pete took on the famous Engleman stoicism. It didn’t suit him, but his crew was too tired to notice his loss of mirth. He secretly hoped for a pod of behemoths or a sea serpent, anything to throw the Falcons off his wake and give them a chance to escape into the dark. For as bright as the moon shone that night, they didn’t have a chance to lose them in the darkness without some distraction.
Thrice more during the night, the Falcon ship fired on the Alphina and once they managed to score a hit. The Alphina sprang a leak.
“Keep someone working the pumps at all times,” he ordered Trina. “We cannot afford to be slowed down. We’re barely keeping ahead of them as it is.”
“Ay Cap’n.”
“Pete, let me take a keg of powder out in the dinghy,” Jacob requested.
“Denied,” Pete said.
“I’ll just rig a fuse to it and then jump overboard. I’m sure I can time it properly.”
“I said denied. It’s too risky. We can’t afford to lose you or the dinghy. Donald, take us four points to starboard!”
Jacob huffed away, back to his post at the swivel gun.
“Perhaps it would be better to create some kind of diversion,” Trina said. “The crew is exhausted both physically and mentally. We could alleviate at least one of those by changing up our tactics. Something new for them to know you’re trying to keep them alive.”
“They’ll know that when we make it through this alive,” Pete sai
d. “Besides, the Falcons haven’t yet figured out how much I’m punishing them.”
“You’re punishing them?”
“That’s right. After sailing and rowing after us for a day, catch us or not, they’ll have to row all the way back to Alimia.”
Trina couldn’t help but smile. Pete was meecher, just as the crew gossiped, but it was the kind of meecher she liked. The kind she wished . . . but that wasn’t going to happen.
“Donald!” Pete called. “Three points to starboard, then after two minutes, cut to port a degree.”
“Ay Cap’n!” Donald called back.
The pursuit continued into dawn. The Falcon ship kept up their sporadic cannon fire. It was just after another shot had snapped a couple of forward lines that Pete, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, did a double-take.
On the horizon, outlined by the blue light of morning, were sails. Five, Y-shaped sails. One of them, larger than the others, led the pack, and they were headed straight for them.
“By Ayday! Quillian!” Jacob shouted. He began to dismount the swivel gun and move it forward.
“Stow that gun, Jacob!” Pete ordered. “Everyone, put away your weapons. Nothing but the knives on your belts. Keep them out of view from the Quillian, but keep them close by.”
“Are you meecher?!” asked one of the crew aloud.
Pete didn’t respond, but his usual smile returned to his face. He glanced behind him to see if the Falcon ship had changed course. They hadn’t, but they had stopped rowing. Without doubt, they had noticed the Quillian fleet approaching. Even though the small canoes were no bigger than the Entdecker, the fact that there were four of them, along with a larger catamaran-style vessel, was enough to make even the Falcons think twice.
Pete addressed his crew, “We’re just a poor merchant ship beset by the Falcon aggressors. Look the part! Look like you’re glad to see them and the Quillian will do us no harm.”
Trina leaned over and whispered, “Are you sure about that?”
“I’d rather take them on right now than that Falcon warship. Keep your bow on the deck, but don’t stray from it,” he turned to the crew again. “Half sail and let the wind spill. The Falcons are falling back!”
It was true. The Falcon ship had turned and was now rowing to get back onto a westerly course. The Quillian ships sailed past the Alphina close enough for Pete and his crew to note how many were aboard each ship. They had paddlers dipping oars into the water as they tacked their way westward in pursuit of the double-headed bird. Even the small ships were brimming with blue-skinned figures holding spears, bows, or clubs studded with shark’s teeth. Many were completely naked, though several wore carapace helmets and shells as armor.
The Quillian noted the Alphina, as several of the creatures made odd gestures at them in passing. However, it became obvious that Pete’s plan worked. They did not perceive them as a threat and, therefore, did not attack.
Once the Quillian ships and their prey were not more than dots on the western horizon, Pete ordered the Alphina to turn northwest and make for Copper Isle. Pete felt sure that Tim was smart enough to continue on once it became clear the Alphina was not going to meet them at their designated rendezvous. However, no sooner had they made the turn than they noticed another group of Y-shaped sails coming in from the northeast. There were only three canoes in this group, but again, Pete issued orders to keep weapons down.
The Quillian changed course to intercept them. In a few minutes, there was a Quillian ship on their port, starboard, and the third took up position in front of the Alphina. A blue figure appeared on the stern of the lead canoe. It waved its arms over its head, giving the human signal for help. Pete swallowed hard and ordered the sail furled. The Alphina came to a dead stop.
“Jacob, Harland, take the starboard side. Keep your eyes on the water and look for swimmers. Trina, you and Oliver do the same on the port side.”
Pete strode forward and as he inserted his hands into gloves, he noted that the Quillian ship had moved alongside them to port. He took position on that side and placed his hands on the railing. The Quillian who had signaled them came to the edge of its canoe and with one spectacular feat, leapt onto the side of the Alphina and climbed aboard.
It stood as tall as Pete, who was just a hair shorter than Mark. Its bald, blue head lacked a visible nose. Its eyes were beady and dark, its mouth full of small sharp teeth, and its ears were fringed with fleshy spikes. It held out a webbed hand toward Pete containing a wad of cloth.
Unsure what else to do, Pete bowed and accepted the cloth. He opened it to reveal the bloodstained uniform of a Falcon sailor.
“En-em-ee,” the Quillian said and nodded its head up and down furiously for a moment.
“Enemy? Yes, the Falcons are our enemies. Yours as well as mine.”
“En-em-ee,” it repeated, and Pete silently hoped that it wasn’t speaking some other word in the Quillian tongue.
The Quillian turned to its canoe and shouted something unintelligible. One of its comrades threw what looked to be a nest. The Quillian opened it and thrust it under Pete’s nose. It was a small woven basket that contained three pearls.
Pete was again unsure of what to do. Yet, as the alien continued to look at him with its dark, unblinking eyes, Pete knew he needed to do something.
“Trina, fetch me a couple of large fishhooks,” he said.
Trina rummaged through a deck box momentarily and pulled out a couple of bronze hooks. She delivered them to the Quillian with a slight bow.
“Gudd chraid,” the Quillian said and accepted the fishhooks as it dumped the pearls in Pete’s hands. Then it made as if to jump back aboard its canoe but suddenly turned back. Pointing a blue-gray finger at the uniform, it said, “Keel en-em-ee.”
“We do what we can,” Pete said and nodded as he smiled.
The Quillian thrust its head forward as if to get a better look at Pete’s teeth. Slowly, its lips curled back from frightening-looking teeth. Then in a flash, it was aboard its canoe. They paddled away from the Alphina and set their sails to take them southwest.
Pete ordered a flagon of vinegar brought over. He poured some over the pearls and the deck where the Quillian had stood. Not wanting to take the risk of catching Quillian Disease, he tossed his gloves into the sea.
“Make sure we scrub this railing down, too. Yes, that went rather well I’d say.”
He looked at the gaping faces of his crew and laughed.
“Set the sails and sheets,” Trina called out. “Let’s get this boat to Copper Isle.”
22 – The Problem with Power
Far down one of the unexplored corridors of K’ork-eatop, Poulustus found a shrine to Kith-Mor. It was nothing more than a mural painted on the dilapidated wall of a lone chamber. This chamber’s ceiling had collapsed long ago, opening it to the elements. Yet despite this, the mural looked fresh, and Rob realized that Yskiu and its predecessors had maintained it throughout their guardianship.
The air smelled fresh, as it always did after a storm, and the stars shone brilliantly upon the mountaintop. Ordinarily, this would have brought a sense of delight to Rob’s heart, yet he could not help but feel sad. Yskiu died thinking Poulustus had betrayed their kind, thinking that Rob and Morris were, in fact, thieves. The last guardian of K’ork-eatop had let its guard down and this had cost it its life.
“Yskiu Dhicid was follower of Kith-Mor, Taker of Life,” Poulustus said as Rob and Doctor Morris laid the fallen Duarve’s body on a pile of wood. “We set fire to its body that its soul may leave and join god in dark sky.”
Poulustus set a torch to the funeral pyre. It burned slowly, and even after the two humans withdrew, Poulustus remained throughout the night.
“Without Yskiu to explain things, I don’t know how much more we can learn here. We have only the food we brought with us. It won’t last us long,” Doctor Morris told Rob.
“We still have Poulustus. It can translate, and we still have other chambers we haven’t gone to. I c
an try setting traps. I’m not as good at it as Mark, but . . .”
“I’m not sure that Poulustus will want to stay any longer either. And with Archie gone, we’re going to have a difficult time getting back to Kudham.”
“Let’s at least gather as much information as we can while Poulustus is busy with the funeral rites. Then we can ask what it wants to do. What were you able to get from the tablet?”
“Yes, I meant to tell you. It’s the diary of a Duarve called Aweth Sum-bar. This is an ancient Duarve who lived at the time the world changed. As we saw on the globe, the sea levels rose over a period of years, decades really, apparently due to the curse of the gods.”
“Gods? So the Duarves are polly . . . polytheistic. That’s the word, right?”
“Your memory serves you well, that lesson was given a long time ago. Right, the Duarves believe in multiple gods; the most revered being Awye, the parent god, or Bringer of Life, and Kith-Mor . . .”
“The Taker of Life,” Rob finished, “death. Yskiu worshipped death?”
“In a way, yes. All of this around us is dead. The Duarves no longer maintain it, their knowledge of their own history is, for most of them, dead. And Yskiu was willing to kill to preserve what it felt was sacred. But back to the diary, for that’s what the tablet is.”
“Yes, the curse of the gods.”
“As Aweth put it, the gods cursed the Duarves because they desired to be like gods themselves. The curse flooded the world, raising sea levels, and creating the world we know now. No more continents, just islands.”
“The islands we know are the highest points of elevation that remained above the water after it rose,” Rob concluded.
“Yes, along with continued growth. As the world is a living entity, new land continues to form volcanically, as well as by sediment deposits, such as Max’s little island where we left those sailors. However, the most interesting part of the diary tells of Aweth’s life in the bunker.”
