Alchemy's Child (The Mindbender's Rise Book 5)

by D J Salisbury

  Tsai’dona didn’t even have the energy to roll her eyes.

  Viper finally tugged his hair out of Lorel’s grasp. “I’m going to our cabin. Help Tsai’dona down the ladder. Then go stay with the horses.” And guard the wagon, he tried to say with his eyes.

  But the deck wouldn’t stand still, not even long enough to see if she understood. In the end, curling up on the thin mattress beside Tsai’dona and her matching bucket was all he could manage.

  Praise the Thunderer, he’d forgotten to eat breakfast.

  Chapter 6.

  After a few days at sea, ending with the ship hauled up a fifty-foot seawall, dry land was sweeter than Aloshmacean honey. Which he’d become particularly fond of after only one day ashore. He’d forgotten there’d be no cooked food onboard because of the high seas, not that he could have eaten any of it. He’d survived the trip on cold, weak tea.

  This morning he’d soothed his unhappy belly by going shopping.

  Tsai’dona still looked a little green. The poor girl had lost more weight than he had, and had barely eaten all day.

  But even after four hot meals, Lorel remained cranky.

  “Books, books, books!” She heaved her bulky burlap sack onto the Wind Song’s deck, and returned to lug his wooden box filled with rare books up the ramp. “It’s a good thing we got the wagon, kid. Else we’d have to buy a mule train to haul them all.”

  He interrupted writing in his journal to tip the two porters who’d carried their packages. For all her whining, his box was much smaller than her bag. Well, a little smaller.

  Tsai’dona wasn’t any fun to shop with today. She’d purchased only the green woolen scarf that she now wore wrapped three times around her neck. He hadn’t had the heart to tell her the green wool made her look positively bilious.

  After entering one last comment about this quaint little island town called Aloshmacea, he shoved his notebook into his coat pocket. “What? Wouldn’t you carry my books for me?”

  Tsai’dona pulled his serdil-fur cloak tighter around his chest and fastened it against the wind. “I can’t figure out why you’re not complaining about the cold. I’m freezing.” Probably because she’d chosen not to wear a coat under her own cloak.

  His new, burgundy-red wool coat and gloves were blissfully comfortable. No true Setoyan would ever wear a color this vibrant, but that was part of its appeal. He wasn’t Setoyan anymore.

  “No way, kid. I hauled them thread-frayers too far already.” Lorel dumped her sack on top of his box and pushed the stack toward the hatchway. “Your Loom-tangling books are heavy.”

  He laughed. “Is the war saddle you bought any lighter? You’re hauling it around, and you don’t even have a warhorse.” He was pretty sure she’d spent every coin he’d paid her on that hunk of wood and leather.

  “I wouldn’t have bought it if we didn’t have the wagon, but you got more books than you could ever carry. You gotta have a thousand stowed inside the overgrown wheelbarrow.”

  He only had six hundred eighty three books, including his own journals. With this new batch of twenty six, he owned seven hundred and nine. Way short of a thousand.

  Lorel grabbed the burlap bag, slung it over her shoulder, and pushed his box into the hold.

  His precious books thudded down the ladder.

  Viper cringed. Would she treat them so cavalierly if she knew he’d paid 317 gold nobles? Probably, and she’d scold him for wasting money, too.

  With her new saddle thumping against her back, she thundered down the ladder. “Besides, I’ll get a warhorse sooner or later, and I ain’t never gonna find a saddle this good this cheap.” She banged the bag onto the box, which by some miracle hadn’t broken, and shoved the lot across the lantern-lit hold to the wagon.

  Favoring her broken arm, Tsai’dona followed sedately.

  He had to move slower yet. Someday he’d get the hang of negotiating a ladder without any sensation in his left boot. Or maybe not. The padding was simply too thick to let him know if his stump was balanced.

  Periwinkle neighed softly and Poppy stomped her feet.

  “The roans feel insulted.” He strolled to the stalls, rubbed the gelding’s nose, stroked the mare’s neck, and stood on his toes to look over the stall doors. He needed to muck out the straw tonight unless he could bribe a sailor to do it again. Only the Thunderer knew how much he’d paid them while he was retching into a bucket.

  Tsai’dona strolled over to Sumach and made kissy noises at the little mare.

  “There you go, trying to read a horse like some book.” Lorel wrestled the box up to the driver’s platform and rattled the door. “Open this Loom-warping thing.”

  Viper grinned. She was the most impatient creature he’d ever met. “Catch, turybird.” He tossed the key up to her.

  She unlocked and yanked off the padlock, and shoved the box partway through the door. “You play fair or I won’t haul your books next time.”

  “I’ll remember that next time you put salt in my tea.”

  “It was an accident!”

  “Once is an accident.” He glared at her until Poppy nudged his shoulder. “But three times?”

  Lorel blushed and hustled the box into the wagon. “Was only twice.”

  “Because I caught you the third time.” He scratched Periwinkle’s chin. The gelding closed its eyes and sighed. “At least I can be sure you’ll never become an assassin. You’d get caught with the poison in your hand.”

  “What’s this about poison?”

  Viper spun around and saw Miquel standing at the foot of the ladder. Blast, he had to be more careful about his teasing.

  “It weren’t poison.” Lorel climbed out of the wagon and picked up the bag containing her saddle. “Just salt.” She slung the bag to her shoulder and scampered back into the wagon.

  Where was she going to store that thing? On her bed? She and the sandblasted cub already overloaded her mattress.

  Miquel grinned at her retreating rear end. Once she was out of sight, he turned to Viper. “How did you enjoy Aloshmacea?”

  “It has some good shops.” It had only one bookstore and he’d cleaned it out of everything worth buying. No weapons shops, no sorcerers, no wizards. And he didn’t trust this man sufficiently to be entirely honest. “The climate’s too chill for our liking.”

  Lorel crawled out of the wagon. “That means Tsai forgot her coat and near to froze to death.”

  Blood rushed into Tsai’dona’s ashen face. “I thought it would be warmer here.”

  Lorel rolled her eyes and flopped down on the driver’s bench. “It’s too little for me. I’m glad to be leaving.”

  The captain laughed. “I know a city girl when I meet one. You may not be happy in a few hours, though.”

  Viper stroked Periwinkle’s nose and pretended to ignore the insufferable man. Nobody had the right to be so distracting. “Because of the Split? Is it really that bad?”

  “What’s a split?” Lorel frowned at him, but he noticed her watching Miquel from the corner of her eye.

  The captain grinned at her. “The Split is the channel that divides the island. Going through it cuts a lunar off the voyage, but it also adds several gray hairs.”

  Tsai’dona frowned and strolled closer. “Why? How long does it take?”

  “Thirteen days, if all goes well, running at a sea-slug’s pace all day and anchored at night.” Miquel grimaced. “As for why–”

  “Captain, you’re needed topside!” called a crewman.

  Miquel grinned his best seductive smile, holding the gaze of each of them for a few seconds. “I suppose you’ll have to see for yourselves. Excuse me.” He swarmed up the ladder so easily he appeared to be levitating.

  Tsai’dona moaned.

  Lorel stared gape-mouthed, her eyes wide and bewildered. Her chest wheezed faster than Crayl’s best blacksmith’s bellows.

  Viper swallowed hard. The man was a hazard to all of them, but he wasn’t sure why. He found some comfort knowing the girls
were worse affected than he was. “If you two don’t slow your breathing, you’re going to pass out.”

  “Mind your own business,” Lorel hissed. “Shuttle and Loom, he makes me feel like oatmeal.”

  Tsai’dona blinked at her. “Oatmeal?”

  “Yeah, all hot and mush brained.” Lorel shook herself and wiped her face. “I don’t trust him.”

  Viper glanced up the ladder and nodded. Trouble was sure to come out of that man. Nobody had the right to be that confusing.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Seconds after the ship swung past the seawall and bounced into the ocean, Tsai’dona retired to their bed and the bucket.

  Fear triumphed over Viper’s nausea. He had to see what they were tackling. What was special about the Split?

  Icy wind drove salty spray across the deck. He tugged on his new gloves and covered his eyes with one hand. Waiting and watching were harder than worrying.

  Lorel huffed, dropped to the deck where the aftcastle sheltered her from the wind, and sprawled against the cabin. She had the audacity to pretend to fall asleep.

  How could anyone sleep with the ship vaulting between waves like a chunk of well-worn driftwood? Somebody had to keep an eye on things. Holding the rail with one hand and shielding his eyes with the other, Viper watched the island’s cliff-ridden coastline bobble by.

  An hour later, he figured out why the captain was anxious. Now he wished the man had been teasing them.

  Two jagged walls of ice slashed into the bluffs as if a giant serrated sword had hacked through them. A narrow channel flooded with churning white water roared between their flanks.

  That was the Split?

  Foam spilled across the ocean as if it were at the base of a gargantuan waterfall. Huge chunks of broken ice sprinted out to sea, desperate to get out of the Split.

  Was there somewhere he could hide? His bunk was too close to the monster. He’d rather be back in boring Aloshmacea. Maybe clear back in the dragon’s cavern. Anywhere but here.

  It was more a glacial tunnel than a traversable channel. Angry cliffs arched together, almost hiding the sky. Glistening, blue-white ice glowered over the narrow track of water, frowning. Waiting.

  He shook himself and sat down on the deck next to Lorel. Ice did not frown. His imagination was getting the best of his good sense again.

  “Seems she’s ready to calve on us.” Miquel set his feet against the surging deck and studied the waves. “As unfriendly as ever.”

  Lorel gazed at the cliffs and fingered her sword hilts. “It looks sorta like an ice ogre.”

  “Many years ago she was called Fenfr, after an ice demon, but they had to change the name to get the Nashidran army to go through her.” Miquel chuckled. Icy steam billowed around his head. “It didn’t help, though. They lost four ships out of seven, and didn’t have the men left to conquer little Noran. Out of those who lived, half immigrated to Noran or to Aloshmacea. They didn’t have the spleen to make the journey home.”

  “I think I’m gonna enjoy this trip,” Lorel told the glacier.

  Viper couldn’t stop himself; he laughed out loud. “How so? There’s nobody to fight.”

  “Sometimes there’s bigger things to fight than people, kid.”

  “Such as dragons?” he asked slyly.

  “Not likely.” She shook her head and glared at him. “That ice demon is smaller than a dragon. It’s fightable.”

  Miquel nodded. “You’ll have your chance at fighting it.”

  She looked up at him for the first time since his flirtation in the hold. “Whatcha mean?”

  “I’ll give you a pole.” Miquel waved his fingers at the glacier as if he wanted to stroke it. “You can help keep the Wind Song from breaking up on the ice. It’s a narrow channel with ice spurs at the water mark. If she gets stove in even once, we’re all dead.”

  She tore her gaze from the captain’s profile and turned back to the glacier.

  Miquel stared out at the Split. “Below is our worst danger. Ice, rocks, plus the masts and hulls of dead ships. They rot slow in this cold water, but they’ll kill us quick.”

  Lorel’s eyes glowed with excitement. “I’ll take point.”

  The turybird had to be fevered to enjoy certain death. If only he could ask Kyri for a draught to calm her. Unfortunately, he’d need help from every sailor on board to tie her down just to pour it down her throat.

  “No, I need strong arms at the rails to pole against the ice.” Miquel nodded at Viper. “But I’ll place you at the bow. I need someone with good eyes there.”

  “You mean you don’t want to waste any muscle.” At least he was considered useful for a change. “Sure, I’ll play navigator.”

  “Good. Rest a little longer. We’ll reach the entrance within the hour.” Miquel flashed his warmest smile and stalked away.

  Lorel gawked after him and groaned.

  Sighing in pure sympathy, Viper pulled his cloak tighter, even though he was suddenly too warm. “I wish he wouldn’t do that. It’s distracting.”

  “You got it twice over, kid.” She leaned against the cabin and glared at the walls of ice. “Yo, Fenfr! I been aching for a good fight. Especially ever since we got cooped up aboard this tub.”

  Viper snorted. “I don’t think confinement is your main problem.”

  “Yeah?” Lorel sat up and scowled at him. “What is?”

  “Captain Oatmeal,” he whispered.

  “Oh.” She leaned back against the cabin. “Maybe.”

  He snuggled deeper into his cloak and tried to hide a smirk. A long, roaring crash wiped away every trace of the smile.

  Lorel jumped to her feet. “What’s that?”

  He pointed to the right, where a huge chunk of ice grated into the ocean. “Fenfr just calved.”

  “You call that a calf?”

  “I suppose ‘toenail’ would be more accurate.” He scrutinized the ice and shrugged. “But it’s not as romantic, or motherly, or whatever.”

  “That’s a Weaver-birthed-a-toad toenail?” Lorel leaned back and laughed. “This is gonna be fun.”

  Sparkling cliffs loomed over them. Sunlight refracted through the ice, making the tunnel walls glow more brightly than an alabaster lamp. Light danced through the walls, glittering, dazzling, promising death.

  Second mate Shiloh dumped a large bundle at their feet. She handed Lorel a long, thick pole and a parcel of oiled leather.

  She shook out the other length of greasy leather. It unfolded into a huge, hooded coat.

  Yuck. Did he really need to wear smelly leather? “I’ll get lost in this thing. It’s even too big for Lorel.” He tried to hand it back

  Shiloh ginned and shoved the coat into his hands. “Nay, sir. She’ll keep ye warm and dry. Ocean runs high in the Split, and sitting at the bow, ye’ll catch the worst of it. Ye be drenched before we start, else. We all be, afore nightfall.” She handed him a coil of rope, a pair of enormous gloves, and a slender baton with a red flag at one end and a loop of cord at the other.

  Viper juggled the odd collection, trying not to drop anything when a tall wave smacked the ship. “What’s this for?”

  “Gloves to keep yer hands warm. Flag to warn the pilot. Point it to the nearest danger.” Shiloh grinned at his skeptical expression.

  “And the rope?”

  “I must tie thee to the rails an’ ye don’t get swept away.”

  Lorel laughed, but switched to a snorting cough when he glared at her.

  He frowned at both females. “Is this really necessary?”

  “If ye wish to live beyond the day, aye, ’tis.” Shiloh make an aborted move to touch him, but stepped back instead. “Put yer slicker on. We have little time.”

  He sighed and writhed into the heavy coat, wearing it over his fur cloak since there didn’t seem to be time to run it back to his cabin.

  Shiloh straightened his cloak, belted the leather slicker over it, and helped him pull the long gloves over his woolen ones. She tied the pole’s cord securel
y to his right wrist.

  “Be ye ready?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.” He hobbled to the bow and knelt at the bend in the railing. “I feel like a figure head.”

  Lorel cackled. “Woot, a golden mermaid! That’s what this tub’s missing.”

  “Hush ye, now!” Shiloh scolded. “Get yer own self ready. Ye’re daft enow I should tie thee to the rail. Or the mast.”

  Lorel snorted.

  Viper laughed and glanced over his shoulder. “Hurry up. I can’t hang on top of the rail forever.”

  The second mate knelt behind him, pulled up a hinged plank, and folded it into a bench. “Sit. Ship be built to swim the Split. Ye needn’t be miserable.” She tied Viper to both the bench and the rail. “There, ye be safe as any of us. We’ve scant time. Ye start yer watch now. Ocean bless thee.” She pulled up his hood, fastened it until only his eyes showed, and thumped him on the shoulder.

  She turned to Lorel. “Ye be an hazard.” She straightened Lorel’s slicker, untwisted the attached gloves, and retied the belt. “Truly an hazard.” She grabbed Lorel’s collar, pulled the tall girl’s head down to her level, and resettled and refastened the hood. “Try not to fall overboard, warrior lassie. Yer friends should surely miss thee.” She patted Lorel on the shoulder and trotted aft.

  Lorel gawped after the little woman.

  Viper giggled. “She respects you and thinks you’re silly.”

  “Watch where we’re going, kid.” Lorel frowned, but her shoulders drooped. “That woman acts just like my mother.”

  He laughed and turned back to the Split. “Thunderer’s dice! Look out!”

  Lorel gasped and crouched, clinging tightly to her pole.

  The Wind Song plunged into the Split.

  Icy water slammed over him. He cringed, but fought against his bonds to see beyond the wave.

  Only feet ahead of the bow, a spur of ice jutted out of the wall, barely above the waterline.

  He stabbed his baton hard to the left. From the corner of his eye he saw poles push the ship away from danger. The vessel changed direction slightly, moving into comparative safety.

  So that was how it worked. In that case, he didn’t need to worry about anybody but himself.