by Giles Carwyn
The glorious power flowed into her, filling her like golden water. Her eyes stopped itching, and her headache vanished.
“Yes,” she moaned, took a deep breath, and looked at Speevor. He still swayed limply with the motion of the ship.
With her newfound strength, she grabbed the stone and tried to wrestle it from his unyielding grasp. She threw her magic into the effort, screaming as she put a foot on his stomach and yanked with all her might. But the stone wouldn’t budge, not an inch. With a shriek of rage, her fingers slipped from the stone and she fell to the deck.
Speevor slowly turned to her, his black eyes locking on hers. “Now, Mother,” he said with Victeris’s voice. “Let’s not squabble at a time like this. Be a good girl, and sit quietly until the battle is over. You’ll get what you want in time, I promise you.”
Issefyn hissed through her teeth and stalked away.
I will find you, shade, she promised herself. I will find you. I will steal your power and I will return these petty torments upon you a thousand times. You will crawl for me. I swear you will crawl.
Shara crouched at Brophy’s side as he flipped the tiller and tacked. The boom swung around, and they both ducked. It settled on the other side, and the sails filled, grabbing the wind and pushing the sleek little vessel forward. They leapt across the water, skirting the sinking hulk of a smoking Silver Islander ship. Their ship lurched as they bounced off a pile of floating debris, chunks of wood tangled with rope and waterlogged sails. Bare-chested Islanders leapt from ship to ship, attacking Summermen in their brightly colored linens. Swirling smoke hung in a haze over the water. The mighty ships looked like wounded fish bound to one another as the two sides fought viciously for every inch of deck.
“We need to get through all this!” Brophy shouted over the shouts of sailors and the groans of cracking wood. “Is Arefaine’s flagship still on the far side?”
Shara closed her eyes, sending her awareness forward. She touched people briefly, seeking that bright fire that would be Arefaine. She found her almost immediately, still atop the crow’s nest on a huge, black Ohohhim ship near the northern edge of the convoluted battle.
“She’s there.” Shara pointed. “All the way in the back. Once we get close enough, I’ll hang back and you go talk to her alone.”
“I still don’t like that idea,” he shouted back at her.
“Neither do I, but it has the best chance of working. Don’t worry about me. Just stay with Arefaine as long as necessary. If we get separated somehow, I’ll meet you on Efften.”
Brophy turned to her to protest, but she snapped her fingers, pointing to a burning ship floundering to their left. He flipped the tiller, swerving so close to the flames that Shara could feel the heat on her face. All around them the Islanders’ battle cries mixed with the screams of the dying and what sounded like thunder cracks. Brophy ignored it all, stared into the swirling mists as he maneuvered the little boat through the chaos.
“There is a gap to port,” Brophy said, skillfully skimming between two ships. “We can make for—”
“Brophy, look out!” Shara screamed.
A ball of fire flew toward them through the swirling smoke as they cleared the shadow of the Ohohhim ship. Brophy wheeled around, grabbing her shirt as he leapt backward. Yanked off her feet, she followed him into the water as flames exploded all around.
Prince Vinghelt stood at the prow of his ship watching the glorious hand of his goddess at work. Fessa had recently left to attend to the battle. He desperately missed her soul-stirring presence at his side, but the victory she had promised was nearly at hand.
The Islanders’ initial charge had been momentarily terrifying. But destroying ships had gained them nothing. Vinghelt’s men tumbled into the ocean by the thousands, but they had been chosen by the goddess and could not die. As soon as the enemy’s charge had been broken, his Fessa-blessed countrymen swarmed their ships and attacked, immune to any blade or bow.
The nearest Islander ship was foundering less than a bowshot away. Her sails had caught fire and her crew was scrambling to cut them loose and slip emergency oars into place. They were helpless, a cup of glory he could not leave untasted.
Vinghelt reached out with the wondrous power Fessa had rewarded him with and touched the mind of his helmsmen. Take us closer, he thought. He’d barely mouthed the words, but his entire crew sprang to life, adjusting the sails to catch the wind and turn toward the enemy’s burning ship.
Get ready to board, he thought to his men, his holy warriors. Forty sailors, each with the black streaks of piety down their faces, rushed from the rigging to the starboard rail. Grappling hooks were raised and made ready to throw.
One of the Islanders, a woman holding a bloody cloth to a burn on the side of her tattooed face, spotted them approaching and shouted a warning. Three archers rushed to the rail and nocked their arrows.
He smiled at the fools as he stepped behind the nearest crewmember for cover. Their weapons were useless against the wrath of the goddess and the Summer Wind that blew before her.
They let loose their arrows, their tips sparkling in the sun. Explosions rocked the ship. Vinghelt was thrown backward. There was a dull crack and pain lanced through his back where he’d struck the opposite railing.
He instantly curled into a ball, trying to fight through the pain and the ringing in his ears. What had happened? Surely there had been a mistake. He rolled to his knees, looking for cover. More explosions rocked the ship. Black light and rainbow colors filled the air and then disappeared in tiny sparkles. With a yelp, he crawled behind the foremast and closed his eyes.
A third series of explosions rocked the ship and Vinghelt hid his head in his hands. How could she have abandoned him?
The goddess had told him to keep his vessel on the perimeter. Vinghelt’s magic blood was too valuable to risk in battle. The goddess needed her champion. She’d promised he would be safe. He was destined to rebuild the City of Sorcerers and rule that blessed city with his kin.
“Fessa!” he cried. “What’s happening?”
He tried to reach out with his magic, tried to shout at the mindless idiots all around him to change course and sail away. But there was nobody there, no empty minds for him to reach.
Barely able to breathe, he opened his eyes. His hands came away from his face, covered with black blood. He desperately wiped them on his shirt, but the blackness wouldn’t come off, it looked like it was seeping into his skin. He furiously rubbed his palms on his thighs, but it didn’t help, the blood wouldn’t come off. Panting like one of Fessa’s blessed soldiers, Vinghelt peered around the mast to see what had happened.
The rail where his men had been standing was shattered. The wood hung in splintered fragments over the edge of the ship. His entire crew had been slaughtered. They lay scattered in bloody black chunks across the ichor-slicked deck. The few who survived were crawling across the deck on severed limbs, dragging their blackened entrails behind them.
Vinghelt turned away, retching, but nothing came up. His heart was beating so fast, he was sure he was going to die. More explosions flashed all around him, like a chorus of thunderclaps across the entire fleet.
Vinghelt curled up and hid his head in his hands. How could she have abandoned them?
Turbulent waters closed over Shara’s head. Something struck her shoulder and spun her around. She fought to gain her bearings, looking for Brophy.
Above her, the black hulls of ships contrasted with the orange glow of fire and sudden flashes of swirling colors. She swam upward and broke the surface, sucking in a lungful of smoky air and coughing it back out. A ship slid past her, rolling her about, and she kicked away from it, trying to escape its wake.
“Shara!” Brophy’s voice seemed to swirl around her. A hand emerged from the smoke, and his body followed as if he were flying. He clung to a tattered rope, his feet braced alongside the ship’s hull. She reached out, and he caught her wrist, dragging her along behind him.
&nbs
p; “On my back,” he said, pulling her up to his shoulders. She wrapped her arms around his neck, coughing up smoke and seawater as he climbed up the rope hand over hand. The flames of their destroyed ship were hot on her back. She took the pain and used it, giving herself energy as Brophy climbed.
He swung a leg over the rail and levered them both onto the deck. She landed next to him, finally regaining her breath and calling on the Floani form. A dozen little battles raged before them on the ship. Bare-chested Silver Islanders with swords and axes were fighting Summermen weeping ones wearing brightly colored blouses and thin dueling swords.
One of the corrupted duelists spotted them and charged. His eyes were black as night and his thin blond beard was stained black along the sides of his mouth. Brophy leapt toward him, ducking the blade and bringing his head up, crunching into the man’s chin. The Summerman’s blade sliced thin air behind Brophy, who followed with a right cross that would have felled a horse. The man spun a half cartwheel and slammed into the deck, but his black eyes never closed, and a moment after he struck the deck, he was starting to get up again.
“Run!” Brophy said, drawing his sword.
She grabbed his hand, and he led her through the melee. Another weeping one jumped at them, stabbing. Brophy parried the blade, riposted, and stabbed the man in the chest. The corrupted sailor staggered back as though Brophy had thrust a blunt stick at him and charged again. Brophy caught his wrist, spun around, and threw him overboard.
Three nearby weeping ones gang-tackled the only remaining Islander on board. The burly man’s battle roar was abruptly cut off as one of them snapped his neck. They all turned their black eyes on Brophy and Shara.
“Can you keep up with me?” he asked, breathing hard.
“I will go wherever you do,” she promised.
He grinned at her, as if some part of him had been freed amid this death and chaos and finally felt at ease. With a nod, he ran across the deck and leapt to the rail. He cleared the distance between their ship and the next, skidding to a stop.
Shara charged her legs with energy and leapt after him. He took her arm as she landed, steadying her as she stepped quickly to absorb the shock.
Two more weeping ones charged them. Brophy rushed at one and Shara at the other. With a snarl, Brophy blocked the man’s strike and smashed his sword against the thing’s face. The weeping one fell to his knees and immediately started to rise.
“No!” Shara shouted, spinning inside the swing of the next attacker. The power behind her voice stunned him for a moment. He dropped his sword and, careening off balance, hit the rail. She kicked him high in the back. He tumbled overboard without a sound.
A dozen weeping ones at the fore of the ship turned, looking in their direction. One of them exploded in a shower of multicolored sparkles, blowing the tight cluster apart and scattering them across the deck.
Shara jerked her head up, peering into the rigging. A Silver Islander was balanced precariously on a yardarm, taking aim with his bow. He let the arrow fly and another weeping one exploded. She staggered away, shielding her eyes.
“There!” Brophy shouted.
She spun around, thinking he had shouted at her. But he was already running away across the deck. She looked beyond him and saw the Ohohhim flagship. It was less than a hundred feet away, with nothing but open water between them.
“Brophy!” she shouted, but he didn’t hear her. Leaping to the rail, he sheathed his sword and dove into the debris-strewn water. She started after him—
A blinding pain struck her in the back of the thigh, and she cried out, stumbling to the deck.
Flipping around, Shara gasped as she pulled the arrow out of her leg. It had gone into her flesh only half an inch, and it was tipped with a blunt crystal, swirling with colors like a bottle of Siren’s Blood.
Looking up, she spotted the archer up in the rigging as he nocked another arrow and aimed at her.
Issefyn stared out at the battle and seethed at the shade’s stupidity. The indentured should have swung the battle to their favor by now. She could feel the shade’s influence all around her, directing their actions. But the ani slaves on her ship were completely dormant; the shade was either unwilling or unable to commit them to battle. She glared at Speevor, standing like a stone, clutching all her power in his wretched grasp.
Efflum had been a fool not to trust her. If the battle was going badly, she could aid in the effort. She meant to kill him later, but she certainly wouldn’t do anything foolish until their victory was complete.
With a growl of frustration, she turned back to the battle. A sudden gust of wind cleared her view and she spotted a familiar figure through the swirling smoke and haze. A broad smile spread across her face. Shara was lying wounded on the deck of the Summer ship in front of her. She hissed in frustration as yet another prize lay just beyond her reach.
Take cover, my child, a sudden voice spoke into her head. She spun around and saw the gleaming prow of an Islander ship charging them from the opposite side. Its deck was lined with archers, carefully taking aim.
Issefyn ran toward Speevor. An arrow glanced off the railing right next to him, but he stood there oblivious to everything around him.
“Get down, you idiot!” she screamed, but he didn’t even flinch.
A second arrow struck him in the shoulder and his entire body disappeared in a flash of swirling lights.
Issefyn threw herself to the ground as more explosions rocked the ship. Something struck her in the back and the bloody stump of a severed arm pinwheeled across the deck next to her.
She was on her feet in an instant looking for her stone. She rushed around looking for it until a sudden fear gripped her heart. She stopped and looked up in time to see the steel prow of the Islander ship slice through the railing, parting the wood like water.
The ship rocked, and she fell, tumbling across the deck. Twisting around, she saw the towering silver ram of a warship halfway through the port side.
More arrows rained down on her crew, and they exploded. Silver Islanders leapt from their ship and charged onto the deck. One ran in her direction, swinging a sword overhead. The pommel swirled with rainbow colors, and Issefyn saw her death in that blade.
Throwing herself to the side, she barely evaded the swing. The sword bounced off the deck right next to her, and she scrambled away on all fours. But the brute’s left hand held a dagger, and he brought it down on her.
Sharp steel plunged into her back, and she screamed, falling forward onto her belly. Everything seemed to slow down as he drew it out to stab again, but one of the ani slaves tackled him, knocking him to the side.
The noise of the battle faded until all she could hear was the beating of her own heart. She reached behind her to feel the gaping wound next to her spine. A voice seemed to call out to her and she looked up to see the containment stone resting against the aft splash wall.
Her fingers scraped on the wood as she tried to pull herself forward. More explosions rocked the deck, but she could barely hear them. An Islander rushed over to the containment stone. He knelt next to it, reached out, but didn’t touch it.
“It’s mine!” She screamed the words, suddenly wet in her throat. She leapt to her feet and charged across the deck. The Islander shielded the stone with his body and brought his sword up, but Issefyn dove right at his blade, knocking it aside, and fell on the stone.
Her fingers touched the warm black facets. Power flooded her, and this time it didn’t stop. It came and came. She felt the Silver Islander’s sword slash into her body, felt the explosion, but it was nothing compared with the ecstasy of the black emmeria.
Gathering the stone to her chest, she rose to her feet, her fingers elongated, curling around the crystal. Her back arched as her spine cracked, twisting as it stretched. Her flesh boiled, ripping itself apart as it grew and knitted itself back together.
An Islander plunged his blade into her side. She swatted him across the deck, feeling his ribs snap against the
back of her hand. She screamed from the pure joy of it, the orgasmic rush of power.
Another Islander charged and swung at her, and a distant pain fired into her leg. She looked down at him. He seemed so much smaller than he should be. Reaching out one long-fingered hand, she grabbed his head.
It popped like a grape, and the man collapsed.
Issefyn threw back her head and howled at the smoky sky.
Shara dove to the side as the second arrow flew toward her. It skipped off the deck by her back, and she rolled to her knees. She reached out with her ani toward the man, but couldn’t find him. Like Reef, he was invisible to her magic.
He reached into his quiver and withdrew another arrow. Shara was about to charge him when she saw a monstrous arm slam over the rail on the far side of the ship. The dripping black thing was as tall as a tree. Multijointed fingers tipped with claws as large as scythes thudded into the deck, digging deep. The rail snapped under the weight as the creature hauled itself up.
“By the Seasons…” Shara whispered, feeling all the strength drain from her body.
Long, slimy hair hung down like tentacles on either side of the tall, thin features. The creature’s eyes were long, as if they had melted, dripping down its face. Its mouth was the same. One giant tooth jutted upward and one jutted downward in a mouth that could not close. Its drooping lower lip touched the deck. Wood snapped as it lurched aboard.
The archer turned, yelling as the thing stood up. It was half as tall as the mast, and the ship groaned under its weight, the deck tilting toward it.
The archer barely clung to his perch as he loaded and shot another arrow. It hit the creature and exploded, blowing a chunk of its arm away. The creature howled, reeling, but it did not die. Black ichor ran from its wound, wiggling and transforming into worms. The worms interlaced across the ragged hole, forming a net. The net melted into smooth skin.
Shara gaped.
The creature reached up into the rigging and grabbed the archer. It flung him away like a doll. The man screamed until he smashed into the hull of the next ship over, then fell limp into the water.
