by R J Barker
“Ey, Shipwife, he does,” said Joron, “he does indeed.”
A hurried series of flags had let the other two ships know that Tide Child was going to break formation but that they should keep station, course and speed.
“Deckkeeper Twiner,” said Meas, “let’s see what your overtures towards the gullaime have bought us. Bring it up.”
“Call the gullaime,” shouted Joron, and from him the call went to Deckholder Dinyl and from there to Solemn Muffaz, who shouted the same to the seakeep, who relayed it down into the underdeck cabins.
Joron held his breath, waiting to see if the creature would respond. He was not the only one. As Tide Child raced on, it seemed the whole crew paused; even those throwing up at the rail seemed to still their aching guts. Then, as Joron was beginning to feel he must have failed, it appeared, predatory beak rising above the slate of the deck as if testing the air, head bobbing as it came up the steps, body hidden by robes that it had embellished with thread and needle, strange and beautiful patterns embroidered on the material, rips and tears fixed. Badly sewn, poorly repaired, but still fixed. The gullaime had changed. It was less messy, less unkempt, but there was more to it than that, although Joron could not quite grasp what; it was something he could not put into words.
The beak opened. The voice emerged:
“What you want, Joron Twiner?”
“We want wind, Gullaime,” said Meas, striding across the deck towards the creature. “Wind to take us north-west, wind to carry us quickly. Can you . . .” And Joron saw Meas pause, not her voice, but her body. There was a stutter in her step as if some unfamiliar thought upset all she was. And when she spoke she asked, she did not command. “Will you do that for us, Gullaime? Will you bring us the wind?”
“For why, Meas, for why? So you make war in your boat?”
“For the last arakeesian, Gullaime.”
The windtalker’s posture changed, tightened. Its head darted forward.
“Say words again.”
“The last arakeesian, Gullaime. It swims northward.”
“You hunt?”
“No. I have seen raiders on the horizon armed for war, but what war waits out here? Nothing human, I reckon, Gullaime. At this moment the wakewyrm may be under attack, and we intend to protect it.” The gullaime was across the deck in a flash. In front of Meas. Narza’s hand went to the blades on her hip, but Meas opened a hand behind her. “No.”
“Truth?” The gullaime almost stuck its beak into Meas’s face.
“Truth.”
Not truth, of course. A lie. Joron knew that. A lie but a necessary lie. But if the raiders were in fact hunters, then their quarry must be near.
Could that be true?
Could the creature be real?
The gullaime turned from Meas towards the north, then it shook, a small but intense shudder as if it rid itself of dust or insects. The robe lifted, exposing rope-thin legs and clawed feet, and it pointed its beak towards the north-west.
“Sea sither,” it said quietly. Then raised its head to the sky and let out a cry that hurt Joron’s ears – hurt everyone’s ears, had people ducking as if under attack. Before they had recovered there was a hollow boom, and it was as if a great foot stamped on Tide Child, pushing him into the water and sending a huge circular wave roiling out from the ship. A howling wind sprang up, flattening the grey water, and then gone was the circle of water, gone was the criss-cross of waves that made the stonebound aboard so sick; instead Tide Child powered forward in a pocket of sea flattened by the howling wind.
“Less wind, Gullaime,” screamed Meas into a gale that turned hair into whips, lashed faces, forced eyes closed against the ferocity.
“No. Save arakeesian,” screamed the gullaime back.
“It’s too much for the ship,” shouted Meas. “You’ll rip the wings from the spine, or break the keel, and we will sink.” For a moment there was a strange tension, the windtalker staring at Meas with painted eyes as if it thought she lied, then it sank down slightly, its wings, open beneath the enveloping robe, closing a little. The wind lessened.
“This?” And though the wind still whistled through the rigging, it no longer howled and whipped the crew with their own hair.
“Ey,” said Meas. “This is good. But drop this wind by half when the topboy tells us we are spotted.”
“Get there quick,” hissed the gullaime.
“Too quick and we are likely to overshoot.” Meas was still shouting as if into a gale. “I shall not tell you how to conjure wind if you do not tell me how to command a ship.”
The gullaime hissed at her, then shook as if ridding itself of water and let out a short chirrup.
Joron felt this was acquiescence. Meas joined him on the rump, watching the gullaime in the centre of the ship.
“Well done, Joron, it works with us now.”
“Does it?” said Joron, for he was not so sure.
It did not take long for Tide Child, carried on the strange magic of the windtalker, which cooed to itself as it worked, for the ship’s lookouts to get a clearer look at the flukeboats.
“Eight flukeboats, Shipwife,” came from above. “Single sail. Some carry small gallowbows. They are shooting into the water. We are seen! Four turning to us.”
“Anything else, Topboy?” shouted Meas.
“Not that I can . . .” The voice died away.
“What is it? Topboy!”
“A,” – a disbelieving stutter from Farys – “a shape in the water, Shipwife, but one so vast I thought it a submerged reef.”
“But?”
“It moves, Shipwife!” Then Farys shouted out an old and storied call, one not heard for generations. She shouted it so loud it seemed to rip the air, elongating the vowels and the words seemed to pull the ear and the eye upwards to hear what was screamed: “Keyshan rising!”
All aboard the ship stopped.
Farys called again: “Keyshan rising to the north-west!”
Joron could barely believe it, found himself babbling.
“It is the arakeesian, Shipwife! It is the wakewyrm! They hunt it!”
Joron did not know what he had expected to feel. Joy? Fear? Avarice? But he and every woman and man on board Tide Child knew they were now no longer simply the crew of a black ship; by the presence of this fabled creature, they had become part of the Scattered Archipelago’s history. The name of this ship would live for ever.
“Don’t just stand around,” shouted Meas. “Scatter the paint! Gullaime, cut the wind but stay on deck – I may need to manoeuvre. Maindeck bowsells, crews to your bows. And be ready, Hag curse you, did you forget all we learned? Underdeck bowsells at the ready too! Coughlin, arm your men. Solemn Muffaz, break out the curnows.” She clasped her hands behind her back, and Joron heard her say to herself, “Let us hunt the hunters.” And for the first time since she had taken his hat on a lonely beach, he saw Meas Gilbryn’s true smile.
From his place on the deck Joron saw four flukeboats, sails painted in bright yellows and greens with designs of eyefish, sawteeth and beakwyrms, coming towards Tide Child, oars extended and beating the sea. Behind them were four more, twins to those attacking, chasing something that could not truly be seen. Something that slid through the depths creating a moving shallow that only hinted at shape and size, something so vast that Joron’s mind baulked at the the thought of it.
“Mevans, get crew in the rigging ready to put arrows on the boats when they close,” shouted Meas. “Joron, ready my gallowbows!”
“Bowteams!” shouted Joron.
“Both sides, D’keeper?” said Solemn Muffaz.
“Ey, we’ll crew them all,” said Meas. “We’ll be fighting both sides.”
Joron glanced at the approaching boats; each held at least thirty well armed women and men. This felt like a repeat of Corfynhulme, and he felt panic rise like acid in his gullet. No, he would not allow himself to think that. He strode to the first bow. POISONOUS HOSTIR had been very carefully painted on it.
The crew now consisted of Anzir and a man called Soffle on the winders; Gavith on the trigger – he had shown himself to have a keen eye – while Joron was bowsell for Hostir and the whole deck.
“Knot!” shouted Joron. Fingers were dipped in red paint, paint spattered on the deck. Ropes brought free. The heavy shafts of the gallowbows held and controlled.
Four boats rowed towards them with their cargos of screaming raiders.
“Lift!” shouted Joron, and the crews brought the bows over in a single, smooth motion, opening out the bow arms and locking the mechanisms on to the gimbals.
A gust of wind filled the sails of the flukeboats, boosting the efforts of the rowers. The jeers and screams increased.
“String!” shouted Joron, and as he watched his team thread the cord he knew the same was happening up and down the ship. He heard the shout go up behind him for the gullaime.
The approaching boats gathered speed.
When his bow was set, Joron turned to the rump of the ship. Meas stood, watching the sea before them and the second set of flukeboats in the distance as they rowed against the wind in an attempt to catch the arakeesian. She saw him watching her and gave a nod.
“Spin the bows, Joron.”
“Spin!”
Shout? No, he roared the word. The call was echoed all the way down the ship by the other bowsells and followed by grunts of effort and the whirr of the wheels pulling back the firing cords and tensioning the bow arms. Filling each bow with the potential to cause havoc and death and pain.
As the click of the cords being caught by the retaining triggers sounded, the next command went up.
“Load!”
The bows were loaded with viciously barbed bolts.
“Aim!”
Anzir and Soffle looked to Joron to guide them. As if in reaction, Meas shouted from the rump:
“The hulls! Aim for their hulls! Sink them before they reach us.”
And Joron took up his position, lifting landward arm, the bow slowly swinging until the flukeboat was in his bow’s sights.
“Aim low, Gavith. Hit it at the waterline.”
The boy nodded and leaned into the bow the same way Farys had. Now they waited for the final shout. The first order to loose would come from Meas before command passed to the bowsells.
Joron heard her boots on the slate as she ran up the centre of the deck.
“Landward bows, be ready when you’ve loosed to wind again. I’ll be swinging Tide Child round for the seaward bows and then back, and I hope to give you a second shot before they’re on us.”
Joron swallowed at that, the confirmation that they probably could not stop all four flukeboats in the time they had.
“Coughlin, be ready to repel boarders. Remember, my boys and girls, we are here to protect the arakeesian. These boats are not our real target, those are.” She pointed past the approaching boats to the ones in the distance. “Now” – a huge grin crossed her face – “your bowsells have aimed you. So” – she drew her sword and held it aloft – “loose when ready!”
Part of Joron expected Gavith to loose immediately, and bow three did. The bolt went high, but a roar went up from Tide Child as it cut a swathe through the busy deck of the nearest flukeboat, women and men being tossed overboard, some whole, some in parts. But Joron knew it was a wasted shot.
Tide Child hit a wave, the swelling water lifting Joron’s side of the ship so the bows pointed skyward. For a moment Joron stared along the shaft of the bow at clouds, then Tide Child rolled back down and the mast of the flukeboat came into view. Then the deck covered in furious faces. Then, at what to Joron felt like the lowest point of the ship’s roll, Gavith’s arm jerked back, and he heard the deep basso groan of the bow releasing. Joron’s heart sank for he was sure the boy had missed, the bolt vanishing into the water with barely a splash. A moment later the final bows loosed, their bolts smashed into the hull of the same flukeboat, tearing great holes in it, but too far above the waterline to sink it.
“Spin!” shouted Joron, and the process started again.
At the same time Meas shouted, “Hold on. I’m bringing him about!” A momentary gale blasted the ship, his ears hurt, and the huge jointweight of bone that made up Tide Child started to swing round in the water. As he did, Joron saw that Gavith had not missed at all. He had holed the flukeboat below the water, and the boat was slowing, the front of it dipping to bring the other holes in its hull below the waterline. The boat began to list, the faces which had screamed in fury now screamed in panic. Arrows cut through the air from Tide Child’s rigging.
“Hold with the bows!” shouted Meas. “Those women and men are already lost.”
Three boats now remained. Tide Child came round to bring the bows to bear on them as the landward bowteams wound and loaded.
Meas ran down the deck. “Same as the landward bows. Aim for the waterline! Sink them if you can.” Tide Child was still leaning into his turn; Joron’s bowteam stared at the water while the seaward teams stared into the sky. “Hold with the wind, Gullaime!” shouted Meas, and the Gullaime dropped to the deck. The sudden gale died away. The ship straightened on the sea as Joron turned to watch the seaward teams loose their weapons.
Thruum!
Thruum!
Thruum!
Screams but no roar of joy at a boat being sunk. Arrows flew from the rigging.
“Give me a breeze, Gullaime!” shouted Meas, and again the ship heeled round, pushing away a huge wave as the three boats closed on Tide Child. Joron expected the ship to come full about so he could aim his bow, but Meas stopped the wind before this. “No time for a second shot,” she shouted. “Coughlin, be ready to earn your passage.” Meas ran back to take her place before the rumpspike and shouted. “Bows, swing for’ard and loose when you have a target.” Then she smiled and glanced up into the rigging.
Something changed.
There was a moment of stillness in the battle, as if all knew what Meas was about to say and longed to hear it.
“Full wings,” she said, then raised her voice. “Get up in the spines and unfurl me the wings, you layabouts! Gullaime, give me the best speed you can!” Then she added, quite calmly but loud enough for all to hear, “Barlay, aim our beak at those approaching boats.” She reached up, straightening her two-tailed hat. “Since they have seen fit to get in our way, we shall smash them out of it.”
Tide Child leaped forward, and if Joron had not been grabbed by Anzir he would have sprawled on the decks – many others did. A scream echoed across the water, quickly stopped by the sickening sound of a body hitting slate as a deckchild lost their footing in the rigging and fell to their death. Then Meas was screaming at them, “Brace! Brace!” Joron grabbed the legs of the gallowbow along with Gavith. Behind them Anzir grasped the rail.
And Tide Child ground into the leading flukeboat. There was a huge groan as the ship’s forward momentum was checked – but only momentarily – and then a terrible rending as the sharp beak and hull of the boneship ripped apart the far more fragile flukeboat.
A moment of quiet aboard.
Shock at the sudden violence.
Then bows loosed and Joron heard screams. Grapples, soaring over the rail. Two, three, four came aboard and were quickly, and professionally, pulled tight.
“Axes!” yelled Joron, and he pulled his curnow to hack at the rope attached to the grapple nearest to him.
“Coughlin, bring up your men!” shouted Meas. “All hands to repel boarders!” Arrows whistled down from the rigging as the first raiders clambered over the front rails.
“D’keeper!” shouted Gavith, “D’keeper, move to the side! D’keeper!”
Joron looked round to find the gallowbow aimed directly at him. He ducked aside as Gavith got into the firing position. Joron’s mind lagged. Only at the last second did he realise what the boy meant to do. The great bow was aimed at the flukeboat that was making itself secure against Tide Child, its crew pushing and shoving each other to be the first to scale the b
oneship’s spiked side. Joron had not realised how much bigger this boat was than the others, sixty aboard at least.
“I’ll stop ’em!” shouted Gavith. “Hag can have ‘em.”
“No!” Joron dived forward, his shoulder hitting the bow and pushing it to the side just as it fired. The bolt ripped past the flukeboat and punctured only the sea, which did not care. One of the bow arms caught Joron a glancing blow on the back of the head, and he fell forward, his hip hitting the rail, and only Anzir’s strong arm stopped him going over into the ever-hungry sea, or the arms of the raiders below.
“Not you too,” she grunted, pulling him back, but he was dazed, unsure of what she said. So much noise, so many people shouting.
“Not me too?” he mumbled.
“Soffle went into the sea when we hit. Lost ’im,” she said.
“Why did you stop me?” shouted Gavith. His eyes widened as he realised who he screamed at and he added more quietly, “D’keeper.” He bowed his head. “Sorry, D’keeper, but I could have sunk ’em.”
“You could,” said Joron as he tried to pull himself to his feet. The world spun around him. “Sunk a ship tied to us,” he said, “and maybe dragged us down with it.” He screwed his eyes shut. Shook his head. Winced at the pain. Then opened his eyes and looked around.
All the action was currently at the rump. He may not have liked Coughlin, but he and his men were fighting with a rare fury while Meas and a group of deckchilder held the landward side of the ship. The attackers’ numbers were of no help to them at the moment as they could not get enough of them on board. All was noise. Screaming. Shouting. Swearing.
A face peered between the uprights of the rail. Anzir shot it with a crossbow.
“They’ll be coming over our rail soon,” she said.
“Call Farys and the underdeck bowteams up here.” His world was a little clearer now.
“You needs be with the hagshand,” said Anzir. “Head wounds can be bad, D’keeper.”
“No,” he said and pulled himself up. He took the small crossbow Meas had given him and loaded it, then unhooked his curnow. “I’m not that eager to die.”
