Samaki looked towards the remains of the main mast. It hadn’t been completely severed from the ship. A small wedge on the side of the mast hadn’t snapped yet, and a tangled mess of torn sail and ropes seemed to be keeping it from breaking any more. All around the mast, he could make out thrashing in the water, and he realized there were men trapped under the mast, pinned to the deck, half drowned in water.
He wanted to rush to their side, but another wave slapped him down. Grabbing onto the benches, he crawled towards them, looking for the knife he had placed in his belt before the storm, but it had disappeared. He reached the first man, and with a shock recognized him as Sef. Sef, the oldest member on the Afeth. Sef, one of the first men to join his crew. He grasped the ropes around him and began to pull and twist at them, at one point, even gnawing at them with his teeth.
Suddenly, Tiyharqu’s holler cut through every thought. He could just make out the woman in the dim light, her strong arm pointing to the right, her eyes wide with fright. Samaki followed her gaze to the massive wave.
This is it, the thought was clearer than anything. The wave would surely smash them like a child bored with their toy. He gripped the ropes around him as tightly as he could, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes.
The wave struck even faster than he had anticipated. Everything all at once became upside down and right side up. He was slammed against the deck and gasped just as he felt the wave press him down, There was no air to replace the breath he’d lost. He felt like he was being crushed, an insect under the Paref’s sandal.
Everything stopped. He wasn’t moving anymore, and he drifted away from the deck. He was floating. His eyes snapped open under water, only to find darkness and a stinging pain. He was staring into the depths of the Middle Sea. Had he been dragged from the Afeth? No, he still gripped the ropes, and as he reached up he felt the benches of the deck. The ship had capsized. The deck was now a roof above him and the hull of the ship was sticking out in the open air.
Then he felt the burning in his lungs. His entire body gave a spasm as it realized its desperation for air. He tried to swim away and felt something yank at his legs. He had become entangled in the ropes. He reached back, feeling for the ropes, unable to just kick them off. He was starting to feel dizzy, panicked. His cold fingers found the knots. He knew every one, knew how to tie them in the dark. Surely he could untie them underwater, but his fingers felt frozen, and the ropes had become swollen from the water.
He felt the medallion hanging around his neck. He always wore a medallion or two, the precious jewels at which his father would roll his eyes. Can you eat it? He would ask. Then what good is it? But suddenly, Samaki knew exactly what it was good for.
The burning in his entire body was becoming unbearable as he took off the medallion. The edges weren’t sharp but had been decorated with frills—frills that might be able to fray wet rope. He sawed at his bindings, kicking his legs as he went, trying to cut and swim away at the same time. He couldn’t see, couldn’t tell if it was working. His body lurched, screaming to gasp at air. And then…
He was swimming. He was free. He was alone and free and…what was it that he needed? There was something important. Something he needed, something he’d die without. Die…just like his father, drowning under the flood. Drowning. He was drowning! He needed air! He kicked wildly, but where was the air? Where was up? Where was down? There was only darkness…darkness…dark…
The next moment he was coughing and his body was violently throwing up seawater. He was lying on something hard, and he heard a familiar laughter. He opened his eyes weakly to see a smiling face before a grey sky. The rain still fell and the wind blew at a hard angle, but Samaki could tell the storm had begun to move on.
He realized they were on the upturned hull of the ship. He could feel the sharp barnacles cutting into his bare skin. He took a deep breath of air. Never had anything burned so much and felt so good. He immediately fell into a fit of coughing and rolled onto his side, Tiyharqu gently patting him on the back.
“Rest, Maki; we are alive,” she reassured him, but her usual booming voice was weak and exhausted.
Samaki couldn’t find it in himself to speak. He wanted to look around at the others, wanted to see how many of his crew were alive, but his head swam and before he knew it Samaki’s consciousness was falling back into the darkness of the ocean.
The next day all was quiet. There was no wind, nor rain, only the sun. At first, there was general relief and happiness to have the sun to warm them, but soon their situation was truly understood. They had no food, no water, and their ship was little more than a raft on which they were precariously balanced. The sun would roast them and kill them. They had survived the storm, but would it be only to die hungry and thirsty?
Other than Tiyharqu and Samaki, only eleven of the crew had survived the night. They were all young and strong, able to hold on through the worst moments while others were washed away to drown. Samaki couldn’t help but notice every single one of them had joined the Afeth after the great wave. All of the crew who had been with them since the beginning—Sef, and the others—were now dead. Samaki realized that Sef’s body was probably still tied to the deck of the ship, fish eating the remains.
He spent the morning staring out at the horizon, wondering what other ships had been caught by that storm, wondering if any had survived and might sail past to rescue them. Tiyharqu was the only one who seemed to have any energy.
“We can make a fishing line,” she announced suddenly. She was uncoiling a piece of rope she’d managed to retrieve.
One of the younger crewmembers seemed excited at the idea, but another spat. “You don’t have a hook.”
“Or bait!” Another chimed in.
“I’ll turn you into bait if you can’t be helpful!” Tiyharqu glared, and that shut them up while she attempted the turn the rope into a fishing line.
You’d have better luck trying to make a net, Samaki thought, but he didn’t say anything. Every time he tried to make things better, they only became worse.
By late afternoon, Tiyharqu was throwing the makeshift line into the water, waiting a moment, and then trying again…and again. Samaki was too busy watching his skin turn muddy red or looking at the dark bruises forming on his shoulder and thigh where he’d been slammed into the bulwark and mast. By evening, Tiyharqu had given up on fishing and had thrown the remains of the line into the water.
The next day Samaki looked at the others and wondered who would die first. None of them had sustained serious enough injuries for that to be the cause. Tiyharqu was a big, strong woman, and Samaki had no doubt—or perhaps it was just hope—that she would live the longest. He himself was fairly broad with meat to spare, so he felt good about his odds.
The others were skinny though, and among a few of them, he could already see their rib cages. They had probably never eaten a proper meal in their lives. Most likely, they came from a family like his, one with no wealth and no future beyond fishing or farming. They had probably looked at Samaki covered in his golden medallions and jewelled rings and thought to themselves they would find adventure and riches and would one day eat with the Paref himself.
They would be the first to die.
As the sun reached its zenith, Samaki felt the throbbing in his head, a pain he knew wouldn’t go away until he finally succumbed to death. For a moment, he thought it would be better to simply jump into the water, to let himself drown rather than wait for the slow death, but one look at Tiyharqu, who was trying to cheer the others up by telling them a story, and Samaki knew he could not. His friend would jump in to try and save him, and even if she could not, Tiyharqu would never forgive Samaki for abandoning her. Besides, he was the captain, and this was his ship. He would die on her, the way he was meant to.
When they first saw the land, Samaki thought it was a mirage. His head pounded with such force, he was certain the others were feeling the same and experiencing the same delirium. But after a while, it became un
deniable. They could see the southern shore of the Middle Sea. Even Samaki couldn’t help but feel hope. He licked his chapped lips as he stared at the land, waiting for it to grow larger. But as the sun set, one thing became clear: the tide was not taking them any closer, and they had no way of reaching it. Samaki laughed as the sun set and darkness fell.
The hollering of his crew woke him up. At first, he was annoyed they couldn’t just die quietly like he had determined to do. But…these weren’t the screams of pain and fear one expected to hear from the dying. This was hope and cheer and—Samaki sat up and saw the ship. It was getting bigger, coming closer. It was a small ship, to be sure, a fishing vessel, but it didn’t matter. It had come from the shore, and it had seen them. It had seen them!
Even Samaki got to his feet, not caring that the barnacles were cutting into his sunburnt soles. He screamed and hollered and felt the sweet tears of relief. They weren’t going to die. Not that day.
It was a family of fishermen, a man and his two sons. Back home, he had a wife, three more sons too young to fish, and two daughters. It took them the entire day to tow the ship back to the small island where they lived. When they reached the shore, it was late, but the wife burst out of the house and ran to the quay. Obviously, she had feared the worst and was more than a little surprised by the thirteen extra mouths presented to her to feed.
The family looked like those from the Sephian Islands—wavy copper hair and olive skin, their eyes like smoky quartz, their cheeks full—but rather than the silks the larger islands enjoyed wearing so much, they wore cotton and wool, and they used thick pins made of wood to drape their tunics over their shoulders. It was too late to do anything with their ship by that time, so the father, Vale, suggested they eat.
They fed them bread and fish and stew made from roots and spices. There was beer, fresh water, and honey. They ate so much half of them became ill and had to excuse themselves from the house. Samaki and Tiyharqu had given an account of their tale to the fisherman and his sons on the way to the island, but found themselves telling their story all over again, this time going into far more detail and exaggeration, prompted on by the wide-eyed wonder of the younger boys.
They didn’t know who the Paref was, so instead Samaki told them they had been sent on a mission by the King of the Middle Sea, after the jealous gods had brought ruin to the coast. They had travelled to the very ends of the earth, the far northeast where there was eternal darkness and the land was rife with monsters. There, they had found endless fields of wheat. He winked at the boys.
“We were bringing back as much as we could carry to the Sephian islands, and that’s when it happened—” Samaki paused, making the children squirm with anticipation.
“What happened? What happened?” the littlest of the boys asked, clutching at his mother’s lap.
“A great kraken rose up from the depths and attacked us!” Tiyharqu boomed, and the little boy squeaked while the crew and older children laughed.
They passed into the early morning, dizzy on drink and relief. Most of the crew who couldn’t sleep and wanted to keep talking and eating went outside and built a high fire, while Vale and his family settled into bed. Samaki and Tiyharqu lay down on the soft straw by the fire pit in the house and closed their eyes, but Samaki’s mind felt like it was sailing through a gale.
“Harqu,” he whispered, and when his friend did not respond he gave her leg a swift kick.
With a snort Tiyharqu sat up and looked around in confusion.
“What’s going on? What is it?” His old friend kept looking around, as though expecting danger.
“Nothing, I just…” Samaki sighed deeply and sat up. “I needed to tell you I was sorry.”
“If you don’t wake me up then you don’t need to tell me you’re sorry,” she narrowed her eyes in annoyance, but there was still the shadow of a smile on her face.
“Not for waking you up. Back there, on the ship. I…”
“Maki—”
“No, I…I gave up, Harqu.” He paused, and Tiyharqu said nothing, just stared at him with dark eyes. “I think there were moments I was angry at you, for pulling me out of the water, for not letting me die quickly. I gave up.”
“It’s understandable,” Tiyharqu shrugged.
“But unforgiveable. The Afeth is my ship. I am her captain, and my crew needed me, and all I could do was stare at them and wonder which one would die first. You at least tried.”
“I gave up, too,” her voice was softer.
“But not before trying,” Samaki buried his face in his hands, sighing. “We’re not alive because of me. We’re alive by some chance.”
“We are lucky merchants,” Tiyharqu reached out and patted his shoulder, but the motion felt forced.
Samaki took his hands from his face and stared hard. “I swear I’ll never give up like that again. No matter what happens in the future, I will take charge. I’ll be there for my crew, and my ship—and you.”
Tiyharqu chuckled softly. “You’re drunk.”
“I still mean it.”
“Sleep, Maki. Rest,” Tiyharqu lay down again and rolled over. “There’s nothing to worry about tonight.” And just like that, she dropped back into sleep.
It felt like sleep would never come to Samaki, but once it did it was deep and long. Samaki could have slept forever, safe and warm and happy, but eventually the groggy hand of consciousness shook him awake, and with a yawn and a stretch he made his way outside to relieve himself.
He could see Vale and his two older sons by the ship, obviously discussing what to do. Samaki made his way down the hill to them. The island was small but had more than enough space for a single family. There was a small copse of trees. On one side, there were a few small pastures growing an assortment of vegetables and grains, while another had a paddock with a bull, a few goats, and several dozen sheep.
Vale had explained the day before this part of the sea was dotted with a thousand tiny islands, each one home to one or two families, and they often traded amongst each other, either for food or marriages. The great wave had reached here as well, but apparently only the northern islands were hit hard, and once the wave reached farther into the cover of islands, the intensity had seemed to all but die down.
“We lost a few sheep too close to the shore. We moved the fence farther upland after,” Vale had shrugged, as though the wave were a thing that hadn’t mattered.
“Morning,” Samaki called out. “Have you been making a plan?”
Vale scratched his weather-beaten face, most of which was covered by a greying bushy beard.
“We think we can right her, and you can get to your stores, but I honestly don’t see how we can fix her,” he looked at Samaki sadly.
Samaki nodded, instantly dismissing the thought. “I have her shipwright with me, and you have wood enough to make a new mast, and fix whatever else ails her.”
Vale gave a laugh. “You’re awfully confident. Those woods are mine. Those trees are mine.”
“I will pay for them, of course, and I have my own men for labour. Let us stay until the work is done. We need not sleep in your home again. We can sleep on deck, and we can pay for whatever food you can give us.”
The sons looked at each other, a darkness in their eyes he did not see mirrored in their father’s. Perhaps the thought had occurred to the sons they could just take whatever was in the hold of the Afeth for themselves. Perhaps they had even suggested it to their father, but it was a thought too foolish for Samaki to fear. They were thirteen strong, and this was a family of mostly children. Besides, he liked the look of Vale. If the man had wanted to rob him, he could have easily gotten rid of them while they were weak and delirious, could have towed their ship to shore and told his wife there was been no survivors when he found her.
“Pay us with what? You haven’t told us what you have in there.”
“Food, mostly. Grains and spices. I’ve no doubt some of it will have spoiled from leaks, but most of it will be fresh and
fine. To eat, or trade, or do whatever you want with.”
Vale didn’t look too awed. He clearly had enough food, but perhaps he was thinking now of his neighbours to the north. “And how much will you give me?”
Samaki could have made an offer, but he was staring at the man who had saved his life, who had fed him and his crew when they had been at their most desperate. “How much do you want?”
Vale looked at him, surprised for a moment, and then he laughed, extending his arm for Samaki to take. “All right, you can have the wood and we’ll give you a few sheep for slaughter. My boys can help you, too, when they’re not helping me with the morning catch.”
Samaki took his arm, clasping it tightly, and enjoyed the look of annoyance on the young men’s faces. “Good, then let’s discuss your price.”
NESATE
STAND UP LIKE A MAN, IF YOU REALLY ARE ONE
His welcome was far warmer than he had expected. In the fort of Kuwais Salli Tuthalya had washed and gotten new clothes and gear. He’d cut his hair and trimmed his beard. When he left to travel via the secret pass he had shown Tersh, he looked every measure a captain. And just so there was no confusion, the signet that held his cloak in place, a copper disc with a sun placed under the image of a mountain, the signet of King Hatturigus, was scratched and crossed out in red paint.
From the walls of Nesate, you could see to the end of the valley, and it was no surprise to him that by the time he reached the gate a good dozen men were standing ready with one of the Sisters’ lords standing there and looking up at him with an expression that suggested something between vehemence and curiosity.
“Hold there, traveller. What brings you to these walls?” His voice was as cold as the wind. The man was older than Tuthalya, his hair grey and wispy. His skin was stretched over his bones like worn leather, and although you could tell the man was thin under his heavy lilac cloak and leather vest, he was tall and looked strong.
Pekari -The Azure Fish Page 22
