Beyond the Pool of Stars Page 10

  Heltan cocked his head at him and then let out a soft, coughing noise.

  “Yes,” Mirian agreed.

  “You see, Jekka” Heltan said. “It is as I told you.” He turned back to Mirian. “Unlike me, Jekka has kept from humans.”

  “Most of them,” Jekka said darkly.

  Heltan spoke quickly, forcing cheer into his voice. Probably he hoped no one would pry further as to Jekka’s meaning. “Our clan has specialists as well.”

  “You probably have other clan members at home who make your clothes, or bake your breads,” Mirian suggested. “And perhaps you barter with other lizardfolk for some—”

  “No,” Jekka said curtly. “Brother, rouse me when the storm ends. The chatter of humans tires me.” He closed his eyes and leaned against the barrel.

  Heltan looked up, his expression unreadable. “It was interesting to speak with you, Mirian Raas. And you also, Filian Rendak.” He added after a moment: “Is Filian a title?”

  Rendak chuckled. “No. That’s just my name. Like Mirian’s.”

  “So Mirian is not title of clan leader?”

  “It is my personal name,” she said.

  “Forgive me, then. When Rendak used it, I assumed it was a title used in deference. I do not mean to take liberties.”

  “It’s fine, Heltan. Rendak knows me well enough to use my personal name in casual situations.”

  “So your personal name can be used by those outside your family in certain situations?”

  “Yes.”

  “How does one judge when that is permissible?”

  “Brother,” Jekka said softly, his lids closed, “now you weary me and the humans.”

  Once more Heltan made that soft coughing sound, and when Mirian raised her hand in farewell he returned the gesture. She stepped over to the chest with Rendak.

  “Is everything in order?” she asked.

  “Aye.”

  Gombe snorted in his sleep, shifted, and resumed snoring.

  Rendak rolled his eyes at his friend. “Gombe can sleep through a rutting earthquake. And lizardfolk staring spears at him. Gods, I could feel Jekka’s eyes on my back the whole time I was sorting through the chest, as if he was wondering where to stick me. Or how good I’d taste.”

  “I don’t think he was wondering that,” Mirian replied, though she thought he might have been contemplating the former. “It’s hard to guess what they’re thinking.”

  “Damned right it is.”

  “We’re going to be working with them for days,” Mirian reminded him. “Weeks, maybe.”

  “So you said. You really think we can trust them?”

  “They’re probably wondering the same thing.”

  Rendak nodded, pushed his dark hair back over his forehead. “Look, I’m all for us getting along smooth as Taldan glass. But I’m not planning on eating them, so it’d be real nice if I knew none of them were—”

  The ship slammed to a halt with a smash of broken timber. Mirian was thrown into Gombe’s hammock, stubbing her foot on the open supply chest. She grabbed the rope from which Gombe’s hammock dangled. Gombe’s grunt of surprise was followed by screams below, shouts above, and panicked exclamations from sailors starting awake. Loudest of all was Kellic as he lost his footing and tumbled away under four swaying hammocks.

  The ship canted almost twenty-five degrees to port, and Mirian heard water rushing in.

  A reef? The shore? A sandbar? There was no way to know what they’d hit, and no time to curse. Every moment counted. “Up!” Mirian shouted, biting her teeth against the pain in her foot. Gombe lurched out of his hammock. Kellic’s glow stone had tumbled down the deck after her brother and lay shining near him. By its light she saw him pulling himself upright. “Kellic! Are you all right?”

  “I think so,” he called back. He said something more, but his voice was drowned out by the sailors, cursing as they struggled from their hammocks and scrambled for the gangway aft. None came their way, likely because the door to the forecastle had a lock on it and only a ship’s officer would have a key.

  She hoped Akimba was still alive up there. She hoped that there were enough boats, and that they could get everyone into them. She thought fleetingly of Lady Galanor and her son. Right now they’d have to manage on their own. She had her hands full taking care of her people here. She’d warned Alderra this trip was likely to be dangerous.

  Gombe and Rendak were quickly slipping on their packs, one padded side pocket of which held an air bottle. Tokello held a glow stone for them to see by. She no longer looked nervous, merely disappointed, as if things had gone just as badly as she’d expected. At another time her expression might have made Mirian laugh. She put a comforting hand on the healer’s wide shoulder and felt the hard muscle beneath the woman’s robe. “We’ll get all of us out of here alive,” she said.

  “If Gozreh wills it,” Tokello managed, and she bent her head, mumbling a prayer.

  Mirian had already prayed to both Desna and her ancestors before turning in last night; she hoped they’d still be watching now and would understand there was little time for such niceties. She unsheathed her wand as she walked on across the slanted deck past the lizardfolk, who were up and gathering their gear. They watched as she steadied herself beside the door to the forecastle.

  Beyond the door lay the forward cargo compartment and a hatch to the deck. Assuming they got past that, there was still a storm and an ocean trying to kill them, and Gozreh alone knew how they’d fare even with salvaging gear if they were out in the deeps.

  One thing at a time. She tried the door, ensuring it was as locked as it looked, then pointed her wand and muttered the single word.

  Nothing happened, apart from the ship settling another five degrees further to port. Was it her imagination, or was the sound of water rushing in getting louder? And there were people screaming for help below.

  Focus, Mirian. She had to get her people to safety first. Before leaving Eleder she’d tracked down a wizard to recharge the weapon to its full capacity. She spoke again, and this time the bolt of acid appeared along the end of the white wand and sped toward the lock. She was almost too close, for it spattered, and the sizzling sound it made against the lock was an uncomfortable reminder of what it could do to flesh.

  She heard a hiss behind her and turned to see the lizardfolk staring at her. All three stood in a row, perched like birds to lean at an impossibly steady angle. It was damnably eerie. And water was starting to come up through the planks along the port side, just inches behind her brother, who’d foolishly left the glow stone in the water as he climbed his way up beside Mirian.

  A nacreous hole outlined in green had formed where the lock in the door used to be, reeking of burning wood and metal. The top of the handle remained splattered—the bottom portion was pitted and smoking. She gritted teeth, set hand to the thing and stepped away, so that as the door fell open toward her the damaged portions swung past her torso.

  In the dim space beyond Mirian perceived a jumble of casks and chests, although most of the gear within remained securely tied. From starboard there was a feeble light source. Gray light poured through the grating that led to the deck.

  She then turned and waved on her people. “Go! Go!

  Rendak, Gombe, and Kellic needed no urging and quickly hurried through. Tokello came after, still muttering a prayer.

  “Hop to it,” Rendak said to Gombe. “We’ve got to force that hatch open.”

  She looked back at the lizardfolk and found them staring.

  “What are you waiting for?” she demanded. “Go!”

  The Karshnaar clan raced nimbly ahead of her. The water, meanwhile, had climbed a third of the way up the deck.

  She heard one of the men grunt, and the sound of creaking hinges, and then Gombe’s deep voice called: “We’re out!”

  Only then, with her own people free, did she turn back and fire three times into the deck below, creating a hole.

  “There’s a way up here,” she
called down. “But the edge is hot, so protect your hands!”

  She couldn’t tell if anyone heard, but as the ship lurched ominously she started after her team. Mirian pulled herself over the canted doorway, then clambered easily up the stair steps of supplies lashed to the shelves in the forecastle. The square of lighter darkness that shone above brought in crisp, cool air, and salt spray. She recognized Gombe’s silhouette as he reached down to offer a hand. He sounded relieved. “You decide to go sightseeing, ma’am?”

  From somewhere beyond, a trilling threnody whistled through the air, and she saw Gombe react violently, withdrawing his hand to clap it over his ears.

  Mirian scrambled past him.

  In one sweep she took in a flurry of information. The storm had mostly spent its strength and rolled eastward, a line of night shot through with lightning. The horizon brightened beneath it, enough to show a shadowy coastline to the north, no more than a half mile out

  The Red Leopard lay broken on a string of jagged fanlike reefs that stretched out from the shore, now hidden, now exposed as the choppy waters slammed in and out.

  The ship’s two boats were over the side, along with a good portion of the sailors. The one to port was overturned, and people scrambled to hold on to its side or throw themselves across it. The first mate was in charge of the other, on the starboard side, and was tossing a rope back to the ship, up to where Alderra braced along the rail. The ship had listed far to port.

  Mirian’s gaze snapped back toward the cabin, searching for sign of the captain, and that’s when she saw the trio of bird-winged figures gliding past the men clustered at the rail. The figures sang, and men and women alike cast loving eyes upon them.

  Harpies.

  10

  Flight

  Ivrian

  We were tossed like the toy of a titan, flung with the casual disregard of an angry child so that the ship lay broken upon treacherous, surf-pounded rocks. But the gods were not done with us yet! Out of the predawn sky flew three winged devils, singing a sweet melody of death. Harpies, determined to lead those few who survived to a watery grave. As I stepped onto the deck, I met the lovely eyes of Mirian Raas, emerging from a hatch at the prow, and we nodded at one another in resolve. We would slay the harpies and save the sailors, or die in the trying!

  —From The Daughter of the Mist

  Ivrian was tossed bodily from the bunk into the hull below the porthole. For a long moment, he wasn’t entirely sure where he was or what had happened, and the lack of motion and the frantic calls of the crew only prolonged his disorientation.

  He only fully awoke to what was happening when some of the words penetrated his consciousness. The men and women outside shouted about boats, and abandoning ship, and some called out for aid from Desna or Gozreh, or pleaded with Pharasma not to take them. What had happened? Was the ship sinking?

  He climbed to his feet on the listing deck, astonished he wasn’t more badly hurt. Only his back was a little sore. “Mother?” He reached out to the lower bunk, but his mother wasn’t there. In fact, the sheets were undisturbed.

  The ship slanted more on creaking timbers, and he heard the rush of water. Not just from somewhere outside, but in his very cabin. “I’m not going to drown,” he said. “Definitely.” He fought down the panic, bent down, and dragged out his chest. It was wedged tightly against his mother’s, and he realized instantly that the moment he pulled it clear it would slide into him. Yet he had no other choice if he wanted his air bottle. He got the chest free, bracing it against his own body as he keyed the lock and pushed open the lid.

  He ignored the cool ocean water creeping up his toes and felt around inside the chest, fumbling past his shoes. First he came to his sword belt and sword, which he grabbed, but of greater import even than the pack with all his writing materials was the enchanted air bottle, which might be all that lay between him and drowning. The blessed thing lay jammed protectively at the bottom, snug in a padded leather case. He grabbed it and slid it onto his sword belt.

  The water had risen to his ankles now, and he cursed. Where was his mother? He was going to have to grab her gear for her.

  He slung his pack over his shoulder, then slammed the chest shut. He was getting ready to manhandle it into place when the ship shifted again and he lost his footing. He slipped into the water and the chest slid after. He hit the hull with his rump and heard an alarming smashing sound from the leather case with the air bottle. Then the chest rumbled toward him. It struck the water with a splash and crashed into his knees.

  Cursing in pain, Ivrian pushed free, climbed over, then fought his mother’s chest clear even as the water climbed calf-high. He wrestled with his mother’s lock, grateful the same key opened both chests. He felt inside for agonizing moments before finally realizing that neither his mother’s weapon, pack, nor air bottle was within. At some point in the night she must have come in and removed them.

  Cursing once more, Ivrian stepped past his mother’s chest and let it slide into the water after his own. He dropped his broken air bottle after it. So much for breathing underwater. He’d have to find a boat.

  The cabin was filling fast. He was waist-deep in cool water as he pulled himself along the bunk for the door. The cursed thing naturally opened inward, falling open with such speed that it banged one knee. But then he was through and into the passageway. There was no mistaking the pound of the surf rolling the ship, or the crack of further timbers. He started up the tilted gangway toward a patch of lighter blackness and fresh, salty air.

  Ivrian reached the threshold in time to see Akimba cutting at the rope that tied him to the wheel.

  And then he heard a warbling from somewhere above. It was strange, beguiling, enchanting. Gods, he thought, it was like a gift from Shelyn. Surely she had sent some angel down to perform for them. Smiling, Ivrian looked skyward. Nearby, the captain dropped the knife, and it went skittering down the deck. His haggard face widened in a beatific smile.

  Ivrian found the source of the melody in the three winged forms hovering above the ship. He just had to get closer to them. But how? The mainmast was broken and pointed the wrong way, but it suddenly came to him that there were stairs behind the quarterdeck that led to the stern deck. He started toward them.

  His mother grabbed his arm and shook him. “Snap out of it, Ivrian! Those are harpies! They’re playing with their food!”

  It was the pain that broke the spell, and Ivrian rubbed at the stubble on his face. He heard a horrible scream and whirled around to see that one of the harpies had dropped on the captain, planting one taloned foot on his face as the other tore his jugular. Blood fountained.

  “Gods,” Ivrian whispered again.

  His mother whipped a knife from under her billowing blouse and tossed it in one fluid motion. It drove into the creature’s back, dead between the spot where its wings met.

  “Nice shot!” Ivrian cried.

  The creature screeched in pain and rose in a sweep of beating wings that sent a fetid stench wafting over them. In that dawn light, he saw only her outline, but there was no missing the widening of the creature’s jaw as she swooped down toward his mother.

  Ivrian dashed up the ladder he’d been eyeing. Halfway up he twisted and struck at the harpy, slicing deep through one of her wings. The creature turned, lashing at Ivrian with a whip.

  It missed the hand he gripped the ladder with; he gritted his teeth and leapt out, slicing. He connected with the creature’s thigh, the injury spraying blood.

  But the harpy wasn’t finished with him. He felt the sting of her whip as he dropped away.

  He struck the rain-slick timber, his feet going out from under him. He bumped past the captain lying limply in his remaining ropes and slid on toward the submerged rail visible through the steel-gray water.

  Ivrian released his sword and scrabbled for purchase on the deck, and the weapon clattered beside him so that he now had two further fears: breaking himself on the rail, and cutting himself on the length of
his own sword.

  But the sword bounced on and plunged into the water. He braced himself for impact, feet first.

  Shelyn finally smiled, for as he struck the water his feet didn’t drop between the rail posts but on them. He had a surface to support himself. And as he caught his breath he perceived an overturned boat drifting nearby. A trio of sailors clung desperately to it.

  One looked past him and pointed. Ivrian couldn’t make out the woman’s words over the pounding and warbling and screaming, but the expression on her face was clear enough.

  Ivrian turned in time to see the harpy drop toward his face.

  11

  Farewells

  Mirian

  She choked back a cry of rage as Akimba sagged. Ivrian’s brave slash at the harpy’s wing startled her, but Mirian couldn’t spare that conflict more attention, for a crowd of sailors climbed eagerly toward the rail to greet the closest harpy, charmed by her song and oblivious to the wicked blade she carried.

  As the ship settled, one of the bedazzled sailors lost his balance and fell past Mirian, grinning as though he hadn’t a care in the world. He smashed his head on the hatch through which she’d climbed and then twirled into the water below, vanishing from sight.

  Heltan and Kalina had already started down toward the choppy water, but Jekka scrambled lizard-swift to join the line of crowding sailors.

  Heltan called warning to him, but he didn’t turn back. Could not, Mirian knew, just as she knew Gombe was caught by the same song.

  The harpy glided in, slashing at upraised throats. One by one, the sailors slumped, alternately falling over the side or tumbling down the deck, gurgling and dripping blood.

  Next in line were Gombe and Jekka.

  If Mirian were a real magic-worker, the wand would be more dependable, but her chance of success with the weapon was only fair, and there were no second chances with this. She thrust the wand back in its holster, leapt up, and grabbed two ankles—one Gombe’s, one Jekka’s.

  Precariously as both were balanced, the sudden weight took them out of the line of attack. Gombe slid with her in a heap so that they wedged against the frame of the open hatch. Jekka dropped down, missing the hatch cover by inches, and plunged into the water, his staff clumping along the canted deck in his wake.