Sunmaster, p.21
Sunmaster, page 21
"No one taught us," Lorens shouted when no one on the Waifia made a motion to allow him on board. "Rasim knows there have been factions experimenting with witchery. My mother routed a few of them out and put them to sea with us so we could help defend Ilyara!"
"How do they even know Ilyara is in danger?" Rasim called back. "We haven't been out of the plains long enough for you to go home and tell her!"
"Rasim." Their ships finally drifted close enough that they could speak almost normally. "Witchery pulled Moran apart. Do you think the world waits on you telling it what's going on? Mother's fleet met us in the North Sea so we could sail south and support Ilyara." His breath spun out on the wind, cold air carrying it into nothing. "I'm sorry about the Waifia. We honestly had no idea someone was out there. You're going the wrong direction to reach home. You should be halfway to Ilyara by now, not out near the Islands."
Nasira shivered and glared momentarily at Pynda, as if it was her fault she wasn't keeping them warm, although the sun journeyman couldn't do much with open air unless she wanted to actually set the deck on fire. "We had business to attend to."
"More important business than warning Ilyara a war is coming to its doorstep?" Lorens sounded genuinely astonished, but Nasira shrugged.
"You just pointed out that the world doesn't wait on the Waifia carrying news to it. King Taishm has his spies, like any monarch does."
That was probably true, but really hadn't occurred to Rasim until he heard the adults talking about it. Nasira had been eager—desperate, even—to return to Ilyara and warn Taishm, but of course someone else would have brought the news by now. Their real reason to get home quickly was to fight on Ilyara's behalf. To protect it from the sea, in case war came from that direction. Rasim shivered, wrapping his arms around himself, and frowned at the Northern prince. He had a whole fleet of warships, the one he was on sparkling as sunlight bounced off wet boards. They might be coming to help Ilyara, after all. In which case he'd been wrong to send them to the Islands. He'd put them in the position of getting the Waifia nearly sunk.
He was tired of making mistakes. Maybe even tired of making decisions, and definitely tired of trying to get people to listen to him. Or of succeeding in making them listen to him. That was even worse. Lorens, his voice cajoling, like he hoped Nasira would tell him everything, said, "Still, it must have been important business.
"It was," the captain said coolly. Almost as coldly as the air, which hadn't been this chilly before the Waifia had gone below. It was well into spring now, moving toward summer, even in the northern bits of the Western Sea. They'd been underwater a long time, but afternoon sunlight, warm afternoon sunlight, bounced off Lorens's ship again, catching in glittering spots. The air should be warmer. It had been warmer, a few hours earlier. They hadn't brought the Waifia that far north.
Rasim, feeling thick and slow, said, "There's something wrong," in a low voice.
Desimi got to his feet, offering Kisia a hand, as Rasim stared across the distance at Lorens's ship. He had seen something like what was happening to it when he'd been in the North. He'd sat for a long time at a window on a cold morning, watching frost creep from a lead-lined corner toward the center of the pane. It had grown by bits, blooming shapes reaching outward, and if he leaned down to breathe against the cold glass, his breath made similar never-ending patterns as it chilled.
Something like that spread over the Northern ship's tarred planks. It caught the light differently, duller than the frosty glass because wood and tar were darker, but it wasn't water that made the light change. It was ice, infinitely small bright crystals that didn't belong anywhere near salt water this warm, this late in the season. The air wasn't cold because they'd been submerged so long and were suffering from the first stages of the mortal chill. It was witchery, witchery that only the most powerful Ilyaran sea witches could command, but which had once belonged to Northern witches as a matter of course.
"Captain," Rasim said, much more urgently this time, "something is wrong."
Lorens snarled a command in a growling breath, and ice exploded through the Waifia.
CHAPTER 25
The ship wasn't a living thing, but Rasim felt it die in that moment. Boards that he hadn't thought were waterlogged burst apart as ice expanded through them. The keel, already damaged, shattered under the strain, and thick slushy salted ice slopped over the rail as the Waifia lurched abruptly downward.
Lorens's longship moved away in a quick, smooth surge of oars as the Ilyaran flagship floundered. Desimi roared frustration, and for a moment a fist of water rose around the Northern ship, grabbing at it like it would pull the longship down. But the Waifia foundered, lurching deeper, and Desimi let vengeance go in favor of helping to keep their ship from sinking, as all the witches aboard were trying to do. Without discussing it, the crew brought up water from the deep. It was cold, but it broke up the slush surrounding the ship.
Too late, though. The upper deck was collapsing beneath their feet, ice particles melting but their job already done. The Waifia's bones creaked and screamed as they fell apart. Sesin burst up from below, dragging a half-dressed Hassin with Endat's assistance. Amidst the chaos of the hopeless task of trying to keep the ship in one piece, Nasira noticed them and her face contorted with fear. "Somebody help them."
Rasim ran for the struggling trio, but someone else was there before him, so he turned back to Nasira.
She stood frozen, incalculable loss etched on her features as the Waifia broke into pieces around her. It was sinking slowly, given the damage it had taken—burst and broken planks everywhere, the masts shattered, water sluicing into the rowboats. Desimi was in one of those, inspecting it for soundness. Everyone besides the captain was in motion, less trying to sustain the dying ship than salvage what they would need to survive.
Then Nasira put away her mourning and she, too, threw herself into action, quick quiet orders cutting through the panic and helping to settle the crew into their duties. Seamaster ships didn't often sink, but it would be a very stupid sailor indeed who didn't train and prepare for the possibility. Desimi shouted that the shoreboat was safe, and jumped into another one to inspect it.
Lorens's voice sounded unexpectedly in Rasim's ear, oddly gentle in the chaos. "I am sorry, Rasim. I liked you. But gods above, you are an endless source of trouble, and we cannot afford your clever, disruptive mind in the middle of all this. I hope your goddess is kind to you when you sleep."
Rasim's gaze whipped toward the retreating Northern ship, finding Lorens standing at the prow. A smaller cloaked figure stood at his side, semi-familiar witchery dancing around her. A sky witch, but not Ilyaran, Rasim thought. Maybe Shenryalan, or maybe it was just that any witchery that wasn't Ilyaran had that same slightly foreign feeling to it, to him. He shaped sky magic himself, his voice hoarse as he asked, "Did you kill Missio?"
Even at the distance, he saw surprise filter across the prince's face before he shrugged. "I gave her the delzjha. I couldn't let her tell you that. It's a war, Rasim. People die in wars."
Blind fury rose in Rasim and turned into a surge of witchery that felt like it would empty the ocean. He thought that would be fine, as long as it took Lorens down with it. The sea around them turned violent, knocking the Waifia about as hard as it did the Northern ship, and almost instantly, somebody closed their hands on his arms, yanking him around. "Enough!"
Rasim's vision swam back to focus to find the captain right in his face. "If you don't use that power to help keep us alive, I will forgo Siliaria's embrace and dedicate the rest of eternity to making your eternity miserable," Nasira snarled.
"But he—"
"I don't care, Journeyman!" the captain roared. "I! Don't! Care! Not now! Now, help us live!" She released him, almost with a shove, and as he staggered back, Rasim thought of the stonemaster Cindu.
Emotion, not exactly guilt, spread through Rasim. He didn't want to understand the hurt and rage and power that had allowed Cindu to pull down Moran's sea walls, but the truth was, he did. It was easy to give in to grief and anger when he had the strength to make his enemies pay for their actions.
The difference, Rasim hoped, was that he was mostly glad Nasira had stopped him, but Cindu had finished the job in Moran when given the chance. Stomach clenched, Rasim turned away from memories of the stone witch and shaped a little skymastery to say, "Can you keep the Northern sky witch from hearing us?" to Arrat.
Arrat shot him a look, but nodded, and Rasim felt the air around them change a little. He said, "Don't put the shoreboats down yet," to Nasira, who gave him as sharp a look as the Skymaster had. "I don't think Lorens will stick around to watch us drown, but it'd be better if he didn't know we had seaworthy boats."
Nasira set her teeth together and closed her eyes, just for a moment. "How you can go from enraged to tactical in three heartbeats…"
"I haven't stopped being angry," Rasim assured her very quietly. He wasn't sure he would ever stop being angry, just then. The captain nodded and called out to Desimi and others inspecting the shoreboats to hold off, then, after a glance at Rasim, suggested they pretend the remaining boats weren't sound.
The handful in the shoreboats exchanged baffled looks and somebody muttered, "One of them isn't," before Desimi yelled, "It's probably Sunburn's idea," and brief grins flashed among them. A moment later one of them came on board, shaking her head, and Nasira allowed herself a weary slump. They were all good performers, Rasim thought. Really good, given that they were acting in a life or death situation.
Wind caught in the longship's sail and it gave the Waifia a wide berth as it sped to catch up with its remaining fleet. Somebody muttered, "At least they're still afraid of us," and a hard laugh ran through the crew.
"They don't want to risk getting caught in the vortex when she goes down," Nasira said softly. "And they don't know how far our witchery extends, probably."
A stillness washed over the crew, everyone looking after the fleeing warship. Rasim knew he was gauging whether they could take it down, at the ever-increasing distance, and supposed the rest of them were, too.
They could. Without question, they could. But it would be a self-sacrificing last stand, and none of them quite believed they wouldn't make it out of this, if they conserved their witchery and worked together. "It's hard to drown a sea witch," Rasim said aloud, and this time a growl rolled through the crew.
"Spite is a great motivator." Kisia crawled through an ice-dripping pile of wreckage, dragging a canvas of hard tack and dried meat. "I don't think it was spite that made me join the guild, but I'm not sure it wasn't."
"We'll spit in their eye," Nasira promised. "Lower the port side shoreboats, Desimi. Get the food into them, Kisia. We don't have much time left." The Waifia was shuddering, huge wracking trembles like it, too, suffered from the mortal chill. It shouldn't have been too difficult to keep it afloat, even still, but everyone was tired. Submerging it, 'sailing' it beneath the water, losing heat to the immersion…any one of those things might have been enough to work through, but even Desimi was spluttering at the edges of his power. The Waifia was lost. Saving the crew mattered now.
Sesin took Hassin and Endat into the first shoreboat. Pynda went next, with Arrat following somewhat reluctantly. "Don't be stupid," Nasira said as the Skymaster hesitated. "Even tired, most of us can keep ourselves alive in the water for a while. You," she said with a sharp look down at Hassin, who simultaneously looked less awful than he had, and also terrible, "are among the most vulnerable right now. You go in the shoreboats first. Everyone who's not a sea witch goes in first."
The last unbroken shoreboat hit the water minutes later, more because the Waifia lurched deeper than because the crew intentionally lowered it. By then nearly everyone was in the boats, with Nasira still on deck watching her crew get to safety. The smaller boats were full, and riding too low in the water. The loss of even one shoreboat might mean the loss of a quarter of the crew. The people remaining on the Waifia exchanged brief glances, then cast the last, broken-bottomed shoreboat into the water, too. Someone grabbed floating planks and tucked them into the bottom of the boat, obviously with the plan to repair the holes as soon as they were safely away from the Waifia, and the last of the crew climbed into the boat, using witchery to keep it afloat.
"Loose ropes between you," Nasira commanded from above. "Make a web so we don't lose each other to drifting even if we all fall asleep at once."
Dressin called, "We wouldn't dare, Captain. You'd keelhaul us all," and got a low chuckle from the escaping crew. But they did toss ropes from one boat to another, tying them loosely together, before Nasira nodded.
"Cast off. I'll watch from above until I can't anymore, then join you."
Panic shot through Rasim's heart. He believed the captain, but the downward draft of a huge sinking ship was a lot to fight against, even for a master sea witch. Especially for a tired one. He drew breath, but it was Hassin who said, "Don't leave it too long, Nasira."
The captain's gaze softened a bit as she glanced toward the weary first mate. "I won't. You're ready enough for a captaincy, my friend, but it wouldn't be kind to leave you with this one, like this, now. Cast off," she repeated, and with a surge of quiet witchery, the entangled shoreboats did.
Not one of the crew looked to where they were going, though. They all kept their gazes to the aft, watching the Waifia as she foundered farther into the deep. Then, without warning, a huge column of water slammed upward, smashing through her already-weakened keel and rendering one deck after another into a rain of splinters. Water fell back down in thunderous rain, bringing the Waifia lower yet as Nasira scuttled her rather than let her die slowly on her own.
A soprano sprang up on one of the shoreboats, wavering as it began the tune that the guild sang to send its members into Siliaria's arms. Within a breath, others joined in, first the highest tones, then, with each new line, deeper voices, and deeper still, until even Sunmaster Endat's bass could be heard, rumbling low across the water as they said goodbye to the flagship.
Nasira walked, walked, away from the wreckage, walked across the shifting surface of the sea with such finely controlled witchery that that, too, made Rasim's throat tighten and tears spill down his cheeks. It cost her: he could see it in the cords in her throat and the ashen color of her skin. She would pay for the power she used, but in the moment it was a gift, a kind of final defiance for her ship, a promise that they would do the impossible to survive as the Waifia disappeared in a foaming rush of bubbles behind her.
She joined the emptiest of the shoreboats, and of all of the witches on the sea, Nasira al Ilialio did not look back.
CHAPTER 26
For a long time, no one spoke. There were tears and bouts of sobbing, and some people, utterly shattered, simply fell asleep, unable to fight exhaustion that had taken both a physical and emotional toll any longer. When they'd drifted far enough away from the wreckage, someone went into the water, repairing the bottom of Nasira's boat. When that work was done, the boats were drawn close together so people could move from the over-loaded ones into the emptier one. No one said anything as they moved, and no one used witchery to make it easier. Rasim wasn't sure they could.
Once the weight was better distributed among the four shoreboats, people huddled together for warmth and went to sleep. Rasim couldn't blame them, but his own exhaustion buzzed with a line of stress that wouldn't let him rest. They still had to survive an empty sea, and find their way home again. A crew of displaced sea witches had a far better chance of surviving than almost anyone else. They could purify water, and fish for food effortlessly once some of the exhaustion had faded. But they were still a hundred miles or more from the nearest Island shores, and this early in spring, the weather could turn at any time.
Captain Nasira looked dreadful, like she'd gotten twenty years older in the hours since the Waifia had sunk. She sat painfully straight, shoulders squared, jaw tight and lifted. Her gaze was fixed forward, like she didn't dare think about what lay behind them. Like she could will them all to safety, which, after resting, she might be able to do. Rasim, mindful of the mostly-sleeping crew, murmured, "Captain."
He didn't use sky witchery, so he was a little surprised when she turned her head just enough to indicate she'd heard him. But then he didn't know what to say, and embarrassed guilt flooded him. He thought she would be angry if he said he was sorry, even if it was his own stupid idea that had brought them within range of Lorens's lightning witches.
He thought she would be even angrier if he said it wasn't her fault. So he sat in confused silence, glad he'd spoken but wishing he knew what to say next. After a while, Nasira turned her head toward him just that much more, and said, "Sleep, Rasim," in an unexpectedly gentle voice. "Let me…"
There were a lot of words he thought she might use next. Mourn, lead, save, help, something that he couldn't choose for her. She finished with, "think," though. "Let me think."
He managed a fragile smile. "That's supposed to be my job."
Nasira actually looked at him. She didn't quite laugh, but her eyes brightened and her mouth twisted in wry amusement. "Let me know if you come up with a good idea while you sleep, then, Journeyman."
Rasim whispered, "My ideas are usually awful," but, because his captain told him to, he closed his eyes and tried to rest, at least.
He didn't think he would, but time jumped forward: the sky had been bright with afternoon when he closed his eyes, and the cold woke him as the sun fell beneath the horizon and the air grew chillier. A glance at the stars told him they were off course for reaching the Islands, but they could correct for it, since they certainly weren't going home to Ilyara in a handful of rowboats.
A lot of other people were awake now, too, their voices quiet murmurs over the ocean's surface. There wasn't much wind, and the water was smooth, which Rasim was grateful for. Someone in his hearing said, "Red sky at night," clearly enough to be understood, and a murmur of faintly amused relief ran through the crew at the sailor's adage. Red sky at night, sailor's delight: it meant the calm weather was likely to continue.
