Death's Mistress

CHAPTER 12

The crew stared from the dissipating bloom of blood in the water to the shreds of flopping intestines that dangled from the loop of woven belt. Captain Eli shouted for the sailors to set the sails and weigh anchor as clouds gathered in the dusk. Although the Wavewalker was in warm latitudes, far to the south of Tanimura, the wind seemed to carry a chill of death.

Nimble sailors scrambled out on the yardarms to untie the ropes, while others pulled on the halyards and stretched the canvas. The ship moved away from the reefs, slinking like a whipped dog, while the navigator pushed hard on the rudder and the lookouts guided the course to keep from scraping the dangerous rocks.

The captain called in a hoarse voice, “We’ve already lost two men today. I do not wish to lose more.”

Catching the wind, the ship retreated from the angry line of reefs and reached open water again. As full night fell, clouds obscured the stars, which mattered little since the captain could not navigate by the unfamiliar night sky anyway. He simply wanted to put distance between their ship and the reefs.

Although the crew was superstitious about deadly sea monsters, Nicci simply assumed that some shark or other aquatic predator had attacked Pell and Buna in the reefs. Nevertheless, she remained alert for danger. An ominous mood surrounded the crew like a cold and suffocating mist. After several hours, the blame the three surly wishpearl divers cast on Nicci took hold like an infection among the jittery sailors, and they all looked at her with fear. She did nothing to dispel their concerns. At least they left her alone.

The Wavewalker sailed for three more days, and the weather worsened, like an overripe fruit slowly spoiling. Troubled, the captain emerged from his chart room to stare at the clotted gray skies and the uneasy froth-capped waves. He spoke to Nicci as if she were his confidante. “With a full chest of wishpearls harvested, this voyage has been very profitable, despite the cost in blood. Every captain knows he might lose a crewman or two, though I doubt those divers will ever sail with me again.”

Nicci gave the man a pragmatic look. “You’ll find others. Where are they trained? One of the coastal cities? An island?”

“Serrimundi. Wishpearl divers are revered among their people.”

“I noticed the arrogance.”

“It won’t be easy to replace them.” The captain sighed. “Those three will talk once we get back to a port city.”

“Then invest your new fortune wisely,” Nicci said. “Those pearls in your hold may be the last you ever harvest.” The single pearl Bannon had given her was tucked away in a fold pocket of her black dress.

When the watch changed, a lookout climbed down from the high platform, and another scrambled up the ratlines to take his place. Nathan joined Nicci and the captain on the deck as the windblown, deeply tanned lookout approached. “The clouds look angry, Captain. You can smell a storm on the wind.”

Captain Eli nodded. “We may have to batten down for a rough night.”

“Are there more reefs to worry about ahead?” Nathan asked. “Will we run aground? It would be much harder to find Kol Adair if we’re stranded out on a reef somewhere.”

“Yes, I’m sure it would be quite inconvenient all around.” The captain sucked on his unlit pipe and pressed a hand on his cap to keep the wind from snatching it away. “We are in open water. No reefs that I know of.” The sailor nodded and went back to his duties.

When the other man was gone, Nicci lowered her voice. “You said that your charts were no longer accurate and you weren’t exactly sure where we were.”

Captain Eli’s expression was distant. “True, but I don’t think reefs appear out of nowhere.”

As the blustery wind increased, the anxious crew performed only the most important chores. The potbellied cook came up with a bucket of frothy milk, fresh from the cow kept tied below. “She doesn’t like the rocking of the waves,” he said. “Next time the milk may be curdled when it comes out of her teats.”

“Then we’ll have fresh cheese.” Captain Eli took a ladle of the proffered milk.

Nicci declined, but the wizard was happy to taste it. He smacked his lips after he drank. The cook offered milk to the surly wishpearl divers, but they scowled at the bucket, focusing their glares on Nicci.

“She might have poisoned it,” said Rom.

Hearing this, Nicci decided to drink from the ladle after all.

As the wind whistled through the rigging and the hours dragged on, Nathan suggested that he and Bannon practice their swordplay on deck. The clang of steel rang out in a flurry as the two pranced back and forth, dodging coiled ropes and open rain barrels that had been set out to collect fresh water in anticipation of the imminent storm.

Bannon had gotten noticeably better as a swordsman. He had a reckless energy that served to counteract his gracelessness, and Sturdy lived up to its name, receiving and deflecting blow after blow from Nathan’s much finer blade. For a while, the performance distracted the uneasy crewmen from their gloom.

By the time the young man and the wizard were both exhausted, the afternoon clouds were so thick with the oncoming storm that Nicci couldn’t even see the sunset on the open water. Instead, she merely watched the daylight die.

“Will you show me some magic?” Bannon suggested to Nathan, climbing up on a crate that was too high to serve as a comfortable chair.

“Why would I show you magic?” Nathan asked.

“Because you’re a wizard, aren’t you? Wizards do magic tricks.”

“Wizards use magic. Performing monkeys do tricks.” Nathan raised his thick eyebrows. “Ask the sorceress. Maybe she’ll perform a trick for you.”

Bannon glanced over at Nicci, swallowed hard, then turned back. “I’ve already seen her magic. I know what she can do.”

“You know some of what I can do,” said Nicci.

The carrack rocked back and forth in the rough seas, rising on the swells, then dropping into the troughs. Though most of the Wavewalker’s crew had iron stomachs, some sailors bent over the rail and retched into the open ocean. The masts creaked and groaned; the sails rippled and flapped.

Captain Eli stood with hands on hips and his woolen jacket secured with silver buttons across his chest. “Trim the sails! The wind is getting stronger, and we don’t need any torn canvas.”

Above, the lookout had strapped himself to the mast to keep from being flung overboard when the ship lurched.

With an exaggerated sigh, Nathan acceded to Bannon’s request for a demonstration of magic, even though the young man had not continued to pester him. “All right, watch this, my boy.” The wizard knelt down, smoothed the ruffles of his fine travel shirt, and briskly rubbed his palms together as if to warm them up. “This is just a small hand light, a flame we could use to ignite a fire or illuminate our way.”

“I use sulfur matches, or flint and steel,” Bannon said.

“Then you have magic of your own. You don’t need to see mine.”

“No, I want to see it!” He leaned closer, his eyes bright. “Make fire. Show me.”

Nathan cupped his hands to form a bowl. His brow wrinkled, and he stared into the air, concentrating until a glimmer of light appeared. The wisp of flame curled up and wavered, but when a gust of wind whipped across the deck, the hand fire flickered, then went out. Nathan could not sustain it.

The wizard looked completely baffled. Nicci had seen him create blazing balls of fire before with barely a glance, not to mention far more horrific wizard’s fire that caused great destruction. As if incensed, he concentrated again, then scowled when only a tiny thread of fire appeared, which was again extinguished by the breezes.

“Is it supposed to be that difficult?” Bannon asked.

“I’m not feeling at all well, my boy,” he said, in an obvious, awkward excuse. “Magic requires concentration, and my mind is troubled. Besides, there’s too much wind for a proper demonstration.”

Bannon looked disappointed. “I wasn’t aware that wizards could use magic only under ideal conditions. You told me I had to be ready to fight with my sword, no matter my mood.”

“What do you know of wizards?” Nathan snapped. “Your sulfur matches couldn’t light a fire in a situation like this either.”

Stung, Bannon conceded.

In a more apologetic voice, Nathan said, “It isn’t you, my boy. My Han seems to be … troubled. I’m not entirely sure what to do about it.”

“Your Han?”

“It is what we call the force of magic, the force of life within us, particularly within a wizard. The Han manifests differently in different people. My Han was intertwined with prophecy as well as the ability to use magic, but now that’s all untangled. I’m certain I’ll get it sorted out.”

“Are you sure you’re not just seasick?” Bannon asked, with a teasing lilt in his voice.

“Maybe that’s exactly it,” Nathan said.

Disturbed by what she had seen, Nicci wondered what might be bothering the wizard. Nathan had lost his gift of prophecy with the shift in the world, but his core magic should have remained unaffected. Still, a fire spell was supposed to be quite simple.

“I’m retiring to my cabin.” Nathan turned away, trying to keep his dignity and balance on the rocking deck. “If I am hungry, I may go to the galley for supper when it’s ready.”

Nicci decided to take shelter in her own cabin as well. She didn’t want to distract the superstitious sailors by staying out in the worsening weather.

* * *

Despite the sorceress’s cold beauty, Sol had known that she was evil and dangerous from the moment he first saw her. His companions noticed only Nicci’s shapely figure, her long blond hair, and a face even more attractive than carvings of the Sea Mother.

When stuck alone on a ship, long at sea, sailors tended to lower their standards of beauty, but there was no denying that this Death’s Mistress was more beautiful than the most expensive whore in the cleanest brothel in Serrimundi. And Nicci was right here for the taking. Whenever the woman flaunted herself on deck, her black dress clung to her curves and rippled around her in the breezes, tightening against her full breasts. Sol imagined the breasts would be soft and pliable, just waiting to be squeezed. He tried to picture her nipples, wondering whether they were dark or pale pink, whether she would gasp if he pinched them.

The other two divers wanted to lay claim to her, but Sol was their leader, and he would have to be first. Their two comrades were dead, and the survivors deserved something. The sorceress owed them all a few rounds of gasping, squirming pleasure. In fact, she owed them the lives of their murdered friends, Pell and Buna. She had somehow used her magic to summon underwater monsters to kill them. Nicci had taunted the divers for days, rebuffed their attentions, insulted them—and now two of his comrades were dead. It was her fault.

Back home in Serrimundi, Sol and his fellow wishpearl divers were treated as heroes. From the time he was a young boy, his parents had taught him to dive deep, and then they had sold him to a mentor for a portion of Sol’s pearl harvest over the next five years. The mentor had trained him—and such training consisted of him trying to drown young Sol over and over, tying heavy weights to his ankles, sinking him to the bottom of a deep lagoon and counting out minutes. The mentor did not pull any of the apprentice divers back into blessed air until he decided they had been down there long enough. Over a third of the trainees came up dead, their lungs filled with water, their eyes bulging, their mouths open and slack.

Sol himself had drowned once, but he had coughed up the water and come back to life. That was when he knew he would be a wishpearl diver. He could have any Serrimundi woman he wanted, and he usually did. His lovers all expected wishpearls as gifts, which he freely gave. Sol could always find more.

Out in the southern reefs, the supply of folded-hand shells seemed inexhaustible, but Captain Corwin paid him in more than wishpearls. It was a lucrative arrangement, giving Sol and his companions power and status whenever they returned to port.

But Pell and Buna would not be coming back home. Because of Nicci. The aloof sorceress thought that she was untouchable, that she would not be held to account for killing his friends, but the Sea Mother demanded justice, and Sol knew how to deliver it.

After he whispered his plan to Elgin and Rom, the three met on deck where the sailors had piled discarded wishpearl shells. Most had already been thrown overboard, but these last few remained, unnoticed after the disaster and the rapid escape from the reefs.

Now, the divers used their knives to pry loose the inedible and worthless meat inside, but Sol knew more about these particular shells. A gland inside the flesh of the shellfish contained a toxin—a poison potent enough to incapacitate even a sorceress.

The three men worked quickly to gather the extract, because the cook would soon be preparing supper.

* * *

Bannon had first watch in the thickening night, and he was nervous. On Chiriya he had seen many terrible storms roar across the ocean, hurricane-force winds that whipped the flat island and tore the roofs off of houses. Fishing boats in the coves had to be tied securely or dragged to safety up on the shore.

He had never been through a storm at sea, but he could smell danger in the air. Sharp bursts of breezes tried to rip the breath from his lungs. He didn’t like the look of the clouds or the feel of the winds.

The off-duty sailors had gone belowdecks to play games in the lantern-lit gloom. Some men swung in their hammocks, trying to sleep as the Wavewalker lurched from side to side; others puked into buckets, which they emptied out the open ports.

Bannon was startled when three shapes loomed up beside him on the deck, lean men who stood shirtless even in the blowing wind and pelting droplets of cold rain. Sol, the leader of the wishpearl divers, held a pot covered with a wooden lid. “The cook is finished serving supper.”

Though he was queasy from the rocking deck, Bannon’s mouth watered. He hadn’t eaten all day. “Is that for me?”

Rom scowled at him. “No, you’ll get your own meal when your watch is over. But the cook wanted to make sure the sorceress ate.”

Bannon frowned. “He’s never done that before.”

“We’ve never had a storm like this before,” Elgin said. “Best for the two passengers to stay in their cabins. If the fools walk around in the rain and wind, they might fall overboard, and the captain wants to be sure they pay him a bonus when we get into port.”

Bannon nodded. That made sense.

“We already delivered a meal to the wizard, but the sorceress…” Sol looked away, as if in shame. “She knows we’ve been unkind to her, insulted her.” He thrust the pot into Bannon’s hands. “Better if you deliver dinner personally.”

Rom nodded. “Yes, it would be awkward if the three of us did it.”

“Awkward,” Elgin agreed.

Bannon was skeptical. He’d never seen the wishpearl divers run errands for the cook before. But most of the sailors were belowdecks, after all. And the divers rarely did any work, so he was glad to see them cooperate. Maybe the deaths of their comrades had given them a change of heart.

Besides, Bannon was glad for the opportunity to bring Nicci her dinner. “I’ll take it,” he said.