Heart of Black Ice

CHAPTER 25

The three serpent ships cruised down the Killraven River past sluggish side channels and wide marshes. When a heavy breeze stretched the blue sails, the Norukai shipped the oars and let their captives sprawl on deck, tied in place.

After being confined for so long in the hot and stinking hold, Bannon relished the small joy of open air. His skin was caked with sweat, dried fish slime, and blood. His pale skin burned easily under the sun, and his body was mottled with bruises.

King Grieve strode along the deck to remind the slaves of his intimidating presence. Bannon hated everything about the man—the chain around his waist, the iron plates on his knuckles, the implanted spines in his shoulders, the awful gash that sliced his mouth to the back of his head.

Chalk followed the king like a loyal dog, jabbering, grinning. “My Grieve, King Grieve, you’ll all grieve!” The king seemed comforted by the shaman’s presence, as if he were a pet.

The big captive Erik sat beside Bannon, his knees drawn up to his broad shoulders, his head hung. Though Bannon had tried to keep him strong, the large man remained in a daze of grief, walling himself off, as if to commune with the spirits of his slaughtered family. Bannon tried talking with the sullen captive, but rarely earned a response.

Several Norukai ran excitedly to the stern of the ship, looking down into the muddy river. “Get us hooks,” one man cried. “Spears with ropes!”

Trying to see what they were doing, Bannon tugged against his bindings, but each movement made him wince. More Norukai rushed to the rail with boat hooks, harpoons, weighted nets. Leaning over the side, they took turns hurling weapons into the water, as if it were some kind of sports contest.

Drawn to the frenetic activity, Chalk pressed among the larger warriors, elbowing through so he could peer down. “Ah, fish! Big fish, monster fish! Fish monsters.”

“Get a hook in their gills,” Gara called down.

Another Norukai groaned, “That one’s dead now, but we’re drifting too fast down the channel. The damned thing is slipping away!”

“Drop anchor,” King Grieve shouted. “It’s worth the stop. That’ll be enough food to get us back home.”

Chains rattled through slots as heavy anchor stones dropped into the river, sinking to the mud. Two other raiders climbed the mast and rolled up the sails, tying them to the yardarm. The other two serpent ships dropped anchor as well.

“Channel catfish,” said oar master Bosko as he let out a loud burst of smelly gas. “We’ll have a feast, by the serpent god!”

They jabbed hooks and spears into the water, then hauled on the ropes. It took three straining Norukai to pull up the first flopping body.

Though Bannon had lived on Chiriya Island, where fishermen brought back their daily catches, he had never seen such a huge fish before. Groaning and laughing, the Norukai heaved the beast over the rail and dropped it onto the deck with a loud thud. The catfish’s body was as long as a canoe, its crescent-moon mouth gaping, the wide-set eyes small, dark, and stupid. Long whiskers were like barbed tentacles. Watery brown blood oozed from the wounds made by barbed hooks and serrated harpoons.

Chalk could barely contain his excitement as he squatted in front of the creature. He touched the slime that covered the catfish’s body and danced back, holding up his finger and licking it. The dying catfish twitched and thrashed, and the albino shaman skittered away from the sharp spines on its fins.

“Fish bite, fish nibble,” he said, poking the countless small scars that covered his body. He grinned at Bannon as if the two were having a private conversation. “Stay away from the fish.”

The Norukai threw more harpoons into the river and pulled up a second enormous fish. Before long, the mood on the ship brightened as the Norukai hauled a third monster fish onto the deck, and they fell upon the creatures with their knives, sawing through the scaly hides to pull out the entrails. The catfish oozed puddles of slime on the deck. One Norukai man received a deep cut from a thrashing spine, and he retaliated by using his battle hammer to batter the fish’s head into pulp.

Bannon felt queasy with the stench of the slime and blood, but Grieve regarded the mess with pride. He raised his heavy war axe and with a single stoke cut halfway through the catfish’s neck. The whiplike whiskers continued to twitch.

Grieve hacked twice more until the head rolled loose, and Chalk clucked his tongue in disappointment. “The axe cleaves the wood, the sword cleaves the bone! And King Grieve cuts the fish, monster fish. Fish monsters.”

“Did you predict we would have a feast, Chalk?” Grieve asked.

The albino dropped to his knees and thrust his hands into the open cavity from which the guts had already been removed. “I predict … dinner!”

The Norukai made swift work, peeling off the tough skin, cutting up the pinkish meat. They were happy to eat the fish raw, and Grieve took a hunk for himself, chewing with his wide-hinged jaws. Before long, the three enormous carcasses were stripped down to the bones, and men heaved the skeletons overboard into the river.

Once he had stuffed himself, Grieve became magnanimous. “Let the slaves feast, too, so they have more energy to work.”

The Norukai threw piles of the slick red intestines and frilled gill membranes onto the tied captives. The stinking slime crawled down Bannon’s chest, but his stomach growled. The raiders hadn’t fed him all day.

A flare of anger ran through him. In the past, he sometimes lost control and flew into a fighting frenzy, a reckless wild man with no thought for his own safety. He controlled himself now, knowing that foolish resistance would only get him killed. He would rather kill them.

He strained at the ropes around his wrists and grabbed a fleshy blob of organ meat. He chewed, tasting the muddy burst in his mouth, but he grimaced and swallowed.

Chalk squatted next to Bannon, munching handfuls of raw meat. “Revenge on the fish! Fish tried to eat me, and now I eat the fish.”

Bannon again noted the pockmarks on his skin. “What really happened to you? Why do you have all those scars?”

“Fish nibbled me,” Chalk said. “Wish the fish! Wish the fish! King Stern didn’t like me. He threw me in a pool of razorfish, and they almost ate me, but Grieve pulled me out. He saved me, took me to a healer. My Grieve, King Grieve, you’ll all grieve!”

Bannon tried to piece together the shaman’s ordeal from his patchwork words. Chalk had been sacrificed to a pool of carnivorous fish—because he was an albino? because he was odd?—and the fish had torn his skin to shreds before he was rescued? No wonder he was so loyal to Grieve.

The thought of what had happened twisted Bannon’s stomach, even eliciting an odd sympathy for the scarred and mentally disturbed man. Considering all the Norukai had done to him, Bannon chastised himself for feeling sorry for Chalk, but the pale man had an odd longing in his eyes.

The shaman glanced over his shoulder to the bow, where the king stood. “Nibble, nibble, nibble! Fish will nibble me still. Eat my flesh and bones when I die.” Chalk jammed more raw flesh into his mouth. “Now I eat the fish. Which ones will eat me, I wonder.…”

Bannon ate as much of the catfish entrails as he could stand. Next to him, Erik sluggishly chewed a mouthful, but he looked sick. Trying to encourage his friend, he forced himself to set a good example and eat a little more. Erik didn’t seem to notice.

Impatient, the king bellowed out, “Enough wasted time. Set the sails and raise anchor. Soon, we’ll reach the estuary and the open sea. We have a war to fight.”

As the serpent ships got underway again, Grieve grimaced at the slime and blood pooled across the deck. “Have the slaves clean this up. They need to earn the feast we just gave them.”

“Scrub!” The shipwright Gara handed Bannon a bucket and bristle brush. She raised a threatening fist. “Scrub to make you strong enough for fighting.”

Bannon knew he would be strong enough to kill any Norukai who gave him the chance. As the serpent ships sailed on, he and the other slaves got to work.