5 Eleasias
For days the winds remained steady and sure, guiding us away from the trade routes, through treacherous shoals marked on Mendas' sea-charts, the passage made easier by a small and swift ship to find paths against obstacle. Down in the waves the water lapped at the hull in forms that the eye could turn to imagine nereids dancing, though there were no more spectacular appearances. Faldorn continued to watch the ocean, standing in the bow or where the wind was strongest by the railings, breathing in fresh air. I kept busy, odd-jobbing around the boat, looking over Tellarian's shoulder on occasion whilst he examined the charts.
And yet it was not at all peaceful on board. We were cramped and trapped with each other, impossible to find solitude except high in the rigging or at rare moments; dirty and forced to know the most intimate business of each other. Rumours flew like grains of wheat bursting from an overstuffed sack.
"They say Faer'n ends in a great waterfall, unexpected where it lies in the sea, and it's that where ships are lost," Aatto the cook voiced, looking around nervously while his cleaver flew across the galley, slicing salt beef in a way rather fearful and wonderful to behold.
"Nonsense, man," Captain Halderwin held forth. "Ships can't vanish in holes in the earth. I'd blame the elves sooner."
Viconia smiled at that particular rumour. "The surface darthiiri? I would believe anything of them, of course."
"More like they'd be your sort, if so damned warlike. At least we'd have you for assurance." A drow on board was another thing that had made it difficult; but on board ship we depended on the sailors, and so Viconia was almost polite at times. Sometimes it felt, though, that the most simple of her comments somehow caused later explosions of ill-feeling.
"'Tis island-sized turtles that eat whole ships," Tellarian said, perhaps a shade too gravely. "Sailors believe they are islands when they land upon them to find fruit to eat; and then the turtle rises from the waves only to drown them and eat the ship himself."
Nowell the mate snorted, winding thick rope between his hands. "More like to be a kraken. I swear I saw one rising from the waves while I was third mate on a whaling vessel. Black tentacles bigger than the ship stirring above sea level. We steered out."
"Smoking other black things at the time?" the boatswain said, Mister Lorancs (who preferred the title). Navy blue stripes of a tattoo crossed his back, and his right cheek was badly scratched with a knife scar.
Nowell shot him a dark look. "No. There's things out there in the sea, things that took Balduran, and ye'd be wise to watch aware."
I had heard some of those rumours; had dismissed them as the same marine fairy-tales told to every child. The sea-charts showed a lost isle. For that, the main rumour that could be true was the secret elven nation, and if there was a secret nation they must have let Balduran land within them in the first place...
"Back to work," Captain Halderwin ordered brusquely; trying to keep a semblance of order. There were whispers on the sea-breeze still, in any moment where we were not labouring to maintain the ship. Davroan the carpenter, whispering to Faldorn: Do ye sense any of the ones under the ocean, lass? The great old ones ancient when Toril was newborn that lie dreaming a hundred fathoms deep? Aquerna, twittering on Ajantis' shoulders and eating Faldorn's berries, not watching overboard. Viconia, speaking softly with her body draped across Nowell's back, Is it true, rivvil, that your myths speak of women on board ship as ill fortune? And drow more so?
And they said that Shar was the goddess of loss, I thought. But we neared the goal at a speed ahead of time, no matter the tensions and whispers and the fight that nearly broke out in the open between Ajantis and the cook on where some hardtack had been stored away. (By Imoen, it turned out. So that one was not Viconia's fault.) Even the word mutiny whispered, once or twice; but who to mutiny against? All Halderwin's commands seemed fair and useful to the running of the ship, there were few of us, not all experienced, and all hands needed. The seas drew us closer, although the clearer skies became greyer, and fog lingered on the waves in the dawn. Whispers seemed to echo further in heavy air.
A distant black line was upon the waters. A farglass showed it distant through the grey of fog and cloud, and we knew that Mendas' sea-charts had been true. The isle of Balduran's last voyage was near. Not long until landing; we armed ourselves in advance of it. I took longsword to my side. The line was but a line; still far away as the fog grew, and slipped back to invisibility.
Then the storm broke.
The rain was torrential; as if all the clear weather of before had saved itself for this moment. The pelting felt the size of hen's eggs of water, massed like sling bullets aimed at their targets, like an army of grey spears lancing down from the sky. There was nowhere to escape, and the boat tipped and turned. Captain Halderwin yelled his orders to all of us, all hands on deck. Bail the water and reef the mainsail. Watch the list to starboard. Hold to your posts.
Waves rose up around us and crashed to the deck. For a moment I was drowned; the wave hit so strongly that I was half-stunned, and then it broke, water over the deck running around my feet. Then the captain's voice yelled to keep going, keep working— My hands were numbed and slow. I could hardly see two feet in front of my eyes. Grey and wet everywhere, and there was nowhere to escape the storm. The wind whipped the lower knot of the headsail free; I sought to tie it back to place, but part of the tack ripped away into the gale like a stray seabird, or a pale ghost. One frightened shout was that this was not natural, and there were cries to Umberlee that all the right sacrifices had been made. The ship tilted first to one side and then to the other, like a cork trapped in a vast whirlpool. There was no respite. The wind blew me to my knees in a sudden gust, and then halfway across the deck when the ship moved; I bled, and had to rise and work.
Halderwin was at the wheel; had lashed himself to it. He swore, steering, yelling orders. I saw Shar-Teel pulling back on knotted cords wrapped around her wrists, as a dim shadow though she was only a few feet away; saw a grey shape that had to be Viconia working, sealing down a hatch blown open, binding back tarpaulin. The rain grew stronger, the gale more fierce. Someone yelled to Faldorn to halt it, if she could. Her words back were taken by the wind. Ajantis cried out and I saw a small shape skidding across the deck, Aquerna; I made a dive to catch her before she disappeared into the sea. I tied her into my shirt, fastening cords around her, though there was no time for it in the storm and the desperate need to keep the ship afloat.
Then came a horrible, crashing noise that shook the entire ship; and an awful scraping. Rocks. I heard the cry that the hull was torn. Below decks, water rose more quickly than we could sluice and bail it out. The ship moved and shuddered, and then another scraping of a jagged shoal. Above, wood creaked like the moans of a dying animal. Splinters shrieked and parted; water rushed above my knees, to my waist. I heard the mainmast fall like a tree; and I heard Faldorn scream.
"Abandon ship—to land—" Broken planks flowed around us, caught to float by the eddies of the whirlpool. The ship sank; I heard Faldorn's next cries to Silvanus, to the ocean itself, amidst all the other shouts and orders to cling to spars, to swim in the direction we had glimpsed the isle...
Imoen could swim. I could swim. Shar-Teel could, Ajantis could, Faldorn could. The sailors ought to. As for Viconia...
On deck Shar-Teel supported Faldorn. Imoen leaped from the side of the splintering ship, seeking wood in the water. Viconia was nowhere to be seen. I followed Imoen; a wave struck my head, and I should have unbuckled the belt that weighed me down and dragged me to the bottom of the ocean. But there was water through my mouth and eyes, blinding and deafening me; and the sea below pushed and pulled so that holding splintered fingers to the broken spar seemed like the most important thing in the world. Aquerna's head was at my collar, rising up above my chin, moving against me. I felt her desperate breath and did the same, kicking forward while a bit of welcome air flowed into burning lungs; and then a wave washed over my head again, and beyond that I remembered nothing.
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Nothing but work, work, work while ignorant commoners slacked, Edwin thought.
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