Blood Storm: The Books of Blood and Iron (19 page)

This was what bothered Talfi the most. Danr and Aisa
hadn’t noticed, but Talfi had done the math. He unfolded a piece of paper with numbers scrawled on it, numbers in his own handwriting. It had started off as idle scribbling, a way to keep his mind busy down here in the cabin, and then his hand took over by itself. Given a six-ounce cup, a tank that was seven feet high, seven feet wide, and four feet deep, and a slow-walking golem that took two minutes to make a round trip between the well and the tank, it would take the golem approximately two thousand nine hundred and thirty-two minutes to fill the tank, less time to send the bucket down and refill it. That was barely over two days, not the four Hector Obsidia said it would take. Without a miracle, Ranadar would be dead by the time they got back, and likely Kalessa, too.

In the image, Ranadar’s wrists were growing red and raw from the iron shackles, while he, Talfi, sat in dry comfort aboard this ship. He felt like a lion in a cage with a golem for his guard.

Another cup of water went into the tank.

•   •   •

At the bow, Aisa stared and stared at Ynara the mermaid. The whale she rode looked large and clumsy, but it glided through the water, easily outpacing the
Slippery Fish.
Ynara perched on its back like a queen on her throne, her powerful silver tail folded beneath her and her long hair streaming in the wind. Her skin was bared to the breeze, and that fascinated Aisa as much as anything else. The idea of a woman showing herself this way, proud and unafraid, excited Aisa in a way she couldn’t name. She had no physical desire for the merfolk. She wanted to embrace them, be like them, be a part of them. It took all her willpower not to leap overboard and try to swim to the whale, even though she knew she would drown.

It seemed a little unfair and . . . wrong. Aisa had been
longing to find the merfolk for years, and now that she had finally done so—or found
one
of the merfolk—she could not touch her, or even speak to her. It felt like taking two steps back from a great banquet.

Danr padded up to her in his bare feet, and she gave him a small smile. It was nice to have him near. He was wearing a new hat, one of thick black felt. It must have come from Captain Greenstone.

“Beautiful,” he said.

Aisa arched an eyebrow. “The mermaid or our captain?”

“You,” he said, “standing here at the bow with the wind whipping at your hair. You look like the . . . the carving at the front of the ship.”

“The figurehead,” she laughed. “All right, I forgive you, my Hamzu.”

He scratched his head. “For what?”

“You were flirting with the captain.” She meant to say it lightly, but it came out with more intensity than she intended.

“I don’t know how to flirt,” he replied seriously. “I never had a chance to learn.” He paused. “Are you . . . jealous?”

The direct question caught her a little off guard. “Hmm! Perhaps I am. A little. She is a half-blood, like you, and that means you and she have more in common. Should I be worried?”

Only after the question escaped her did she realize how foolish the asking was, and she clapped a hand over her mouth. It was too late. She saw the struggle on Danr’s face as he tried to keep the harsh truth to himself, but he lost as he always did.

“That’s a stupid question,” he blurted out. “I risked execution for you, accepted exile for you, fought an orc chieftain for you, and nearly cracked the continent in half to
save your life. You don’t need to worry about a ship’s captain I’ve known for less than half a day. I’m sorry I had to say that. Please don’t make me do that again. I’ll always love you, Aisa.”

The final words came out in a rush. Tears pricked the back of Aisa’s eyes. How could she be so thoughtless to this kind man? She reached out to touch his arm. “I am—” she began.

The scream echoed inside her head. For a moment, Danr—Hamzu—was a snarling monster wielding a bloody Iron Axe, and the ship was drenched in scarlet. The sailors were rent to bloody shreds. Amid them stood a woman in a cloak made of autumn leaves. In her hand she held a small sickle. With it, she sliced one of the sailors in half. Except it wasn’t a sailor. It was one of the merfolk, a woman. The mermaid dropped to the deck in a puddle of blood and scales.

Sometimes one plant must die so the garden can live,
said the autumn woman, and the face within the hood was sad and tired.
Can you let one plant die?

Aisa pulled back in fear. Her heart pounded like a trapped bird inside her chest, and her knees shook. The vision vanished, along with the woman and her sickle. The sailors went about their business, unaware of what had just happened.

“Aisa?” Danr said fearfully.

“I . . .” She glanced out at the sea. Ynara was riding the whale, alive and free and unbothered by visions and screams and blood. “I am sorry. I . . . should not have asked you that question in that way. You are a truth-teller, and you cannot help your words sometimes. I am not truly worried about the captain.”

“Really?” he asked.

Now she wished he would go away and let her gather her scattered thoughts, but she could not tell him that. “Really.”

He moved to embrace her, and now she could not help but flinch away. With a hurt expression, he dropped his arms to his sides. Her heart ached for him, but she could not bring herself to speak just now. He leaned on the rail beside her instead. The ship plowed through the waves, away from the steadily rising sun.

“I know what’s bothering you,” he said.

Aisa turned, startled. “Oh?”

That wasn’t a real question, so Danr was able to give a simple, grave nod beneath his hat. “There’s another reason to find the secret of the shape besides rescuing Ranadar.”

“Yes. The harbormaster said he will end slavery if we bring the magic back to him,” Aisa reminded him. Her heart was beating fast again.

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” Danr cleared his throat. “I know why you pull away from me.”

“I do not understand,” Aisa said, though she was afraid she did. Somehow he had learned about her visions of blood. Had he looked at her with his true eye? He had promised never to do that again.

“You’re nervous about the way people will treat you—us—because I’m a half-blood.” Here he flexed his hands, perhaps unconsciously. “That’s why I asked Death if there was a way I could become human. Then no one would recognize me, and the whole half-blood problem would just disappear.”

“I . . . see.” Aisa couldn’t think how to respond. Thoughts rushed about her head like mice trapped in a grain bin. Danr’s main reason for attempting this dangerous and difficult journey was flawed. She was indeed
afraid, but not for the reasons he thought. And why was this cloaked woman now part of it? Everything was such a tangle.

Danr did not know about her visions of the past, after all, and that was a relief. Or was it? Perhaps if she told him, shared the burden . . .

But no. There was no way to say it without hurting him. Danr had had no choice but to wield the Axe, and if she could go back in time, she would not stop him. The visions came because of some fault in her, not him. Telling him about them would not change them or rid herself of them. Best to keep them to herself.

The trouble was, she didn’t know if she could. The visions were growing stronger and stranger. Perhaps if she shared them with him, despite the short-term pain, he could help her.

“What do you think, Aisa?” Danr said. “If I become human, can we be together?”

She took his hand. “Danr, I—”

“Storm!” bellowed a sailor. “Storm ahead!”

Startled, Aisa whirled back to the bow. Where there had been clear sky only moments ago, black clouds now rushed down on them like an angry army. The wind turned cold. Ynara shot the ship a look; then with a splash both she and the whale vanished below the surface. Sudden waves slapped the ship, jerking it up and yanking it down so quickly Aisa felt she was standing on air. She grabbed a rope just in time to keep from losing her balance. Danr had managed the same. He looked green.

“Get those sails down!” bellowed Harebones. “Secure the rigging! Move, move, move! You passengers—get below!”

The sailors rushed about the ship, their faces tight and
pale. Wood creaked and complained. Aisa staggered toward a hatch, trying to keep her footing on the heaving deck. Danr came with her. All around them, the sails were coming down like dying clouds. The storm stomped across the ocean with frightening speed and ferocity. The day’s weather had begun so well Aisa had forgotten how fast autumn storms brewed in the Iron Sea. Heart thudding, she was reaching for the hatch cover when a great wave washed over the deck and crashed into her. Her mouth and eyes filled with salty water, and the wave swirled her around like a toy. She was rushing, sliding across the deck toward the gunwale. Terror gripped her heart. A strong hand grabbed her shoulder. Danr! Relief swept her—until the water wrenched her away again. Aisa spun across the deck.

She tried to scream, but salt water filled her mouth and eyes. The gunwale rushed toward her, and she flailed about, trying to catch hold of something, anything, but the water was too strong. It muffled her final cry as it swept her over the
edge.

L
iquid darkness stopped her mouth and nose. Aisa flailed about, trying not to panic but not knowing what else to do. Her own weight pulled her down. She was going to die. A thousand regrets peppered her thoughts—she would never see her homeland again, she would never see her potted garden again, she would never stand next to Kalessa at her mating ceremony.

She would never again be able to tell Danr she loved him. She prayed he knew.

Aisa sank further into darkness. A strange, high-pitched wailing, almost like a song, reached her. She could not imagine what it was, and what an odd thing to be worried about while she could not breathe, while her lungs begged for air. The world dimmed and she slid into a gray place.

Can you wield the sickle without flinching?

The grayness lightened. Around Aisa stretched the strangest garden she had ever seen. Row upon row of twisting vines and stems and rainbow flowers pushed to the horizon in all directions. Plants that had no business sharing a row twined with each other—marigolds mingled with mums, clematis clumped with catnip, asparagus
intertwined with ivy. And yet there was a strange order to it, a pattern Aisa couldn’t quite grasp.

The woman in the autumn cloak trudged down a row toward Aisa, the little sickle in her hand.
I’ve seen you cut a bloom so the flower can grow,
she said, and her voice was the sound of dying leaves falling to earth.
How much bigger can you think?

Aisa felt she should be frightened. A moment ago, she had been drowning in the Iron Sea, and now she was facing an armed woman in an outlandish garden. But the orderly chaos of this garden was a calming sort of place, and her fears ebbed away.

“Who are you?” she asked, though she was already sure of the answer.

I’ve already spoken with your young man,
the woman said.
You were supposed to be there, too, but he made a petty choice and changed the garden.

“Pendra,” Aisa said softly. “The third Gardener.”

The woman Pendra drew nearer, and Aisa smelled cinnamon mingled with funeral flowers. Her autumn cloak fell open. Blood was running down long cuts on both her arms. Aisa drew back with a gasp.

The Tree tips.
Blood pooled at Pendra’s feet and ran into a crack in the ground.
Have you thought about why it tips?

“I . . . no.”

She sighed again.
We make a small sacrifice for the larger gain, child. Listen to the harbormaster and think big.

Think big. Aisa looked around her. In the distance to her left and right, the garden eventually dropped over the horizon. But no, it was too close for it to be the horizon. The ground was curving downward, as if they were on a great hill. She turned her head. Far, far behind her, the garden climbed upward, as if scaling a wall.

No. Not a wall. The world
wrenched
, and Aisa saw it, truly
saw
it. It was as if she had owned a drawing of a young woman all her life, and now had abruptly seen it as an old hag.

They were standing on the branch of an enormous tree, the biggest tree the universe had ever seen. It was ancient. It was rotting. And every inch, every leaf, every top and underside of every branch, was covered with the great garden.

“Ashkame,” Aisa whispered.

Now you see it,
Pendra said with approval.
But bigger still.

Aisa’s awareness spread further still, beyond her body, beyond herself. She saw that every branch had an identical root, or perhaps every root had an identical branch, and if Ashkame flipped over, the Tree would look much the same. And the Tree
was
tipping. Slowly and steadily, but it was tipping. Some of the garden would slide off into the void, and some of it would use the opportunity to grasp the bark more firmly, but in the end, the tipping would invigorate and heal the rotting Tree. The Tree would survive, and the garden along with it.

Yes,
Pendra said.
And why?

Aisa’s awareness rushed back to herself. Pendra’s blood tapped the ground in soft scarlet rain. Blood—her own blood—stained her sickle. The red pool at Pendra’s feet drained into the crack. Into the ground. Into the Tree. Aisa put her hand over her mouth in shock as understanding crashed through her.

“The life of a Gardener is no small sacrifice,” she whispered.

If you think big enough, anything becomes small,
Pendra replied evenly.
And when I am done, my sisters will find themselves alone.

Abandoned.
A second woman in a rich cloak of green and brown rose from the garden like a sunflower. She carried a hoe.

Forlorn.
A third woman in pale green floated down from the sky with a bag of seeds. They formed a triangle with Aisa in the center.

Aisa trembled. “What are you telling me?”

The Gardeners are not cruel,
said Nu.

Not callous,
said Tan.

Not unkind,
sighed Pendra.
But we can forget what it is to be Kin.

Stane,
said Tan.

Fae,
said Nu.

And so it has been that when one of us leaves, we turn to the Nine People to find another sister,
said Pendra.
She must be someone who understands loss, so she knows compassion; one who understands hatred, so she feels love; one who understands petty details and thinks big.

Aisa’s mouth was dry and her heart rattled inside her chest. “Are you telling me you will die soon and you want
me
to—”

You are one among several we watch,
interrupted Nu.

Observe,
said Tan.

Inspect,
said Pendra.
A Gardener must be able to make a sacrifice, even those that cause her pain.
Here, Pendra held out her own bleeding arms.
The Tree tips on blood, and more than just mine.

You will be tested,
said Nu.

Tried,
said Tan.

Examined,
said Pendra.

“How?” asked Aisa.

First,
said Pendra,
you must live.

The garden vanished. Salt water filled Aisa’s mouth and
clogged her lungs. She tried to gasp, but she had no air. Aisa struggled, but the ocean gave her nothing.

Two hands came under her arms. Aisa was propelled upward, up toward the light, up toward the air. Aisa had almost no time to understand what was happening before she burst above the surface. She coughed hard, and sweet, sweet air filled her lungs. Lightning cut the sky in two with a white blade. Thunder boomed in her ears, and a new wave towered above her, ready to smash her down.

“Take your breath!” order Ynara. It was she who had Aisa. Aisa had just enough time to inhale sharply before Ynara pulled her under again. They swam under the wave and surfaced on the other side. Aisa breathed like a breaching dolphin.

“Good!” Ynara said. “Do not fear. You will not drown. Take your breath!”

This time, Aisa was able to take two or three breaths to saturate her lungs before Ynara took her under. Her fear for herself had evaporated, and she was able to look about. The ship made a great shadow up and to her left, and it was clearly listing to one side. The strange, eerie song wailed through the water. Ynara’s arms were strong and steady around her. It was peaceful under the sea, almost as peaceful as the garden. The cool water held her up, made her feel light and buoyant, almost as if she were flying. She could go anywhere, any direction, she chose. And it felt familiar somehow. It felt
right
, as if she had been reunited with a long-lost friend, or she were visiting a long-forgotten childhood home.

Then they broke the surface again, and wind howled in Aisa’s ears. She breathed and shook the water from her eyes. The wave they had dodged crashed into the
Slippery Fish
, listing it hard again.

“The ship!” Aisa cried. “It will sink!”

“Take your breath,” Ynara ordered as another wave came at them. They plunged underwater again.

If not for the danger to Danr and the others, Aisa would have enjoyed it. She was swimming with a mermaid! The incredibility of it made her light and buoyant. Ynara towed her along with casual strength. The ship, however, was now tipping with all the inevitability of a wounded elephant going to the ground. Aisa pointed desperately, heart pounding in her ears.

“It will be all right,” Ynara said, and her voice carried perfectly well under the water.

How?
Aisa mouthed.

“There.” Now Ynara pointed, and Aisa clapped both her hands over her mouth to keep from gasping. Incredulous wonder swept over her, and she could do nothing but gape at the incredible sight. A pod of whales, more than fifty of them, swam up to the ship and pressed up against it, protecting it with their gray-blue bodies. Pale flukes waved like flat hands in the water, and their tails pumped in unison. Wise, ancient eyes reflected the ocean, and Aisa thought she caught her own self in some of them. The eerie song grew louder, and slowly, the ship creaked upright.

Ynara towed Aisa above the water, and air burst into her lungs. “That is amazing!” she gasped. “How do they know what to do?”

“We tell them,” said Ynara. Another wave approached. “Take your breath.”

“We?” But Ynara was already taking her under again. The whales continued to press the ship upright, but now from below came . . . merfolk. Dozens and dozens of merfolk. Women and men, children and babies. They streamed up from below, their long gleaming tails, covered in scales like jewels, propelling them in graceful arcs through the
water and filling the water with delight. Their upper bodies were corded with muscle, and neither the men nor the women covered their chests. Blue and black and red and green tattoos covered their faces and necks in fierce designs. Several merfolk waved to Ynara—or was it Aisa?—as they passed, and Aisa felt she might burst with happiness. A tiny mermaid girl swam in joyful loops around her parents, her black hair floating behind her in a cloud. Aisa felt as if she had somehow come home.

The merfolk rushed around the ship and whales in a great circle. Like a great school of powerful fish, they swam faster and faster. Aisa felt the currents shift across her body. Ynara popped them above water so Aisa could breathe, then pulled her under again. The merfolk’s tails glowed, gleaming as bright as gems caught in the sun as they whirled around the ship and the singing whales holding it up. The
Slippery Fish
creaked and started to spin.

What is happening?
Aisa mouthed to Ynara.

“Watch!” Ynara said.

Another breath above the water, another dive. The merfolk had created a dizzying whirlpool, and it was pulling both Aisa and Ynara into the current. Worry returned to Aisa, but Ynara seemed unconcerned. The whales sang again.

The whirlpool current gained strength. It wrenched them both around. Aisa tumbled, and suddenly Ynara was no longer there. Panic seized Aisa again. The ocean blurred into a chaotic mess of sound and light, of fins and flukes. Aisa shouted, and water flooded her mouth.

And then she was standing on something solid. She looked down and realized she was on the back of a whale. Its great body stretched before and behind her, and its powerful flukes spread to either side. Before she could
react, it pushed her above the surface and she could breathe again. Water exploded from the whale’s blowhole and showered her with mist. Aisa sank to the whale’s smooth back and clung to it as best she could. Where was the ship? Where was—

The storm was gone. Ended. Overhead, the sun shone in a clear sky. The sea lay flat and calm. The
Slippery Fish
floated a dozen serene yards away. Aisa blinked, trying to take in the enormousness of it.

“Aisa!” Danr was leaning over the gunwale, reaching for her, though she was patently too far away. His face was filled with a relief that both buoyed and pained her. “Aisa! I thought you were dead!”

She waved back to him. “I am well!”

Captain Greenstone appeared next to him. “What happened to you? What happened to
us
?”

“I will explain, but later! Do not worry!”

Merfolk surfaced all around her and the ship, like mystic flowers springing from the forest floor. They laughed and shouted, and several swarmed up the sides of the ship to perch on the gunwale. Greenstone and Danr backed away.

A pair of merfolk, a man and a woman, splashed out of the sea and slid onto the whale’s back. Aisa drew back uncertainly. Their facial tattoos gave them fierce expressions, and they carried thin spears on their backs. Both had brown hair, long muscles, and smooth skin. In fact, they reminded Aisa of—

Ynara burst out of the sea and clung to the whale’s back. There was no more room for her to sit. “Aisa! I wish for you to greet my parents, Imeld and Markis.”

“You risked your life to return our daughter to us,” Imeld said with a wide smile. “You and your friends. We thank you.”

“And we salute you, kind one,” Markis added. “You are now our daughter.”

Before Aisa could react, he took her face in both hands, kissed her forehead, and released her. He smelled of salt water and spice. Aisa should have felt frightened or distressed, but instead she felt a small wave of . . . affection? It was like being greeted by a relative she had met long ago and only just now found again.

“You are indeed one of us,” Imeld agreed. She touched Aisa’s cheek with a gentle hand, and for a moment, a tiny, heart-wrenching moment, Aisa’s own mother was there. “You will be a sister to Ynara.”

“I will?” Until Imeld said those words, Aisa hadn’t even considered such a thing. She had a sudden vision of swimming bare-skinned under the waves like these women, and a joy suffused her every pore. It felt right, and it felt powerful, and for a moment it came as a surprise when she looked down and saw legs instead of a tail. The reality came crashing down on her. She was no mermaid. She was a human, a bystander who had done the merfolk a kindness, and they were saying simple words of gratitude.

But Ynara took Aisa’s hand. “Sister,” she said solemnly.