The Skybound Sea (42 page)

She stepped over Lenk.

“But this one belongs to me.”

What passed between them, as their eyes met and narrowed upon each other, was not the Howling. But it was something. Something that made him realize, made her stronger. And for the first moment since they had met, they understood one another.

He turned and stalked away, into the darkness. “Your father would hate you for this.”

She lowered the arrow as he retreated. “And my mother?”

He did not answer. He was no longer there. He was somewhere far away, where shicts were. And she was not.

“Naxiaw?” she called into the darkness.

And it did not answer back.

F
or a long time, Dreadaeleon did not look at either one of them. Denaos bore a scowl so fierce that the boy didn’t dare risk having it turn on him. Asper’s despair was so deep that he felt it might swallow him up if he even looked sideways at her. Fortunately, both their agonies were directed at the sight on the beach before them.

Still, it seemed like someone should say something.

“So, uh,” he said, “that’s bad, right?”

“In the grand scale of things?” Denaos asked, shaking his head. “Not so much.”

“And in the immediate?”

“Yes, idiot, it’s bad.”

Like calling me names is going to help
, Dreadaeleon thought resentfully. But he supposed there was little that would.

Their boat sat, snugly ensconced between two rocks, the sand beneath its rudder and its tail end only just brushing the water that had, this morning, been keeping it afloat. Like it was testing the water before it was ready to go and get them the hell out of here, Dreadaeleon thought.

Either way, there it was. Stuck in the rocks. And the water was
there
. Receded from the shoreline. There was little to do about it.

“Gods
damn
it!”

Except that.

“Hongwe, you scaly, slithering
idiot
.”

And that.

“Why the hell wouldn’t you
tell
us the tide was going out?” Denaos demanded of the lizardman standing beside them.

“You go to an island full of longfaces to rescue a friend that was probably dead. I thought you had enough to worry ’bout.” He inclined his crested head to Asper. “Good that you’re alive, though.”

“Uh … thanks?” Asper replied.

“Then why wouldn’t you move the boat?” Denaos asked, tone growing sharper.

“I did,” Hongwe protested. “I moved it behind these rocks when I saw longfaces on the beach. The tide left before they did. It’s not
my
fault.” He thrust a scaly finger at Denaos. “
You
weren’t supposed to take this long. ‘In and out’ you said, ‘very quickly’ you said.”

“
I was trying to sound like I knew what I was doing
,” he snarled. “I didn’t actually
know
how we were going to do any of that.”

“Then I’m not sure why you’re upset that things aren’t going as you didn’t plan.”

“I … but …” With words failing him, he turned to his second most tried-and-true method of conflict resolution. “You!” he barked, shoving Dreadaeleon fiercely. “
Fix it!
”

“How?” the boy asked.

“Magic it out. I don’t know.”

“I could try shoving it out, yes, but that would rip up the boat.”

“Can you
lift
it out or something?” Asper asked.

Yes, absolutely
, he thought
.
I mean, it’ll speed up the Decay in my body, make me die quickly, and I’ll probably come spurting out of two or more orifices as I do, but at least it’ll be more humane than sacrificing a stupid lizard for a magical gem of untold power and wonder that could actually, you know, cure me
.

“No,” he said.

“Why not?”

He blinked and said with a straight face, “The flow of magic is just a hair too whimsical today.”

She stared at him for a moment before sighing ruefully and looking away.

She believed that? I can’t believe she’s that dumb. Or does she just think that whimsy is something that would be a problem for you? Maybe she—
He stopped himself, rubbing his temples
.
Keep it together, old man. Netherlings all over the place. Now’s not the time. You can still come out on top
.

How?
he demanded to himself
.
How can you possibly do something about this? You’re drained. You’re dying. And she’s … she doesn’t think anything of you. But him … him she thinks is just so … so …

His temper flared inside him and he instantly felt wearier. Even thinking an outburst drained him. He rubbed his eyes and sighed.

The netherlings had to be halfway to Jaga by now, he reasoned. Little choice, then, he reasoned. He had to do something to get them off the island. There was a way, he knew, not a good one, but there were no good ways out of it. And so he chose the one that wouldn’t end with him soiling himself.

Look
, he thought, not to himself
,
I know I called you some bad names and I said that about you earlier, but … if you’re listening to this, I could use you right about now
.

He heard steel sliding out of a sheath. He heard Asper curse. He heard Hongwe mutter something reverent in his own language.

Greenhair had come faster than he expected.

He looked up and saw the siren rising out of the sea, striding out of the surf, the salt and her silk clinging to her pale body like a second skin. She wore a knowing look on her face as though she had been waiting for him all this time.

Like she
knew
you were going to mess everything up, given enough time
.

“Do not chastise yourself unduly, lorekeeper,” the siren replied liltingly.

Ah, right, she reads thoughts … or just mine?

“No.”

“Then you probably know that you shouldn’t come any closer,” Dreadaeleon said, eyeing the dagger flashing in Denaos’s hand, “at least until I can explain why you’re here.”

“Explain the presence of the woman who betrayed us and sold us to a bunch of longfaces who would eagerly finish the job if they knew we were fifty feet away from them?” Denaos flipped the blade in his hand, drew his arm back to hurl it. “Let me save you some time.”

“Wait!”
Dreadaeleon cried out.

He jumped up and wrapped his own scrawny arms about Denaos’s, hanging from it with all his weight. Lamentably, he wondered if that would do any good.

“You can’t kill her!” he cried out.

“I assure you I can,” Denaos grunted in reply as he shook his arm and tried to dislodge the boy, “and with amazing efficiency and minimal mess, once you let go.”

“She can help us!”

“Hold on,” Asper said to Denaos before looking at Dreadaeleon. “All right, Dread, we’re listening … how can she help us?”

“I … don’t actually
know
.”

Asper nodded considerately. Then she looked to Denaos. “Just use your other hand.”

“Lovely,” the rogue quipped, flipping the blade to his free hand.

“The lorekeeper does not speak false,” Greenhair replied, apparently not at all concerned about the fuss, or the knife, directed at her. “You are in need of much that I can grant.”

“Such as something fleshy to sink this steel into?” Denaos asked. “I quite agree.”

“Look,” Dreadaeleon attempted to protest, “ordinarily, I’d agree, but we’re on an island full of longfaces with a stuck boat and a bunch of
other
longfaces marching—”

“They’re on boats.”

“—sailing—”

“Oars.”

“
—oaring
to kill our friends. Point being, options are limited.”

“Options are never so limited that we have to deal with the monster that sold us to other monsters.” The coldness of Asper’s voice betrayed just how much fury she was trying to contain.

“Look, I know she—”

“No, Dread,” she continued with a tempestuous calm, “you don’t know. You can never know and I hope to whatever god watches over you that you don’t ever have to know what she did to m—” She caught herself, bit her lower lip. “All you
need
to know is that she did something terrible, to all of us, and that if you try to stop Denaos, I’ll try harder to stop you.”

His reply was a gaping mouth and an expression both hurt and befuddled; somehow, he suspected that might not be enough to persuade either of them.

“You are unwise to make yourself deaf to the lorekeeper,” Greenhair spoke from the surf. “You are not so out of options that you cannot yet avoid bargaining with me. But every moment you waste, the longfaces draw closer to that which they seek, the earth groans as something claws at it from below and the sea goes silent …”

She turned her distant gaze out to the waves, her voice a whisper that merged with the hiss of the surf. “It fears to speak, lest it interrupt. You cannot hear it, and I am grateful for that, but someone out there is singing a song that once filled blasphemous chorals. Someone out there is calling. And many,
many
are answering.

“Distrust me. Loathe me. Fill your head with images of my entrails on your hands. I do not blame you.” She turned to them again and her face was cold porcelain. “But you won’t forsake your companions. Not when fates rush to crush them. I have looked into your thoughts. I know it to be so.”

The glares didn’t dissipate. The tension didn’t, either. But the knife slipped back in its sheath and Asper turned her cold stare away. Denaos muttered and shoved the boy off of him.

“Well, so long as you already
know
all of that, we can skip the part where we pretend not to need your help.” He cast a sneer at her. “But, given that you can read thoughts, have a good look at this.”

He narrowed his eyes on her, bit his lower lip, assumed a look of such concentration that it appeared he might pull something. She stared back, blinked, and then recoiled, aghast. He offered an ugly smile in reply.

“
Yeah
,” he said with a black chuckle. “Just remember
that
.”

“So, how exactly do you plan to get us out?” Asper asked.

“The tide is stubborn, set in its ways. I can coax it back, but only for a short moment. Not nearly long enough to let your vessel slide out naturally.”

“So all our sliding will fall to the
unnatural
,” Denaos said. He reached out, clapped Dreadaeleon on the shoulder. “You’re up, boy.”

Dreadaeleon felt something shift inside him and his cheeks filled. Trying to hold back the look of disgust, he swallowed the bile back down.

“Right,” he gasped afterward, “just … just let me … you know.”

“What?
Now?
” Denaos asked, incredulous.

“Now what?” Asper asked, slightly less so.

“Nothing
,” Dreadaeleon insisted.

“She might as well know,” Denaos said. “I mean, she’s
going
to.”

“Know what?” Asper asked.

“That he’s—”

“Did I not just stop you from killing the only woman that’s going to get us off this island?” the boy snarled, cutting him off. “Have I
not
proved my vast, vast,
vast
intelligence by stopping you from doing something exceedingly stupid yet again? Do you think you can find enough comfort in my almost terrifyingly expanded mind to trust me when I say it’s
nothing
?”

“Uh … I suppose … yes?” Denaos answered sheepishly.

“Fantastic. I’ll be back in a moment.”

A graceless exit, he knew as he tried to keep himself from bursting into a full sprint up the dune and behind a large rock. Yet it wasn’t half as graceless as spewing out a pile of vomit that may or may not start moving of its own accord once it hit the ground. And his hasty retreat would bring about far fewer difficult-to-answer questions, anyway.

Such as why so much as a hard slap could make him feel like his body was crumbling beneath itself.

He fought to keep himself from collapsing, bent at the waist, hands on his knees, heaving into the dirt.

One good push, old man, that’s all it’ll take. Just a quick heave, a splash of bile, wave goodbye as it goes off to find its destiny, then you’re fine. Well, you’re dying, yeah, but you’re still fine in the immediate sense. And it’s the right thing to do. Now the lizardmen are all nice and safe and you’re dying and you should have told her, oh my Gods, you should have said something, should have used them, but she was so … so …

Calm down
.
He smacked his lips, threw his esophagus into his throat
.
Just go with it. Out with the bad, worry about the rest later. Just so long as you don’t have to puke in front of two women at once. Once more now. Make it good
.

He tried again, heaving and heaving, forcing himself to retch. Nothing came of it but a lot of hot air and a thick, panting sound.

A
very
thick panting sound. One that persisted long after he held his breath.

One that steadily grew louder.

With the instinctive knowledge that he was being watched, he looked up slowly. No eyes stared back at him. But if tongues could stare, the big, pink thing quivering between two rows of giant, sharp teeth certainly would be.

To look at it, the thing’s jaws seemed so terrifyingly huge as to have left no room for anything else, let alone eyes. A blunted, vaguely wolflike head squatted atop powerful shoulders from which long, muscular legs ending in curving claws dug into the sand. A long body ended in equally powerful haunches, a bushy tail slapping at the sand behind it as it stared at Dreadaeleon.

With its tongue.

The longface female, clad in black armor, her sword hefted up over her shoulder and staring at the boy with a morbid grin framed by white hair cropped cruelly short seemed almost a redundancy.

He took a step backward. The sand shifted under his feet.

The creature’s mouth closed, head tilted curiously to the side. Six knife-shaped ears, three to either side of its great, eyeless skull, snapped open like a twitching, furry fan. Its blind gaze followed him as he continued to backpedal, as he stumbled once, as he turned around and ran.