The Waterless Sea (2 page)

The pirates had taken Heben' s pouch of gold coins, and stripped him of his fine clothes, his curved sword with the gilded handle and leather scabbard, and his golden earrings. The small medallion, the size of his thumbnail, that identified him as a member of the Clan of the Cledsec, had disappeared with the coins. Then the pirates had bundled him into a corner with the rest of the captives on deck, and paid him no more attention.

‘They' ll sell us for slaves in Doryus Town,' muttered one of the prisoners, but instead of turning to sail south, toward Doryus, the stronghold of all piracy in the Great Sea, the serpent-headed ship kept its course to the north. The mutterings grew darker. ‘Taking us to the tallow pits of Firthana. . .no doubt about it. . .'

‘What are the tallow pits?' Heben asked.

The prisoner on his other side, a bald and bony sailor who had been the cook aboard Heben' s ship before it was scuttled, gave an ominous cackle.

‘Don' t they talk of the tallow pits in them deserts of yours? The tallow pits is where the pirates take them they don' t need, and them they wants to be rid of.' He drew his finger across his throat. ‘Spit em, blood em, skin em, melt the fat down for candles. You never heard of a dead man' s candle? They can burn for a whole turn of the moons without losing the flame.'

‘They won' t get much fat off
you
,' sneered the fleshy Gellanese.

The cook leaned over, dragging Heben' s arm across as he poked his fellow prisoner in the ribs.

‘They' ll be getting plenty off you though, won' t they! And plenty of hide, too, what' s more!'

‘Hide?' Heben' s stomach turned.

‘They' ll tan your skin and make it into boots,' growled the Gellanese. ‘Pirates all wear man-skin boots.'

‘They' ll make enough boots out of
you
to shoe the whole ship!' cackled the cook. But the rest of the prisoners sank into despondency, and Heben too was sick at heart to think that his quest might end in such a horrible way.

The cook gave Heben a nudge and nodded over the side of the boat. ‘Looks like we might be nearly there.'

Heben strained to see. Sure enough, the ship was drawing close to one of the little islands that dotted the straits. It was a strangely beautiful sight to someone who' d never known anything but the desert. The sheer rock of the cliffs reared out of the sea, and the deep green of trees fringed the shore. A gull soared overhead, a white flash against the blue. It had rained in the night, and the morning was washed fresh, with a tang of salt that could be tasted on the tongue. The sky shone blue and unblemished, like a glazed bowl filled with clear light.

If this was truly to be the last day of his life, thought Heben, at least he would die in a place of beauty. He hoped he could face death as a Merithuran warrior should: unblinking, straight-backed, so that the ancestors who waited on the other side of the curtain to greet him need not be ashamed.

The other prisoners had fallen silent, their incessant grumbles and curses hushed at last. The brash voices of the Doryan pirates rang out through the clean morning air.

‘Boat ho!'

Heben saw a little dinghy bobbing on the water. A scruffy-looking boy was at the oars, and sunlight flashed on the two round glass lenses that he wore perched on his nose. A strange device, thought Heben.

There were two others in the little boat. One was a tall, thin young man who looked about seventeen, Heben' s age. He had dark burnished skin, and tattoos spiralled across his face and chest. And there was a young woman about the same age, with a long dark plait over one shoulder. The man with the tattoos was half naked, but the boy and the woman wore sturdy, plain-coloured shirts and trousers, the clothes of people who worked hard with their hands.

Fisher folk, thought Heben. This must not be the place after all; death would be postponed. He gulped in the cold air with relief. His ancestors would have to wait for him a little longer. To be honest, he was not looking forward to meeting them. They would probably disapprove of him, just as his father did, and the thought of an eternity spent with ancestors pursing their lips and shaking their heads was not a prospect he relished.

‘Hello!' muttered the Gellanese, yanking Heben sideways as he craned to see what was happening in front of the ship. ‘Pirates won' t like this! Can' t they see where they' re goin?'

The boy with the strange lenses was rowing directly into the path of the much larger pirate ship. Sailors leaned over the rail, and shouted through cupped hands. ‘Out of the way! Hey, boy!
Out of the way!
'

‘That boy' d better look to his oars,' observed the Gellanese. ‘This ship won' t turn aside for
him
.'

‘We' ll smash em like a twig!' The cook rubbed his hands together in glee.

Heben stared. What were the three in the little boat thinking? Still the boy pulled steadily at his oars, without ever looking over his shoulder. He might have been alone on the whole wide ocean, from here to the coast of Gellan. The other two seemed equally oblivious.

The tattooed man sat quietly in the prow, and gazed off toward the horizon. Suddenly he lifted his head and stared up at the serpent-headed ship, up at the row of curious faces that peered over the edge, straight into the eyes of Heben. Startled, Heben stared back. For as long as three breaths, their gaze was locked. The stranger' s eyes were dark and serious, and he stared intently as if he were trying to find something he had lost.

Then, just as suddenly, he smiled. He tossed back his long dark hair, and looked over his shoulder at the young woman who sat behind him in the dinghy.

The dinghy was right under the serpent' s head now, in the ship' s black shadow. Heben braced for the collision. The pirates raced up and down, waving and cursing, for even though their vessel was so much larger, the little rowing boat might still damage it.

Then the woman with the dark plait did something that made Heben sit up with a jolt, and draw in a breath so sharp he almost choked. Slowly, she stood up in the centre of the little boat, balanced despite the dip and sway of the dinghy. She raised her hands, and opened her mouth. And she sang.

Heben felt her song before he heard it. A blast of icy wind hit the galley, so fierce and unexpected that the whole row of roped prisoners was thrown back sprawling. The ship lurched and tilted, and prisoners and pirates alike slid helplessly across the deck. Then another blast of wind roared from the opposite side of the ship, and tilted it back the other way. From where he was caught in a tangle of ropes and flailing feet, Heben saw two of the pirates topple overboard and splash into the sea.

The huge vessel plunged back and forth like a toy in a bathtub, gripped by a childish hand. The sky was still a cloudless blue, the sea unruffled by any hint of storm. The gulls still shrieked and swooped, riding the currents of the air on their own errands, untouched by the mayhem below.

The serpent-headed ship was in chaos. Some of the pirates struggled to furl the sails, to reduce the amount of canvas the winds could catch, but the rigging swung about so violently that the task was impossible. The string of prisoners came to rest in a corner beside the wheelhouse. Heben was stuck fast in a pile of heavy bodies, but his head was free so he could see what was going on.

The boy at the top of the rigging, who' d managed to cling on until now, lost his toehold. A blast of wind was directed straight at him. It caught him in the midriff; for a heartbeat, he managed to clutch the ropes while the wind blew him out like a flag. And then he lost his grip. Heben was pleased to hear the painful
crack
as he hit the water far below. Of all the nasty crew on this brutal ship, he especially disliked that boy. He' d seen him set fire to the tails of the ducks that the pirates kept in a coop on the deck; above all else, Heben hated to see anything defenceless suffer.

‘Sorcery!' shouted one of the other prisoners, too close to Heben' s ear. ‘This is bleeding sorcery, that' s what this is!'

The ship gave another mighty lurch, and Heben could see that there were two little boats besieging the galley, one on each side. He caught a glimpse of a burly dark-haired man at the oars of the second dinghy, and another girl, golden-eyed, a year or two younger than the first, with a wild mop of sun-bleached hair. Like the other girl, she was standing, with her mouth open and her hands raised. Then the ship rolled back, and Heben lost sight of them.

‘Windwitches!' howled the prisoner who had cried
sorcery
. But the rolling was less violent now, the pitching of the ship less extreme. Individual pirates were being picked off and the whole crew was in a state of utter, gibbering panic, running this way and that in a vain effort to escape the ruthless winds.

The pirate captain had enough presence of mind to lash himself to the foremast with a length of halyard. Now, over the terrified shouts of the crew and the clatter of rolling water barrels, above the whip and crack of ropes and canvas, he shouted, ‘Stop! A parley, a parley! Witches, hold your song!'

Then Heben heard it clearly: a high, melodious song that threaded back and forth across the ship, carried by the voices of the two girls. It was an unearthly sound, like the faint moan of the wind as it thrummed in the rigging. Or, he thought, like the eerie call of a far-off desert storm as it whipped across the sands. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and his fingers twitched in a gesture to ward off evil. Then the song died away, and there was quiet.

The serpent-headed ship rocked slowly into balance on the waves. The few remaining crew, frightened almost out of their wits, clung to the railing. Heben saw a hard-bitten, much-scarred man weeping with terror, and desperate cries and gurgles echoed up from those in the water.

Heben had learned when he first began his voyage from Merithuros that few sailors knew how to swim. He could not swim himself, but he' d expected those who lived on the sea to be better able to survive if they happened to find themselves in it. But an old sailor who' d befriended him had shaken his head.

‘If you be washed overboard in a storm or suchlike, better to go quick than be splashin about.' He' d shuddered. ‘Don' t fancy goin round and round in circles, waitin till you get so tired you can' t lift up your arms no more. Or waitin for a sea-serpent to nibble you up. Hundred rows of teeth, some of them serpents. No, better drown quick and have it over.'

The old man had had his quick death in the end. The pirates had struck him one hard blow on the skull when they first captured the ship, and that was the last thing he knew. Remembering, Heben struggled to free himself from the heap of his fellow captives. He wanted to see what would become of the pirates now.

The dishevelled captain yanked at the ropes that entangled him. The dark-haired young woman stood quietly in her little boat and waited, one hand shading her eyes against the sun.

‘Come aboard,' demanded the captain, as he flung aside the last loop of rope. ‘Come aboard, and we' ll parley.'

‘There' s nothing to parley about,' said the young woman. ‘Do you surrender, or must we throw you overboard as well?'

‘No! No!' The captain rubbed his hands up and down on his stolen embroidered coat. ‘Wait on. Let' s discuss this sensibly. No need to act like barbarians, is there?' He gave them a nervous grimace that was intended as a mollifying smile.

‘Surrender!' A girl' s voice rang out from the other boat. ‘Surrender, you murderin, thievin son of a dog, or you' ll find yourself flyin over the Sea of Sevona afore you can draw another breath!'

The cook let out a long cackle from under the pile of prisoners. ‘You let im have it, witch-girl!'

‘The witches of the Isles,' said the prisoner who believed in sorcery. ‘It' s them, by all the gods. I heard tales, but I never thought to see em – no, nor hear em, neither!'

Heben swallowed. He felt the same way; he could scarcely believe what he' d witnessed. Perhaps
this
was the dream, and what he' d taken for a dream was reality. But then someone kicked out a foot and caught him under his rib, and he gasped in pain. This was no dream.

The older girl with the dark plait raised her hands again, and sang one clear note. The captain' s hands were suddenly manacled, encased in a lump of some stuff that glittered like diamonds in the sunshine. Heben had never seen ice before. The captain gave a yelp of fright and leapt backward.

‘It' s
cold
!' he spluttered.

‘Do you surrender?' asked the girl patiently. ‘Or shall I imprison your whole body in ice?'

The captain staggered for a few steps, regarding his trapped hands with horror. ‘I surrender, I surrender!' He sank to his knees and began to thump the block of ice against the deck. But it was impervious, and wouldn' t even crack.

‘Very good,' growled the burly rower. ‘We' ll come aboard. You – you with the beard – let down a ladder. And don' t think about any tricks.'

But the whole crew were so cowed by what they' d seen that they were incapable of thinking up any tricks of their own.

The pirate ship was soon transformed. The pirates were disarmed, trussed up, and herded to the stern of the ship, where the burly man stood guard, his thick eyebrows drawn into a fierce scowl. Those who had been blown over the side were hauled aboard to join their fellows, shivering and chastened. The prisoners were freed. Heben and the others were untied, and those who had been locked up below were released, blinking, into the sunlight.

Briskly, as if she' d done this a dozen times before, the tall young woman took charge. ‘Where is your windworker?'

The captain shook his head. ‘Don' t have one.'

The other girl snorted. ‘Pirates, with no windworker? S' pose you ain' t got no sails to your masts, neither!'

The captain turned pleadingly to the tall girl. ‘She ran off. With my second mate, half a turn of the moons ago. We haven' t found a new one. There aren' t as many windworkers for sale as there used to be.'