Blood Storm: The Second Book of Lharmell Page 8

  I looked around for the best position. The ship was pointed west towards Pol, so we wanted an easterly. I stood in the stern and faced the sails. Rodden gave me an encouraging nod. He still looked worried, but the fear had gone from his eyes.

  I realised with a strange beating of my heart that he trusted me. He had faith that I could do this.

  I launched thought-fingers into the atmosphere. I curled them like hooks around the air and began dragging them towards me. Then I sent out another set of hooks, and another and another, casting out afresh before the previous ones could get back to me.

  I felt a breeze fan my face and the realisation that it was working spurred me on. The sails fluttered, and then I heard the ship creak. In another minute we were moving. I was doing it! We were going to –

  A blow to my face knocked me sideways and I hit the deck hard. Pain bloomed in my cheek but I made myself look for my attacker. Orrik. My hand went to my belt but I’d left my knife with my bags. I groaned.

  ‘Monster!’ A fist reached back to strike me again but Rodden went crashing into Orrik, sending them both flying.

  I sat up, gingerly feeling my face. My left cheek throbbed and I would have a black eye, but I didn’t think he had broken anything. I struggled to my feet as Orrik screamed abuse at me. Rodden had his arm around the man’s throat and a knife pressed into his kidneys.

  ‘She’s a demon! She summoned the others! We’ll all die if we let her live. You saw the light in her eyes. She’s not hu–’

  Rodden must have pressed the blade harder against Orrik’s back as the man cut off what he was about to say with a strangled cry.

  All on deck were staring at me.

  ‘Captain Krig,’ Rodden called in a clear voice.

  ‘Aye,’ came the reply. The captain appeared out of the darkness. ‘That’s my first mate you’re leaning your pig-sticker into.’

  ‘I’ll let him go in just a minute. Can you tell me if you felt a wind a moment ago?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘And did the wind die when your first mate punched my friend in the face?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘If you want to get off this ship alive you might want to let her go about her business, regardless of her glowing eyes. That’s not a threat, it’s a piece of advice. And may I remind you that she shot down two of your enemies just a short time ago.’

  My eyes had been glowing? That was new.

  The captain looked around at his crew. ‘Boys, I believe it may be the time for a stocktake in the hold.’

  I held my breath, wondering if the captain was about to have a mutiny on his hands. But one by one the sailors turned away.

  ‘Thank you, captain,’ Rodden said. He watched the deck clear before finally releasing Orrik and giving him a shove. The mate spat at Rodden’s feet and shot me a look of pure hate before following the others into the hold. Captain Krig nodded to us and then strolled after his men, hands behind his back. I was beginning to see that little ruffled him.

  Rodden turned to me and asked, ‘Are you all right? Any dizziness?’

  I shook my head, then regretted the action. ‘Ow. No. Just a headache. I can still call the wind, I think.’

  He sheathed his knife and reached again for his crossbow. ‘Whenever you’re ready.’

  It took longer this time, owing to the pounding in my head, but I knew it was working when I heard Rodden puking over the side. Griffin was doing circuits of the ship again and so far there was no sign of harmings. After a quarter of an hour I felt us move into the path of a north-easterly. I got my hooks into this natural wind and pulled it towards us. The ship surged forwards.

  ‘Is that you? It’s as strong as a trade wind,’ Rodden called.

  I laughed. ‘It’s me, of sorts! I found us a real wind. You’d better get the captain before we’re blown off course.’

  I kept the wind blowing hard all night. It was a lot easier going than whipping up a breeze out of nothing. Sailors replaced the torn sail and the captain stood at the helm, the wheel in one hand and a bottle of rum in the other. Rodden stayed close by but Orrik didn’t reappear.

  Around dawn I swayed on my feet and had to let the wind go. We slowed, but the natural north-easterly kept the ship moving. Rodden, despite his nausea, got up from where he was slumped and helped me back to our sleeping place. I didn’t need much encouragement to collapse onto my cloak.

  Rodden sat next to me and smoothed the hair from my face, checking my swollen cheek. ‘Well, aren’t you full of surprises. Anything else I should know about you?’

  ‘My face hurts.’

  His eyes darkened. ‘I could kill Orrik.’

  ‘Did my eyes really light up?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I feel oddly proud.’

  ‘As you should. You saved us all.’

  I awoke a few hours later to blinding white sunlight and a pounding headache. My mouth was dry and tasted like I’d hit the bottle along with the captain. With careful fingers, I tested the puffiness of my left cheek. The skin was stretched and firm like a tomato, and was probably as red as one, too. Rodden was still sleeping, his skin sickly pallid against the black stubble on his chin.

  I eased open the rabbit hutch and stuffed one of the unfortunate creatures into my saddlebag. The poor things didn’t like the sea voyage any more than Rodden: they were getting decidedly skinny.

  I made my way to the hold, but before I could enter its dark and cool interior, a figure blocked my path.

  ‘What’s in your bag?’ It was Orrik. His face was hard and mean.

  I clutched the strap higher on my shoulder. ‘Nothing.’

  But the squirming of the rabbit gave me away. Orrik snatched the bag from my shoulder and held it aloft like a prize.

  ‘You lot!’ he called, and the crew turned to look. ‘What do you reckon the demon has here? Have you seen how those rabbits have been disappearing, day by day?’ He fumbled around in my bag.

  ‘They’re meat for Leap and Griffin,’ I insisted, trying to take the bag from him. Orrik gave me a shove that sent me reeling backwards.

  He pulled the rabbit out of the bag by its ears. ‘Have you seen her sneaking away to gut these creatures at her leisure? To feast on their blood? She feeds her demon lover too! I seen ’im, puking blood. They need to be got rid of. They need to be tossed overboard before they summon more of their kind to kill us all! Haven’t they been nothin’ but trouble since they were brought aboard?’

  I searched the eyes of the crew, and I could tell from their glares and nods that they agreed.

  ‘Captain Krig!’ I called, desperate for his calming presence.

  Orrik rounded on me, his eyes wild, the whites showing all around. ‘That fat bastard’s sleeping it off. I’m in charge now,’ he hissed.

  ‘What the hell is going on?’ Rodden had awoken at last and was struggling to his feet.

  ‘Boys!’ Orrik shouted, spittle flying from his lips. ‘Throw him overboard before we’re all murdered or taken in the night.’

  Four sailors descended on Rodden. I ran to help him fight them off but Orrik grabbed a fistful of my hair and stopped me with a cruel yank.

  ‘We’re on your side, you idiots,’ Rodden was saying as he struggled. ‘Let her go! Let me go or you’ll bloody regret this.’

  ‘Get off me,’ I shrieked, kicking at the sailor’s shins. I heard an almighty splash. ‘Rodden!’

  ‘Your turn,’ said Orrik, as he began forcing me to the side. More pairs of hands grabbed me and I was lifted into the air.

  ‘One,’ they chanted, swinging me forward.

  ‘Stop it! Put me down. Are you all mad?’

  ‘Two.’ I was swung again.

  ‘No! Orrik, you flipping numbskull, you’ll all die if –’

  ‘Three!
’

  I was hurled like a sack of dirty linen over the side and down, down into the dark blue water. I plunged several yards beneath the surface, my eyes wide with shock. I saw a blue-black abyss below me, an awful bottomless nothing. It was the most terrifying thing I’d ever laid eyes on. More terrifying than traipsing alone through the burnt forest in Lharmell; more, even, than being pinned by the harming as it ransacked my mind. It was, I thought, in the split seconds that I hung at the nadir of my submergence, uncanny how quickly the sunlight disappeared just a few yards down. Then the air in my lungs and the frantic kicking of my legs brought me spluttering to the surface, just in time to see Leap hurtling overboard. I made a grab for my cat and, claws out, he climbed up my body and onto my shoulder, clinging to me like a limpet to a rock. A soggy, unhappy not like thought-pattern emanated from him. Drain-cats, it seemed, did not like the ocean. Between his considerable weight and my sodden clothing I was finding it hard to keep my head above water. Rodden was close by, treading water.

  I began to yell with all my might, begging Orrik to throw us a rope, anyone to do something.

  ‘Look out!’ Rodden’s words were garbled with seawater but I looked around just in time to see the rabbit hutch being thrown into the sea. It hit the water not far from me and sank like a stone, taking the remaining rabbits with it. Next were our bags. Rodden dived beneath the waves and managed to come up with one, but the rest were lost, sinking slowly into the watery abyss beneath our feet. I tried not to imagine how many miles they would fall, how dark it would be down there on the ocean floor, what sort of creatures –

  Rodden saw the look on my face and swam over. ‘Stop it. Calm down.’

  In a panic I grabbed a fistful of his shirt and made both of us go under briefly. My legs were tiring already. ‘I c-can’t help it.’ I was shaking with fear and cold. Despite the heat of the day the water was freezing. The Jessamine was twenty yards away and moving fast. ‘We won’t – catch them up – we’re going to – drown.’

  I saw Griffin above us, flying in frantic circles. I told her to go back to the ship – ordered her, but she refused.

  ‘She won’t go back,’ I cried. ‘She’ll just drown with the rest of us.’

  ‘Ask her if she can see any brants in the sky.’

  Griffin widened the circumference of her flight, searching this way and that. But she could see nothing. No brants. And no other ships.

  Leap tried to climb higher on my shoulder and his hind claws scratched ragged stripes down my chest. I screamed in pain but the sound was muffled by seawater. The taste was foul, and I coughed and spat to rid myself of it.

  The ship was now fifty yards away and beginning to look frighteningly small. There was panic in Rodden’s eyes. I could see how pale he was; how days of illness had weakened him.

  ‘Give me that bag,’ I said, wanting to relieve him of the weight he carried. I would not see him slip beneath the surface first. I would not.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you going to argue with me right to the end? Give me that bag you stubborn, arrogant, obstinate –’

  Griffin screamed in triumph and hurtled towards the Jessamine. Were they turning? No – but someone had dropped the ship’s boat. Leap screwed up his face in disgust and launched himself towards the vessel, his body slipping otter-like through the water.

  ‘Oh, praise for blood,’ Rodden groaned, muttering the harming oath.

  We swam the seventy yards, our eyes rooted to the bobbing boat, frightened that it might slip from our reach if we looked away even for an instant. Griffin sat on the stern, shuffling left and right as she watched our slow progress.

  Leap reached it and struggled up over the side, his ears flat to his skull. I reached it next, groaning with relief as I hung from the bow, my body still in the water. I found the strength to pull myself up and over and then haul Rodden up too. He lay in the bottom of the boat, gasping like a landed fish.

  I scrabbled around, hoping to find emergency supplies. Strapped beneath a seat were a packet of ship’s biscuits and two flasks of water.

  Rodden lifted his head. ‘Is there a mast and sail?’

  I felt about in the bow, and let out a sigh of relief as my fingers touched canvas. Rodden fought down his nausea just long enough to raise the mast and rig the sail before collapsing in a fit of puking.

  ‘Angle the rudder right to go left, and left to go right,’ he gasped. ‘Keep the sail about forty-five degrees perpendicular to the wind.’

  I angled the sail and made a grab for the tiller, turning the rudder so we were headed towards the Jessamine. By now it was a mere speck. Soon it would disappear over the rim of the horizon and we would be alone.

  I wondered who had dropped the boat. Not Orrik, that was for certain. It must have been Lisson, the red-headed Amentine cook. He’d been so friendly every time I’d gone to him for ginger, an amused, secretive smile playing on his lips.

  Whoever it was had saved our lives, but whether it was only so that we might die a thirsty, sun-burnt death on a tiny craft in the middle of the ocean instead of sinking quickly to a watery grave was yet to be determined.

  But I was forgetting the third option. The harmings might still get us.

  At dusk I checked the bag that Rodden had saved. It contained his crossbow, a handful of plain points and some coin. My bow was lost, my beautiful bow that had been my silent companion for the past two years. I mourned it for a moment, and then thanked the stars that I hadn’t joined it at the bottom of the ocean.

  Now that the Jessamine was well out of view it was time to find out just how good my harming navigation really was. I closed my eyes, braced myself, and let the tor-line pull tight. The pain that gripped my insides told me we were headed straight to Pol. We’d made excellent progress the previous night, but my heart sank as I realised we were still a long way from the shore. About four days at our present sluggish speed, if I was estimating correctly, and I wasn’t entirely sure that I was. It could be longer.

  The sun sank out of sight and the wind all but dropped. It was tempting to call up a breeze but at this time of day there might be harmings in the area. I gripped Rodden’s loaded crossbow in one hand and gazed at the sky. Griffin, who’d dozed through the afternoon, was now a sentinel atop our mast, scanning the heavens. Not for the first time, I was thankful for her alert and steady presence.

  Rodden hadn’t moved all day and I was beginning to worry about him. He was already thoroughly dehydrated from his days of illness, and the water we had wasn’t going to go far. I didn’t dare touch the flasks until moonrise. Then, I poured a little into my hands for Leap and Griffin, took two mouthfuls myself, and helped Rodden into a sitting position.

  ‘Don’t puke this up,’ I said, and gave him the flask. He managed a little before slumping down again.

  ‘Wishing for a fat husband and a cold castle?’ he murmured as I lay down next to him in the bottom of the boat.

  ‘No. Orrik and a horsewhip.’

  ‘Ah. Even better.’

  Long into the night I stared at the sky, but saw only the stars above.

  In the morning I was pleased to find we hadn’t been murdered in our sleep. As I washed my face with seawater, Griffin dropped a fat silver fish in the bottom of the boat. I gashed it deeply and squeezed, but there was little blood to speak of and it wasn’t the least bit satisfying. Still, it was food, and I scaled it with my knife and divided it into four portions.

  Rodden looked askance at his breakfast, assessing whether his stomach was about to cooperate with the pale, uncooked flesh. He nibbled some, grimaced, and lay down again. Leap and Griffin were more than happy to finish his share. I gave them all some water but didn’t drink myself, preferring to wait. I knew my limits with thirst, and while I didn’t relish the sensation I wasn’t about to keel over.

  Rodden slept the day away. I di
d my best to keep him out of the sun, bullying him into the shadow cast by the sail as the sun moved across the sky. In the afternoon I gave him some more water, but ten minutes later he threw it up. It was on the tip of my tongue to yell at him. I was hot and terribly worried about him, and it was a dreadful waste. We were already a quarter of the way through our supply. But he looked miserable enough already so I kept my mouth closed.

  In the late afternoon, I tested our distance from Pol. I felt like crying when I found we hadn’t travelled nearly as far as I’d hoped. Instead, I cleaned Rodden’s crossbow and sharpened all the points we had, Orrik’s face floating before me.

  Night fell, and my anxieties grew. I clutched some bolts in one hand and the crossbow lay across my lap, ready if we were attacked. Leap kept an anxious vigil, his body curled tightly into me. All night I watched the reflection of the stars in his eyes.

  The wind blew gentle and steady. The sea lapped at our boat. Dawn came, and after another uninterrupted night I realised that not even harmings could find us. We were no more than a drop in this great ocean, and though this should have gladdened me it only made me feel more forlorn.

  At breakfast time – ridiculous to call it that as we had little breakfast to speak of – I couldn’t rouse Rodden. I poured seawater on his face. I kicked him, shouted at him, but nothing drew a response. I clutched the thread between us and found that it was weakening. He was slipping away from me, the cool water of his soul becoming stagnant and cold.

  I forced down the fish Griffin caught, though the clammy flesh sickened me. I eased Rodden’s head into my lap, feeling for the first time the softness of his black hair, the heaviness of his skull. I smoothed a hand across his brow and found it feverish.

  Taking the knife from his belt I regarded my wrist. There was a network of bluish veins beneath white skin as thin as tissue paper. I’d never noticed it before but wrists are vulnerable things. I was reminded of the delicacy of birds’ bones and the soft underbellies of fishes. I imagined gutting my wrist like I had our breakfast, blood and nameless viscera spilling from my arm to lie in the bottom of the boat. I shuddered, and decided to approach the problem mathematically, like Orrik’s sextant: I would do this by degrees. First, no more than a scratch to see how the blood flowed. I drew the blade across the inner edge of my wrist, hissing in pain as a thin red line appeared. I rubbed the wetness across Rodden’s lower lip. He frowned and took a deep breath. I cut again, deeper this time, and the blood began to bead up. I placed my wrist against his mouth, letting the dark red liquid trickle over his lips. He didn’t open his eyes but reached up to grasp my forearm, the way I’d seem him hold the carcass of a rabbit or squirrel as he fed. The reflex gladdened my heart. I felt a sharp tug on my insides, the thread between us, and wondered if he knew that the blood in his mouth was mine. My wrist looked even more insubstantial in his large hands, and I despaired at the insufficiency of it, doubting that I would ever be able to keep him alive.