Chapter Sixteen

Krissintha Arlonet Dar Ghelain had never begged. When she wanted something from her father or mother, she asked and it was given to her. When she wanted something from anyone else, she demanded it, as was her right, and she received it. The only begging she ever knew was the begging of others, sometimes in front of her father, sometimes in front of her.

After five days in the ship's hold, behind thick, wooden bars keeping her prisoner in her small cell, the pain of betrayal and a sense of hopelessness were piling up on her. Much to her shame, it occurred to her that she might need to try and beg, and it took all her remaining willpower to stop herself from doing so.

A putrid smell permeated the entire hold, rats scurried around, and the stale biscuits and dry meat she was given once a day were worse than anything she’d ever even heard about. She was becoming listless, and she’d let the gentle rocking of the ship lull her into sleep more and more often. Sometimes she’d wake to the squeaking of rats chewing on her dress or climbing the bucket containing her filth. Her life at her father’s estate seemed like a distant, half-forgotten dream now. The freedom to do as she pleased was as if it had never existed and would never exist again.

But she refused to beg.

Every once in a while Jevan would come down, sit on the other side of the bars, throwing insults at her, gloating, and then he’d leave. She tried to ignore him. But how could he hate her so much? She was a lady. How could a retainer so easily betray those he served?

Sailors came and went quite frequently, and the same bars kept her safe from their hungry glances. Begging would be in vain here, and she rebuked herself every time the thought surfaced, but each time it was becoming just a little harder to resist.

It was on the evening of the fifth day at sea when keeping down the urge to beg became impossible.

***

At first she heard some muffled shouting coming from above, from the deck — orders, complaints and swearing. Krissintha didn’t pay it any mind as she lay on the hard and damp floorboards of her cell. The constant rocking and swaying of the ship and the ever present, faint creaking of wood were a lullaby she had found to be the only solace she could rely on.

When water started to drip from the ceiling, and small streams of it began flowing down on the bulkheads, she ignored it. What was it to her? Nothing. It was just rain. She was even thankful that the pattering sound drowned out the voices of sailors on the deck. It was better this way.

Some time passed before the gentle rocking of the ship turned into violent jerks and jolts, ups and downs. Krissintha could only hear the roaring winds and thunders now.

Three sailors climbed down the hatch into the hold, rushing past her cell, soaked to the bone, swearing and yelling something about ballast and balance and keeping the ship from capsizing. Krissintha lifted her head from the filthy floor. Something was wrong: capsizing did not sound like something a ship should do. But what if it did?

She wondered if a watery grave was preferable to being sold as a plaything to Voysair merchants or nobility. Maybe it was. The only thing that irked her was that if the ship went down, she’d have to share her final resting place with that damned traitor, Jevan. She hoped the man would fall overboard and be washed away to another sea and feed the fish somewhere else. This sea just wasn’t big enough for a lady and a traitor.

***

The hours that passed were filled with the roaring of winds and the occasional, panicked yells of sailors who were close enough to the hatch for Krissintha to hear them.

Seawater was up to her ankles; it was cold and it kept rising, covering every inch of the hold’s floor, pouring down from the hatch, pouring in from cracks in the bulkheads, pouring in from everywhere.

Crates and barrels tore free from ropes and belts, rolling and sliding around, bashing against the bulkheads, the bars of her cell and each other. Water reached her knees, then her thighs. She clung to the bars, gritting her teeth, hearing the call of that watery grave louder and louder. She realised that even if she didn’t want to answer that call, the ship, the Dalar’s Heart, seemed to be taking her there regardless. It finally sank in that this was reality, this was happening. As her mind snapped out of her dazed lethargy, a sudden clarity of thought descended on her: she didn’t want to die.

A sailor fell down the hatch, splashing into the now waist deep water in the hold. The man scrambled to his feet and tried to trudge back to the ladder. Krissintha yelled.

‘Let me out! Let me out!’

Her voice was weak, more a loud whisper than a scream. So she tried again.

‘Hey! You! Let me out, I beg you!’

The man turned his head, giving her a quick look, then began to climb the ladder.

‘No! Come back! I beg you!’ she screamed in vain.

Krissintha didn’t want to die, she knew it now. But the water was rising, or maybe the ship was going down, and it looked like she’d drown soon if she couldn’t get out of the hold. She didn’t know if up on deck would be any better, but she knew there would at least be air to breath.

She took a breath as deep as she could, and she was about to shout again, but a deafening crunch cut her short.

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A thick and heavy pole, the main mast, came crashing into the hold. It tore through the deck, the hatch, the ladder and the man climbing it. Salty water and pieces of broken wood showered Krissintha as she fell back and sank into the chest high water. She flailed and managed to grab one of the bars of her cell, pulling herself up, coughing, spitting and trying to blink seawater out of her eyes.

She could barely see as she looked around. The ceiling was gone, and the rain was pattering against her face. But along with the ceiling, some of the bars of her cell were gone, too. This was it. She could escape the hold if she could make it to … the ladder. A flash of lightning in the darkness — for a moment she saw the crushed sailor, pieces of the broken ladder floating around him. And she saw the mast, hanging down into the hold, tangled ropes of the rigging twisting around it. And that was it. She could climb up using those tangled ropes.

She half ran half swam, debris bashing against her shoulders and her head as the ship jerked and jumped on the furious waves. She reached the mast. Her clothes caught on metal fastenings and pulleys, tearing as she climbed and climbed, finally pulling herself up to the broken deck.

The storm roared at her, slapping her with rain from above and seawater from below. Krissintha set foot on the deck, gripping the tangled ropes of the broken mast. She looked around with no any idea what she was looking for. A safe place? There was no safe place — there was no hiding from an angry sea.

Krissintha saw the expressions on the sailors’ faces when the black clouds tossed bolts of lightning down. The sailors huddled at the railings, at the broken base of the mast, holding onto whatever they could. They didn’t move, there was nothing they could do, and it seemed they had surrendered the ship and themselves to the dubious mercy of the storm.

She saw the captain of the ship, standing at the stern, gripping onto the helm with all he had, his mouth open, yelling something she couldn’t hear over the thundering of the sky and sea.

Jevan was there, too, holding onto the railing at the steps going up to platform with the helm. Behind him the cuirass-wearing man was doing the same, gripping the railing with one hand and his spear with the other.

Krissintha’s scream was lost in the gale — she cursed the sea and the storm and at the same time she begged them to fling the retainer overboard and drag him down to the bottom, or even deeper.

Then the ship shook, and Krissintha felt it rising up, creaking and groaning so loud even the storm couldn’t hide the sounds.

‘Kraken!’ one of the sailors screamed.

Krissintha looked at the sailor, and the wide-eyed terror on the man's face shook her to her core. Kraken? She’d heard of these sea-monsters. A kraken.

She turned her head to where all the sailors were now looking.

A giant shadow moved in the darkness of the storm, zig-zag lightning strikes revealing momentary outlines. It was close, getting closer, dark tendrils pulling on the ship, dragging it.

A sailor jumped off the deck. Krissintha gasped in horror. Was that preferable to a kraken?

Giant tentacles rose up from below, taking splintered beams and sailors with it. Then another of the dark, coiling arms of the sea-monster crashed down between where Krissintha was and the stern of the ship. She pressed her eyes shut, curling up as much as she could, still hugging the loosening ropes of the broken mast. The Dalar’s Heart shook as it broke in half.

The storm grabbed a piece of canvas, a remnant of the sails, lifting it up. She screamed as she was pulled up into the air, hanging on the rope attached to the canvas. She saw the ship from above now, she saw the kraken, landing another tentacle on it, smashing it, wooden parts flying everywhere.

Krissintha crashed into the waves. It hurt. Salty water filled her nose and mouth. She flailed helplessly until her hand touched something hard. She grabbed onto it, and her head was above water again. The waves were throwing her around, splashing over her, but she could breathe, she wasn’t dead yet.

Lightning lit up the sky for a moment. The shadows, the outlines, the ship and the monster were in the distance now. No more cracking of wood, no more screaming of sailors, only the howling of the storm and the roaring of the waves. All she could do was to hold on to the broken piece of the mast, and she held on to it with all she had.

***

The rain stopped. The winds were calming, letting the waves become smaller and gentler. Lightning and thunder no longer filled the darkness. Krissintha didn’t know how much time had passed. All she knew was that she had to hold onto the wooden beam no matter how much it hurt or how tired she was. She was shivering in the cold water, her mouth filled with the taste of salt. She was drifting, freezing, trying to resist the sleep that was sure to take her to her death, should she give in to it.

After long, painful hours, the sun came up behind the clouds, bringing an end to the night, and finally to the storm.

The grey sky looked down on Krissintha with a new calm, promising a slow, less dramatic death than the storm or the kraken. Krissintha shivered — was there anything in this world that wasn’t trying to kill her? She felt too weak and too tired to scream or curse, and it wouldn’t have made a difference even if she could. She wondered for how long she'd have the strength to hold on to this piece of wood. She wondered if she’d just die on her own, or some sea creatures would eat her first. She wondered what that spot of dark color in the distance was.

Krissintha strained her eyes as much as she was able, trying to make out that vague shape in the distance.

Land. It was land. It must have been land. She hoped it was land. And even if it wasn’t, that slightly darker splodge of shape and color in the distance was the only thing she could see in the vast greyness of the sea. She was tired, aching and almost ready to give up, but hope was a strange thing. Krissintha never knew hope could infuse her arms and her legs with new strength. She gripped the small piece of broken wood harder than before and she kicked and kicked, slowly pushing herself forward. She would reach that place, even if it was the last things she did.

***

Krissintha yelped. Her legs cramped a lot sooner than she though they would. But she was getting closer and she felt her hope growing. It was land. It was definitely land — she could see dark cliffs in the distance. She rested, stretching her legs under the water, then she started kicking again.

It took hours — although to Krissintha it felt like days — but she reached the first of the rocks jutting out of the water. The shore wasn’t far now, maybe another hour of swimming, but she was tired, her muscles burning and freezing at the same time. She needed to rest. Not letting her wooden plank go, she pulled herself onto the cold, slanting surface of the rock. Being out of the water finally, she lay on her back, panting and still cuddling the plank, murmuring thanks to no-one in particular that she was alive.

Then she screamed at the sky until she couldn't.