Chapter Twenty-two

Krissintha Arlonet Dar Ghelain sat on the deck with her back against the mast. She had never known much about ships, but even she could tell that The Island Queen was ugly ... or “crude but lovely” as Quenta had put it. It was nothing like a ship: a large box with a main and a forward mast, some storage space under the deck, and a single room at the back which the sailors called a castle for some reason.

She couldn’t take her eyes off the ropes running to the railings from the top of the mast. She lifted her arm to look at the painful blisters on her palms. Making ropes hadn’t been easy, but she was proud of herself for enduring. She had never had to do something like this before — doing embroidery at her mothers behest did not count as labour. She wondered if her father would have been proud of her. Considering the circumstances, she believed he would have been.

The ship swayed gently under the midday sun, patchwork sail unfurled, enlisting the breeze to slowly drag The Island Queen forward, away from the island.

The first day at sea.

The hound trudged over to her. It lay down next to her, lowering its head onto her lap. Krissintha started stroking him, the beast growling with appreciation. She suspected the hound didn’t like being on the ship, but she could ask neither the beast nor the spirit about it.

The spirit. She was on a ship with a spirit.

Krissintha was worried. At first she had thought the spirit was helping them so it could send them on their way because it just wanted the island to itself. She had been wrong, and while she was thankful, she was also worried. Now she had no idea what the spirit was planning, what was going through its head, if it had a head at all. But the spirit was here. In a way it was good: it certainly increased her chances of survival, but beyond that she didn’t know

‘Uhm … Lady Krissintha,’ Tommi called out to her, emerging from the so called “castle”. ‘So … we … have that box full of water, but we forgot makin’ a lid, so it’s splashin’ all over.’

Before Krissintha could say a word, a large plank appeared in front of her, hovering in the air until she reached out to grab it. She held it up to the sailor. The young man walked over to her and took the plank.

‘Thanks. This will do,’ Tommi said, looking at the hound with a contemplating gaze. ‘This … it’s gettin’ me every time I’m seein’ it.’

Krissintha looked up at Tommi, but didn’t say anything — it was getting her every time she saw it, too. Such an unnatural thing. She was definitely worried about the spirit. It still used its childish drawings to talk to her, but she didn’t have to do the same any more. It understood them now, more or less. The spirit was learning. A powerful, evil spirit from hell, learning. And helping, going so far as to make this ship possible. Just what was it planning?

‘I ain’t ever seen a familiar doin’ things like this,’ Quenta commented, talking loudly so he could be heard from the top of the castle, holding the rudder’s pole. ‘How is it doin’ that, Lady Krissintha, do you know?’

‘Familiars don’t speak to their masters,’ Krissintha said, shrugging. ‘So I don’t know how. It just does it.’

‘And it’s drawin’ things.’ Quenta argued. ‘It’s almost like talkin’.

‘Is it?’ Krissintha asked, raising an eyebrow.

‘It’s … I don’t know,’ Quenta said. ‘I met some of ‘em spiritualists, you know, hell, I even went visitin’ a shrine once and seen ‘em monks. I’m thinkin’ your familiar ain’t the normal sort, no offence, my Lady.’

‘What do you want me to tell you, Quenta,’ Krissintha snapped at the sailor. ‘It was the only spirit I could find, and it’s doing a damn good job. Oh, and it can understand you now, so try not to offend it. It has all our food, remember?’

The moment the word “food” left Krissintha’s mouth, a steaming slice of roast meat appeared before her, floating, pale blue power flashing around it for a split second.

‘Ah, no thank you, I’m not hungry. We were just talking,’ she said, smiling at the hound, hoping she was looking at the spirit, too. The slice of meat vanished.

‘I think … I’ll be careful,’ Quenta conceded.

‘It’s gettin’ me every time.’ Tommi said with a sigh, going back into the castle-room, or whatever it was called.

Krissintha sighed, too. The hound growled a bit louder, demanding she resumed stroking its head. She had grown to like the hound, which she should have found at least a little unsettling — she had no idea what the hound was to the spirit. She knew that the spirit was not her familiar, and even though the hound seemed to be able to draw on its power, the spirit wasn’t the hound’s familiar either. It was probably the other way around, the hound serving the spirit. So … was the hound a familiar then? She knew some of the terminology spiritualist used, but it was confusing, and she had no clue.

‘Lady Krissintha,’ Quenta called out to her once again.

‘What is it?’ she said.

‘So … the sun sets and Resting Star rises that way,’ he said, pointing towards the flat, ugly bow of the ship. ‘That’s west. We’re headin’ west.’

‘You’ve said. So?’ Krissintha said.

‘As far as I can tell, we might be endin’ up at the Filante coast. But if we go driftin’ north a bit, we might be endin’ up near the Voysair Empire.’

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‘You’ve said. So?’ Krissintha asked again.

‘Island Queen’s slow. Either way, we’ll be reachin’ land in … dunno … twenty? Thirty days? Maybe. Hopefully.’

‘You’ve said. What are you getting at, Quenta? Out with it!’ Krissintha snapped, losing her patience.

‘Awright,’ Quenta said, taking a deep breath, looking down at her from the castle. ‘Say we reach land. What will you be doin’ after? With us I mean?’

Oh. This hadn’t even occurred to her. The past two months had been busy. She had been focusing on the work that needed to be done. But now that Quenta had brought it up, it was something she needed to consider.

What to do with the two sailors?

They hadn’t done anything to harm her, not directly. But they had been a part of the crew that had wanted to sell them to be some Voysair pig’s plaything. Should she follow her late father’s example? The Lord Baron Granvil Thalmis Dar Ghelain hadn’t been known for his forgiving nature. When people made mistakes, or worse, were caught in an act of betrayal, he made sure those people paid a price, often with their lives. Or should she adopt her late mother’s softer approach? “Let it be a lesson, and you’d better learn because there won’t be a next time”?

Krissintha glanced down at the now sleeping hound, its head on her lap. She wondered what an evil spirit would do, but she couldn’t even begin to guess.

She sighed, then called out to Tommi,

‘Tommi, come back out!’

The young sailor emerged from the castle once again. Krissintha looked him up and down, then turned her head to Quenta.

‘The two of you are the last of the crew that tried to sell me to the Voysair,’ she said, squinting at the sailors. They both gulped, but remained silent. ‘On the other hand you have served me well. You’ve earned … if not my forgiveness, then some goodwill, enough to give you a choice once we reach land.’

‘A … choice, my Lady?’ Tommi asked, fidgeting nervously.

‘Yes. A choice.’ Krissintha nodded. ‘If you so chose, you may leave and go wherever you see fit and hope our paths never cross again. Your faces are a reminder of a time when I was caught at my lowest, and I will not suffer the sight.’

‘I … see,’ Quenta muttered. ‘What’s the other choice, my Lady?’

‘You may continue to serve me under the same terms as now. If you choose to do so, then you may earn my forgiveness one day. You have some time to decide.’

The two sailors took deep breaths, and Tommi seemed to be trembling as he stood at the door of the castle. Krissintha wanted to smile. She had already made up her mind to let them go. They didn’t deserve to be killed or punished in any other way. And even if she wanted kill them, she couldn’t do it by herself, and she was absolutely sure the spirit wouldn’t assist her. Quenta and Tommi were just … sailors. Yes, she would let them go, but she thought it prudent to keep them at least a little bit fearful, just to make sure they knew their places, at least until they went their separate ways.

‘Uhm … Lady Krissintha?’ Tommi started to ask cautiously. ‘What will you be doin’?’

‘Me? Is that any of your business?’ she snapped at the sailor.

‘Oh, no. Of course not,’ the man said quickly, flinching and nearly fleeing back to the castle.

Krissintha had a hard time keeping herself from laughing at the reaction of the young man.

‘Well, if you must know,’ Krissintha said, trying to keep a straight face. ‘I am going to Thyssa.’

‘Thyssa?’ Quenta asked. ‘Isn’t that … dangerous for you, my Lady?’

‘Oh, are you worried about me?’ she asked, this time unable to keep her mouth from curling upwards.

‘I mean … well … I …’ Quenta stuttered.

'It’s dangerous. But my younger brother may still be alive. If he is, I will find him,’ she said, stroking the sleeping hell-hound’s head. ‘After that, there is a king I need to kill.’

The two sailors went quiet, their eyes suddenly wide, their faces displaying an expression Krissintha could only interpret as terrified. She savoured it. Fear was a splendid tool, and even though she had just lied to put a little more of it into the men, it was worth it. The looks on their faces told Krissintha that the pair of them firmly believed that she could and would do exactly what she’d said.

She fully intended to find her brother, that was true. She didn’t know what had happened to little Bernard, but if he was alive, she’d find him. Killing the new king of Thyssa, well … it was a nice and heartwarming thought, but she knew it was off the table. Even if she had an army, or several armies, it would be impossible.

She glanced down at the hound again, sleeping so peacefully. She wondered what the spirit would do once they reached land. Would it choose to go with her? Or would it take off with the hound? She didn’t know. But there was time until then. This was only the first day of their voyage.

***

Krissintha had nothing to do. Time was so slow, the sun was so bright, and the salty air so irritating. She began to understand the hound’s mood swings — she was close to having them herself.

Ten days at sea.

This was the longest she’d ever spent on a ship, and while it was better than being a prisoner on the ill-fated Dalar’s Heart, The Island Queen was an exceedingly boring and uncomfortable affair.

Quenta and Tommi didn’t complain, not once — Krissintha knew they were used to it. They had probably spent most of their lives at sea. They took turns at the rudder, keeping the ship on course as much as they could, made sure the masts and the sails were doing whatever it was they were doing, chatted between themselves and played with the hound occasionally.

To Krissintha’s astonishment, Quenta began teaching new words to the spirit. The man would use old planks, carving images into it with his dagger, saying the corresponding words out loud until the spirit — with a small flash of power — sanded the plank smooth. Then the process would start again.

This wasn’t a normal spirit.

The food was just as boring as it had been on the island, but the spirit had stocked hundreds of the pre-cooked slices with … however it was doing it. It was the same with fresh water: a new, tar-treated, water filled box would appear whenever the water ran out.

This wasn’t a normal spirit.

But none of this helped with her boredom.

***

The eleventh day came.

She woke up, clambered to her feet from the hard floor of the castle-room, stretched her limbs, had a few gulps of water from the half-full box, then went out to the deck.

Tommi was at the rudder, and Quenta was sitting, leaning against the mast, petting the hound with one hand, carving a new word onto a plank with the other, teaching his invisible, hell-spawn pupil. She approached them and took the roast meat and the weird tasting root-thing from the air as it appeared. She ate it and she was ready for a new day of nothing.

Then Tommi’s panicked voice rang out.

'Oi! Quenta! Come up ‘ere! Now!’

Oh, what now?’ the older sailor grumbled, but he pulled himself up and the ladder up to the castle-top.

‘Look!’ Tommi cried, pointing ahead into the distance.

Krissintha turned to look, but standing on the deck, she saw nothing.

‘Oh, for all the fukken spirit-shit in the world!’ Quenta swore, tearing at his own hair.

Krissintha rushed to the ladder. She didn’t know what it was, but Tommi’s wailing and Quenta’s swearing told her this wasn’t good. She arrived next to them and looked, squinting and straining her eyes.

'What in the …’ she gasped, as she finally noticed it.

‘Kraken!’ Tommi cried.