Mayday!
Mayday!
The furious Winter still ruled the black seas north of Moros, a forlorn route to eastern markets where the sailors had to weave a deadly margin between the icy glaciers and the rocky shore, all for the meager promise of eastern profits. The northern sea hurled daggers of ice and sleet at the desperate sailors that had dared this forsaken route with every black wave that kicked the ship’s hull.
But these problems paled before the monster. Sixteen ichorous heads, each brimming with teeth and eyes, that rose like a forest around the vessel. Their host remained unseen, a stain beneath the waters.
An icy wave kicked the merchant caravel, and the nearest head took a leisurely nip at the sails. The monster took its time, chewing bites of the railing and ropes while it waited for its prey to tire itself in the cold and the dark.
While every hand manned cannons, the captain clutched the wheel. He fought the rudder, struggling to keep the vessel on the living side of Winter waves, and his commands were lost in the din.
His first mate, Kent, clung to the foremost cannon and prayed to any god that would hear. Sea water poured from the cannon’s bore, and which of the twelve skulls should they even aim for?!
Towards the rear, another head nipped at the rudder. Tearing free the tip, it chewed the wood like cud.
An unseen wave heaved the vessel sideways, throwing Kent into the ship’s doctor, Bethany. They collapsed together, clinging to the ropes for their lives.
A moment later, a third monstrous head butted the useless cannon over the edge and into the sea.
At least I’ll die with a woman in my arms, Kent reasoned. Bethany is a wonder. How’d she end up stuck with us anyways?
Better to drown or be devoured? He tried to steel himself to make that choice.
Their ship slammed the opposite direction; he lost his grip.
He slid for the fresh hole in the rail, feet aimed for black water, and his last dregs of bravery drained out his toes.
I don’t want to die! God above! Aure! Even the Tempest! I ain’t picky right now!
Bethany snatched him by the collar with both arms, anchoring her heels in the cannon grooves, and held until the vessel leveled. Then she heaved him back against her belly and hissed, “Should’ve stayed on the farm!”
“You and me both!” he wheezed.
Sprawled, they witnessed the heads congregate above the caravel, ready for the main course.
Facing upwards, they had an excellent view as a bolt of lightning arced from the southern horizon, splitting the clouds on its way.
A fresh layer of hoarfrost burst across the deck, and the waves stuttered.
In the silent wake of that bolt, a woman with a prim accent grumbled, “Yet another? Hells.”
At the prow stood a teal-haired, hazel-eyed principality. Unbowed by the storm or the dark, she swept her gaze over the scene as a halo of war swirled above her head…
The monster swiveled all sixty-four burning eyes to that woman, and it hissed from a dozen heads at this interloper.
“Shadow and hunger given form. An echo of the Gamchicoth, perhaps? No, you’ve yet to eat anyone. Too much restraint for at one. You are shadow and lies, twisted upon itself. Sathariel perhaps?”
One head split wide to reveal rows of stained teeth, square and blunt like a man. It darted forward, maw wide…
“As you wish,” she shrugged, hand drifting to her side.
A thunderous peal; the rain stopped, and a freshly severed head crumbled away into mist.
Unconcerned, the woman shook water from her bedraggled blouse. “If you have the wit to speak, echo, do so.”
Ten more heads lunged.
The woman sighed like a pressed-upon maid and flickered faster than he could follow.
Mere glimpses of light, punctuated by lightning blows whose idle backwash cracked the deck.
Caught by one, Kent and Bethany experienced the sickening vertigo of sudden flight.
Followed by a firm touch around his hips.
“None of that now,” whispered the woman.
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The world elongated into a tunnel for a heartbeat, and Kent landed hard next to the captain. Bethany followed a beat later.
The woman vanished before he could even process these events.
Realizing it was outmatched, the monster’s broken necks slunk for the safety of the depths.
The posh woman appeared astride the railing, staring into the waves with an eagle’s fixed gaze.
“There you really are.”
She dove into the sea.
“Away while we still can, Captain!” Kent cried, seized by premonition.
By the luck of the sea, the waves turned that moment to carry them away.
Behind them, the ocean buckled; a terrible, oily shape launched skyward under the woman’s power.
Framed by the storm, it was a writhing and squirming mass of shadow that ran like ink in offense to both eye and mind.
As it reached the arc of its involuntary flight, the woman followed.
Her Blade free.
A glint in the dark; a pillar of fire that split the sky and shook Kent to the memories of his earliest days.
He had dreamed of this day when he was five years old. Dreamed it, his young heart heavy with dread, and he had been a fool to forget a child’s clarity.
Bethany threw herself over Kent, holding him tight.
Unsure if the column would consume them as well, he held her back.
The ship picked up speed, rushing towards the trough between great waves. The waves would follow, pulverizing them from all sides.
Guess it’ll be the sea that does it after all. Knew I should have done the oblation no matter what Captain had to say.
Though the ship lurched, aborting its slide, and instead rose into the sky!
Around them, the dark storm blinked away, and they passed in a blink across the brown Whistler fields; over the grey mountains; past the muted orange of the Plateau; and finally emerged into the tropical warmth of southern waters.
Dawn teased at the horizon as the ship descended under a higher power’s control to the waiting Dragon below, and Kent realized who this strange woman must be.
The Tempest set them gently into the muddy waters of the Dragon, nestled at the northernmost gap between the two shell-halves of Waves. Dusting her hands, she hopped across the shattered deck to stare down into the ship’s hold.
“Northern waters in Winter. Suicidal folly!” She knelt, reaching through the hole in the deck to yank away the tarps over their cargo. Novian steel pots and pans gleamed for her inspection, and the woman shook her head. “You would send men to the depths to be first to the eastern markets this season? Novia would be disgusted.”
“That is the property of the Regency!” sputtered the captain, still glued white-knuckle to the helm. “This is a proud Auren vessel. We grant no offerings to your treachery, and our hearts honor the true God of all lands!”
Her expression soured. “And what do you know of God?”
“Enough to name you, Tempest!”
She set her hands on her hips. “I can name you as well, Captain Alvingham. Indeed, I might ask why a captain in good standing would be carrying Novian steel away from Ruhum. So attentive to your God, but how easily the export restrictions slip your mind!”
How does she know his name? Kent’s mind itched. He was a naval graduate, and he recalled several noble Ladies in attendance for the graduation parade. Among them had been a woman in silver, her hair a shocking teal, conversing in earnest with the retired admiral that ran his program…
But his mind flinched away from the obvious truth. Why would the dread Tempest attend a parade?!
The rags were right! The Tempest actually has a dossier on every captain in the fleet!
Bethany staggered to her feet and helped him up. Both backed from the budding confrontation between the captain and the goddess.
Their vessel groaned, taking on the turgid waters of the Dragon. Crew shouted for buckets before the dirty waters fouled the merchandise.
Alvingham sketched the sigil of Fire before the Tempest. “Begone!”
“This is my city,” she pointed out. “If you wish to leave, you are welcome to it, though I do not imagine you will last long on the ocean without a rudder.”
“Better to drown pure!” Alvingham shouted.
“By all means,” the Tempest shrugged, motioning to the river. “Who is the first mate?”
Kent started. That was him! “Present!”
“Your captain wishes to commit suicide. Since you will soon be the ranking officer, do you request safe harbor?”
Simple pragmatism overrode any religious concerns. “Yes, ma’am!”
Glowering in rage, the captain snatched up a broken plank and rounded on Kent. “You mutinous little cretin!”
Between the start of his swing and its end, the Tempest blinked across the deck and caught his wrist. He staggered against her iron grip, and she ignored him like a tick in hand.
“Excellent,” she continued. “A priestess will be along momentarily to inventory your ship and crew. This service is free. You must choose this vessel’s fate. The damage to the keel is extensive, and this design is out of favor. My recommendation? Scrap the vessel and sell your goods here; Novian steel sells everywhere.”
Alvingham wheezed, “You…you bastard! This ship is the property of the good–”
Bending the captain backwards, the Tempest asked, “Which House backed your venture?”
“Hastings.”
“They would gamble the last of their Novian stockpile on the east at the break of Winter? Insurance will not pay for illegal exports. I fear this may be their final straw…”
Alvingham produced a knife and struck deep into the woman’s side.
She pitched him over the side of the ship without a glance.
“You are young for a first mate. Is this your first journey?”
“Yes,” Kent admitted, flushing.
“Then I offer another advice: treat your fellows with respect, and you will find here a sailor’s fraternity that spans every kind and creed.”
A column of water rose into view, carrying a bronze-skinned woman in the Azure sarong. Her serpent swayed on her shoulder, directing tendrils of water like helping hands, and the column held Alvingham trapped in its belly.
“Holy One,” the priestess bowed. “Shall this man be judged?”
“A day in the tank to cool his temper; then deliver him to the embassy.”
“As you wish.”
Adjusting to this sudden change in station, Kent set his hand on the helm. Beyond the Tempest, he spied two ironclads, both severely damaged, laid ahead of him in this line of salvage. Several Azure priestesses already walked the Dragon around both, assessing the damage while the Auren sailors watched sullenly from the shore.
Measuring the holes in each ironclad against the cannonade in their possession, he swallowed hard.
Rusted caravel or pride of the fleet, monsters take us all! What is to come of the sea?!
Continuing south, a proud bridge spanned the Dragon. People and trolleys swirled across it, too accustomed to the sight of derelicts to gawk, and beyond that the bay gleamed with ships plying every trade in warm waters.
Streamers of every nation flew from the houses.
“For a heretical wasteland, it is quite colorful,” Bethany remarked. Her hand wormed forward, daring to capture his.
Glancing at her fingers interwoven in his own, Kent found himself smiling.
Hardly the homeland of sin, now is this?
Maybe the world was bigger than he had realized.
The Tempest spotted their clasped hands and smiled. She spun on her heel and offered them a grand bow. “Now that is the spirit! Welcome to Waves, Captain Kent.”