In the days that followed they met fewer and fewer abandoned becalmed ships until the outlook was again clear of all other vessels. The sea was improbably calm, as was the wind. No breeze ruffled the air; no ripple disturbed the iron-grey surface. To Jute it was as if they sailed a sheet of misty glass.
Yet they were not entirely alone. Now and then crew members shouted their surprise and dismay, pointing down at the astonishingly clear water. Rotting vessels lay beneath them, in various stages of decomposition. And all, it seemed to Jute, from differing epochs or periods of history. Older-style galleys lay stacked upon even more archaic open-hulled longboats, which in turn appeared to rest upon even cruder hulls, some perhaps nothing more than dugouts. It was as if the Sea of Dread were one great graveyard of vessels, all heaped upon one another, each slowly settling into, and adding to, the mud and mire of the sea floor.
So too would they have ended, he imagined, were it not for the guidance, and shielding, of the sorceress with them.
For the next few days a dense mist enshrouded them. It clung to the masts in scarves and tatters. Jute found it almost hard to breathe the stuff. The noises of their passage returned to them distorted, even unrecognizable. It was almost as if the sounds were from other vessels hidden in the miasma, calling to them.
Then, slowly, the light ahead began to brighten ever so slightly. Took on a pale sapphire glint. The vapours thinned and they emerged as if through parting veils to find themselves once more behind the Supplicant, only now approaching a forested rocky coast bearing the last patches of winter’s snow. Great jagged spires of ice floated in the waters between them and the coast.
The fog thinned even more, revealing that beyond the shore the land climbed to rocky jagged ridges. Behind these, distant and tall, reared the white gleaming peaks of mountains. Jute gazed, entranced. Could those be their destination? The near-mythical Salt range?
A breath caught behind him and he turned, surprised. There stood Ieleen, gripping the doorway, walking stick in hand. He went to her. ‘Lass! You’re up!’
‘Aye.’ She sounded deathly hoarse. He guided her to her stool and she sat heavily, sighing her gratitude. ‘Aye. At last.’ Her sightless clouded eyes darted about. ‘I dreamed … troubled dreams. Someone shielded me from their worst.’ Somehow, the eyes found him. ‘We know who, hey?’
He nodded, then remembered. ‘Ah, yes. So, what do you smell?’
‘The scent that has been tormenting me for days now,’ she growled, displeased. She closed both hands atop the walking stick and set her chin there. ‘The stink of ancient rotting ice.’
* * *
Two days after departing the Isle of Pillars, Master Ghelath came stomping up to K’azz and Shimmer. They stood at the bow of their new vessel, the Letherii-commissioned merchantman named the Venture. The captain was mopping his brow and scowling.
‘This vessel’s a useless tub,’ he announced.
‘Don’t pull your punches,’ K’azz answered, not looking away from the waters to the north.
The Falaran sailor threw his arms wide. ‘We’re hardly making any headway at all!’ He thrust a finger down to their feet and the raised archer’s castle they stood upon. ‘These platforms fore and aft make us top-heavy. We’re squat, too broad at the beam, wallowing, and slower than a Cawnese river-barge!’
‘Speak for yourself,’ K’azz murmured.
Shimmer compressed her lips to hide a smile. ‘And what do you suggest, captain?’
Ghelath waved his arms as if they could start anywhere. ‘Hack off these half-arsed platforms for a start,’ he finally spluttered.
K’azz frowned. ‘There are easier options, master mariner.’
The captain daubed at his flushed glistening forehead. ‘Such as?’
‘Light a smudge.’
The man gaped at K’azz. ‘A smudge?’
‘Yes, captain.’
‘That’ll attract every ship within leagues!’
‘Yes, captain.’
He squeezed the cloth in his hands, twisted it. ‘That’s yer orders, is it?’
‘Yes. I agree with you captain, we do need to make better headway. See to it.’
Ghelath wiped his face with the rag. ‘Well … if you say so, sir.’ He went off shaking his head.
Shimmer regarded K’azz. ‘It could bring the Letherii.’
He turned away to lean against the railing once more. ‘I do not believe they are following.’
‘You underestimate the blind spitefulness of the self-righteous.’
That raised a faint smile. ‘Perhaps so, Shimmer. Such emotions feel distant now.’
She considered the statement. Indeed, she couldn’t remember the last time she felt an intense emotion. Such as rage. Or — and here her breath caught — even passion. And yet the pain I feel now burning in my chest is real. I feel. But I do not reach out. What is wrong with me? Am I still even capable …
She went to find Bars.
He was below talking with Blues, Sept, and Black the Elder. ‘A word, Bars. If you would,’ she said.
He nodded. She led him to the main cabin, which was quite sumptuously decorated — the Letherii merchant Luthal Canar seemed to have valued his creature comforts. The bed, she noted, was much wider and longer than the usual sailor’s bunk. Good. Blasted awkward to be banging your head when you’re trying to enjoy yourself.
She closed and latched the door behind them and stood before it.
He turned and peered down at her with a rather puzzled look. ‘Yes, Shimmer?’
This close she found she had to tilt her head back quite far. Damn, but he’s a big one. She’d quite forgotten. She drew a hard breath to steel herself, and said, ‘Kiss me.’
First his brows fell, then they rose higher and higher. The colour of his face actually deepened.
Oh, come on, you great ox! You’re not making this any easier. I can’t do all the work here. Without looking down she started undoing her belt. ‘Does a woman have to ask twice?’
Now he was shaking his head. ‘No, Shimmer. Don’t … not like this …’
Her weapon belt hit the floor and she started on his. ‘Come on, Bars. Don’t you feel anything? I want to. I want to feel.’
He snatched her hands in his. ‘No! Shimmer. No …’
She gazed up at him, saw hurt in his eyes. Hurt? Why that? Am I so-
She yanked her hands from him, flinched away. ‘I may not be some soft courtesan, Bars. My nose may be broken and I may have calluses on my hands … but I am a woman!’ She turned to the door. ‘And you are a fool.’
‘You are beautiful, Shimmer,’ he said, very quietly. Her hand lingered on the latch. ‘I’ve always thought you beautiful. You do not know how long I’ve wanted … longed … well.’ She heard him cross the cabin. Wood creaked as he sat on the framed edge of the bed. ‘I don’t want something so beautiful if it will just be taken away from me tomorrow. That would hurt too much, Shimmer.’
She slowly turned back to him. Oh, Bars … I didn’t know … How could I have known? You said nothing. Why didn’t you at least say something? She pulled her mail coat over her head. It dropped to the floor in a crash of jangling metal. She came to him. ‘How was I to know, you great oaf? You never said a thing!’
A wistful smile crossed his scarred face. He wiped something from his cheeks.
Tears? Oh, Bars … you great fool!
He cleared his throat. ‘There’s a saying where I come from, Shimmer. If you have to chase and corner the wild animal, then it’s not yours. But if you stand very still and let it come to you — then it’s yours.’
She stood very close before him. ‘So I’m a wild animal, am I?’
A smile crooked his lips as he peered up at her. ‘The wildest. And the most frightening.’