But no! Before anyone could react, Keenir leapt over the gunwale onto the creature’s shoulders. Immediately, the old captain brought his jaws to bear, chomping into the thing’s flesh.
Kal’s neck swung as far as it could to the right and tried to curve back upon itself so that its horribly toothed mouth could reach Keenir, but its anatomy wouldn’t allow such a tight coiling of the neck. As Afsan watched, three other sailors ieapt over the side of the boat into the water. They swam toward Kal with powerful side-to-side strokes of their long tails.
All of the action was taking place on the side of the ship opposite Afsan. He wanted to better see what was going on, but wasn’t foolish enough to rush out into the open, making himself an easy target for that dexterous neck. Instead, he hurried to the base of the mast, where the climbing web began. He fought to keep his claws shielded: they would hinder climbing. Afsan scrambled up the webbing, its interlocking network of ropes between him and Kal. The ropes didn’t provide much protection but he doubted that even Kal could bite through them, and the little open squares formed by their crisscrossing were much too small for Kal’s massive head to poke through.
By the time Afsan had climbed high enough to see clearly what was going on over on the far side of the boat, the three sailors who had followed Keenir overboard had reached Kal. Two were clawing their way into the beast’s flank just above its right front flipper. The third had his jaws dug into the trailing edge of that same diamond-shaped fin. Kal began to flap it against the surface in an effort to dislodge the sailor, and Afsan tried to imagine the body slams the Quintaglio must be enduring.
And then Kal dived. Its sleek form cut through the water so smoothly that it was gone beneath the waves in the blink of an outer eyelid, the choppy surface leaving no sign that the beast had ever been there.
Gone, too, were Keenir and his three sailors.
Afsan fought down a wave of panic. Kal was a reptile like himself—an air-breathing creature. It would have to come up for air soon…
Indeed, although Afsan expected that the great and hideous beast could dive for long periods when it had prepared to do so, perhaps by hyperventilating first, perhaps by simply gulping massive amounts of air, this dive had not been premeditated. Rather, it had been a desperate attempt to dislodge the puny creatures clawing and biting into its hide.
Afsan thought he could make out the outline of the beast just beneath the surface, but the bluish-white light from the sun and the red and orange reflection of the crescent Face of God to the stern cast odd tones across the wave caps, making it difficult to be sure.
After a few heartbeats, there was a commotion in the water. Irb-Hadzig, the sailor who had chomped onto Kal’s nipper, had broken to the surface, and was now swimming toward the boat. Afsan, with his vantage point high on the climbing web, realized that he was probably the only one except the lookout at the top of the mast who could see Hadzig, a female perhaps twice Afsan’s age, as she approached the hull. Afsan tried to call out to the sailors below, but there was too much of a ruckus on deck, too much shouting going on. He scrambled down the webbing and, grabbing a lifeline, hurried to the railing around the boat’s edge. Hadzig was still twelve of her body-lengths away from the ship when Afsan tossed the line toward her.
Hadzig’s tail whipped back and forth, sliding her through the waves. She made it to the side of the Dasheter and slipped the lifeline, which ended in a wide loop, over her head and shoulders, then pulled it up under her armpits so that Afsan could haul her aboard.
But from behind her, Kal’s head ascended from the waves, the neck streaming water, the maw gaping. The serpent rose enough that its shoulders were exposed, and Afsan saw Keenir, his claws still dug into the base of his foe’s neck, gasping for air. The other two sailors, who had been farther down Kal’s flank, on the part still submerged, were nowhere to be seen.
Kal’s neck darted, moving with the speed of a snake’s flicking tongue. The mouth, with its horrible splayed daggers, gulped, and Hadzig was caught, her body from tail to waist already within the demon’s gullet. Just as the jaw came down, Hadzig yanked on the lifeline wrapped around her body. Afsan tried with all his might to pull her forward, to reel the line in. But Kal had her firmly, and with a recoil of its neck yanked the rope hard enough to slam Afsan forward into the railing.
Afsan looked up and saw again that hideous sight of a great bulge working its way down the monster’s endless neck.
It was moving slowly down the long expanse, and suddenly Afsan realized that Hadzig’s death might not be in vain. Kal was an air-breather, and Hadzig was quite a mouthful. The serpent couldn’t possibly gulp much air while in the process of the long, horrible swallowing of Afsan’s shipmate.
The rope that Afsan was holding, although it looked more like a thread in comparison to the neck, was still dangling from Kal’s mouth. If it had stopped to chew, it would easily have severed the fibers, but the lump about a quarter of the way down the long neck made clear that Hadzig’s body had moved past the serpent’s teeth—at least Afsan hoped it was her dead form; he shuddered to think that she might still be alive, sliding down that dark gullet toward the acid bath of Kal’s stomach—
Kal’s neck was raised high, held almost straight up, presumably to aid the swallowing. The rope hung down, drawing a line from the creature’s mouth to Afsan. He climbed onto the railing that ran around the edge of the ship, the choppy waves beneath him, and pushed off.
Afsan swung through the air, the waves dizzyingly far below, Kal’s neck, huge and thick and gray, apparently hurtling toward him as the arc of his leap brought him closer and closer.
Afsan felt the air go out of his own lungs as he slammed into the neck. Four of Afsan’s body-lengths below, half submerged, but biting away like a wild animal, was Keenir. Although he’d taken many chunks out of Kal’s muscular shoulder, the bites were insignificant compared to the creature’s great bulk, and each wave that washed over Kal’s back left Keenir gasping and cleared the blood away.
As soon as he hit Kal’s neck, smooth and sticky and wet, Afsan kicked off again, as though he were rappelling down the ragged face of one of the Ch’mar volcanoes. His body swung through the air and then came crashing back toward the neck, but this time Afsan twisted wildly in flight, using his tail held straight out to change his center of gravity, so that he landed on the other side of the neck. He immediately slid around and kicked off again. Kal, alarmed by this creature slamming into it, craned to see what was happening. Perfect: the craning made it easy for Afsan to land this third time near the spot that he’d originally hit. He swung over once more and began to shimmy down the rope toward the waves. Kal was probably too stupid to realize what was going on, but in anger it snapped its jaws shut, the splayed teeth interlocking, the rope shearing.
But it was too late for that. Afsan had effectively wrapped the rope around Kal’s neck, about halfway down its length. Above he could see the bulge of Hadzig’s body still making its way down the throat. The body fit so tightly that Afsan could make out Hadzig’s legs, her torso, and the small depression made by her long, drawn-out face.
Afsan hit the water gasping for air. Keenir looked up briefly and saw him. The other two sailors, missing for some time now, appeared bobbing on the surface. They, too, spotted Afsan. Suddenly they realized what he was up to and began swimming toward him. Keenir, too, slid down Kal’s side and swam in Afsan’s direction as fast as he could with his abbreviated tail. Others jumped off the side of the ship, sending up great splashes where they hit. Everybody grabbed the rope, claws extended, and swam with lashing tails toward the Dasheter.