same one that flamed you. We saw it fly off towards the sea.”
“The same moment. The same moment I left the Chasm, so did she.” He peered at her carefully, almost suspiciously, as if she embodied the numb terror of the Chasm. But no, she had rescued him twice from terror. She also was a victim of the Chasm, and more so. For in her the numbness remained. Her mind, if it was there at all, had not yet broken free as had her body. Perhaps she had not been flamed, perhaps that was what was wrong with her.
“Does the fact mean something more to you? I thought it merely odd.”
“Surely it means something, but I do not know what.”
“And she doesn't speak. That too I learned last night. But you seem already aware of this.”
“She was not flamed. She still has the Chasm in her mind.”
“No doubt she will not eat either. Our provisions will last well.” His grin returned.
As they passed out of the harbour the fog drew back like a curtain. A breeze filled the sails, the sailors cheered their craft on and, with much creaking of ropes and timber, it gained speed.
With the fog gone Azkun could see the lie of the land around him, or rather, the lie of the sea. He had not considered that so much water could exist in one place. It stretched to the eastern horizon without so much as an island to relieve the vastness. It went on forever. On the south side rose tall cliffs, stark and cold, like the mountains that had refused him help. They were grey and treeless with patches of white scattered across their higher faces.
About midday Azkun, remembering Althak’s stories of dragons, searched the cliffs for them but there were none. When the cliffs changed their direction and veered away to the south he felt a sudden unease. At first he attributed this to the tossing of the sea. The wind changed with the line of the cliffs and the sea became choppy. He noticed Tenari sometimes broke her blank gaze from him and glanced away south.
Althak returned from talking with one of the sailors with the explanation. He pointed out a gap in the cliffs, difficult to see from this angle. It was, when noticed, like a black mouth yawning open to swallow its prey. The cliffs were high, even when diminished by distance they dwarfed the boat. It was the mouth of the Chasm.
Azkun found he had caught Tenari by the arm. She did not protest. Her gaze was fixed on him again. She was his anchor in terror and there was the Chasm. Azkun was almost surprised that the others did not turn to ghosts, he had expected it. It did not matter. Tenari was here. Her solidity, even when not contrasted against spectres, was real. Did she remember the Chasm? Her glances towards the mouth indicated that she did. But her mind remained blank.
During the afternoon Althak introduced him to Shelim, one of the few sailors who spoke Relanese. The man showed a calm respect for Althak, not the frantic bowing manner of Astae. Althak had discovered that Shelim knew his cousin Akarth, and they had other connections in common. Azkun noticed that Althak did not tell Shelim about the Chasm or the dragon and he remembered what Menish had said to Grath concerning secrecy. He was not sure if he agreed with this policy but, until he knew more, he would keep silent.
Rather than speak of himself he plied Shelim with questions. How did the boat move? Where did the wind come from? Shelim was delighted to talk of the sea, as was Althak, and they passed the afternoon happily. Occasionally Shelim would dart a glance at Tenari, unsure of her, but Althak had told him that she was simple so he asked no more questions of her.
Azkun learned much about the ship. He asked about the man who always stood in the stern and was told that this was Awan, the master of the ship. He was a man of vast girth, which he put to good use at the heavy tiller he held. For much of the time there was little for the sailors to do, and they occupied themselves with minor tasks, games, or sleeping. Sometimes they would climb below the deck to the hold. Azkun wondered what was down there and Shelim informed him that most of their cargo was stacked there. It was, he said, a foul place, smelling of the fat used to waterproof the ship. Azkun noticed that the sailors rarely stayed down there long. It was mostly packed with salt cod.
While there were many leisure hours, there were moments when every hand was needed. Awan would suddenly begin bawling orders over the swish and splash of the sea and Shelim would leave them for a while. There seemed to be a number of vital tasks to be performed at a moment’s notice. Sometimes it was no more than tightening some of the ropes or turning the sail slightly, but every now and then Awan’s hoarse voice would bring all the sailors to their stations. They would position themselves by various ropes and tackles, waiting for Awan’s next call. When it came a kind of organised chaos would break loose. Awan would heave on the tiller, ropes would be loosened, others tightened. The great spar of the mainsail would be hauled down at one end, the other end rising high above the top of the mast, and pulled across the deck. This operation resulted in the mainsail facing the other side of the boat. Azkun did not see the point of this until Althak explained the necessity of tacking to make the best use of the wind.
When night fell they were once again sailing along the shoreline. They had crossed a large bay and the cliffs had come marching back from their southern detour. Azkun had another moment of uneasiness when he saw the sun sinking. Would the night bring back the spectres? But, as the darkness gathered, lamps were lit and hung from the masts. Their cheery yellow glow raised his spirits and he held Tenari’s hand in his own. She was a comfort even when there were no spectres.
Althak offered Tenari food when the sailors ate. The Anthorians had no appetite and he knew better than to offer food to Azkun. But she ignored him as he had expected. He shrugged and ate it himself.
The next day Azkun detected another unease in the sailors. They were vaguely anxious about something. Their course still followed the coastline but he noticed that they had moved a long way off from it. The cliffs were only just visible on the horizon. Shelim had spoken of storms but Azkun could see no sign of the dark clouds he had described.
He soon forgot about this when Shelim and another sailor named Omoth began playing a game with small, flat pebbles. They were painted one side white and the other red. Shelim made a grim reference to this being ‘the blood and the bone’ but otherwise the game was cheerful enough. They took turns casting the pebbles onto the deck, having first guessed the number of red and white faces that would show. There was something else too, involving the passing of copper coins from one man to the other.
It was late afternoon when the lookout, one of the sailors perched on the main mast, cried out in the Vorthenki tongue. The undercurrent of anxiety rose. Awan called a question to the lookout and his reply pushed the crew into a frenzy.
“Pirates,” Althak informed him. “They hunt ships,” he added, choosing words he knew Azkun would understand. “They seek to kill us and take Awan’s cargo.” He grinned and Azkun realised he did not share the anxiety of the crew. “They will die in the attempt.”
Azkun felt darkness at his words. To kill us? To seek for us the darkness of the pig? There was blood in Althak’s words, and across the deck he saw Drinagish and Hrangil emerge from their afflictions with eagerness. Already Menish was talking with Awan. Azkun shivered at their savagery, but he had no answer of his own to the pirates.
The other ship had not been visible from the deck when the lookout had called his warning, but it approached with alarming speed. It was smaller than their own vessel and it was driven by a large, square sail. The pirates enjoyed a more favourable wind than themselves at present; that and their small size would have been sufficient to give them the advantage of speed. But, as they approached, Azkun could see a row of oars rising and dipping rhythmically along the one visible side. It made the pirate ship seem like a many-legged insect crawling towards them across the water.
The Anthorians had shed their heavy cloaks and coats by now. Drinagish was still adjusting his battle jerkin but Menish and Hrangil were ready. Their short, curved swords were drawn and the small, round shields they carried were fixed to their wrists. They moved in odd little dance movements, preparing their limbs for battle.
Althak had left Azkun’s side. He had spent some time talking with Awan and Menish, no doubt planning how they would repel the pirates. He had also made an announcement to the Vorthenki sailors that Azkun could not understand, and checked what weapons they had. Now he stood clad in his fighting gear, a gleaming breastplate, greaves and winged helm.
The pirates were approaching. Moving just across the surface of the water the shape of a ram could be seen. It was a black, metal thing that glistened wetly with evil, seeking their fragile wooden hull. It was impossible that it could miss them now. He could feel the malice from the pirates as they heaved on their oars. A desperate ferocity lay in their hearts, it was so like what he could see in his own friends now, and he had no answer to it. No
