Chapter 29
Throughout the next day, the Calaian Sun struggled against strong winds whipping up the sea into a swell that reached almost thirty feet at its peak. Carrying more sail than he should, Jevin didn't leave the wheel deck all day, his eyes searching the lightning-lit, roiling dark cloud for clues, scrutinising the sails for trouble, or worrying at the wind which had precious little direction.
Ren'erei had been with him much of the time, cajoling and encouraging. Darrick was lost in his own thoughts, a lone figure on deck or lying on his bunk in the forward area originally set aside for the Dordovan command. Of the Protectors, there was little sign. The Xeteskians stayed in the hold, only one ever appearing to ask for food or hot water. For them it was a time of rest.
It was the middle of the afternoon. Hirad gripped the forward rail with one hand, his other arm supporting Ilkar who was leaning out again over the side of the ship, retching, his body shaking with exertion, his face wet from spray and sweat. It had been a miserable day for the Julatsan but the worry wasn't his immediate condition. The elf had already voiced his concerns about the effect this would be having on his mana stamina and on his ability to concentrate and cast effectively. And they couldn't do without him if they were to stand any chance of rescuing Erienne.
For Hirad, it was just one more problem on a mounting list. His idea that Ilkar and Denser would be able to assign ShadowWings to Protectors had already been dismissed. Even without Ilkar's seasickness, the drain from keeping Thraun and The Unknown alive and asleep was high. At best estimates, the two mages could cast their own wings for the journeys to and from the Ocean Elm and cast limited shield or offensive spells during the rescue attempt. But that
was it. They were left relying on Erienne and what condition she was in was anyone's guess. Hirad wasn't getting his hopes up.
The Sun pitched into another wave, the impact shuddering through her hull and sending a wash of spray over the foredeck and soaking them once again. Despite the constant drenching, it was where Ilkar said he felt most comfortable, though that was clearly a relative term.
Hirad stared at the sky. On the far horizon, lightning sheeted across the heavens, illuminating the black of the clouds and the angry, white-flecked, dark grey of the ocean. Above them, the thick, unbroken ceiling of cloud stormed by at frightening pace, driven by a wind which, had it come down to sea level, would have driven them straight to the bottom of the sea. There was no longer any land in sight behind them and he felt a shiver of anxiety down his back because there was no certainty they would see any ever again.
The barbarian could understand the superstitions of the sailors all too easily. He had been sceptical of them at first but now the desire to have something to hang on to that settled the mind was one with which he could sympathise.
All over the ship, the signs were there. Every cabin had a shrine to one of the Gods of the Sea or the Skies. Figurines, dried flowers, candles and tiny models of boats floating in water-filled, carved wooden bowls were common. And by the head of every crew bunk, prayers were carved into the wood, or pinned up, painted in garish reds and yellows. Not one of the crew was without a talisman, either fish or bird and always metal, around his neck.
But the most curious superstition surrounded the cat. Hirad knew ships commonly kept a cat on board to kill rats and mice but on this ship at least, it went much further. The animal had a luxurious basket, plenty of meat and biscuit and a bowl of water was always full. One of the crew, he had been told, was duty-bound each day to see it safe, examine it for splinters, sing it songs of the sea and place it in its basket at the start of the first night watch. Naturally, being a cat, it would sleep elsewhere but the tradition could not be ignored. Whatever kept them happy was fine with Hirad.
Ilkar straightened a little and turned his dripping, ashen-white face to Hirad.
'Let's go back, I've got to lie down.'
'Jevin said it was worse if you stayed below deck,' said Hirad.
'He also said I'd get my sea legs by tomorrow and I don't think that's possible either. Help me below.' He gagged suddenly again and spat bile over the side which whipped away.
'Come on then, walk on my inside.'
Hirad kept a hand on the rail and the other arm around Ilkar as the two friends walked slowly to the fore cabins. As he opened the doors, he heard a shout and turned to see Ren'erei hailing them from the wheel deck. She made a shrug and pointed, presumably at Ilkar. Hirad shook his head, indicated himself and pointed back at the wheel deck. Ren waved her understanding.
Ilkar and Hirad were sharing a tiny cabin which looked out over the port side of the ship. Ilkar had the bottom bunk and Hirad helped him take off his cloak, lie down and then wiped his face with a towel. The ship rolled and pitched. Hirad stumbled.
'Oh Gods, I wish I was dead,' groaned Ilkar.
'Just try and sleep. I'll see if there's anything that can help you.'
'A knife in the heart should do the trick,' said Ilkar, closing his eyes briefly and putting his hands over his face.
Hirad patted his shoulder. 'I'll bring one for you. See you later.'
'Get the Captain to find us a millpond, would you?'
Hirad chuckled. 'Keep it up, Ilks.'
He closed the door and walked back up on to the deck. Funny. He'd hardly ever been aboard ship either but felt absolutely fine. Balance wasn't difficult except when the ship drove down into a wave and he'd slept long, eaten a good breakfast and, in complete contrast to Ilkar, felt more refreshed than he had in days. Climbing the ladder to the wheel deck, he wondered if he hadn't missed his calling.
Captain Jevin and Ren'erei stood behind the helmsman, all three elves looking alternately at the flag riding atop the main mast and at the compass to the right of the wheel. Jevin's face was set severe and he barely nodded acknowledgement as Hirad came to stand by them.
'How're we doing?' he asked, his voice raised above the roaring of the wind. Rain started to fall again, heavy and punishing. He drew his furs closer.
'Well, we'll be faster than the Elm,'' said Jevin.
'How come?'
'Because they are a smaller vessel, less broad and long. Their skipper'll be running minimal sail in these conditions. She wasn't built for this.' He turned to look at Hirad. 'Mind you, neither were we.'
'Will we catch her?' asked Hirad.
Jevin licked a finger and held it up as if testing the wind. He scowled. 'Gods, man, how the hell should I know? I don't know how far they are ahead, in which direction they are going and how fast they are travelling. It's all guesswork. This weather should not be possible. The wind comes from three directions, the swell ignores them all and I'm trusting my compass but don't know whether I should. I know we're heading south but that's about it.'
Hirad nodded. It had been a daft question.
'Sorry,' he said. 'Please do everything you can. So many lives depend on you.'
Ren looked at him in some surprise but there was a smile on her lips. She touched his arm and mouthed her thanks.
'My crew are brave and I am too young to die this voyage,' said Jevin, his voice a little softer. 'Best you tend to your sick and leave the wheel deck for sailors.'
Hirad turned to go but the Captain hadn't finished.
'Go to the galley. Ask the duty cook for some Lemiir powder. Tell him I sent you or he won't give it you. Dissolve it in water. That should soothe Ilkar's head and stomach. Help him sleep.'
'Thank you.'
Jevin nodded curtly and turned back to the sails.
Night was coming again, though the day of lowering cloud, buffeting wind and sometimes torrential rain had been so dark it would hardly seem to make a great difference.
