From Whence You Came (10 page)

“Oh, rot,” he muttered, feeling the
vina
instead expand around the incantation. He had only time enough to regret that Po had left – this would be an explosion worth of his fascination – when the magic did something he hadn't been expecting.

It arced. Out of the clay bowl, through his hands, a shimmering, glittering spray of deep red that caught the sun like some kind of bloody rainbow, reaching high over the railing and into the sea itself.

And no-one saw it but him.

He felt a moment of awe – whatever had happened, it was probably horrible, but the effect was so beautiful, so unexpected, so
magical
that he couldn't even worry – and then something hit the side of the
ladysong
so hard that he crashed to the deck, only training and reflexes saving the bowl in his hands from spilling.

Chaos exploded around him as the ship shuddered again. The Captain barked orders, and the crew raced to carry them out, swarming up the masts and taking up weapons alongside.

Serpents! At least two, probably more. Bradhai couldn't see them, but he
knew
. He could sense them beneath the ship. 

And with that sense came the knowledge that their arrival was not coincidence. The magic he had incanted, the spellwine hitting the water, had summoned them somehow. Connected them, serpent and Vineart, in this instant. How long? He didn't know, didn't want to know. The awareness pushed at him, thick and oppressive. Serpents were not restful beasts.

He tried to focus, clear his thoughts of distraction, but the chaos around him was too much, and then something grabbed his shoulder, shaking him.

“Gather your things.” Hernán shouted in his ear. Bradhai half-turned, blinking out of his daze. The Shipsmaster had a rough-cloth pack slung over his shoulder, and his ice-grey hair was in disarray. “Now, Vineart!”

His hands unsteady, Bradhai carefully poured the new spellwine into a vial, and corked it. He should seal it, but there was no time; he had to put everything else back, make sure that it was secure…

The ship rocked again, and there was a noise that made his blood chill in his veins. He looked up, and saw that the tallest mast was shaking in a way it hadn't even in the worst storm.

Then he realized that the crackling noise had not come from the mast, but below his feet. He stared down at the wide planking, confused. Hernán grabbed him by the shoulder. “Take what you can, but we go, now!”

There was another crack, this one too much like bones breaking. A horn sounded from above, a sharp cry of warning, and Hernán swore, pulling him away from the table, his things half-gathered. 

“But-“ Bradhai protested, grabbing another wine sack at random and slipping the strap over his shoulder even as he reached for another.

“Rotted Vineart, there's no time! If you value your life, move!”

Crewsmen had stopped whatever they were doing, abandoning their tasks and moving for the railing, too. Hernán shoved his way through them, dragging the Vineart. The longboats were being lowered. Bradhai looked down and blanched. Just above the waterline, there were a handful of breaks in the smooth wooden sides of the
ladysong
. She'd been hit hard enough to be taking on water, and fast.

He barely had time to regret the loss of the winecasks still in storage before Hernán shoved him over the side, and he fell, hard, into the bottom of one of the boats. 

There were others in the boat with him, and leather-wrapped packets and canvas bags, crowding his space until he was pressed up against the side of the narrow craft. They were dangerously overladen, even he could tell that from how low they were riding in the water. The knowledge of what might lurk nearby seemed enough to keep every man of them inside, rather than taking his chances swimming.

Not that the longboat – barely twice a man's length – would be any defense if one of the serpents decided to attack. The beast he had seen could swallow the longboat whole without choking.

“Row, you fools!” someone shouted, and several of the crewsmen grabbed oars, and began to move the craft away from the
ladysong
, heading toward Harini's ship, its sails run up but loose, awaiting the signal to go. He could see figures at the railing, calling them in, but their own longboats remained shipped. The refugees needed to reach them; help would not be coming, not while the serpents remained.

He craned his neck to see if Hernán had made it to the next boat. As Shipsmaster, he would have claim to the first seat available, surely. But he could not tell who was in the remaining boats.

Not all would fit. The longboats were for transport, not escape, and there simply weren't enough. Even now, some sailors were leaping into the water, abandoning the ship in the most direct fashion.

And then a wedge-shaped head rose from the water; not the leader he had seen before but another one, with a smaller head and no whiskers, and-

Bradhai looked away.

There were too many men in the water now, swimming toward the other ship.Some of them ignored the longboats, while others tried to grapple with the sides, begging to be hauled up.

Looking away and hating himself for it, Bradhai saw something else not too far away, cutting through the water's surface: triangular fins, grey as clouds and moving just as quickly

“Say nothing,” a voice said in his ear, the breath foul with onions and rotted teeth. 

Bradhai nodded. It seemed immeasurably cruel, but creating more panic would save no-one. The longboat rocked uncomfortably as they rowed against the wind, and someone screamed. 

He looked, unable to resist this time, and the water a distance away was murky with blood. A sour taste rose into his throat, and the taste of spellwine flooded his senses. He hugged his belongings to him more closely, terrified that someone might try to toss them overboard, to make more room.

Growspells and aetherspells were no use, here. His blood-magic could not do enough, and he dared not try for the firewine – even if he could focus long enough to recall the decantation, he had no idea how to direct it without also endangering the wooden boat he was in, far more flammable than any serpent or shark. And the other ship – they were close enough now that he could see the ropes thrown down the side, ladders dangling, if they could just get near enough to reach. Sailors hung over the rails, shouting encouragement.

Then the watchers raised their heads, distracted, pointing and shouting, and there was a noise behind them that he could not describe. Knowing he should not, Bradhai turned the upper half of his body to look back, just in time to see the rear half of the
ladysong
turned end-up to the sky, while the front half sank, the water's surface littered with broken masts and sails. Someone behind him panicked then, flailing wildly and making the boat rock hard enough that water flooded over the rim, filling the bottom of the boat. Bradhai pulled his feet up, trying to balance on the narrow bit of seat he had been able to hang onto, and felt himself tip over.

He had two choices: let go of the wineskins and grab hold, or fall overboard.

The water hit him before he was aware that he had made a choice.

o0o

Harini watched the disaster unfold with an odd but familiar sense of calm, while those around her went into a panic. She was concerned for those on the Iajan ship, of course. She wished no harm to anyone, and the Vineart had seemed an interesting man, if wrongheaded about many things. But there was simply so much to see that she found herself slipping into the same sort of detachment useful when observing creatures: patient and still, with no need to actually do anything, because there was nothing
to
do. Nothing but wait, and watch. When the alarm sounded, she had brought a spyglass with her, and now focused the tube on the Iajan ship.

There were at least four serpents circling under the other ship: she counted the heads as they rose and dove, marking the differences in each one. Three did not have the great whiskers, one did. 

 “A male, and his females,” she decided. Had the fifth one they had seen before had whiskers? She thought it had. A younger male, then, still allowed to tag along with its mother? Or a junior male, not allowed to breed? There was so much she didn't know, so much she couldn't know, the frustration made her grind her teeth.

“Harini! Hold this!” And the solitaire shoved one end of a rope into her hands, knocking the horrifyingly expensive spyglass to the deck. Harini opened her mouth to protest even as she took the rope, then was struck speechless when the solitaire put one hand on the railing of the ship and leapt over, dropping straight down into the water with a heavy splash.

The rope in Harini's hands played out, and she had to make a conscious decision to hold onto it as the knotted end came up, the rough fibers scraping against her palms and fingers. The weight at the other end was more than she could maintain, and she backed up, pulling until her shoulders and arms burned. It wasn't enough, she could feel her grip loosening as her palms sweated. But the Solitaire was at the other end of that rope. She had gone into the water for some reason. Rini knew she had to hold on.

A sailor passed by, intent on some other chore, and she called to him, her voice cracking from disuse and dryness. He took the rope she offered to him without hesitation. 

“Hold it!” she cried, and ran back to the railing, scanning down the length of rope until she found the solitaire. She had someone in one arm, pulling with the other hand along the rope, towing them both back to the side as the first longboat reached the ship.

Harini raced back to join the sailor, helping to hold the rope tight against the weight of two bodies climbing.

 The first one to the railing was the Vineart, one hand clutching the rope, the other white-knuckled around leather thongs, dragging wineskins up against his body as he came up the side of the ship. His face was too pale, his eyes bloodshot from the salt water, his lean frame shivering as he left the water and hit cooler air. She managed to get him over the railing, another set of hands helping her move him out of the way, then she turned to pull the solitaire over.

“Is he alive?” the woman asked, before she was safely on deck herself.

Harini turned in time to see look of confusion on the Vineart's face. Then his eyes rolled up into the sockets, and he fell over backwards, crumping as he hit the deck.

o0o

“What do you think you are doing?” Harini stood in front of the Captain, her hands fisted at her hips. At the Solitaire's advice she had waited until he was alone to approach, but the delay had done nothing for her mood.

“I'm taking this ship and all those aboard her to safe distance. And then we are going to head for the nearest port in the Lands Vin, where we can get drop off the survivors and take on more supplies.”

“We are not going to leave.”

They were already too far away. The serpents had remained where they were, circling where the ship had gone down, but as night fell, Harini could not study them, especially with the crack in the spyglass, courtesy of it having been knocked to the ground.

The Captain's patience was exhausted, and so was the man. “Those beasts attached and sank an Iajan merchant-ship. You do not understand the magnitude of that, Deshai Harini, but I do. They could do that to us without even blinking.”

“They won't.”

“You cannot assure me of that.”

“They had every opportunity, and did not.”

“Then why did they attack the
ladysong?
What changed?”

Harini didn't know. It near drove her mad, the not-knowing, and that, if the Captain followed through on his plans, she might never know.

“Go back.”

“Harini.” His voice was full of an annoying, frustrating understanding. “I cannot.”

“Please.” She had never asked for anything before, not like this. Not as supplicant, aware she might be refused. “Not all the way back, not for long. But enough that we can understand what happened – and how to prevent it from happening again.”

Because it would happen again, they both knew that. Once an animal learned it could destroy an enemy, it would not stop unless dissuaded. For now, to protect them, Harini had no choice but to play this the Vineart's way. But first, the Vineart had to wake up.

o0o

In a dream, he had been home. He had taken his work-clogs off and let the night-cool soil press against the flesh of his feet, all the intelligences of touch and taste and smell carried to him, telling him that he was home, that all was well. The vines whispered in the pre-dawn air, the magic within them touching the magic within him, reassuring each other that they were safe, that they belonged, that the roots dug deep and the boundaries were secure.

Then pain woke him, and he was in a narrow bunk unlike his vinewood bed at home, the tossing of the sea below him nothing like solid stone and soil.

“What happened?”

The woman seating on the chair next to his bunk – uncomfortably cramped, in the small space, stared, as though she had been dozing in the chair. 

“You're awake. Good, good. And well? No dizziness, no need to empty your stomach?” She was older, her once-dark hair threaded with silver, but her dark eyes were sharp over a high-bridged nose, and although she had a strange accent, one he could barely follow, her worry was clear.

“I'm fine.” He was tired, and sore, and had a strange fuzzy taste in his mouth that made him think he had been working too much magic, but he couldn't remember why-

and then, that easily, he did.

“The
ladysong
–“

The woman tsked. “Gone, it is. But you're safe and well.”

He glanced around the tiny cabin, and breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the flasks and skins he had taken from the ship stored carefully on a shelf. 

“I went overboard…”

“You did. And the solitaire and my girl, they hauled you out. Right worried they were, while you slept. I'll go fetch them now.”