Dead Stars - Part Two (The Emaneska Series) (41 page)

The whales were the very definition of incredible. Graceful and dangerous all wrapped up in patchwork, monochrome skin. Teeth and thick blubber hiding tough muscle and old wisdom. Maybe Farfallen had been right… these truly were the dragons of the sea.

There had been other whales too that day, not just orca. A great grey whale had followed them for a time. A
humpback
, Nuka had called it. Longer than the ship itself, it had broken a small iceberg in half just for sport. Farden had tried to listen to the deep, sonorous words the two species traded. Though they were beyond foreign to him, their tone had sounded wary, and fearful too, and not because of the ship. Something else concerned the whales.

Farden suppressed a chattering of his teeth. He was wearing three jerkins and a shirt under his trusty cloak, but still the cold seeped in. His armour remained defiantly lukewarm, but underneath his left gauntlet, his missing finger ached, like it always did in the cold. He clenched a half-made fist and sparks of pain shot up his arm.
Curse that bloody Vice
, Farden hissed in his head.

Nuka wore a long, thick seal-fur coat that stretched down to his ankles. He looked warmer than a blacksmith’s crotch, and smug to boot. He knew the north and her cold better than most, and had obviously packed for the occasion. Farden even spied a glistening of sweat on his brow.
Swine
, he inwardly muttered.

It wasn’t long before the whales finished their slow dancing, and gathered around the ship in pairs. The sailors, Sirens, and soldiers clustered at the bulwarks to watch them. The whales were about to sing.

‘I’m guessing you’ve never heard a whale sing before?’ the captain asked. Farden replied with a distracted, ‘No.’ He was already leaning over the railing, thoroughly captivated.
What was it about these creatures
, he wondered? Nuka lashed the wheel in place and joined him.

‘I suppose we’re in for a treat then. Both of us, and the crew for that matter. I’ve only ever heard distant echoes. Sounds like wolves, normally, howling at the moon. Hence their name.’

Farden turned around. A glint of humour in his eye and lip. ‘I wonder if we’ll know the song?’

Nuka rolled his eyes.

The song of the whales was unlike any song any ear on that ship had ever heard, or could ever dream to hear. It was a song, but not a song. It had rhythm, and melody, true, but it had the depth of the seabed, the intricacy of a honeycomb, and the deafening pound of an livid storm, all at the same time.

It began slowly at first, slow as the snowfall. Each whale made its own tune. Some low, some piercingly high. All of them different. Some sang through the water, making the ship shake, while others spat tunes in bursts from their blowholes. Slowly, the song began to build and coalesce into a mighty tune. Fins slapped the slushy water. Huge tails lifted glittering streams of water, momentary waterfalls, only to dash them to the sea again as percussion. The elders rumbled and boomed with their heads buried in the water. Farden could feel the ship shake with every note. The young ones’ whistling skittered over the bass notes as a topline. Every eye on the ship was painfully wide. Every ear strained. Every foot and finger tapping to the odd, displaced rhythm.

Any skald aboard would have hung himself in shame.

Roiks was the first to start singing. Unsurprisingly, he launched into a song about drinking. On hindsight it probably wasn’t the most fitting tune to match the majestic orchestra of the whales, but it was Roiks, and his enthusiasm more than made up for it.

With a foot on the bulwark and a hand on his chest, he bellowed out the words for all to hear. It took mere moments for the sailors to join him. Then the soldiers joined in. Then the mages. Then the Written. Those who didn’t know the tune, a smattering of mages and Sirens, just laughed and clapped along, throwing snowballs in the air and at the sails. On the aftcastle, even Nuka the once-whaler, banged his fist on the railing alongside Farden, singing as loud as they could. The only silent ones aboard were Tyrfing, whose throat was raw as a battlefield, and the two gods. But even Heimdall managed to shut his eyes and smile at the strange serenade swirling around him.

Unbelievably, the two songs fit. Like a sword in a scabbard they slipped into each other and were forged into one. The whales boomed and slapped while the ship yelled and capered. For the brief moments the song lasted, it was pure joy, stirred up from deep within, in that place not a soul can find, not until it comes alive with music and laughter. Perhaps those aboard knew what was to come. That was the last song they might sing. It made them sing all the louder.

As gradually as the song had built, it died away. The whales slapped their fins in a chorus of applause as the
Waveblade
finally caught its breath. The ship was still rocking from side to side in the echoes. In the silence that followed, all that could be heard was heavy breathing, the gentle crackle of the ice-laced waves, and the faint, feathery hiss of snow falling.

‘What now?’ Farden asked, to the silence and to the captain.

Nuka shrugged. His coat rustled. ‘We just sang a duet with a pack of whales. Forgive me if I’m not completely sure what the next step is,’ he replied sarcastically. Farden smiled wryly as he wandered down the slippery steps to the main deck, where a few Written made a space for him. They nodded respectfully as he murmured his excuses.

Farden leant over the ship’s side and looked for Scarnose. Half of the orca had sunk into the icy depths, as if to cool themselves off. They were lost to the murky darkness of the sea and snow. Only a few elders remained, and Scarnose wasn’t nearby.

Farden was about to call out when a black and white face appeared directly underneath him, rearing up with a muted splash. The whale lifted itself out of the water so much that its scarred nose of a namesake came almost level with the deck. Farden leant back involuntarily. There was a little rustle of awe through the crowd around him.

‘Many tides pass since orca last sang with human. Many, many tides,’ rumbled Scarnose.

Farden bowed respectfully. ‘Too many, in my opinion. Perhaps when we return…?’ Farden trailed off, hearing his own words in his ears. There was an uncomfortable silence from those nearby.

The whale seemed to sense it. ‘Dark whispers in water, humans. Dark shadows beneath ice. On it, too. We hear drumming of feet across ice. Of claws. Of heavy, hurrying things. The magick draws them north. As it draws us.’

Farden couldn’t wait to go meet it. ‘Will you come north with us?’

Scarnose flashed a row of teeth and a pink tongue. He licked a few snowflakes from his rubbery lips. ‘As far as ice allows. We may not be seen, but we are there.’

Farden nodded. ‘And will you help us into the ice?’ he asked. ‘There is no wind.’

The whale began to slip back into the sea. ‘We shall,’ he said, and then added, strangely, ‘magick man,’ just before his head slipped under the surface.

Farden watched the creature disappear into the slush. Behind him, the soldiers slowly slipped away, back to their posts or back to their beds. The Sirens quietly disappeared below. Only a few remained on deck, milling about, unsure. Whether the crew felt it or not, a sudden air of danger began to corrode the joyous afterglow of the singing, and trample it into the dirty snow of the deck.

‘Looks like we’re getting a push,’ Farden announced to Nuka, as he returned to the aftcastle. This time Lerel, Tyrfing, and several of the Written followed. The captain was unlashing the wheel. He didn’t look that comfortable with the idea.

‘It certainly does. These sea-wolves better be careful with my ship.’

Tyrfing stamped his foot. ‘She’ll hold, Captain. Don’t you worry.’

Nuka bowed. ‘Aye, your Mage,’ he said. No sooner had the words tumbled from his mouth did the ship shudder. A couple of cries rang out from the deck. ‘Steady as she goes!’ he shouted. Roiks echoed the order as he strode about the masts in long-legged figure of eights, clapping his snowy gloves together.

‘You ‘eard the Captain, lads and ladies! Stop fannying around and get to work. Eyes sharp, legs steady, and keep your wits about you! We’ve got ice to break!’

More orders rang out from the mates. ‘Reel in those lines, boys!’

‘I want that ice chipped from the rigging. Don’t make me come up there!’

‘Mages, front and centre! Be ready with fire and light for the ice now!’

Farden leant close to his uncle as he felt the ship begin to move. ‘I’m told you made this ship to break ice. What in Emaneska gave you the idea to make a ship that can break ice? Besides this mission, what’s the point?’

Tyrfing had a scarf wrapped around his face. It puffed in and out as he talked. ‘It was an accident, to tell the truth, nephew. I just wanted to make a ship that could cut another ship in half. This was a fortunate, but otherwise unplanned, application. It was actually Nuka that suggested it,’ Tyrfing replied. His red-rimmed eyes were eagerly fixed on the thin shelf of ice that was getting closer by the minute. It only looked to be a foot or so thick, but that was plenty for any ship, even
Waveblade
. If he was nervous, he barely showed it. He just looked sweaty and feverish.

Farden was watching the ice too, he could feel that old fear of icy-cold water flooding back to him. ‘So, you’ve tested it then?’

‘Tested? Oh no. This’ll be the first time.’

Farden slowly turned from the ice to his uncle, and found them both as worrying. ‘The
first
time?’

‘That’s right, Farden!’ Nuka called. ‘Time to put the iron of this
‘Blade
to the test.’

‘She’ll hold,’ Tyrfing repeated hoarsely, not sounding all that convincing for Farden’s liking. His gauntlets gripped the railing a little tighter as the whales began to push harder.

The edge of the ice disappeared beneath the bowsprit. There was a dreadful silence, full of clenching and waiting, and then a dull boom as the iron bow bit into the ice of the north. Any other ship would have had its keel staved in, split at the very least. Not the
Waveblade
. She lifted itself up and over the lip of the ice, and then hammered down on it with all of her massive, iron weight. The ice split like bad glass, and the
Waveblade
powered on.

It took more than a few minutes for Farden’s unease to subside. In fact, it took a good half an hour, and a wincing journey to the bow to convince him that he was safe. The
‘Blade
was too sharp and too powerful for the thin ice. She left a mottled, shattered path behind her, full of broken, sinking ice and curious whales. They kept pushing and the ship kept breaking.

Ilios seemed impressed. Farden absently stroked his feathers as he watched the ice splinter below. The noise was sharp, deep.

Two mages were straddling the bowsprit. They were lashed and roped into place lest they were to fall in the ship’s shuddering. One dangled at a nauseating angle, staring down at the mermaid figurehead, while the other was busy staring out into the hazy, snowy night ahead of them. Bright light emanated from his hands, but it barely illuminated anything past the tip of the bowsprit.

Farden watched them for a while, curious. The snow dripped off their warm clothes and bodies, kept warm as they were by the light and their magick. Absently, Farden raised his hand, mildly curious, and went to clench it in that old, familiar way, but then he stopped.
No,
he warned himself.
Slowly.

‘Old habits?’ asked a voice.

More than a little startled, Farden swivelled around to find the white-haired Written, Inwick, standing behind him with her arms folded behind her back. Farden didn’t make any effort to hide his surprise. He began to pat his hips. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Should I have worn a sword?’

Surprisingly, Inwick smiled. It was a curt smile, rationed for politeness, but a smile nonetheless. ‘I am simply here to talk.’

‘Good. I’d hate to embarrass you a third time.’

‘Gossfring told me I should expect some sarcasm. I see he’s right, as always,’ she said. She hesitated then. ‘May I?’ she asked, gesturing to the empty space between Farden and the railing. Farden waved her forward and she came to stand by his side, not too close, but close enough to keep her voice low and still be heard over the constant cracking of the ice below them.

‘They tell stories of you, you know. Gossfring, Efrin, the others. Stories of a forgotten Farden, one that they met in the Efjar Skirmishes.’

Farden crossed his arms. ‘Do they now?’

Inwick nodded. ‘Indeed they do. They like to tell us newer mages the old stories of the Siren war, of Efjar and the minotaurs, of times golden and lost.’

‘Any stories in particular?’ he asked. Farden was gazing sideways at her, trying to figure her out. She had all the beauty of an icicle; her face paler than pale, and her nose and cheekbones were sharp and angular. When a snowflake landed on her cheek, he found it hard to tell the difference between it and her skin. She could have been made of porcelain, for all he knew. Only a light smattering of freckles across her nose betrayed her. Her hair was also white as a snow, and her eyes their curious pink. Farden had only seen a handful of albinos in his time. Usually a court jester or two, or a travelling minstrel or skald. Never a Written. Never even a mage. She must have been from a high family indeed.

Inwick rubbed her chin. ‘One in particular keeps cropping up, I suppose. They talk of a certain mage, a young man. Scarred. Eager. Incredibly skilled with blade and spell. Call him the hero of Efjar most of the time.’

Farden pursed his lips. ‘And why do they call him that?’ he asked.

Inwick tucked her chin under the collar of her coat while she stared at the mages working on the bowsprit. Farden could have sworn her skin glowed slightly. Maybe it was her white hair and complexion in the glow of the lanterns, or perhaps it was her own spells at work, joining with the mages. Farden tried to feel that faint tingling in the air, the one he barely remembered, but it escaped him.

She let the story unravel, reciting it as she had heard it told many times in the decks below, in the canteen, on patrol, in the Spire before it had burnt down. ‘They say that the entire camp was caught unawares. It was a misty morning on the marshes, so it might have been forgivable. The minotaurs crept in at first light, taking the watchtowers and the palisades before the alarms could be raised. They had the camp surrounded before anyone could crack an eyelid. They killed the ones that struggled and clubbed the rest back to sleep, and while they tied up their prisoners, they sat down to skin and butcher the ones that had resisted, roasting them in pieces over their own campfires, skin, bones, Book and all.