Grym Prophet (Song of the Aura, Book Three) (4 page)

Gribly took the nymph’s hand and shook it heartily. “I never thought I’d be so happy to hear that salty accent again, Cap’n Berne! Never thought it, indeed!”

“M’lady,” Berne said, bowing before Elia when it was her turn to greet him. The Wave Strider curtsied, smiling, and then- only then- did the Captain turn to address the Raitharch.

“Arch fre Scorr, holdmarzi perlei Suthway!”
Berne saluted Varstis, kneeling in the snow and bowing his head.
“Plandreo per al’wance… Prassad lei Mythigrad.”

Silence fell. Captain Berne’s men were kneeling behind him. He did not look up. The Raitharch stared at his bowed form for a full minute before replying.

“Isse.”

Gribly felt Elia relax at his side. If she understood what they were saying, then things were probably going to be alright. He exhaled deeply, realizing he’d been holding his breath, and stretched his cramped shoulders. How did soldiers stand in line so long without complaining? He knew he’d never be able to do the same.

Abruptly, Captain Berne rose, stepped towards the Raitharch, and embraced him like a brother. “Varstis, you scoundrel,” he roared triumphantly in the common tongue, “I didn’t recognize you under all those frills! Look at you, King o’ the Reethe! I never would’ve guessed! How goes yer life, Mate?”

Everyone, Reethe and Zain all, were taken aback. Cleric Lithric hiccupped in surprise from his spot behind the Raitharch as the two nymph men almost collided with him in a friendly wrestling match. Gribly gaped in wonder, and noticed Elia’s shocked expression as he did.
She didn’t hear
that
coming, did she?

“Life’s… going… well… enough!” grunted Varstis, straining against his jocular adversary and finally pushing him back, oblivious to the protestations of Lithric as the older nymph tried to remind him of his infirmity. “And how are you, ‘yerself,’ y’ old pirate?”

“Well ‘nough, well ‘nough,” Berne chuckled, brushing himself off. “Never too old fer a scrape or two, just as yerself, I see…”

“Wait!” Gribly called loudly, and the two nymphs seemed to notice him again for the first time since they’d met. “Pirate?” he asked, confused. “What’s going on? First you’re rivals, now you’re friends. Have I missed something?”

“Something, indeed,” chuckled Captain Berne, “but not near as much as I’ve missed, seemingly. What say we make our peace over wave-wine and salmonsteak, aye? Then we’ll have all the time in the world fer stories…”

Chapter Three: Pirates. Pirates Indeed.

Several hours later, the two young Striders were once more sailing under the command of Captain Bernarl of the Zain… only this time they knew him for the pirate he was.

“I would have found it hard to believe, if we hadn’t had our talk… right before the Ice Demon attacked, all those nights ago,” Gribly told the nymph as they strode the decks of Berne’s new ship, the
Suthway Cath
, or, as Berne had been quick to explain, the
Fire of the South
. “You said some things there that reminded me of the thieves I knew back home in Ymeer.”

“About the Alliance?” Berne said, starting to ascend the steps that led to a higher section of the ship. He had mentioned that both he and multiple high personages in the Reethe hierarchy were a part of the mysterious group.

“Among other things, yes.”

“Well, the ‘Alliance’ be just one o’ the names we use fer… well, fer
us
. Thieves. Brigands. Burglars an’ pirates… all the
nobler
sort o’ recreant. We’ve got a bit o’ a brotherhood- an’
sister
hood, if y’can believe it- going on, all ‘round Vast and th’ Giant’s Isle. It be loose, fer sure, and not h’exactly the most
loyal
brotherhood… but it be workin’ well so far.”

“And you thought I was part of this… brotherhood?”

“No… I
knew
. You knew the thieves’ mantra as well as I know the pirates’ pledge, an’ that makes you more a Brother than blood, even if you don’t be knowin’ it.”

“Ah… I’m beginning to understand why the Old Pickpocket thought it was so important for me to know his mottos and sayings… they all mean something to this alliance.”

“Indeed, aye… but who’s the Ole’ Pickpocket?”

“The man who taught me thievery. We fought and tricked each other to no end, but he’s the closest thing to a father I’ve ever had.”

“All o’ us in t’Alliance be like that… all o’ us in
families
be like that, but it don’t make us no less a family, do it?” The lively captain’s voice was getting softer, as if he was in the midst of sharing some vital secret- which Gribly supposed he was, in a way.

They were near the steering wheel now, where it was attended by one of Captain Berne’s mates, a tall, silent Zain with darker than normal skin, a blue-streaked ponytail hanging down his bare back and a large silver hoop in one ear. As they passed him, the Captain suddenly let out a whoop and snapped his fingers, startling the mate. As the nymph’s grip on the wheel was lost, the ship lurched heavily to one side, almost throwing Gribly and Berne to the deck.

“Aplogiaz, Marinore,”
the mate said when he had regained control.

“Don’t mention it,” Berne said dismissively, then turned slowly to face Gribly. “Family…” he said importantly, as if the word should mean something essential to the Sand Strider.

“Family?” Gribly shrugged, “What about them? I’ve never known mine- though the Pit Strider seems to look like me quite a bit…”

“Exactly!” said Captain Berne, snapping again, “You’ve never met them… but
I
have!”

Gribly didn’t know whether to laugh or feel sick. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve met… well, I won’t say as to whether or not it’s all th’way true… but I’ve been a’ lookin’ at you many a time, thinkin’ ‘ow similar y’are in face to… to one of
us
. One of the brotherhood. An’ I’ve just now realized who!”

“Who?” Gribly asked, wetting his lips and shivering a little. Could it be…

“There’s a rogue in th’ deep South as goes by th’ name o’ Gram. I’ve only met ‘im once ‘er twice, but he’s got such a face as t’ stick in one’s mind, y’see? He’s got no less’n ten ‘er more ships at ‘is command, an’ a land force t’be reckoned with, to boot. Yer th’ spit’ n’ image o’ him, fer sure!”

Gribly chewed on his bottom lip, strangely calm. It didn’t surprise him that the man who could be related to him, maybe even be his father, was a pirate and brigand.
That
wasn’t what was bothering him… He’d always dreamed, as a child, of being the secret son of a king or lord, someone noble and strong instead of sly and untrustworthy like most of the adults in Ymeer. It was a fantasy that died hard. He really had no hope of being a decent person of decent lineage… if what Berne said was true. He didn’t think the nymph was
lying,
of course, but hadn’t Byorne said the Zain were mostly isolated from the rest of Vast? He therefore chose to be skeptical of it, if only to keep his lingering hopes alive.

“Well… I suppose it’s possible,” he finally answered, letting his doubt show.

“Aye, who knows,” said Berne, looking a bit abashed and shrugging. “Could be yea or nay, an’ we’d never know th’ difference. In any case, you’ll be safe… or relatively so… whenever y’ find yerself in pirate terr’tory, just as long as y’remember t’mention th’ league, an’ ole’ Captain Berne, aye?”

“Ye- Aye, I mean.”

“Aye, then.” There was silence for a while, as they made it to the rearmost railing of the ship and peered over the stern, watching the spray leap and dive itself into a froth below them. Finally the nymph Captain broke the silence once more. “I wouldn’t’ve thought it o’ the prince, indeed I wouldn’t’ve… runnin’ off like that…”

“Acting like a true pirate, aye?” Gribly said, grinning at the unfamiliar word in his mouth.
Aye
. It sounded friendly, like a pat on the back. Aye.

“H’exactly… an’ he’d been so upright an’ all, before…”

“No, not exactly… I think he was always willing to do whatever he needed to, upright or not,” Gribly mused. “He’s definitely in some kind of argument with King Larion, and he seems like he’d die if he wasn’t allowed to finish this quest
on his own
, in whatever way he pleases. It’s almost as if he’s trying to prove something…”

“…to his father, the king?” Berne asked shrewdly. Gribly, suddenly self-conscious- he was talking to a
pirate
, after all- just shrugged.

“Who knows. I just know for sure he’s got to be stopped. I can’t let him do this on his own, or he’ll end up getting himself killed, and others, too. It’s-”

“Why? Why d’you need to help him?” Captain Berne asked suddenly. Before Gribly could form the words
Traveller,
or
prophet,
or even realize that it was probably safer to keep his mouth shut, Elia’s voice bought him unexpected relief.

“Captain? I need to speak to you. Hello Gribly, enjoying being a sailor?” She looked more alive than ever, so close to the water, and she almost never seemed to get tired as the
Suthway Cath
raced along in a wake of foam, hour after hour after hour. She’d been ecstatic to hear Captain Berne’s acceptance to help them in their mission, at least as far as the shores of the Grymclaw. “Sailing is the most wonderful thing I think I’ve
ever
done!” she exclaimed as she came towards them from across the raised deck.

What about dancing?
Gribly wanted to say, but he didn’t. It was almost,
almost
reward enough to see her so happy all the time. Their moments had been few and far between, but even then it hadn’t compared to the wholesome joy the nymph girl seemed to feel on this voyage. His own memories of sailing were much more macabre: death, a wreck, Ice Demons… and meeting Elia, he realized. Perhaps he should rethink his dislike for voyaging.

“I’m glad to see you like it,” he smiled, only half convinced. Captain Berne saluted sharply.

“What can I do fer you, m’lady?”

Elia joined them at the rear railing, leaning back against it and letting the wind whip her hair back from her face. She smiled, a little uneasily this time. “I need questions answered… about the mainland,” she said hesitantly.

“Ah…” Berne nodded. “I see. Never been there, ‘ave you? Why, couldn’t y’ask maister Gribly here about it, then?”

“No, not this time,” she responded, shuffling her feet a little. “This is a question about the Grymclaw…”

“Ah,” said the Captain.

“A bit out of my experience, true,” said Gribly.