Siege and Storm (12 page)

Mal and I followed, stepping gingerly onto one of the craft’s curved hulls. We picked our way across it and descended to the central deck, where a sunken cockpit was nestled between two masts. Sturmhond leapt down after us, then swung up onto a raised platform behind the cockpit and took his place at the ship’s wheel.

“What is this thing?” I asked.

“I call her the
Hummingbird
,” he said, consulting some kind of chart that I couldn’t see, “though I’m thinking of renaming her the
Firebird
.” I drew in a sharp breath, but Sturmhond just grinned and ordered, “Cut anchor and release!”

Tamar and Tolya unhitched the knots of the grapples that held us to the
Volkvolny.
I saw the anchor line slither like a live snake over the
Hummingbird
’s stern, the end slipping silently into the sea. I would have thought we’d need an anchor when we made port, but I supposed Sturmhond knew what he was doing.

“Make sail,” called Sturmhond.

The sails unfurled. Though the
Hummingbird
’s masts were considerably shorter than those aboard the schooner, its double sails were huge, rectangular things, and required two crewmen each to maneuver them into position.

A light breeze caught the canvas, and we pulled farther from the
Volkvolny.
I looked up and saw Sturmhond watching the schooner slip away. I couldn’t see his face, but I had the distinct sense that he was saying goodbye. He shook himself, then called out, “Squallers!”

A Grisha was positioned in each hull. They raised their arms, and wind billowed around us, filling the sails. Sturmhond adjusted our course and called for more speed. The Squallers obliged, and the strange little boat leapt forward.

“Take these,” said Sturmhond. He dropped a pair of goggles into my lap and tossed another pair to Mal. They looked similar to those worn by Fabrikators in the workshops of the Little Palace. I glanced around. All of the crew seemed to be wearing them, along with Sturmhond. We pulled them over our heads.

I was grateful for them seconds later, when Sturmhond called for yet more speed. The sails rattled in the rigging above us, and I felt a twinge of nervousness. Why was he in such a hurry?

The
Hummingbird
sped over the water, its shallow double hulls skating from wave to wave, barely seeming to touch the surface of the sea. I held tight to my seat, my stomach floating upward with every jounce.

“All right, Squallers,” commanded Sturmhond, “take us up. Sailors to wings, on my count.”

I turned to Mal. “What does that mean, ‘take us up’?”

“Five!” shouted Sturmhond.

The crewmen started to move counterclockwise, pulling on the lines.

“Four!”

The Squallers spread their hands wider.

“Three!”

A boom lifted between the two masts, the sails gliding along its length.

“Two!”

“Heave!” cried the sailors. The Squallers lifted their arms in a massive swoop.

“One!” yelled Sturmhond.

The sails billowed up and out, snapping into place high above the deck like two gigantic wings. My stomach lurched, and the unthinkable happened: The
Hummingbird
took flight.

I gripped my seat, mumbling old prayers under my breath, squeezing my eyes shut as the wind buffeted my face and we rose into the night sky.

Sturmhond was laughing like a loon. The Squallers were calling out to each other in a volley, making sure they kept the updraft steady. I thought my heart would pound right through my chest.

Oh, Saints
, I thought queasily.
This can’t be happening.

“Alina,” Mal yelled over the rush of the wind.

“What?” I forced the word through tightly clenched lips.

“Alina, open your eyes. You’ve got to see this.”

I gave a terse shake of my head. That was exactly what I did
not
need to do.

Mal’s hand slid into mine, taking hold of my frozen fingers. “Just try it.”

I took a trembling breath and forced my lids open. We were surrounded by stars. Above us, white canvas stretched in two broad arcs, like the taut curves of an archer’s bow.

I knew I shouldn’t, but I couldn’t stop myself from craning my neck over the cockpit’s edge. The roar of the wind was deafening. Below—far below—the moonlit waves rippled like the bright scales of a slow-moving serpent. If we fell, I knew we would shatter on its back.

A little laugh, somewhere between elation and hysteria, burbled out of me. We were flying.
Flying.

Mal squeezed my hand and gave an exultant shout.

“This is impossible!” I yelled.

Sturmhond whooped. “When people say impossible, they usually mean improbable.” With the moonlight gleaming off the lenses of his goggles and his greatcoat billowing around him, he looked like a complete madman.

I tried to breathe. The wind was holding steady. The Squallers and the crew seemed focused, but calm. Slowly, very slowly, the knot in my chest loosened, and I began to relax.

“Where did this thing come from?” I shouted up to Sturmhond.

“I designed her. I built her. And I crashed a few prototypes.”

I swallowed hard.
Crash
was the last word I wanted to hear.

Mal leaned over the lip of the cockpit, trying to get a better view of the gigantic guns positioned at the foremost points of the hulls.

“Those guns,” he said. “They have multiple barrels.”

“And they’re gravity fed. No need to stop to reload. They fire two hundred rounds per minute.”

“That’s—”

“Impossible? The only problem is overheating, but it isn’t so bad on this model. I have a Zemeni gunsmith trying to work out the flaws. Barbaric little bastards, but they know their way around a gun. The aft seats rotate so you can shoot from any angle.”

“And fire down on the enemy,” Mal shouted almost giddily. “If Ravka had a fleet of these—”

“Quite an advantage, no? But the First and Second Armies would have to work together.”

I thought of what the Darkling had said to me so long ago.
The age of Grisha power is coming to an end.
His answer had been to turn the Fold into a weapon. But what if Grisha power could be transformed by men like Sturmhond? I looked over the deck of the
Hummingbird
, at the sailors and Squallers working side by side, at Tolya and Tamar seated behind those frightening guns. It wasn’t impossible.

He’s a privateer
, I reminded myself.
And he’d stoop to war profiteer in a second.
Sturmhond’s weapons could give Ravka an advantage, but those guns could just as easily be used by Ravka’s enemies.

I was pulled from my thoughts by a bright light shining off the port bow. The great lighthouse at Alkhem Bay. We were close now. If I craned my neck, I could just make out the glittering towers of Os Kervo’s harbor.

Sturmhond did not make directly for it but tacked southwest. I assumed we’d set down somewhere offshore. The thought of landing made me queasy. I decided to keep my eyes shut for that, no matter what Mal said.

Soon I lost sight of the lighthouse beam. Just how far south did Sturmhond intend to take us? He’d said he wanted to reach the coast before dawn, and that couldn’t be more than an hour or two away.

My thoughts drifted, lost to the stars around us and the clouds scudding across the wide sky. The night wind bit into my cheeks and seemed to cut right through the thin fabric of my coat.

I glanced down and gulped back a scream. We weren’t over the water anymore. We were over land—solid, unforgiving land.

I tugged on Mal’s sleeve and gestured frantically to the countryside below us, painted in moonlit shades of black and silver.

“Sturmhond!” I shouted in a panic. “What are you doing?”

“You said you were taking us to Os Kervo—” Mal yelled.

“I said I was taking you to meet my client.”

“Forget that,” I wailed. “Where are we going to land?”

“Not to worry,” said Sturmhond. “I have a lovely little lake in mind.”

“How little?” I squeaked. But then I saw that Mal was climbing out of the cockpit, his face furious. “Mal, sit down!”

“You lying, thieving—”

“I’d stay where you are. I don’t think you want to be jostling around when we enter the Fold.”

Mal froze. Sturmhond began to whistle that same off-key little tune. It was snatched away by the wind.

“You can’t be serious,” I said.

“Not on a regular basis, no,” said Sturmhond. “There’s a rifle secured beneath your seat, Oretsev. You may want to grab it. Just in case.”

“You can’t take this thing into the Fold!” Mal bellowed.

“Why not? From what I understand, I’m traveling with the one person who can guarantee safe passage.”

I clenched my fists, rage suddenly driving fear from my mind. “Maybe I’ll just let the volcra have you and your crew for a late-night snack!”

Sturmhond kept one hand on the wheel and consulted his timepiece. “More of an early breakfast. We really are behind schedule. Besides,” he said, “it’s a long way down. Even for a Sun Summoner.”

I glanced at Mal and knew his fury must be mirrored on my own face.

The landscape was unrolling beneath us at a terrifying pace. I stood up, trying to get a sense for where we were.

“Saints,” I swore.

Behind us lay stars, moonlight, the living world. Ahead of us, there was nothing. He was really going to do it. He was taking us into the Fold.

“Gunners, at your stations,” Sturmhond called. “Squallers, hold steady.”

“Sturmhond, I’m going to kill you!” I shouted. “Turn this thing around right now!”

“Wish I could oblige. I’m afraid if you want to kill me, you’ll just have to wait until we land. Ready?”

“No!” I shrieked.

But the next moment, we were in darkness. It was like no night ever known—a perfect, deep, unnatural blackness that seemed to close around us in a suffocating grip. We were in the Fold.

CHAPTER

8

T
HE MOMENT WE
entered the Unsea, I knew something had changed.

Hurriedly, I braced my feet against the deck and threw up my hands, casting a wide golden swath of sunlight around the
Hummingbird
. As angry as I was with Sturmhond, I wasn’t going to let a flock of volcra bring us down only to prove a point.

With the power of both amplifiers, I barely had to think to summon the light. I tested its edges carefully, sensing none of the wild disruption that had overcome me the first time I’d used the fetter. But something was very wrong. The Fold
felt
different. I told myself it was just imagination, but it seemed like the darkness had a texture. I could almost feel it moving over my skin. The edges of the wound at my shoulder began to itch and pull, as if the flesh were restless.

I’d been on the Unsea twice before, and both times I’d felt like a stranger, like a vulnerable interloper in a dangerous, unnatural world that did not want me there. But now it was as if the Fold was reaching out to me, welcoming me. I knew it made no sense. The Fold was a dead and empty place, not a living thing.

It knows me
, I thought.
Like calls to like.

I was being ridiculous. I cleared my head and thrust the light out farther, letting the power pulse warm and reassuring around me.
This
was what I was. Not the darkness.

“They’re coming,” Mal said beside me. “Listen.”

Over the rush of the wind, I heard a cry echo through the Fold, and then the steady pounding of volcra wings. They’d found us quickly, drawn by the smell of human prey.

Their wings beat the air around the circle of light I’d created, pushing the darkness back at us in fluttering ripples. With crossings of the Fold at a standstill, they’d been too long without food. Appetite made them bold.

I spread my arms, letting the light bloom brighter, driving them back.

“No,” said Sturmhond. “Bring them closer.”

“What? Why?” I asked. The volcra were pure predators. They weren’t to be toyed with.

“They hunt us,” he said, raising his voice so everyone could hear him. “Maybe it’s time we hunted them.”

A warlike whoop went up from the crew, followed by a series of barks and howls.

“Pull back the light,” Sturmhond told me.

“He’s out of his mind,” I said to Mal. “Tell him he’s out of his mind.”

But Mal hesitated. “Well…”

“Well
what
?” I asked, incredulously. “In case you’ve forgotten, one of those things tried to eat you!”

He shrugged, and a grin touched his lips. “Maybe that’s why I’d like to see what those guns can do.”

I shook my head. I didn’t like this. Any of it.

“Just for a moment,” pressed Sturmhond. “Indulge me.”

Indulge him. Like he was asking for another slice of cake.

The crew was waiting. Tolya and Tamar were hunched over the protruding barrels of their guns. They looked like leather-backed insects.

“All right,” I said. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Mal lifted his rifle to his shoulder.

“Here we go,” I muttered. I curled my fingers. The circle of light contracted, shrinking around the ship.

The volcra shrieked in excitement.

“All the way!” commanded Sturmhond.

I gritted my teeth in frustration, then did as he asked. The Fold went dark.

I heard a rustle of wings. The volcra dove.

“Now, Alina!” Sturmhond shouted. “Throw it wide!”

I didn’t stop to think. I cast the light out in a blazing wave. It showed the horror surrounding us in the harsh, unforgiving light of a noonday sun. There were volcra everywhere, suspended in the air around the ship, a mass of gray, winged, writhing bodies, milky, sightless eyes, and jaws crowded with teeth. Their resemblance to the
nichevo’ya
was unmistakable, and yet they were so much more grotesque, so much more clumsy.

“Fire!” Sturmhond cried.

Tolya and Tamar opened fire. It was a sound like I’d never heard, a relentless, skull-shattering thunder that shook the air around us and rattled my bones.