Slow Turns The World (7 page)

Torrin leapt to one side, Valhad to the other, rolling and skittering on the cold hard surface.   As Torrin sprung to his feet he threw the spear and pierced the scales below the serpent's eye.  The beast shook its head and sent the spear flying; only a small wound was left leaking.  It did not make another lunge, but hissed menacingly and focussed its dreadful eyes on Torrin.  It regarded him with chill intent before slipping backwards into the churning water.   They made the last dash and leapt onto the iceberg.

“To the top, climb to the top!” Shouted Torrin.

They scrambled up struggling and slipping as once again the ice burst open beneath them and the serpent reared up, jaws snapping shut just below their frantic, scrabbling feet.  The iceberg juddered as a second silver head erupted upwards, as another beast joined the attack.  The two huge serpents lay glistening on the iceberg, bodies convulsing, jaws snapping and biting upon the air.

Torrin and Valhad scrambled to the top and watched in horror as again and again the creatures hurled themselves against the frozen slope, fangs gouging and tearing at the buttress of ice, in enraged frenzy.   They felt the iceberg lurch under the violence of the attack, and then begin to bob upon the water, as it broke free from the pack ice of the bay.   The island refuge drifted slowly out into the channel, past the laughing jeering Ummakil.  The serpents slid into the water, circling round them, often lifting their heads to hiss and bite the air.  Distantly, already growing smaller, were the Vasagi.  They could discern three figures stood together; Perrith, with Casan and Turnal at his side.  The tribe was safe and nothing else mattered; the Vasagi had crossed the waters to find their ancient path again.   Then Torrin saw, stood upon the far headland, a single figure that held a little bundle in the air and, as distant as it was, he saw the tiny moving limbs.    He knew it was Varna, and that she held their newborn child.  She grew smaller, a dwindling detail on a far shore that vanished and was gone.  They drifted onwards towards the open sea, the land shrinking, diminishing, until there was only water all around them.

Chapter 3

Tide and tempest and even the greatest beasts of the sea carried Him hither and surrendered to His command.

 
The book of Tarcen. Ch. 1 V. 8

They did not drift alone.  Around them circled two bow waves as the serpents stalked and bided their time.   Now and then a flash of scales and a blinking reptilian eye broke surface before sinking beneath the waves again.   Balanced on their tiny bobbing island, they shifted from sitting to crouching or standing, but always some part of them was chilled against the ice.  They would have been much colder if the wind had not been blowing from the warm lands of the north.  No, thought Torrin, they would not die by freezing; he watched trickles of water carving runnels and grooves in the ice.  No, not by freezing, but by the slow melting of the berg until it offered no sanctuary from the waiting beasts.  With luck, they might starve to death first; that was a small consolation that allowed him a brief, bitter smile.  Valhad had been watching the water intently for some time.

“There are fish, Torrin.”

Torrin looked down into the clear water and glimpsed a darting silver shape.

“Do you have a hook?”  Valhad asked eagerly.

“Valhad,” said Torrin, and then paused as his eyes met those of the younger man.

“Valhad, what do you know of this sea?”

“It is called the Carthasan.  Perrith says the name comes from another tongue and means greatest.”

“Aye.   So it is called by the tribes who build boats that we have met.  For half my journey it has lain close by, sometimes we walk on its shore, and then for a long while it can be seen only from the highest hills, then again our path leads us to its waves.  It is the greatest sea, and its currents are strong; the north wind may blow but the waters carry us against it, away from the land.”

“We know the sea is wide, Torrin, but not how broad.  There is another shore, there may be islands, and there are the tribes who travel upon the water.”

“Valhad, our people are safe.  They will find the path again, and come upon the barak.  The Ummakil will be left behind.  That is what matters most.  Even if all of us who returned from the mountain are lost, that is but a little thing if the tribe is safe.”

“So now our task is done then, Torrin, and this is the end?  But it does not feel such.  Something is over, but I feel at a beginning, not an end.”  Valhad gazed across the endless rolling sea with distant eyes.

Torrin said no more.  He prised open the hidden pouch in his leather belt; within were several fishhooks carved from bone.  Valhad nodded with a hint of a smile and then stripped off his woven tunic; sitting bare-chested he began carefully picking apart the strands of barak wool.

Having no bait, Valhad carefully contrived a tassel of woven hairs to wind around the hook to lure the fish.  The strands of his tunic became a fragile line long enough to reach the water and soon the hook was beneath the surface.  Torrin teased the line gently, watching the darting fish draw near.  The ever-present wake of the serpents rippled and then vanished.   The first fish was small and lifted easily by the delicate twine; they consumed it hungrily, the tiny slivers of flesh seeming delicious.   The hook was cast twice more and catches of similar size were landed until a much larger fish took the hook and the twine was pulled taut.  Torrin played the fish skillfully for some time until the fight subsided and he passed the line to Valhad.

“Do not pull the line too tight or it will break.  I will go down to the water to land the fish.”

They both scanned the surrounding sea and saw no sign of the serpents, so Torrin slid down the icy slope to the gently rolling sea.  He snatched at the fish, grasping it by the tail and dragged its bulk from the water.  It was heavy enough to provide several meals, but also to make climbing the steep slope difficult work.   Valhad saw a silver flash break in the waves close by and a dark form approaching beneath the clear waters.  There was barely time to shout a word of warning before the beast broke from the water.  Jaws gaping, it surged up the icy slope towards Torrin, who made a desperate lunge for safety as the scimitar teeth snapped shut around the writhing fish, which was snatched from Torrin's grip.  The great bulk arched back and crashed beneath the water, and then all was silent.  The long hunger continued.

The first ship passed them by.  It had a single sail and crossed their path to the north.  Despite shouting, bellowing and waving their ragged garments in desperation the vessel was too distant, and continued to grow smaller until it was gone.   Time passed; Kanu circled over them three times.  They grew weaker and fell silent, each with head bowed, blinking, nodding and lost within their own thoughts.  

“Torrin.”

No answer came to Valhad's mumbled word.

“Torrin.  Do you see?”

This time Torrin raised his head and became awake.  There was a ship.  It was still distant but they could see it was of great size with three tall masts, but with no sails set.

“What direction does it take?” asked Torrin, standing and looking now with keen, bright eyes.

“It came from the south but is moving north eastwards, with no sails set I cannot see how; it should drift north as we do.”

“I wonder how close will it pass?”

“I fear not close enough, Torrin.”

The ship grew nearer, white water splashing at the bows and with a great turmoil of foam in its wake.  It moved by some means they had not seen before, or ever heard of in the tales from other tribes; there was a paddle wheel across the stern, turning swiftly, driving it across the expanse of sea.  They could make out some of the ship's crew now; moving dots upon the decks and scrambling high upon the web of rigging.  Once again they shouted and waved their tunics around their heads; once again the ship sailed on unaware of the tiny desperate figures perched upon the iceberg.

“It is no good,” croaked Torrin, hoarse from shouting. “We are too distant to be heard.”

“But they might see us if they had reason to look this way,” said Valhad.

“They might, but we are too far away; too small.”

“We are, but our companions are not.”

At this, Valhad slid down the ice to the water's edge, shouting into the blue-green water.

“Come!  Come to me!  Are you not hungry?  Come and eat!”

Torrin scrambled after him.

“Valhad!  No! No!  They are too swift, come back!”

He grasped Valhad and tried to pull him back to safety but Valhad fought back with unexpected strength.

“Not yet, Torrin,” he said, watching quivering dark shapes loom through the water.  “Not yet.  Come my beauties.  Come on.  Now, Torrin, move!”

They lunged at the icy slope and heard water erupting behind them.  The iceberg shuddered under a great impact, then a second and there was a sound of huge jaws snapping shut.  They were safe, barely; for much of the ice had melted away and the beasts were enraged.  Perched upon the icebergs tip they were only just out of reach from the dagger jaws that surged towards them again and again.  

Sharp eyes upon the ship turned towards them and its course changed.  Greater than any vessel they had seen, imagined, or heard tell of in tales, it came closer; ploughing through the humps of water, throwing up spume in its turbulent wake. The serpents hissed at the approaching bulk and slid from the ice.  The ship’s deck stood taller than the iceberg; a wooden wall looming above them.  Faces looked down from the ship's side, from high on the rigging and from open hatches.  Strange faces; faces of many tribes, some dark, others fair, sad faces, cold faces, grinning faces.  Indistinct voices shouted on the deck above until a wooden boom with block and tackle swung above them and a rope was lowered. Valhad took a firm hold and was hoisted away out of sight.  

The rope returned and Torrin took his turn, gripping with hands and feet as he was hauled upwards.  It was then that a harsh voice sounded out above the others and the hoisting stopped.   The great wheel that drove the ship began to turn and it drew away from the iceberg.  Torrin clung to the rope over the sea, heard the voice shout an order, and found himself being lowered towards the water.  He saw a serpent approaching as he sank lower, watched it dip below the water, gaining speed, preparing to lunge. As the beast burst forth he was hauled sharply upwards again.  The jaws snapped shut much too close.  There was a great cheer and loud laughter from above.   He was lowered again until the sea made his feet wet and was left dangling with his legs cutting a furrow in the swift passing water.   He had become bait.

Torrin climbed the rope, dragging himself from the water with every muscle straining.  More laughter followed as unseen hands slowly let the rope down so that his efforts were in vain.   The serpent lunged again and locked its jaws around the rope below his feet.  It gripped, writhed and pulled and as the wooden boom creaked and strained the cheering and laughter grew louder.   Torrin struggled but could not climb the tensioned rope, his strength was failing and he began to slip downwards.  There were more orders barked out above and he was raised again.  But so was the beast, for it would not release its grip.  

The ship was pitching under the strain as Torrin drew level with the deck. He saw in an instant the twenty or more men hauling the rope and others standing near.  A tall, dark-skinned, man leapt towards him, grasped Torrin by the belt and pulled him to safety.   He fell sprawling and gasping upon the deck next to Valhad.  The serpent, jaws still locked upon the rope, was raised lashing madly above the deck.  There was the sound of steel drawn from leather and a man bearing a great curved sword leapt to the balustrade.  The blade flashed in a sweeping curve and buried deep into the serpent's neck, nearly cutting it through.  Blood, mucous and foul fluids sprayed from the severed throat, the jaws released and the dying beast crashed into the sea.  There were a few cheers, but mostly there was muttering and sounds of discontent.

The swordsman cast a contemptuous eye over Torrin; it was the man they had met on the mountain, who had commanded the Asgal.  It was the same curved blade, harsh voice and lust for cruelty.  The man stared back at the crew who still stood watching him in brooding silence.

“Have you no work to do?” he growled, swinging his blade idly.

“We have useful work, be assured of that.”  The man who spoke emptied a bucket of water across the deck nearly wetting the swordsman's feet.  “We have to make amends for you and your doing.” As he said the words he spat upon the deck. The swordsman strode away, bristling with anger.  The man who had pulled Torrin to safety looked down on him and shook his head.

“That was cruel sport played upon you,” he said, “and we did not all enjoy the game.  The Captain would not have allowed it.  There will be angry words when he comes on deck again.”

“Who was that man?” asked Torrin.

“He is called Kalor.  He is servant and protector of the Lord from the north who has bought the passage of the ship.”

 “This Lord commands the ship?”

“No.  The Captain commands.  The Lord pays for passage and knows where we are bound.”

“Which is where?”

“Who can say?” he shrugged,  “We are told nothing.  I only know that we sail north-westwards.”

Torrin pulled himself to his feet, unsteady after the long vigil on the ice without much food or sleep, still shaken after the ordeal on the rope.  Looking at the fast-receding iceberg he saw a scaled head break from the water and turn cold regarding eyes towards the ship.  The dark-skinned man watched beside him and they both heard the venomous hiss, seemingly filled with a vengeful hatred, escaping from the surviving beast's open mouth.   The bared fangs closed and opened threateningly, before the serpent slipped beneath the waves again.

“I hope you bring better luck to us than Kalor,” he said grimly.

“Why, what has he done?” asked Torrin.

“It is said that he who cuts the head from the serpent in one blow shall have good fortune, shall be a king, but he who fails…”