WARP world (14 page)

Seg was sealing the last hatch. He was no mariner but he was a quick learner, and a willing one–an anomaly among the privileged classes. His hard face fired up with the storm, as if he were a man meant for challenge. Ama knew how that felt, to only come alive when life was at risk. She bit her lip and again felt his absent hand on her arm.

The rollers grew steeper and tighter as if the Big Water was folding in on them. The
Naida
fought her way up each face, then slid off the back side and plunged toward the dark grey of the next wave, as if she would punch through it. Wind blew the tops off the waves and soaked the upper deck. Ama’s second eyelids flicked up and she gripped the wheel even tighter.

“Seg!” she yelled, her voice all but swallowed by the squall. He looked her way, one hand clinging to the mast and one hand covering his eyes to shield them from the stinging salt water. She waved him over to her, urgently, and he stumbled his way back, grasping onto whatever his hands could find.

Even side-by-side, she had to shout. “Stay back here now, the stern’s the safest place. Hang on!” The
Naida
shot over a wave, screaming her way through the water, which was almost black now in the shadow of the clouds. “Yeee-aaa!” Ama yelled, as if she were at a raucous party and not in the middle of a tempest. “We’re ripping now!”

Her smile was savage; she was riding the beast. She whipped her head around to face Seg, her wet hair plastered to the side, eyes wide and bright silver, “Isn’t this great?”

He was grinning from ear to ear. The smile didn’t look in any way appropriate on his face, as if he had never done it before. His hair was plastered to his head also, water dripped down from his forehead to his chin, and as he looked at her one corner of his mouth quirked up even further.

For a moment, his face frozen in an expression of feral rapture, he held her gaze, real desire and passion rolling off him, uncontrolled, before he turned away to stare into the belly of the beast, and another wave broke over the bow.

For over an hour, Ama guessed, (though time stretches inside a squall), she and Seg had held on at the stern, while, at midship, wave after wave washed over Manatu. Then, in the way of spring storms, the clouds broke, the wind died and the
Naida
was gliding peacefully over long sets of low rollers. Ama, her two passengers and every inch of the upper deck were drenched but the sun, burning against a pure blue canvas, would sort things out soon enough.

Some unspoken connection had evolved between Ama and Seg during the squall, and now, in the calm, she felt awkward and self-conscious. And exhausted. Prying her fingers from the wooden wheel, she asked Seg if he could take over the helm for a moment. Thankfully he obliged, though he was obviously spent.

“I’ll just check to make sure everything’s in one piece,” she said, flexing her cramped arms and fingers, making her way, first, to Manatu.

What a mess. He was still breathing, thankfully, but he was waterlogged, white as the clouds and shaking with cold. “I’m going to get some blankets to warm him up,” she called to Seg, as she made her way to the hatch and ducked below deck.

Quick as her aching joints would allow, she grabbed two thick, praffa-cloth blankets from storage and scurried back up to the ailing man. She sat Manatu upright, untied the rope from around his waist, wiped his face dry, removed the oilskin coat Seg had covered him with and wrung as much water as she could from his clothing. He weighed a solid ton and maneuvering him around was like moving a dead whale, but she was used to doing things alone and so she managed. Once she had a blanket beneath him, she laid Manatu back down, then covered him with the second blanket, tucking in the edges to keep it secured. Smoothing the wet hair from his face, she rubbed his cheeks with her hands to warm them up.

His eyes blinked slowly open. “Hey big fellow,” Ama said, “almost there. You’ll be on dry, flat land soon, sure as I can whistle.” She pursed her lips and blew, making a wet,
whooshing
noise. “Maybe that was a bad example.”

A weak smile came to his lips.

Wrapping part of the blanket around his head, she rubbed his shoulder, stood up, and prepared to leave. Then he spoke.

“Hhhnk oouugh.”

“Manatu?” she asked, but his eyes had closed and he was asleep. Had he spoken or was she hearing things? There had definitely been a noise. She was sure of it.

Puzzled, Ama set about putting back in place anything the squall had knocked loose.
I’m just tired. I’m imagining things
, she thought. But she had doubts. Now that the skies were clear and the sea was calm, she extended both the skins. Finally, she coiled up the last bit of loose rope and returned to the helm, where she took Seg’s place.

“We’ll be at the mouth of the Gwai River in less than an hour, and in Alisir shortly after that, I expect. You might as well get some rest. Your friend is asleep and…”
I heard him speak
, “…he’s fine, just fine. Thanks for your help.”

She was tired and confused and babbling. This had been a strange crossing.

Having surreptitiously popped a stim tab, for energy, while Ama was busy, Seg felt lively. He would pay for the chemical assistance later, with a period of sleepless shakes, but for now he was bright and alert.

He wondered how she would react to the Storm of home. The Storm was the only remaining item of deification left to his people, and it was a monster, flesh-stripping howling madness that plunged the World into darkness. None ventured into the Storm and survived, at least not without protective Storm-cells, but he had always had that urge. He wanted to face the darkness, to challenge and master it.

Much as he had mastered this. He was feeling ten feet tall and invincible, and for that matter powerfully aroused. He turned to stare at her, casually stepping back from the wheel, sensing her weariness. Her scent was that of strong exertion, overlaid with a rinse of salt tang, her hair tousled and crusting with brine. She was a mess, but that was exactly what appealed to him. He sensed a need from her, too; there was something lurking underneath the strength and determination.

Enough idle fantasy.
He shook his head. There was work to be done, and no room for distractions. And yet he brought his hands together and forward, in a low clap, then nodded at her and sauntered away.

For such an old soul, in that moment, he felt so very young.

Ama had not visited the Alisir docks this season and had forgotten how busy and animated they were. As they approached port, she ran up the yellow flag with the red stripe, to alert the Port Captain of her need for a slip, as well as to indicate the size of her vessel. When they had finally gotten close enough to make out individuals, it took her a good five minutes to spot the runner on shore, as he was lost in a sea of bodies, cargo, livestock and vendors. At last she picked out the small, stringy Welf, who waved an identical flag to hers, frantically attempting to get her attention. He ran down the crowded dock and guided the
Naida
to an empty slip, where a crowd of dockhands waited.

Manatu had perked up noticeably once their journey had made the transition from the Big Water to the flat calm of the wide river, though he was seriously dehydrated and physically wrung out. From her position at the helm, she had watched Seg talking to him and wondered what he was saying. From the way the big man sluffed off the blankets she had given him, and struggled to sit upright, she imagined it was some kind of hard-assed pep talk.

Right at this moment, she sympathized with Manatu. The squall had drained her and she had taken no more than one brief break since it had passed. She still had to collect some supplies before sunset, make sure they were properly registered with the Port Captain, pay the heaps of fees charged by the local governing bodies, and prepare dinner for her passengers before she could pour herself a mug of praffa wine and collapse into her hammock.

Safely secured in the slip, Ama hopped down to the dock, double-checked the lines the dockhands had tied, (which were never done as well as she liked), and helped position a moveable set of stairs for her passengers.

Every now and then she glanced up at Seg, who was drinking in the scene at the docks as if he had just been freed from a life in prison.

“Can I trouble you to run my creds to the Port Captain and sign on my behalf?” she asked the runner, an aimable old Welf who went by the name of Jibri. “Quarter coin,” she added, though she guessed Jibri might do it for free. “Half coin if you can send someone to help me with provisions.”

Jibri fell into paroxysms of delight as she handed him the leather folder with the
Naida
’s legal documents in it. “Fast as I can run, yup!” he answered, showering her with a series of symbolic hand gestures before tearing off down the docks.
Maybe I’ll toss him another half coin if he can find someone to cook for me as well.

“Soon as the runner returns, I’ll fetch us fresh provisions for dinner,” she told Seg, as she dashed up the stairs and back on deck. “In the meantime, you and your friend are free to do as you like.”

He seemed anxious to get on shore; Ama couldn’t wait to see it.

“And please let me know if you require anything else of me,” she added, sincerely hoping, through the fog of her exhaustion, that he did not.

“Finish taking care of the boat,” he said, “and then get rested. Manatu and I will take our refreshment in town.” He turned to Manatu, “Come on you, we’ve got work to do.”

Manatu, pale and visibly miserable, followed along.

When he stepped onto the solid pier, Seg staggered sideways and nearly wiped out in spectacular fashion before he grasped a post and hung on the brink of going over into the water. Manatu, already weakened and disoriented, staggered forward a few steps and fell to his knees, shaking his head.

From the deck of the
Naida
, Ama watched Seg and Manatu making their way on land like a couple of drunks and ducked her head so they wouldn’t notice her spying and smirking. Flatlanders don’t realize how their bodies adapt to the constant movement on water, and how that affects their transition back to land. She could have warned them, she guessed, but then she wouldn’t have had the satisfaction of watching the man who had made her so uneasy in her own galley, with his innate sense of power and entitlement, experience a bit of unsteadiness himself.

Between the comic display and his assistance during the squall, perhaps Ama could consider the score settled. The rest of the journey could proceed in peace.

Perhaps.

If only the nagging voice in her head would be quiet. She set about her chores as the voice continued to harass her.

Why are they so unused to water travel?
If they really were from the south, they would have made at least one or two passages to get to the Banks.

As she locked off the skins, she caught herself gritting her teeth. And what of this odd itinerary? The Shasir’Pei Temple? A Shasir temple, yes, but one that was almost exclusively the domain of the Welf. What trade would they find there? Few of the stops on their route were of any great importance for trade. She tugged hard on the tie for the skin, knotting it more tightly than usual. Also, there was the matter of Manatu’s muteness, though she now had her doubts about that. Was she making too much of this? Pulling her hammock from the stern locker, she thought of Seg. An odd man. Difficult. And yet…

Her fingers drifted over the mesh of her ‘bed’.
He notices me
. That was what she couldn’t understand. The agenda of men was never difficult to fathom. They wanted her body, her boat or her family name and those were the only attributes they paid attention to. But Seg, with that penetrating stare, he seemed to be only interested in the workings of her innermost self.

On first meeting Seg, she had seen an old man in a boy’s body. But during the squall the mask of restraint and studious contemplation had fallen away, revealing a spirit as wild and youthful as her own. Wherever he came from, she guessed this part of Seg was not allowed to show itself, at all. She understood how that felt, too well.