The Waterless Sea Read online

  Then Heben heard it clearly: a high, melodious song that threaded back and forth across the ship, carried by the voices of the two girls. It was an unearthly sound, like the faint moan of the wind as it thrummed in the rigging. Or, he thought, like the eerie call of a far-off desert storm as it whipped across the sands. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and his fingers twitched in a gesture to ward off evil. Then the song died away, and there was quiet.

  The serpent-headed ship rocked slowly into balance on the waves. The few remaining crew, frightened almost out of their wits, clung to the railing. Heben saw a hard-bitten, much-scarred man weeping with terror, and desperate cries and gurgles echoed up from those in the water.

  Heben had learned when he first began his voyage from Merithuros that few sailors knew how to swim. He could not swim himself, but he’ d expected those who lived on the sea to be better able to survive if they happened to find themselves in it. But an old sailor who’ d befriended him had shaken his head.

  ‘If you be washed overboard in a storm or suchlike, better to go quick than be splashin about.’ He’ d shuddered. ‘Don’ t fancy goin round and round in circles, waitin till you get so tired you can’ t lift up your arms no more. Or waitin for a sea-serpent to nibble you up. Hundred rows of teeth, some of them serpents. No, better drown quick and have it over.’

  The old man had had his quick death in the end. The pirates had struck him one hard blow on the skull when they first captured the ship, and that was the last thing he knew. Remembering, Heben struggled to free himself from the heap of his fellow captives. He wanted to see what would become of the pirates now.

  The dishevelled captain yanked at the ropes that entangled him. The dark-haired young woman stood quietly in her little boat and waited, one hand shading her eyes against the sun.

  ‘Come aboard,’ demanded the captain, as he flung aside the last loop of rope. ‘Come aboard, and we’ ll parley.’

  ‘There’ s nothing to parley about,’ said the young woman. ‘Do you surrender, or must we throw you overboard as well?’

  ‘No! No!’ The captain rubbed his hands up and down on his stolen embroidered coat. ‘Wait on. Let’ s discuss this sensibly. No need to act like barbarians, is there?’ He gave them a nervous grimace that was intended as a mollifying smile.

  ‘Surrender!’ A girl’ s voice rang out from the other boat. ‘Surrender, you murderin, thievin son of a dog, or you’ ll find yourself flyin over the Sea of Sevona afore you can draw another breath!’

  The cook let out a long cackle from under the pile of prisoners. ‘You let im have it, witch-girl!’

  ‘The witches of the Isles,’ said the prisoner who believed in sorcery. ‘It’ s them, by all the gods. I heard tales, but I never thought to see em – no, nor hear em, neither!’

  Heben swallowed. He felt the same way; he could scarcely believe what he’ d witnessed. Perhaps this was the dream, and what he’ d taken for a dream was reality. But then someone kicked out a foot and caught him under his rib, and he gasped in pain. This was no dream.

  The older girl with the dark plait raised her hands again, and sang one clear note. The captain’ s hands were suddenly manacled, encased in a lump of some stuff that glittered like diamonds in the sunshine. Heben had never seen ice before. The captain gave a yelp of fright and leapt backward.

  ‘It’ s cold!’ he spluttered.

  ‘Do you surrender?’ asked the girl patiently. ‘Or shall I imprison your whole body in ice?’

  The captain staggered for a few steps, regarding his trapped hands with horror. ‘I surrender, I surrender!’ He sank to his knees and began to thump the block of ice against the deck. But it was impervious, and wouldn’ t even crack.

  ‘Very good,’ growled the burly rower. ‘We’ ll come aboard. You – you with the beard – let down a ladder. And don’ t think about any tricks.’

  But the whole crew were so cowed by what they’ d seen that they were incapable of thinking up any tricks of their own.

  The pirate ship was soon transformed. The pirates were disarmed, trussed up, and herded to the stern of the ship, where the burly man stood guard, his thick eyebrows drawn into a fierce scowl. Those who had been blown over the side were hauled aboard to join their fellows, shivering and chastened. The prisoners were freed. Heben and the others were untied, and those who had been locked up below were released, blinking, into the sunlight.

  Briskly, as if she’ d done this a dozen times before, the tall young woman took charge. ‘Where is your windworker?’

  The captain shook his head. ‘Don’ t have one.’

  The other girl snorted. ‘Pirates, with no windworker? S’ pose you ain’ t got no sails to your masts, neither!’

  The captain turned pleadingly to the tall girl. ‘She ran off. With my second mate, half a turn of the moons ago. We haven’ t found a new one. There aren’ t as many windworkers for sale as there used to be.’

  The younger girl laughed. ‘Cos we got em all on our island!’ she crowed.

  ‘Never mind,’ said the dark-haired girl. ‘We did come to free your windworker, but there are plenty of other things to do.’

  The pirates were set adrift in rowing boats, with sufficient provisions to take them back to port, but no more. The serpent-headed ship was handed into the control of the sailors whose own ships had been sunk by the pirates, and the stolen goods returned to their proper owners. Heben claimed his sword and his earrings. The little leather pouch hadn’ t even been emptied; with relief, Heben found his Clan medallion and all his coins still safe inside.

  ‘But you ain’ t just lettin em go?’ objected the Gellanese who had been roped to Heben. ‘What about cuttin their heads off ? Or even their hands?’

  ‘Take em to the tallow pits!’ shrilled the cook. ‘Like they would’ ve done with us!’

  Their five rescuers exchanged rueful looks. The younger girl laughed.

  ‘There are no tallow pits,’ said the boy with the lenses. ‘They were coming to the Isles for fresh water. The tallow pits are just a story the pirates spread to scare people.’

  The Gellanese sniffed sceptically. ‘Well, even supposin that’ s true, which I doubt, you should do somethin more to punish em. You can’ t just let em go free!’

  ‘I used to think that,’ said the younger girl. ‘But if we cut their hands off, or their heads, then we ain’ t no better’ n pirates ourselves.’

  ‘It’ s not our task to punish,’ growled the burly man, arms folded. ‘Only to set things right.’

  Surprising himself, Heben spoke up. ‘It’ s punishment enough to let them brave the Great Sea in rowing boats. They’ ll be lucky to get back to Doryus without tearing each other to pieces, if they don’ t drown, or starve, or get eaten by a sea-serpent.’

  The tall girl turned to him. ‘Yes. At least we give them a chance,’ she said. ‘Which is more than they were willing to give to you.’

  ‘Will you take somethin for your trouble?’ said the Gellanese. He waved a hand vaguely over the ship. ‘I’ ll bet there’ s enough loot to see us all rich twenty times over. Aye, we’ ll share it with you, won’ t we, lads?’

  The tall girl smiled, and her serious face lit up. ‘Thank you for your kindness. We’ ll take some of the unclaimed goods, if there are any, some food perhaps, and cloth. But you can divide the jewels and the gold coins between you. We don’ t need them.’ She tossed her long plait back over her shoulder. ‘Now, as for your passengers –’

  ‘If you please, my lady...’ Heben stepped forward, his heart thumping. ‘I was a passenger, before the pirates attacked, but I – I wish to end my voyage here.’

  ‘Here?’ The burly man frowned. ‘There’ s nothing here but an empty island, lad.’

  ‘That’ s not what I meant,’ said Heben awkwardly. The five looked at him with varying degrees of interest, amusement and sympathy. They saw a thin-faced young man, tanned by a harsher sun than shone here in the northern seas. He was dressed in the same filthy rags as the o
ther prisoners, but there was something dignified and self-contained in his bearing, and a courteous tone in his voice, that marked him out from the rest.

  Heben tried again. What if, after all, they refused him? ‘I wish to – to come with you. My voyage, my quest – I came seeking you – the sorcerers of Firthana. That is who you are, isn’ t it? The chanters of the Isles?’

  The young girl with the golden eyes grinned. ‘Some calls us that. But we got names of our own. I’ m Mica. She’ s Calwyn.’ The girl with the dark plait inclined her head. ‘That’ s Tonno.’ She indicated the burly man with the dark curling hair. ‘This one’ s called Trout.’ The scruffy boy with the strange lenses waved a shy hand. Mica turned to the man with the spiralling tattoos. ‘And this is Halasaa.’ Halasaa nodded, but didn’ t speak.

  ‘My name is Heben.’ He wanted to bow to each of them, as he would have done to visitors at his father’ s estate, but here on the ship’ s deck it seemed an absurd formality. ‘I am –’ He stopped. He had been about to say, ‘I am of the Cledsec, third son of Rethsec,’ the customary introduction. But since his father had cast him off, he was no one’ s son, he belonged to no Clan. ‘I am from Merithuros,’ he said feebly.

  Though he was so young, his troubled dark-blue eyes stared out from a fine web of wrinkles, as if he was used to squinting into the sun. Like Darrow’ s eyes, thought Calwyn with a stab of pain.

  ‘And what is your business with us?’ she asked, more abruptly than she’ d intended.

  Heben held out his hands in the traditional Merithuran gesture of supplication. ‘You have saved my life. Among my people, that lays a responsibility on you. I need your help.’

  The five looked at one another, but said nothing. Then the tattooed man, Halasaa, who had not uttered a word since they’ d come onto the ship, stepped forward and clasped Heben’ s hands. Then you had better come with us, my brother, and tell us your story, if there is a story to be told. Halasaa didn’ t open his mouth, but Heben heard the voiceless words sound in his mind.

  Startled, but grateful, Heben smiled. For once, relief knocked the manners out of him. ‘Oh, yes,’ he said simply. ‘There is a story to be told.’

  Before noon, they were aboard the chanters’ boat, Fledgewing, which had been concealed in one of the deep inlets of Istia. They watched as the serpent-headed ship, under the command of its new crew, slid away toward the horizon. Heben overheard Calwyn murmur to Halasaa, ‘I can never see a Gellanese galley without thinking of Samis, and that empty ship of his.’

  Halasaa must have given a silent reply, because Calwyn grimaced, and answered, ‘Yes. And I suppose it’ s at Spareth still.’

  As Heben stood there puzzled, a heavy hand fell on his shoulder. ‘Know anything about sailing a boat, lad?’ barked Tonno. ‘No? Then you’ d best keep out of the way.’

  Soon they were sailing swiftly toward the chanters’ home. The tiny island of Ravamey, one of the hundred islands of Firthana, was half a day’ s journey from where they’ d encountered the pirate ship. Mica proudly pointed it out to Heben when it was barely visible on the horizon, a green mound rising from the dazzling sea. As they sailed nearer, other green shadows loomed into view behind it. It was said that no island of Firthana was further than a stone’ s throw from another, and there seemed to be three or four other islands almost as close as that to Ravamey.

  ‘Fisher-folk lived here, years ago, but after the slavers come . . . ’ Mica’ s voice trailed away.

  ‘The slavers burned what they didn’ t steal,’ said Tonno. ‘Killed some, kidnapped some. The rest fled.’

  ‘But the fisher-folk are beginning to come back,’ said Calwyn. She gestured toward a cluster of whitewashed cottages, bright in the afternoon sun, and lines of tall sheltering trees that rose up the slope behind them. ‘We’ re not alone here any more.’

  They were close enough now to hear the crash of waves against the base of the cliff. Tonno swung the tiller so that Fledgewing shot past the rocks into the calm water beyond.

  Mica began to sing a chantment, and the sail filled with a spellwind that carried them easily through the narrow heads and into the bay.

  ‘It’ s a tricky harbour to get into without just the right wind,’ said Trout.

  ‘We’ re spoiled, I reckon,’ grunted Tonno. ‘We’ ve rescued half a dozen windworkers from pirates in these straits. And we have Mica and Calwyn, too.’

  ‘And we’ ll have another soon,’ said Calwyn. ‘That little girl of Fresca’ s has the gift, I think.’

  ‘Calwyn has a dream to set up a college here, like the colleges in Mithates, but for chantment.’ Trout solemnly pushed his lenses up his nose as he shared this secret.

  Calwyn frowned. ‘Not like Mithates at all. Don’ t say that, Trout. The colleges of Mithates make weapons and sell them to whoever bids the highest. They do everything for money. Chantment shouldn’ t be used like that.’

  Chantment is given to few, but for the use of all. Heben jumped as Halasaa’ s words sounded in his mind.

  Calwyn said, ‘We must show you Halasaa’ s garden. You can’ t see it from here, it’ s behind the hill, where it catches the sun. We grow enough vegetables to feed the whole village – and we fish, of course, and keep ducks. And yet half a year ago there was nothing here but derelict cottages and wild berry bushes.’

  Mica broke off her song. ‘Mind you, half a year ago we had more help than we got now,’ she said sharply.

  ‘Mica!’ warned Tonno. A look of pain crossed Calwyn’ s face, and her gaze flickered to a single whitewashed hut perched at the very top of the cliffs, far from the rest of the village. But then she turned away.

  They drew close to the jetty, and a little crowd of children came running to greet them. Two women looked up from their baskets of freshly gutted fish, and wiped their hands on their aprons, and a man mending the hull of an upturned boat reached to catch the rope that Tonno flung out.

  ‘Welcome, Fledgewing!’ he called. ‘Did all go well?’

  ‘Did you catch the pirates?’

  ‘Did you throw em all overboard? Did they drown?’

  ‘Did you bring back any treasure?’

  ‘Who’ s he? Is he a windworker?’

  ‘Boys ain’ t windworkers, you potato-head!’

  The children tumbled over one another with eager questions, and the bolder ones caught hold of the side of the boat and clung there, drumming their bare feet on the planks.

  ‘Off the boat!’ roared Tonno. The children shrieked with mock fright, leapt back onto the jetty, and ran off laughing.

  ‘He pretends to be a grumpy ogre,’ said Trout to Heben. ‘But he’ s soft as butter underneath.’

  Heben nodded politely, but the sight of the children had reminded him of the twins, and his heart was heavy.

  ‘All went well,’ called Calwyn to the waiting villagers. ‘Linnet, we’ ve brought some sacks of grain, and a bale of fine goats’ wool, ready to be spun, and a barrel of best wine from the north of Kalysons. And a guest, too,’ she added, smiling at Heben. ‘Trout, will you take Heben to your cottage and look after him?We’ ll meet you there at sunset, and then we’ ll hear his story.’

  Later, after Heben had washed with water warmed over the fire, and changed his clothes, he sat at the long table in the cottage thatTrout and Tonno shared, a mug of sweet steaming potion before him.

  ‘Honey brew.’ Tonno ladled it out. ‘My own recipe. Not much that this can’ t cure.’

  ‘Now then,’ said Mica, settling herself. ‘Give us your tale.’

  Heben looked around at the five curious faces. At the Imperial Court, and, even on his father’ s estate, story-telling was a far more formal process. He would be standing in the centre of the double ring, an inner circle of men, and the women seated three paces back. He would hold the drum of stretched hegesu-hide, to mark the most dramatic moments. His listeners would judge him on the flourishes of his rhetoric, the cunning impersonations of well-known people, and the twists of poetry, that he could i
nject into the ancient framework of the tale he had chosen to repeat. But this was not one of the ancient stories. This was his own tale, and he was far from home.

  ‘My name is Heben, of the Clan of the Cledsec,’ he began. ‘I was born the third son of Rethsec, son of Cheben, called the Quick –’

  ‘You can leave out the family tree,’ growled Tonno.

  Please go on. That was Halasaa, his face encouraging.

  Unsettled by the interruption, Heben faltered. ‘I – my father – my family is one of the Seven.’

  ‘The seven what?’ said Trout.

  ‘The Seven. The First Clans.’

  Still they all looked blank.

  ‘Forgive us,’ said Calwyn. ‘None of us has ever been to Merithuros. These First Clans – do they rule the Empire?’

  This was not the way story-telling was supposed to proceed. ‘No, no. The Emperor rules the Empire. But the Seven Provinces of the Empire each belong to one of the Clans. My father owes allegiance to the Emperor, but he is Lord of the lands of the Cledsec. Nomis is Lord of the Trentioch. Yben is Lord of the Darru –’

  ‘All right, all right,’ said Trout hastily. ‘We understand.’

  ‘Only members of the Seven Clans are allowed at the Imperial Court. The provincial officials and the ministers of state are always chosen from the Seven. And the generals of the Army, of course. I’ m going into the Army –’ He stopped. ‘At least, I was.’

  Trout said, ‘Merithuros is one of the chief customers of the weapon-makers of Mithates. Their army must be the best-equipped in all Tremaris.’

  Calwyn frowned. ‘The Empire is not at war, is it?’

  ‘It’ s important to maintain a strong army, my lady,’ said Heben.

  ‘But why?’ persisted Calwyn.

  ‘There is much unrest among the outcasts in the coastal towns, and the workers in the mines. Bands of rebels stir up trouble. Without the Army, there would be no way to control the uprisings and revolts. The Army is the thread which stitches the Empire together.’ Heben shifted uncomfortably in his seat. In Merithuros, women did not discuss political matters. In the company of men, women rarely spoke at all. But Calwyn was still curious.