Authors: A.E. Marling
24
The Rogue
Hiresha woke to the sound of weeping. Shallow breaths were interrupted by wheezing catches in the throat.
The enchantress unpeeled her cheek from the planking. A dampness on her face forced her to worry that she had been the one crying, but no, the noise continued. The thought of anyone on that boat sobbing baffled her. Hiresha could not guess whom she would see in tears.
A greyness clung to the morning. The air hung dead, the sail limp. Waves only lapped against the boat.
Emesea hugged the prow. She faced the emptiness of water.
The enchantress knelt beside Emesea, only then realizing that the warrior might have wished to weep alone. Yet Hiresha saw no shame on her round face, no embarrassment that another witnessed her dribbling nose, her waterlogged cheeks, her chapped lips quirking in pain.
“I miss my stick bug,” Emesea said.
“Your what?”
“My Inannis.” She commanded more jaw line than chin, and her tears dripped down the center of her face. “Did you know he saved me from the prison in Oasis City? No one else could’ve done it.”
“From Bleak Wells?” Hiresha had suffered just to see Fos thrown down the prison’s oubliette.
“Inannis is an avatar of the Obsidian Jaguar. He hated when I told him that, but only a man blessed by the god of stealth and courage could’ve gotten me out. He did so much for me. Except follow me to sea.”
Hiresha remembered the slight man struggling against the waves, calling out and coughing. “He was afraid?”
“He was a coward then. I knew he’d be, that’s why I bought this boat without telling him,” she said. “I still had stupid hope.”
The Paragon
scraped its way over a patch of maroon seaweed. Air sacs bobbed, and a spiny hair of plants bristled and clung to the wooden planks. Hiresha worried the hundreds of barbs would drag the boat to a standstill, but the seaweed let go with the next wave.
A clot of fluid dangled from Emesea’s chin. She turned to Tethiel sleeping. “He is even more afraid. But he followed you.”
Why did he?
A fluttering sensation filled Hiresha as if she had swallowed a songbird live. Tethiel had known of the dangers and still defied her wishes to try to keep her safe. She supposed she could not have expected more of Tethiel.
Or less. And would I ever do something so reckless for him?
That, she did not know.
The enchantress had told Tethiel to wake her, if all was lost. She wanted her life to end with her eyes open.
She said, “It does suggest a fearsome level of dedication.”
“Maybe I was meant to follow Inannis. Could we have been the next Jorano and Graia?”
“I don’t know—”
“The strength of their love turned them into trees with trunks woven together. Only to burn because they honored each other more than the gods.”
“Why did you take me to sea?” Hiresha asked. “You couldn’t have left Inannis for my sake.”
Emesea’s pupils looked like eclipsed suns wreathed in gold fire. She peered at the enchantress then gazed to the open sea to the west. “I meant to take you to the Dominion of the Sun.”
Hiresha could not say she was surprised. Betrayal was the foundation of their relationship. The audacity of the plan still astounded her, to think they could sail over the Dream Storm Sea. “To give your realm its first enchantress?”
“You could bring more honor than a thousand warriors.”
“On that theoretical point, we agree.”
“My people keep a better history than your gold-sucking scribes. This is the fifth age.” Emesea lifted a stubby hand and counted off her fingers. “In the first, man displeased the gods. All but the bravest of us were turned to monkeys. We failed again in the second age, and the gods covered the Lands of Loam in ice. The third age ended in rot and famine. In the fourth, titans stomped cities to dust. The fifth age will end in fire.”
Hiresha’s chin jerked upward from her chest. She had nodded off sometime between monkeys and fire.
“This age, we can change the pattern.” Emesea wiped her face with a corner of the red dress. She watched the sun rise above the dream storm mists. “We give the gods their milk of honor, and we can stop the Winged Sun from turning the world to ash and bone.”
Hiresha massaged her forehead with three fingers. “And my works can honor your gods?”
“You can build us ships to sail over the desert. Then all the lands will know the true gods, and the empire’s milk of honor will satisfy the Winged Fire.”
“I hesitate to ask, but ‘milk of honor?’”
Emesea brushed the edge of her knife against her thumb. Blood welled over the grooves in her skin. She lifted the bead of trembling red toward the copper glare of the sun.
Hiresha had expected nothing good, and the confirmation still disappointed. “Why would you ever think I’d help you make war?”
“Thought I might convince you. Knew it wasn’t likely. Knew we might get gobbled up on the journey. But wouldn’t you take a wild swing if it could save the world?”
“The greatest threats to this world are ignorance and bloodlust.”
Emesea shrugged, and muscles rolled beneath the skin of her shoulders in intimidating lumps. “Not that it matters much. I had to swipe the Murderfish to save you. Doubt we’ll ever reach shore now. She’ll let us get close, then she’ll break us. The ol’ girl can hold a grudge.”
“Tethiel’s illusions can trick the kraken again.”
“Maybe.” Emesea’s tone suggested she thought it more likely the sky would catch fire.
“Could we reach shore tonight?”
“If the wind goes right.” She gave the mast a thoughtful punch. It wobbled. “If there’s a break in the dream storms.”
“And if I’m the optimistic one, we’re in trouble.” Hiresha thought back to the song Emesea had played on her pipes. At once the salty thickness of the sea air choked her up. “I—I’d like it very much if you could tell me Spellsword Fos is free. That he’s well.”
“Should be.” Emesea’s foot lifted behind her as she leaned forward to gaze out to sea. Her skirt flapped between her corded thighs. “Was with Inannis last I saw him. Inannis didn’t like the big man much, so they might’ve split.”
That’s everything I could hope for.
Emesea tied a rope around the prow. “He wasn’t afraid of the danger.”
“I know. Fos believes he’s destined for greatness.”
“No, Inannis. The sea didn’t make him a coward. It’s war he didn’t want. He was afraid of what needed to be done for the gods. That’s what made him a coward.”
Hiresha was not comforted to hear that the jewel duper agreed with her on any point, nor that her companion’s blood ran with such zeal.
“He was a coward I loved.” The warrior tied the rope to her belt and dove into the sea.
The enchantress watched as Emesea swam. The rope pulled the prow. The action confused Hiresha until she realized that without oars or wind, they had no better way to steer the boat.
The blue dream storm shifted position to behind them. Hiresha frowned in thought. “And why’re you pointing us south?”
Fish shimmered by the warrior. One school of red fins parted around her then merged together on the other side of the boat. They all were going the opposite direction.
Taking a back stroke, Emesea said, “Because that’s where the rogue is.”
“Excuse me?” Hiresha glanced up. The sea stretched smooth with a horizon of white. The air was still, but wind growled nearby.
“Rogue fish.” Emesea spat out water. “Must’ve drifted into her territory. Can’t blame her for being angry.”
A pair of sky skates shot from the water, startling Hiresha. The flying fish were diamond shaped with pink lips on their undersides. The skates looped higher.
The enchantress gazed once again to the south. “Where are you seeing—Oh, goodness!”
The white horizon was the crest of a wave. The growling turned into a roar of water.
“It’s tall as a pyramid.” Hiresha backed against the mast, her hands clinging to it by reflex. “Turn us, turn us!”
“Think I can outrace that?” Emesea kicked them closer to the monstrous wave. “Can’t take it on our side. Have to top it.”
A trench opened ahead of the wave. Water rushed in to fill it, carrying
The Paragon
toward the village-crusher. The rope slacked between the boat and the warrior.
Tethiel staggered to his feet. He took one look at the wall of water. “This is why I hate waking up early.”
Helplessness dissolved Hiresha from the inside out. She knew she could not even fall asleep before the wave struck. She grabbed Tethiel’s hand, fitting her fingers between his twisted ones.
A school of dolphins was swimming ahead of the wave but losing ground. The sea fell into the trough closer and closer to their beating tails.
“They’re good-luck fish.” Emesea gripped the side of the boat.
Tethiel said, “No wonder we haven’t seen them before.”
The lead dolphin chirped and dove. The school followed, their tails grey streaks fading into the deep. Hiresha expected not to see them again in this lifetime, but one reappeared on the far side of the trench, rolling fin over fin up the hill of water.
“Her luck ran out,” Emesea said.
The top of the wave was a frothy blue, but its bulk was black. White tears ran up its side. The dolphin flipped itself around and started climbing, cutting in and out of the dark slope.
A deeper shadow swam within the wave, toward the dolphin.
“Do you see it?” Emesea flailed her arm to point. “There’s the rogue!”
The wall of water bulged. It snapped open in a gateway of fangs. Two front teeth curved like scimitars, the rest daggers. The smallest could impale the dolphin.
The dolphin slid across the length of the front fangs, beat its tail, and launched itself off the ivory spears and upward. It would drop into the maw, Hiresha was certain. The rogue fish would devour the dolphin and, next, the occupants of the boat.
The grey nose of the dolphin plunged into the water just above the gaping mouth. The fangs snapped down. The dolphin swam to the top of the wave, leaped, and somersaulted in the air.
“Lucky.” Emesea’s shout puffed out droplets.
I wish I could say the same for us.
Hiresha spoke the words aloud but could not hear them over the wave’s bone-shaking rumble.
The sea ahead of the boat vanished. They plunged down a waterfall. Emesea grappled with the prow, her feet dangling toward the sail. Hiresha and Tethiel held onto each other, which was a poor idea, all things considered. They began tipping out of the boat. The enchantress caught hold of the mast, and the Feaster hooked his legs under a plank.
The Paragon
slammed into the bottom of the trough. Water sluiced over the prow, and they lurched to the side. Emesea shouted something that nobody heard. She kicked alongside the boat but could not keep up. They whisked sideways up the black-water gorge.
Hiresha’s stomach looped. The mast tipped, and the boat verged on tumbling over, a dip from dashing her into the wave with the rogue fish. The enchantress clung to the prow. She had a perfect view of the curving monument of the wave, and from her perspective it looked flat, a field of basalt veined with white.
The boat turned. Emesea was steering it from the rear.
The waters darkened. Hiresha caught the jagged outline of a fin.
The back of the boat now pointed upward to the crest of the wave. Between
The Paragon
and that frothy summit, fangs curved outward. A pit gnashed open. The fish’s cheeks spread like sails, green mouth, blue tongue, and red throat.
A barbed harpoon appeared in Tethiel’s hand. He hurled it toward the maw, but the illusionary weapon melted in the sunlight.
Emesea cut the waters with her hands, trying to reach the rogue fish first.
Hiresha had just enough time to reflect that relying on others was most exhausting.
The Paragon
shifted in the water, its hull sliding over the fangs. The enchantress felt herself crushed into the hull, followed by a sensation of whirling weightlessness and flying.
She assumed the vertigo would subside only after her death. She was wrong.
Sky surrounded them. A gull squawked and flew beneath the boat. Somewhere, Emesea was laughing. Fighting down a bubbling sense of impossibility, Hiresha peeked over the side of the boat.
The sea was far below. The rogue fish and its wave had passed. Emesea climbed up the rope, water drizzling around her.
The Paragon
seemed to float, and Hiresha could not imagine how. Something had saved them, lifted the boat.
I’m awake. I couldn’t have Lightened us, could I?
“She’s a jealous one,” Emesea said. “Won’t let anyone else eat us.”
Hiresha noticed a wrinkle in the sky, a white crease in reality. She feared she knew what it was. It looked close enough to touch. When she did, her fingers found a cold slickness. The empty air felt leathery and solid as a tree.
May the Fate Weaver spare me! We’re being held aloft by the Murderfish.