Floating bodies and debris littered the sea. The giant creatures erupted onto the surface in a spray of seawater, flailing tails and flukes. Beyond the titanic battle, Joash saw people struggle into one of the boats that had escaped destruction. Soon, he saw a bigger piece of wood floating close to him. He swam to it. Briny seawater splashed into his mouth and stung his throat as he accidentally swallowed some. It made him cough as his stomach became queasy. Even so, he managed to crawl onto the raft of wood. He struggled to his feet, balancing carefully as he waved to the people in the boat. They didn’t see him. So, Joash watched the epic fight.
The leviathan had his jaws locked onto Nidhogg. Nidhogg thrashed, roared and curled his long neck around, slashing his sharp teeth along the leviathan’s armored hide.
A wave knocked Joash off the raft. By the time he crawled back to it, the two beasts had taken their battle underwater.
A dog barked. Despite his weariness, Joash saw Harn swimming in circles.
“Harn! Harn! Here boy!” Joash screamed.
Harn struck out toward Joash. The weeping groom dragged the heavy dog onto his raft. It was a broken section of deck, a large, sturdy raft. Harn licked his face. That brought a semblance of wit to Joash. He began to watch for objects that might help him survive. He found a half-filled water-skin. He found a package of wet bread, a spear that was stuck in a piece of wood and the end of an oar, whole enough to function as a paddle. Joash knelt, and looked for the boat he’d seen earlier. It was farther off than before. He tried to paddle toward them.
He saw a man draped over a broken piece of mast. To his amazement, the man lifted his head. This man wasn’t like the countless floating dead ones that Joash didn’t have the nerve to turn over. This man wore chainmail armor, Herrek! Joash awkwardly paddled to him. It was hard work, as his paddling often rotated the raft as much moved it in the direction Joash desired. The raft, the broken section of deck, had thick crosspieces underneath. The crosspieces helped give it buoyancy. By a mighty effort, Joash heaved Herrek onto his back, and onto the raft. The added weight caused the raft to sink dangerously so waves washed seawater across the boards.
The monsters arose, a few swimming people screaming and thrashing to get away from them. The epic fight was killing people, even as the leviathan tried to save them.
Terrified, Joash paddled away from the monsters. Soon, he was caught in a current. He’d learned enough from Captain Maharbal to know that currents flowed in the Suttung Sea like rivers on land. Thankfully, he drifted out of sight of the monsters. He never wanted to see Nidhogg again. Exhausted, Joash slumped beside Herrek, and wondered if he’d ever see his beautiful Adah again.
The thought of her floundering in the waves or being snapped up by a large-toothed sea-beast brought tears to his eyes. To quell the tears, and his bitter thoughts, Joash picked up the oar and began to paddle. Someone had to tell other Seraphs what the First Born planned. Before he could do that, he’d have to save Harn, Herrek and himself.
Chapter Twelve
Castaways
Then they took Jonah and threw him overboard.
-- Jonah 1:15
Joash awoke with a start, groaned and clutched his head. Small waves lapped against the raft, and the stars shone overhead. When his nausea passed, he realized where he was and what had happened. Adah. He’d lost Adah. Joash shivered. Pain bolted through his head and his stomach cramped.
He leaned over the edge of the raft and vomited on an empty stomach. With a groan, he rinsed his mouth with seawater afterward. Thirst hit, raging thirst. He grabbed the water-skin, but paused. He needed to conserve the water for the three of them. So he splashed his face. That didn’t help much, so he plunged his head underwater. He raised his head with a gasp. Harn slept near a corner of the raft, whining in his sleep. Herrek lay facedown in the middle of the raft.
Was he dead?
No, Joash saw the broad back shift. He heard the slightest clink of chainmail, as lungs filled with air.
Joash crawled to Herrek, and moved the sword so the hilt didn’t stick in his side. He checked the padding. It was wet. That wasn’t good. Although Joash was weary and heartsick, he unbuckled Herrek’s armor. Once he’d tugged off the armor, he took off Herrek’s wet clothes. The warrior’s flesh was cold.
Joash rubbed the warrior’s flaccid limbs and torso. Harn made quiet dog-sounds and wagged his tail. Joash glanced at the big dog. He pushed Harn beside the warrior. Harn whined.
“Stay,” Joash told him.
Harn rested his huge head on Herrek’s chest.
Joash crawled to the water-skin, and shook it. About half full.
Harn raised his head and thumped his tail against Herrek’s leg.
Joash frowned. Herrek was unconscious and might die. Harn was surely as thirsty as he was. This was more than their survival. Nidhogg might have slain the people in the rowboat. Or, maybe Gog had sent pirates to finish the task. If that was so, who would tell the other Seraphs about the First Born? Maybe he was the only one left with that knowledge. If
that
was true, then he had to make it back to civilization.
His thirst was overwhelming. He could drain the water-skin in a heartbeat. Harn was just as thirsty. Joash told himself that he alone must drink so he could save humanity. Then, he snorted softly. He desperately wanted all the water for himself. Any other thinking was rationalization.
He uncorked the water-skin, and allowed himself a squirt. That was good. He took another swallow, and capped the water-skin before he guzzled everything. When the overwhelming urge passed, he slid to Harn and squirted water into his mouth. Harn wagged his tail. Joash squirted a little more, and capped the water-skin for good.
The fresh water cleared his head.
The sea extended in all directions. It was a daunting sight. He examined the half oar. In what direction should he paddle? “East,” he whispered. He studied the stars to gain his bearing. Then he knelt at the edge of the raft, and rowed. It was hard work, and after awhile, he flopped onto his back.
“I’m a Seraph,” he snorted. “So what.”
He stared sleepily at the stars. Before he knew it, he was woken by Harn licking his face.
“I’m awake,” Joash grumbled, pushing the big head away.
Harn whined uneasily.
Joash rolled over, and his stomach tightened with fear. The moon was up, its pale rays shining on a monster—the leviathan.
Joash was scared all over again.
The leviathan looked bigger than before. It was as if the
Tiras
, half-submerged, moved past them. The leviathan’s teeth gleamed in the moonlight, and he stirred the seawater. He’d swamp the raft if he came too close.
Joash spotted the spear. He laughed grimly. How pathetic. Fortunately, the leviathan kept swimming, taking no notice of them.
After awhile, Harn barked at the side of the raft, from the direction the leviathan had come.
“What is it, boy?” Joash asked.
Harn whined and wagged his tail.
Joash got unsteadily to his feet. He swayed, surprised at how sore he was. Thrown deep underwater and paddling for hours had taken its toll. Joash closed his mouth in surprise. A cluster of water-skins floated nearby. Had the leviathan brought them? No, the leviathan was just a monster. It wouldn’t have been intelligent enough to carry water-skins in its mouth for any survivors.
Joash paddled to the cluster and hauled them aboard. He tasted the water, then drank and drank and drank. When done, he gave Harn all he could hold. Only then did he notice that this was an Elonite water-skin.
Had they floated here from the wrecks?
Joash peered around for the leviathan. Nothing.
Using the stars for guides, Joash paddled east. When he grew weary, he stretched out and let the gentle current propel them while he slept. When he awoke, dawn painted the east.
He tried to discern a shoreline, and soon thought that he did, though the dark smudge on the horizon could be a bank of clouds.
East should take them south of Jotunheim, but still close to it. From maps he’d looked at in Captain Maharbal’s cabin, he supposed they were near Nebo Land, that tree-filled area that surrounded the pirate city of Shamgar. He believed the raft headed north of Shamgar. To get home, or to a city belonging to the League of Peace, they’d have to pass through enemy territory.
Herrek stirred.
Joash slid to him, and propped up his head. It radiated heat. He gave the warrior water.
Consciousness slowly flowed into Herrek’s bloodshot eyes. He groaned, and dragged his hand across his eyes, rubbing them. “More water,” he whispered. Herrek coughed when he was done. It was a deep-lunged, sickly sound. “I’m cold,” the warrior complained.
“Your padding and leathers are still damp,” Joash said. “The sun will dry them out.”
Herrek sat up, shivered and pulled Joash’s shirt tighter around his shoulders.
“You should lie down,” Joash said. “Let Harn warm you.”
Herrek’s teeth chattered, as he tried to pull the shirt over more of his torso.
“Lay down,” Joash urged.
Herrek complied, and Joash shoved Harn against him. The teeth chattering stopped, although from time to time, a shudder ran through Herrek. Joash feared he had a fever.
“What...” Herrek licked his lips. “Where are we headed?”
“East.”
“Nebo Land.”
“Try to sleep.”
“Sleep,” Herrek slurred. He closed his eyes, shivered uncontrollably, reached over and pulled the big dog against him.
Harn looked at Joash, pleading with his eyes.
“Stay,” Joash said.
Harn put his head down and endured the charioteer's hug.
When the sun rose, Joash paddled until his arms became too weary. He was ravenous. He unwound his sling from around his waist. Then he pried metal from Herrek’s mail. He couldn’t snare any fish with these, but what about shooting birds.
He studied the empty sky. In despair, he drank more water, waited until noon, then paddled again. In an hour, seagulls circled them. Joash doubted he could hit one on the wing.
He found a sack of soggy bread among his water-skins. He tore some into crumbs and sprinkled them over the water. The raft drifted. Joash sprinkled a few more, waited, then sprinkled still more. He hoped fish spied the crumbs. The gulls might dive to eat the fish. He could sling a gull then. It was a long shot. Then, to his surprise, a gull landed in the water and pecked a crumb. Another seagull screamed outrage and landed beside the first. Apparently, crumbs this far out to sea were worth eating.
Joash stood slowly. The seagulls were far enough away so they didn’t seem to care. He put metal in his sling, and twirled it above his head. He judged the rise of a low wave and the targeted seagull.
He released.
The metal whizzed over the bird. It squawked, but it didn’t seem to realize what had almost hit it. Joash hurriedly dropped another link into his sling. He twirled, and told himself to relax. Think of them as hyenas, he told himself.
A seagull snatched a crumb from under another bird’s beak. The metal sped true, and struck the pirate-gull. It flopped backward. The others screamed in fright, and flew into the air.
Joash dove into the sea. He grabbed its neck and, despite the other gulls, he paddled to the raft.
He was thrilled, as he hauled himself aboard. He plucked the seagull, and woke Herrek. The warrior nodded grimly, and together, they devoured the bird raw. It tasted awful, but it removed some of the horrible emptiness in Joash’s stomach. He gave Harn the bones and saved the gristle.
Using the pin to Herrek’s cloak, Joash used his sling, and made a fishing line. For the next several hours, he trolled, and caught two fish. One of them, he let Harn eat, the other he saved for later.
Herrek mumbled in his sleep, and his fever worsened. He dripped sweat and shivered. Joash made sure he drank lots of water.
Night came, so Joash slept as best he could.
Next day, two hours after sunrise, he thought he saw land. He shook Herrek awake. The warrior was pale, but he nodded after Joash told him they’d been traveling east.
By now, more of the shore was visible. They were closer, and the sun was just above the trees. It looked like a dense forest, filled with oaks, maples and beeches. It was just like back home where the Huri lived—only here lived Nebo. Zillith had told him the Nebo had lived longer under the
bene elohim
than any other tribe of humanity. When the Shining Ones had finally taken the
bene elohim
off the Earth, a clan of fiends had freely roamed through Nebo Land. Zillith said some Nebo practiced cannibalism, and some worshiped First Born. Others served in Shamgar’s slaver expeditions. Like Huri, Nebo were excellent trackers. Joash felt anxious and he felt responsible about telling others what had happened.
He shaded his eyes against the sun, and studied the shore. He paddled toward a muddy beach, seeing a nearby river-mouth filled with reeds. Farther back were cypress trees. Rising behind the trees, was a far-off mountain range. Joash dredged his none-to-accurate knowledge of geography. Those must be the Hanun Mountains. Shamgar was situated in the delta of the Hanun River.
The water in the small bay changed from green to muddy black as they neared the mouth.
Herrek pushed up, and peered at the shoreline. As the swollen sun rose, bright-feathered birds and thousands of insects sang and hummed. Here and there, a deer stepped into view or small animals darted among the nearest trees. Joash smelled musty leaves and loamy soil.
Pale and shivering, Herrek donned his leathers and padding. With Joash’s help, he put on his chainmail and belted his longsword. Finally, he stood upright, leaning heavily on Joash’s purloined spear.
“We may be the only ones left from the
Tiras
and the
Gisgo
,” the charioteer-noble said. “It falls on us to see that Tarag is stopped.”
Joash had been thinking about spreading word of what the First Born planned, not stopping Tarag himself.
Herrek smiled grimly. “I am a warrior. You are both my groom and a Seraph. Do we need more to accomplish Elohim’s task?” His hot eyes burned. “You and I went to the crypt and back, did we not?”
“Yes, Warrior.”
“Alone, Lod went into depraved Shamgar and stirred up a hornet’s nest,” Herrek said. “Perhaps Lod
is
a Caphtorite noble, but we are Elonites.”
Joash nodded.
“We have been saved from Nidhogg for a reason.” Herrek breathed heavily, and added, “Old Three Paws fell before me. I slew Gaut Windrunner with a single cast of my spear. Cannot Tarag also be slain?”
“He can,” Joash whispered.
“We will win great glory, Groom. But only if we remember one thing.”
Joash nodded encouragingly. He noticed Herrek didn’t say they’d be victorious, merely win glory. That was a charioteer way of saying they marched to their doom, but they would die well.
Sweat slicked Herrek’s forehead, and his arms trembled. He finally sank down, and shivered himself to sleep.
With foreboding thoughts, Joash paddled toward shore.