Beneath an Opal Moon (40 page)

Behind them, the
tsunami
was rushing at them, building even higher, creaming and bubbling like a cauldron at its serpentine crest. Moichi risked a glance over his shoulder. The wavefront was the deepest black within the enormous cradle of its rising bulk.

Sweating like beasts of burden, digging their heels into the slick deck boards, Moichi and the slim Bujun dragged on the recalcitrant tiller. The violent sea had the
Tsubasa
and it did not want to give her up. Grunting with their effort, their lungs hot bellows, they heaved on the tiller, and slowly, agonizingly slowly the craft began to give grudging way, shifting through the water, fighting the wind, the wildly fluctuating cross-currents and the relentless tide. Turning to port, always to port, the two men struggled, their teeth ground together, their shoulder muscles bunched, their chests expanding like sails full out.

But now their world was filled with the rumble of the
tsunami
over and above the wail of the storm, and Moichi knew that it was possible they had left it too late, that the mainsail full out would not now provide enough extra speed to allow them to cleave the wavefront, that they would all go down, broken like the timbers that would splinter all around them. He did not want to end up like seaweed, adrift on the tides.

‘By God, put your soul into it, lad!' he cried into the Bujun's ear. ‘Everything you have now! Everything!'

The Bujun trembled with the vehemence of the typhoon and the words spat out by this great bearlike demon at his side. He had signed on to the
Tsubasa
to escape the endless gloom of Sha'angh'sei's narrow crooked streets, its double-dealing, lice-ridden merchants, its evil-eyed provocateurs, its sleazy arms dealers. It had been a mistake to leave his island home, to come to the seething continent of man. To sail a Bujun vessel had seemed the perfect escape from Sha'angh'sei's madness. Now he was trapped in this sea-drenched coffin! As he hauled on the tiller his white lips trembled in a prayer that had, until this moment, been only half-remembered.

But no prayer could dispel the terrible onrush of the
tsunami
. It rode triumphantly above the siren shriek of the typhoon, a sound out of all nature, a vibration rattling his clenched teeth, causing the short hairs to stand on the back of his neck, making his drenched flesh crawl. Still, his half-numbed brain registered the exhortations of his captain who stood side by side with him, who needed his strength to turn the ship fully into the wind. This sense of intimacy, of comradeship was new to the Bujun, and he felt it a pleasurable and compelling sensation. No one had ever needed him before, and he was bound and determined to deliver up his very soul to his captain if that were what was asked of him. Shoulder to the groaning tiller, he redoubled his efforts, grunting like a rutting animal.

The
tsunami
was a living being pursuing them like the hand of God, rolling and roaring like a giant in agony, an unstoppable mailed fist bent on demolishing them all.

Down on the mid-deck, men tying off the last of the mainsail's singing lines felt cold sweat snaking down their rigid spines. They fell to their knees where they were, vomiting and urinating without volition. Others cried or simply prayed to gods they no longer believed in, returning unconsciously to the ways of their forebears that they had once ridiculed for their piousness. They cried for succor, no longer believing in their innate power as men, pleading with these long-dead gods to deliver them by a miracle.

Above them, Moichi shouted, ‘Now!' in the Bujun's ear. ‘Now, now, now, by the Oruboros!' And they fought the tiller, fought the raging seas and gusting gale as Moichi willed them further to port, bending his mind as well as his muscles to the near impossible task.

Now that special bond between captain and ship was springing up between them, and he called upon the
Tsubasa
, his ship, speaking silently to her in the universal language of the sea. He cajoled her, cursed her, caressed her and beat her, threatening her with an eternity of rot at the bottom of the sea.

And all the while he could feel the presence of the onrushing
tsunami
, its crest widening, higher now than the tallest buildings of his memory, even those great arcane pyramids he and the Dai-San, when he had been called Ronin, had ascended in the land of the Majapan.

I survived the horror of Xich Chich, Moichi thought, defeating gods more powerful than any one element. I fought in the Kai-feng, the war against Chaos's agent, the dreaded Dolman. I destroyed the monster Diablura in the land of the Opal Moon, resisted the deadly magical lure of the Firemask, I outfoxed the sorceress Sardonyx, defeating her at her own diabolical game. I survived it all. I will not die here, so close to home, in my own element! By God, I own the seas!

He raised his head to the lightning-flecked clouds. He felt the proximity of another spirit, the conjunction of their power, battling the howling elements all around them, and he grinned, loving the whip of the wind, the briny smell of the sea, and always the titanic struggle the ocean put to you in order to prove your ultimate worth.

His heart beat fast and strong, and his spirit expanded, directing itself along the sleek flanks of his new ship, pointing its sharp upswept prow toward the wall of water that was now almost upon them. And, for the first time, he appreciated the Bujun craft's design. His own ships would have wallowed in a wave trough but the
Tsubasa's
sleek shape sliced through the waves. The mainsail was almost full out and he could feel a corresponding quickening of their speed. They were almost there. But the wavefront had also picked up momentum as it drew strength from the heart of the typhoon, the flailing arms of the gale, the deepening surge of the sea itself deep down where light itself was forever banished.

The
tsunami
was all they could see now, their entire universe, and Moichi knew that the ship still had several meters to go. It had been a desperate gamble, trying to cleave through the wavefront on speed and nerve, a long-odds bet at best. They had run out of time.

The Bujun was trembling in fear and effort beside him. Moichi felt it almost as if it were his own, and he murmured, ‘Come on, lad, don't fail me now! It's just the two of us and the
Tsubasa
against this leviathan!'

Inwardly, for just a moment as he stared into the heart of the
tsunami
, Moichi felt his resolve begin to crumble, for surely there was no way through this cyclopean madness. He had been a fool to attempt this run at it.

Then he felt movement beside him, heard the Bujun's call like a distant sea bird's in his ear, ‘She's coming to, Captain. Helm's answering fully. The wind's directly aft!'

All doubts vanished. ‘Double and redouble!' Moichi shouted, immensely grateful for the Bujun's courage and resolve. ‘Keep the helm steady, mate! If we're blown off course even a few degrees we'll be lost! Our bow must strike the wavefront dead on!'

The sound of the
tsunami
was like the rending of the earth's mantle. It shuddered the decks, chattered the men's teeth, making them weep with fear and loathing.

‘Bastard!' Moichi called at the curling black wall of water. ‘I'll beat you yet! My time's not come and surely not by your evil hand!' And with immeasurable effort, the two men held the helm steady as they met the onrushing wavefront, towering over them to an impossible height so that even Moichi, his soul expanded to its limits, felt the chill tendrils of fear writhing in his belly. ‘The time of truth's come, lad!'

The
Tsubasa
sliced into the wavefront. Walls of wind-whipped water rose above them until they seemed a part of the raging sky, replacing it altogether. They were within the
tsunami
, their fate now linked with its elemental and unpredictable power. Its energy was unendurable – it was like being inside a massive hive of bees stirred by an intruder to a frenzy. Then the sides of the wavebody seemed to glass over, to deepen in color and depth. What was happening?

God of my father, Moichi prayed. This is truly the face of death. For within the
tsunami's
very heart he discerned what could only be termed a female face, elemental, to be sure, its features shifting like currents, sliding away into shadow and reappearing slightly altered as if each heartbeat, each moment in time brought it a new aspect.

It was like looking into the face of a god. It was dominated by great lidless eyes and a lipless mouth. It was a face of unmitigated rage, so shocking in its intensity that Moichi felt the breath sucked from him as if all the air had been withdrawn from this place. He also had the impression of immeasurable age, so that for the first time in his life the concept of eternity was given form and substance.

Then he felt the bosom of the sea buck and judder beneath their tortured keel as if a gigantic hand from the depths had risen and grasped it. The ship, as if possessed, shot forward, as the howling winds filled the mainsail to bursting. The
Tsubasa's
high bow lifted upward to meet the creaming crest of the wavefront now beginning to tumble over them with an ominous tearing sound. Moichi and the Bujun almost had their arms torn out of their sockets as the helm tried to pull this way and that. But the two men held the
Tsubasa
fast to its course, and with an astonishing burst of speed, the Bujun craft continued to slice through the whirling maelstrom before them.

Moichi felt rather than heard the Bujun praying as the clipper, trembling, dipped precipitously into the trough of terrifying depth. For long breathless moments their world was stark green and obsidian black, the curve of the vast wavebody filled their ears, their heads and bodies with an alien din.

Gargantuan shapes slid through the depths on either side of them, far from the surface high above, moving and twisting in a silent display none had ever seen before or could even have imagined.

How long they plowed through the aqueous gorge was impossible to judge, and at last, directly ahead of them, the first patch of deep blue appeared, so small at first that many took it to be a part of the roaring sea. Gradually, it widened, seeming to bring them out of their watery tomb, and at length they felt the ship rising to meet it, as if in concert with the changing tide below them.

Grinning hugely, Moichi spared an instant to clap the Bujun on the back. Then he swiftly returned both hands to the helm as the
Tsubasa
wavered a bit in the still treacherous cross-currents, the aftermath of the ferocious typhoon.

‘Softly, now,' Moichi whispered in the Bujun's ear, ‘the
tsunami's
behind us but this gale can still do us in.' Between them they kept a tight rein on the ship's course. ‘Listen to the wind in the sheets and take care to read the pattern of its changes. If we get broadside to it with the mains'l filled, we'll go down like a stone.'

The Bujun's grip on the helm remained firm, his knuckles white with the pressure. He concentrated on the job given him, tracking the gusty wind expertly, making incremental course corrections as needed. In no time at all, he was nearly anticipating the gale.

Seeing this, Moichi nodded to himself. That Bujun had more guts in the crunch than all of the scurvy crew combined. Glancing upward, he noticed that the blue sky was gone. In its place, thick glowering thunderheads, dark with rain, rippled across the clogged sky, dipping down to meet the gray-green ocean. Lightning forked and licked, yellow-pink, blinding him momentarily.

With that the downpour began anew. Moichi glanced around. The
Tsubdsa
was already lying low in the water, her scuppers blocked with twisted masses of sea grape and wrack.

‘What do you think,' he asked the Bujun, ‘if I ask for all sail to be set will this ship take it?'

The Bujun looked into his face and nodded. ‘She'll take anything you put her to, Captain. Of that you can be assured.'

Moichi nodded and, turning toward the crew on the deck below, called for all sail to be set. They needed all speed now in order not to ship more water and risk a high wave pulling them under.

One of the mates, a glum-faced giant with an oily drooping mustache and some years' sea experience, mounted the companionway.

‘You're not thinkin' o' fillin' the yards in this foul weather, Cap'n,' he growled. It was not a question.

‘We'll go under if we don't raise the sails,' Moichi said, not bothering to look at the mate as he directed the crew to clear the last of the debris over the side.

‘You're wrong, Cap'n. We'll surely go under if we do set sail.' He was close enough now to smell the rum on his breath. ‘That god-rotting demon wave was an omen. We'll do nothing now but ride out the storm.'

Moichi swung at him. ‘Look at how low we sit. With this heavy rain and the scuppers clogged we'll be sunk inside a watch. You'll follow my orders, by God!'

‘I warn you,' the mate said, ‘do not tempt the gods further.'

‘I said set all sail,' Moichi said in a menacing tone.

The mate did not back down, but pulled agitatedly at his oily mustache. He nodded his head in the Bujun's direction. ‘It's he who gave the order, isn't it? That Bujun bastard. I heard stories of how they sail their damned ships.' The mate spat, a heavy yellow gob of saliva. ‘This is no time t'be takin' the advice of a rotting Bujun.'

‘I am the captain of this vessel,' Moichi said, knowing he had to restore his sovereignty immediately, ‘and you will obey my orders.'

‘But why should I, Cap'n?' The mate raised his arms wide. ‘Why should any of us? You saw it as well as anyone, I reckon.'

‘Shut up!' Moichi thundered. ‘Or I'll give your job to the Bujun!'

The big mate spat again and tried to laugh; it came out as a moan. ‘Well, who cares a whit now, eh? This is a damned voyage and you've murdered us all, in any case.' Unable to tolerate the heat from Moichi's glare, he turned to the men, his voice raised in a hoarse shout. ‘Ye all saw it plain as day, I'll warrant. The face in the wave. All gods curse the day I set foot on this miserable alien ship!'