On Discord Isle (21 page)

“Go,” said the one to her right in atrocious Perinese. He prodded her forward, gently.

Natasha thought about trying to kill them as well.
No. Them, I need.
The realization galled her. She frowned, vented a frustrated sigh, and started to step forward. Then she knelt, grabbed up the rock, and turned to pitch it at the ugly parrot. Her captors wrestled it from her, barely, as the bird screamed mockingly.

Before long, they were moving again through the morning jungle. Farouk and Etarin kept close to her, but they were tired and occasionally fell behind. Still, they had left her hands free. Natasha shook her head at that.
How foolish can you be?
She didn’t press her luck, though. Mahmoud’s death was a certainty. But her rage cooled after a few moment’s reflection. Somewhat. The original plan was still the best one. Find the ship,
then
kill the Kalyon and bully his crew into submission.

The bird followed the Salomcani. Sometimes it landed ahead of her, sometimes behind. Each time it screamed at her, until someone threw a stick at it or she’d travelled too far away. Natasha focused on how many ways she could cook fowl. Frustratingly, she realized that she didn’t really know any.

Bright blue skies appeared overhead as the jungle thinned out into a clearing. At the far end stood a low ridge maybe fifteen feet in height. A weathered crack through its center allowed passage through. Past the ridge called the roar of the ocean, the pounding hiss of surf crashing upon the shore. Natasha gave a small sigh of relief. They were almost to the end of this trek. And she
was
tired. Physically, but more than that, she was tired of waiting.

They were halfway across the clearing when the earthquake hit.

The ground shook violently. Natasha reached out reflexively for the nearest thing at hand, the tall sailor on her right. Farouk, maybe. She thought it just another tremor at first, yet the shaking didn’t abate. Instead, it worsened.

Natasha fought to stay upright while the Salomcani cried out in fear and surprise. Mahmoud fell to the ground. Farouk and Etarin dropped to their knees. Behind her cried those still within the jungle, their alarmed shouts changing to yells of fear as trees crashed to the ground. The horrible parrot gave an alarmed squawk and took to the air, a fear-puffed blur of color against the morning sky.

The earthquake worsened with every passing moment. Great tearing noises surrounded her as the foliage of the jungle ripped and tore itself apart. Rocks on the nearby ridge spilled down to crash into each other with a clatter.

Natasha kept standing out of sheer obstinance while Farouk and Etarin kneeled. She grabbed at their heads for balance.
Not gonna fall,
she vowed.
Everything else may have gone to shit, but I’ll be damned to the Realms Below before I let this place beat me.

The island, it seemed, heard her challenge. The quaking increased. Great rents split the ground across the clearing, running in crazy jagged lines that zigged and zagged as they went. The crack in the ridge collapsed, sending a shower of dirt and rubble flying. The jungle bushes all around her shook and wavered like they were waves on the ocean itself.

Then it stopped. The island gave one last great shudder, and stilled. An explosion sounded, a massive eruption that issued forth from the volcano at the center of the isle. Past the now-flattened tree line Natasha could see its shadowed bulk rising high above. A great gout of fire and ash belched forth from the peak, casting a lurid orange glow that seemed to set the whole world alight.

No magma flowed forth from the peak, however, and the falling embers, while dramatic, weren’t that threatening. They were safe for the moment. The quake had passed.

She relaxed, a little. Ahead, Mahmoud knelt upon the ground with his hands over his head. Etarin and Farouk knelt next to her, grabbing at her legs for support, as if she were the only stable thing in the world. Behind her lay the rest of the Salomcani sailors in varying stages of repose. A few nursed wounds. Many cried out prayers to the Goddess. None remained standing.

One by one the sailors looked up and saw her. They stared when they did.

Natasha realized how she must have looked. Still standing strong while even the Kalyon had fallen. Beautiful and radiant as ashes fell about them.

This is exactly what I need
, she thought in relief. She ignored Mahmoud, and looked out at the crew, making it a point to meet every pair of eyes. They were a pathetic bunch, she realized again. Beaten, starved, hauling pillaged lumber and nails through the jungle. It occurred to her to wonder why that was.

I can figure it out later. For now, just keep strong. And get ready to slap Mahmoud into the dirt right before their eyes.
They had to be almost to the ship. A mob like this would respect strength more than anything else at the moment.

Slowly, the Salomcani crept back to their feet. Mahmoud stood warily, freezing as he looked her way, a frown curling his mustache and beard.
Are you ready, Mahmoud?
Natasha smiled and raised a contemptuous eyebrow. Here was her opening.

“Are you finished groveling like a heathen savage, Kalyon Mahmoud?” Natasha called out in clear, perfect Salomcan. “I thought we were in a hurry to get back to your ship.” Her voice carried in the silence that followed the earthquake.

Mahmoud blinked in surprise. “Woman, I swear before the eyes of the Goddess that I will discipline you—”

“Kalyon!” she interrupted. “I am Kalyon Blackheart of the reaver
Dawnhawk
. I am no dockside bed-warmer, you worm, and you couldn’t hope to discipline me on your best day.” She undid the leash around her neck and tossed it aside. At her side, the shorter man, Etarin, voiced a complaint. She ignored him to focus on Mahmoud.

Natasha put her hands on her hips and held his gaze. This was the test. Not between her and him, she knew. Farouk and Etarin knelt, watching, heedless of the blades at their sides. If Mahmoud were to actually threaten her, it would be simple enough to draw one of those blades and run him through. No, this was for the rest of the crew, and the way to them was through their Kalyon. Fengel wasn’t completely wrong, unfortunately. A good show was important sometimes. She just had to make sure that hers had teeth. 

The silence stretched as their contest went on. Kalyon Mahmoud was the first to look away.

“Enough,” he growled. “I will...I will deal with you later, woman. Jahmal! Get your shifty carcass up here and look for another pass over this ridge. The old one has collapsed, it appears.”

Natasha smiled. She glanced down at the two sailors kneeling beside her. They watched their leader, surprise etched upon their ugly features. Tall Farouk climbed to his feet. He shook his head at Mahmoud glumly, then looked to her.

“You speak the tongue of Salomca?” he asked, almost shy.

“Of course,” replied Natasha. “I am a Copper Islander. We are one people.”

“Farouk!” cried Etarin. He clambered to his feet. “She is a prisoner!”

Natasha smirked at him. “I don’t bite,” she lied.

“That is not the point,” said the shorter man.

“Oh? Then what else could you possibly be afraid of?” Natasha placed her hands on her hips. “You’re starved, injured, and your Kalyon is a weak man. The worst has already happened to you.”

Etarin frowned. “He is not weak.”

Natasha smirked. “No? Then why are you slinking back through the jungle?”

Etarin glowered at her. It made him look like a cranky toad. “We are heading back to the ship. She is damaged, our
Salmalin
, from our fight with those Perinese dogs. The mast needs repairs, as does the rudder. Her hull needs patching in places, it is true, but even now she floats in the calm water off the shore.”

“That sounds like a lot of work,” she said with sudden heat. “Why didn’t you just take the
Goliath
instead?”

Awkward silence followed her statement. The two sailors stared at her as if she were speaking madness. Natasha ignored them for the moment. Others had crept up into the clearing, and now listened to their exchange.

“You said that you are a Kalyon,” said Farouk. “But how?”

Etarin grunted. “She is a Copper Isles pirate, Farouk. Anything is possible.”

The sailor scratched his head. “But you are a woman. Women are too weak to serve aboard a ship.”

Natasha gave him a contemptuous glare. “We do things differently in the Isles.” She jabbed a finger into his chest, painfully. “And be certain of this. I am tougher, and certainly meaner, than your own Kalyon Mahmoud.”

Etarin frowned. “Watch your tongue. Kalyon Mahmoud led us in the raid—”

“Against the Perinese?” she laughed. “You barely survived that mess. If someone hadn’t fired that broadside, they’d have formed up and slaughtered you all.” She met his eyes. “You want off this island? You should have fought harder, been cleverer, and taken their damned ship from them. It’s what I would have done.”

“Mahmoud has kept us alive,” Etarin insisted.

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “And who got you stuck here in the first place?”

A call came from the other end of the clearing. Natasha glanced that way, where Mahmoud and the other sailor stood by the ridge. The place they stood was a little lower, maybe only ten feet or so. Debris from the earthquake had collapsed all along the ridge, but there it formed a steep slope. It wouldn’t be an easy climb, but looked to be the best path over to the beach. The Kalyon was shouting, gesturing the rest of his crew forward. A wiry, agile man sat on a rock nearby, with a short, neat beard. He hid it well, but Natasha could see the distaste he had for Mahmoud in his body language. This had to be Jahmal. Natasha ignored the both of them and faced the rest of the crew.

“I’m letting you take me to the
Salmalin
because I want you to,” she said to those around her. “I could have left any time I wanted.” She twisted about, stalking to the ridge without waiting for their reaction.

Mahmoud stood a few feet up on the craggy slope. He glowered at her approach and opened his mouth to berate her again. Natasha met his eyes and held them before he could say anything. He looked away, past her to his gathering crew.

“You dogs of Salomca!” he called. “The Perinese have chased us, hounded us to this small isle. But they could not kill us, no! And they could not stop us from taking what we needed to repair our beloved
Salmalin
. Now, let us work well, and quickly, and leave the stinking Perinese to this shuddering and forlorn place!”

No one cheered, but a sort of ragged cry sputtered up from the crew at Natasha’s back. Mahmoud went first, climbing up the hill. Jahmal went next. Natasha joined the line of crewmen as they formed up along the slope. Farouk and Etarin moved beside her.

The slope was steep. Broken rocks that had shattered in the earthquake made her ascent dangerous and uncertain. The man in front of her slipped, forcing her back down where a sharp stone tore her leggings. Those behind her cried in alarm and irritation. She snarled at the fellow before her and the man redoubled his efforts to move ahead.

Before too much longer she crested the ridge, crawled through a small crack down onto the opposite side. More rubble formed a similar slope on this end. She skipped and slid down it to a sandy dune on a wide stretch of beach. Natasha fought to keep from stumbling, her boots digging deep furrows into the already hot sand. She regained her balance and took a look at the Salomcani encampment.

Pale yellow sand spread out before her. It stretched to either side, curving around the island in the distance until the toppled tree line blocked any further sight of it. The beach itself was a mess. Rocks, driftwood, and fresh greenery lay upon the sands, pushed around by the long waves now dancing past the tide line to wash Natasha’s boots. Man-made detritus wallowed about as well: a few rags, a barrel, some kitchen utensils. There was no sign of any encampment, at least not like the Perinese had made.

Down the wave-washed sands began the shoreline, only hinted at from the surf that crashed upon it, before breaking up and running to where the sailors stood. Past that rose the ocean, now stirred into a furious froth by the earthquake. There lay the
Salmalin
.

Natasha did not doubt that the frigate originated in the Sheikdom. Her lines were graceful, a bit more fanciful than the
Goliath
. The double row of gun ports would have sat higher in the water if the ship were not completely careened over onto her starboard side.

The
Salmalin
was a wreck. Either the earthquake or subsequent tidal waves had pushed the naval frigate higher up the beach and then tipped it completely over. The deck was cracked and broken, and two of the masts had been snapped clean off halfway down their lengths. The rest of the rigging was a tangled mess.

The ship would clearly never sail again. 

A low moan arose from the sailors. Shouts and cries of dismay punctuated the groaning as more and more of the crew crossed the ridge to see what awaited them.

Natasha’s thoughts grew black.
This is what I spent half the night crawling toward? This is what I wore a damned leash for? This is what I tried to be patient for?
She fumed. Every time. Every damned time she tried to set something in motion, to rise up with a plan, the world pushed her back down to the ground.

Kalyon Mahmoud looked to the crew, then back to the ship, then back to the crew. He swallowed nervously. Looking at the assembled crewmen for a long moment, he narrowed his eyes and nodded.

“Jahmal, Farouk, Etarin. Attend me.”

The three sailors were staring in horror at their ship. Mahmoud hissed and Jahmal looked to him, startled out of his shock. “What, Kalyon?”

“I said, attend me.”

“But the ship—”

“I can see what has happened to the ship,” said Mahmoud. His voice was tight. “And we need to get aboard before the rest of the crew overcome their surprise.”

The sailor frowned. “Kalyon, I don’t understand.”