Ship of Destiny (40 page)

She wanted him but this was too dangerous. “Perhaps if I were wearing a skirt. But I’m not.” She pushed gently away from him and he let her down, but kept her pinned against the wall. She did not struggle. His kiss and his touch were more intoxicating than the brandy they had shared. His mouth tasted of liquor and lust.

He broke the kiss suddenly, lifting his head like a stag at bay. “What’s that?”

It was like waking from a dream. “What’s what?” She felt dazed.

“That shouting. Do you hear it? From the harbor.”

The faint repetitive cries came to her ears. She could not make out the word, but with icy certainty, she knew the voice. “Paragon.” She stuffed her shirt back into her waistband. “Let’s go.”

Side by side, they thundered down the boardwalk. There was no sense going quietly. Shouting was not unusual in a town like Divvytown, but eventually it would attract attention. Paragon was crying the same word over and over again.

They were nearly at the docks when Clef charged up to them. “Yer needed on ther ship, Cap’n. Paragon’s gone mad.” He panted the words breathlessly and then they were all running together. As they clattered out onto the docks, Althea saw the crew of the ship’s gig waiting for them, as well as Lop. Jek had her knife out. “I’ve got the stuff you bought loaded, but we’re missing two men,” she announced. The two former slaves were not there. Althea knew that no amount of waiting would change that.

“Cast off,” she ordered them tersely. “Get back to the ship, all of you. We’re leaving Divvytown tonight.”

There was a moment of shock, and Althea cursed herself for a drunken fool. Then Brashen demanded, “Didn’t you hear the mate’s order? Do I have to tell you myself?”

They scrambled down the ladder into the waiting boats. Paragon’s voice carried clearly over the water. “Never, never, never!” his deep tones belled dolorously. Althea made out the shapes of two small boats near his bow. He’d attracted an audience already. Doubtless, the word would burn through Divvytown that the newcomers had arrived in a liveship. What would that convey to the pirate city?

It seemed to take all night to reach the ship. As they gained the deck, a scowling Lavoy met them. “I told you this was insane!” he rebuked Brashen. “The damn ship has gone crazy, and your fool carpenter did nothing to calm him. Those louts in the boat below were bellowing that he was Igrot’s ship. Is that true?”

“Hoist anchor and our sails spread, now!” Brashen replied. “Use the boats to turn us about. We’re leaving Divvytown.”

“Tonight?” Lavoy was outraged. “In the dark on a lunatic ship?”

“Can you obey an order?” Brashen snarled at him.

“Maybe if it made any sense!” Lavoy retorted.

Brashen reached out and seized the mate by the throat. He dragged him close and snarled into his face, “Make sense of this. If you won’t obey my orders, I’ll kill you now. Last chance. I’ve had it with your insolence.”

For an instant, the tableau held, Brashen’s hand on Lavoy’s throat, and Lavoy staring up at him. Brashen had height and reach over Lavoy, but the mate had wider shoulders and a deeper chest. Althea held her breath. Then Lavoy lowered his eyes.

Brashen released his throat. “Get to your task.” He turned away.

Like a snake striking, Lavoy pulled his knife and sank it into Brashen’s back. “That for you!” he roared.

Althea leapt to Brashen as he staggered forward, eyes clenched against the pain. In two strides, Lavoy reached the railing. “Stop him! He’ll betray us!” Althea ordered. Several crewmen sprang after him. She thought they would seize him. From the corner of her eye, she saw Lavoy leap. “Damn!” she cried, and turned. To her horror, the other men who had sprung toward him were following him over the side. Not just the Tattooed ones from Bingtown, but other crewmen as well, leaping over the railing after Lavoy as if they were fish heading up a spawning river. She heard the splash of swimmers below. Lavoy would betray them in Divvytown. The loyal crew gaped after them.

“Let them go,” Brashen commanded hoarsely. “We need to get out of here and we’re better off without them.” He let go of her and stood straight.

Incredulously, she watched Brashen reach over his shoulder. With a tug, he freed Lavoy’s knife from his back. He flung it down with an oath.

“How bad is it?” Althea demanded.

“Forget it for now. It didn’t go deep. Get the crew moving while I deal with Paragon.”

Without waiting for her reply, he hastened to the foredeck. Althea was left gaping after him. She caught her breath and began barking out orders to get the ship under way. Up on the foredeck, she heard Brashen give one of his own. “Ship! Shut your mouth! That’s an order.”

Astonishingly, Paragon obeyed. He answered both his helm and the tug of the small boats as the men below rowed frantically to bring the ship about. The sluggish flow of the lagoon was with them, as was the prevailing wind. As Althea sprang to her own tasks, she prayed that Paragon would keep to the channel and take them safely down the narrow river. Like an opening blossom, their canvas bloomed in the night wind. They fled Divvytown.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        
SERPENT SHIP

THE WHITE SERPENT FLUCTUATED BETWEEN SULLEN AND
sarcastic with no relief for anyone. He refused to give his name. Names, he said, no longer mattered to dying worms. When Tellur pressed him for a name to call him by, the white finally snapped, “Carrion. Carrion is the only name I need, and soon enough, it will be your name as well. We are dead creatures that move still, rotted flesh that has not yet been stilled. Call me Carrion, and I will call each of you Corpse.”

True to his word, that was how he referred to them. It was a constant irritant. Sessurea wished they had never encountered the creature, let alone wrung the story of She Who Remembers from him.

No one trusted him. He stole food from the jaws of those who had captured it. With a sudden bite or a slash of his tail, he would startle the other serpents into dropping prey, and then seize it for himself. He let fish-kill toxin dribble from his mane as he slept. It was even more annoying because he slept in the middle of the tangle. Maulkin gripped him as they slept, lest he try to escape in the night.

By day, they had to follow him. Again, he found every conceivable way to irritate the rest of the tangle. He either dawdled, pausing often to taste the current and wonder aloud if he knew where he was going, or he set a demanding pace and ignored all protests and requests for rest. Maulkin always shadowed him, but it took a toll on him.

Seldom a tide passed that Carrion did not provoke Maulkin to kill him. He struck insulting poses; he leaked venom constantly and showed no deference to Maulkin. If the decision had been Shreever’s, she would have throttled the white serpent days ago, but Maulkin held back the full force of his fury, even when the miserable creature taunted him and mocked his dream, though he lashed the water furiously and his golden false-eyes gleamed like the sun above the sea. He would not tempt the white with threats; the creature longed too strongly for his own death.

His cruelest torment was that he held back the memories that She Who Remembers had given him. When the tangle settled for the night, anchoring themselves together, they talked before they slept. Bits of memories from their dragon heritage were brought forth and shared. Often what one lacked, another supplied, and so their memories were knitted up like threadbare tapestries. Sometimes the mere naming of a name could bring forth a cascade of forgotten fragments from another serpent. But Carrion always held back, smirking knowingly as the others groped through their weary thoughts. Always, it seemed, he could have enlightened them if he chose to. For that, Shreever longed to kill him.

The talk that night had strayed to the lands of the far south. Some recalled a great dry place, void of any substantial game. “It took days to fly over it,” Tellur asserted. “And I seem to recall that when one settled, the sands were so hot that you could not stand upon it. You had to . . . to . . .”

“Burrow!” Another serpent broke in excitedly. “How I hated the grit under my claws and in the folds of my hide. But it was the only way. To land gently was wrong. You had to slide in, so that right away you broke the hot crust of the sand and found the cooler layer. Not that the cooler layer was much cooler!”

That sensory clue, grit in the fold of her skin, seized Shreever’s imagination. She not only felt the hot sand, but also tasted the peculiar bitterness of the region. She worked her jaws, recalling it. “Shut your nostrils against the dust!” she warned them triumphantly.

Another serpent trumpeted excitedly. “But it was worth it. Because once you flew beyond the reaches of the blue sand, there was . . . there was . . .”

Nothing. Shreever keenly recalled the anticipation. Once the sands changed from gold to blue, you were nearly there, and beyond the blue sand was something worth the long, foodless flight, something worth risking the dangers of sandstorms to reach. Why could they remember the heat and the irritation of grit, but not the goal of the flight?

“Wait! Wait!” the white exclaimed in sudden excitement. “I know what it was! Beyond the blue sand was, oh, it was so beautiful, so wonderful, so joyous a thing to find! It was—” He swiveled his head, his scarlet eyes swirling to be sure of every serpent’s attention. “Dung!” he declared happily. “Great mounds of fresh, brown stinking dung! And then we declared ourselves the Lords of the Four Realms. Lords of the Earth, the Sea, the Sky and the Dung! Oh, and how we wallowed in our greatness, celebrating all we had conquered and claimed! The memory stands so clear and shining! Tell me, Sessurea Corpse, does not this of all memories stand out most clearly, most—”

It was too much. Sessurea’s orange mane lifted and he lunged at the white, jaws wide. Almost lazily, Maulkin rolled his body to come between them. Sessurea was forced aside. He would never challenge Maulkin, but he roared his frustration at the surrounding serpents, who gave him space for his wrath. His green eyes spun with fury, as he demanded, “Why must we tolerate this ill-begotten slime? He mocks our dreams and us. How can we believe that he leads us truly to She Who Remembers?”

“Because he does,” Maulkin replied. He opened his jaws, taking in sea water and pumping it out through his gills. “Taste, Sessurea. Your senses have become dull with discouragement, but taste now and tell me what you scent.”

The great blue serpent obeyed. Shreever imitated him, as did most of the others. For a time, she scented only their own tangle, tasted only Carrion’s ever-dribbling toxins. Then it wafted to her, unmistakable for anything else. The taste of one who carried memories locked in her flesh floated faint in the water. Shreever worked her gills frantically, trying for more of the elusive flavor. It faded, but then a stronger drift reached her.

Tellur, the slender green minstrel, shot like an arrow toward the Lack. As he thrust his head into the night air, he bugled a questioning call. All around Shreever, the tangle rose faster than bubbles, to bob up around Tellur. Their voices were added to his, a seeking chorus. Suddenly Maulkin shot out of the water in their midst, leaping so high that nearly a third of his length arced above the water before he dived again.

“Silence!” he commanded when next he surfaced. “Listen!”

The heads and arched necks of the tangle rode on the breast of the waves. Above them, the cold moon gleamed and the stars shone white as anemones. All manes stood out full and taut. The surface of the sea was transformed into a meadow of night-blooming flowers. For a breath, all they heard were the sounds of wind and water.

Then, pure as light and sweet as flesh, a voice rose in the distance. “Come,” she sang, “come to me and I will give you knowledge of yourselves. Come to She Who Remembers, and your past will be yours, and with it, all your futures. Come. Come.”

Tellur trumpeted an eager response, but “Hush!” Maulkin bade him sternly. “What is that?”

For a second voice had lifted in song. The words were oddly turned, the notes shortened, as if the serpent who sang had no depth to her voice. But whoever she was, she echoed the call of She Who Remembers. “Come, come to me. Your past and your future await you. Come, I will guide you, I will protect you. Obey me and I shall see you safely home. Once more you shall rise, once more you shall fly.”

All heads, every spinning eye turned to Maulkin. His mane stood out stiff about his throat and venom welled and dripped from every spine. “We go!” he trumpeted, but softly, to only his tangle, not to the siren voices. “We go, but we go with caution. Something is odd here, and we have been deceived before. Come. Follow me.”

Then he threw back his great head and opened his jaws wide to the night. His golden false-eyes shone brighter than moon or sun. When he released the blast of his voice, the water all around him shivered at his power.

“We come!” he roared. “We come for our memories!”

He plunged back into the Plenty. He flashed through the water, and his tangle followed him. Alone, the white held back. Shreever, still not trusting him, glanced back.

“Fools! Fool! Fools!” Carrion trumpeted wildly into the night sky. “And I the biggest fool of all!” Then, with a wild cry, he plunged in to follow them.

SHE WHO REMEMBERS LEFT THE SHIP TO GREET THE OTHERS. BOLT
urged her to remain, saying they would welcome them together, but she could not. This was her destiny, come at last to join her. She could not put off this long-awaited consummation. She arced toward them, leaping awkwardly in attempted grace. There was a terrible conflict between her stunted body and her ancient memory of other, similar meetings. She should have been twice the size she was, powerfully muscled, a giant among serpents, armed with enough toxins to stun tangle after tangle into complete remembrance of their heritage. She thrust aside all misgivings. She would give them all she had. It had to be enough.

When they were close enough to taste one another’s toxins, she halted. She allowed her body to sink beneath the water and finned there, awaiting them. The leader, a battered serpent that glowed with the fire of his false-eyes, came forward to meet her fang to fang. The others fanned out around them with all heads aligned toward her body. Beneath the turbulence of the sea’s waves, all hung there, as motionless as swimming creatures can be, as they held themselves in even spacing and careful alignment. They were many organisms, soon to be one, united in the racial memory of their kind. She opened her jaws wide, exposing her teeth in formal greeting. She shook her mane until the toxic ruff of spikes around her throat stood out in its full glory. Every spine was erect, swelling with the toxins she would soon release. Rigorously, she controlled herself. This was not the awakening of a single serpent. This was the resurrection of an entire tangle.

“Maulkin of Maulkin’s Tangle greets you, She Who Remembers.”

His great copper eyes traveled over her crooked body. His eyes spun once in what might have been dismay or sympathy, and then were stilled. He displayed his fangs to her. She clashed her teeth lightly against his. His mane stiffened in reflexive response. His tangle, attuned to his poisons by their long association, would be most vulnerable to hers in conjunction with the release of Maulkin’s toxins. He was essential to this awakening. She expelled a faint wash of her venom toward his open jaws, saw him gulp it in and watched it affect him. His eyes spun slowly and color washed through his mane, violets and pinks engorging his spines. She gave his body time to adjust itself. Then, almost languorously, she wrapped his long body with hers. As was fitting, he submitted to her.

She matched her body to his, feeling the slime of his skin mingle with her own. She paused, lidding her eyes as her body adjusted its acids. Then, in an ecstasy of remembering, she tangled her mane with his, stimulating both of them to release a mingled cloud of venoms. The shock of tasting a toxin not of her own secretion nearly stunned her.

Then the night world sharpened. She knew every serpent in his tangle as he did. She took to herself his confused memories of many migratory pilgrimages, and sorted them for him. She shared, suddenly, a lost generation’s wandering. Pity sliced her soul. So few females left, and all their bodies so aged. Their souls had been trapped for decades in bodies meant for transitory use. Yet even as her hearts rang with pity, pride’s triumphant trumpeting drowned it. Despite all, her race had survived. Against all obstacles, they had prevailed. Somehow, they would complete their migration, they would cast their cocoons and they would emerge as dragons. The Lords of the Three Realms would once more fill the sky.

She felt Maulkin’s spirit intertwine with her own. “Yes!” His trumpet of affirmation was her signal. She breathed her toxins into his face. He did not struggle. Rather, he plunged willingly into unconsciousness, surrendering his mind to become the repository of the memories of his kind. Her twisted tail lashed as she kept her grip upon his body. Slowly, with great effort, she began to turn them both, spinning them in a streaming circle of toxins that spread slowly to the waiting multitude. Dimly she saw the toxins reach them. The poised serpents stiffened in the grip of her spell, and then began the reflexive finning that held them in place as their minds opened to the trove of memories. She was small, crippled and tiring far too rapidly. She hoped her poison sacs held enough for them all. She stretched her jaws wide and worked the muscles that pumped the toxins from her mane. She strained, convulsively working the muscles long past the complete emptying of her sacs. Depleted, she toiled on, turning herself and Maulkin, using their bodies to disperse their mingled toxins to the entranced serpents. On she labored, and on, past instinct, consciously pushing her body to its limits.

She became aware of Maulkin speaking to her. He held her now. She was exhausted. He moved with her, forcing water over her gills.

“Enough,” he told her, his voice gentle. “It is enough. Rest. She Who Remembers, Maulkin’s Tangle is now We Who Remember. Your duty is fulfilled.”

She longed to rest, but she managed to warn them. “I have awakened another one as well. The silver one claims our kinship. I am wary of her. Yet she alone may know the way home.”

THE WATER BOILED WITH SERPENTS. IN ALL HIS YEARS AT SEA,
Kennit had never seen such a sight. Before dawn, their trumpeting chorus awoke him. They swarmed around his liveship. They lifted immense maned heads to regard the ship curiously. Their long bodies sliced the water, cutting across Bolt’s bow and streaming in her wake. Their astonishing colors gleamed in the morning light. Their great eyes spun like pinwheels.

Kennit felt himself the target of those unblinking stares. As he stood on the foredeck and watched, Bolt held court to these odd suitors. They rose from the water, some lifting near as tall as the figurehead to regard her. Some considered her in silence, but others trumpeted or whistled. When Bolt sang an answer to them, the immense heads inevitably turned toward Kennit and stared. For a man who had already lost one leg to a serpent, those avaricious stares were unnerving. Nevertheless, he held his post and his smile.