Ship of Destiny (56 page)

Vivacia threw back her head and sang to the creatures. Her throat swelled and she opened her mouth wide. Inhuman moans, roars and trills came from her mouth. The serpents’ heads swayed, captivated by her song. After a time, they sang back as if ensorcelled by her. Althea realized she stood in a half-crouch, staring at the figurehead. Uneasiness squirmed through her. Vivacia spoke to them, that was plain, and they spoke back to her. The face of the ship as she stretched her features to make the serpent sounds was alien, as was the unnatural lifting and writhing of her hair. It reminded Althea of something, something she had not seen often but was unable to forget. It reminded her of a serpent’s mane unfolding and standing out just before they shook venom from it. Why was Vivacia miming the actions of a serpent? Was she trying to convince them not to harm her?

As Althea stared up at her, wide-eyed, a terrible chilling knowledge moved deep inside her. She pushed it aside as one flings off the lingering terror of a nightmare, refusing to know it. Mine, she insisted to herself. Vivacia is mine, my family, my blood. Yet she heard herself give the low-voiced command, “Lop, Jek, get us out of here. Haff, sit down and shut up if you can’t be useful.” She did not have to speak again. She sat down hastily as Lop and Jek bent eagerly to their oars.

Vivacia lifted a great hand. She did not even glance down at Althea and the three others in the small boat but pointed commandingly at Paragon. From her throat issued a high
ki-ii-ii
like the cry of a striking hawk. Like a wheeling flock of birds, every serpent head turned toward the blind liveship. In the next instant the entire forest of serpents moved toward him in a purposeful rippling carpet of scintillant colors. Their heads split the water and their gleaming backs wove through the sparkling surface of the waves as they arrowed toward Paragon. Althea had never seen anything so lovely or so terrifying. As she watched, their jaws gaped wide, displaying scarlet maws and white teeth. Like flowers turning to the sun, their multihued manes began to open around their throats, standing out like deadly petals.

On Paragon’s deck, Brashen bellowed for them to turn back, to come back to the ship now, as if his command could somehow make the small craft move faster. Althea stared back at the oncoming serpents and knew it was too late. Lop and Jek rowed hard, long deep strokes that sent the boat shooting through the water, but a small boat and two rowers could never outdistance these creatures of the sea. Poor Haff, victim to his memory of his last encounter with a serpent, huddled in the bottom of the boat, panting in panic. Althea did not blame him. She watched the serpents gain on them, transfixed by danger. Then an immense blue serpent was towering over the boat, his erect mane an immense parasol of tentacles.

All in the boat cried out their fear, but the huge creature merely shouldered them out of its way. The little boat rocked wildly in the serpent’s wake, only to be struck and spun about by yet another passing snake. The brush of the next passing serpent snatched the oar from Jek’s grip and tore the oarlock loose. There was little they could do save to crouch low in the boat and hope it did not capsize. Althea clung to the seat with a white-knuckled grip and wondered if they would survive. As the wild rocking of the boat settled, she watched with horror as the serpents closed around Paragon. There was nothing she could do for the ship or the crew on board him. She forced herself to think only of what measures she could take.

The first mate made her decision. “Use that oar as a scull and make for the
Vivacia
. She’s our only hope now. We’ll never get back to Paragon through all those serpents.”

BRASHEN WATCHED HELPLESSLY AS ALTHEA
’
S SMALL BOAT
wallowed and swung in the wakes generated by the passing serpents. His mind rapidly sorted and discarded possibilities. Launching another ship’s boat could not aid them; it would only put more crew at risk. If Althea’s boat tipped over, there was nothing he could do for them. He looked away from her and took a deep breath. When his eyes found her again, he regarded her as a captain. He could not see her as his lover just now. If he believed in her at all, he’d trust her to take care of her boat and her crew. She’d expect him to do the same. The ship had to be his first responsibility.

Not that there was much he could do. He issued orders anyway. “Get our anchor up. I want to be able to maneuver if we have to.” He wondered if he only said it to give the men something to do so they wouldn’t stare at the oncoming wave of serpents. He glanced at Amber. She held tight to the railing, leaning forward and speaking low to Paragon, telling him all she could see.

He cast his mind back over his other encounters with serpents. Recalling Haff’s serpent, he issued terse orders that brought his best bowmen to the rails. “Don’t shoot until I tell you,” he told them harshly. “And when you do, take your shot only if you can strike the brightly colored spot just back of the angle of their jaws. No other target! If you can’t hit it, hold fire until you can. Every shot has to count.” He looked back to Amber and suggested, “Arm the ship?”

“He doesn’t want it,” she replied in a low voice.

“Nor do I want your archers.” Paragon’s voice was hoarse. “Listen to me, Brashen Trell. Tell your men to set their bows and other weapons down. Keep them to hand, but do not brandish them about. I want no killing of these creatures. I suspect they are no danger to me. If you have any respect for me at all . . .” Paragon let the thought die away. He lifted his arms wide and suddenly shouted, “I know you. I KNOW YOU!” The deep timbre of his bellow vibrated through the whole ship. Slowly he lowered his arms to his sides. “And you know me.”

Brashen stared at him in confusion, but motioned for his bowmen to obey. What did the ship mean? But as Paragon threw back his head and filled his chest with air, Brashen suddenly knew that the ship spoke to the oncoming serpents, not the crew.

Paragon dropped his jaw open wide. The sound that came from him vibrated the planks under Brashen’s feet, and then rose until it became a high ululation. Another deep breath, and then he cried out again, in a voice more like sea-pipes than a man speaking.

In the silence that followed, Brashen heard Amber’s breathless whisper. “They hear you. They are slowing and looking at one another. Now, they come on, but slower than before, and every one of them looks to you. They are halting and fanning out in a great circle around you. Now one comes forward. He is green but gold flashes from his scales when he turns in the sun—”

“She,” Paragon corrected her quietly. “She Who Remembers. I taste her in the wind, my planks feel her presence in the water. Does she look at me?”

“She does. They all do.”

“Good.” The figurehead drew breath again, and once more the cavernous language of the sea serpents issued from his jaws.

SHREEVER FOLLOWED MAULKIN WITH HEAVY HEARTS. HER
loyalty to him was unquestioned; she would have followed him under ice. Shreever had accepted his decision when he surrendered his dominance to She Who Remembers. She had instinctively trusted the twisted serpent with a faith that went beyond her unique scent. The serpent herself inspired her confidence. Shreever felt certain that those two serpents together could save their race.

But of late it seemed to her that these two leaders had given authority over to the silver ship who called herself Bolt. Shreever could find no trust for her. Although the silver one smelled like One Who Remembered, she had neither the shape nor the ways of a serpent. Her commands to the tangle often made no sense, and her promises to lead them safely to a cocooning place always began with “soon.” “Soon” and “tomorrow” were concepts that the serpents could ill afford. The cold of winter was chilling the waters, and the runs of migratory fish were disappearing. Already the serpents were losing flesh. If they did not cocoon soon, they would not have the body reserves to last the winter, let alone enough to metamorphose.

But She Who Remembers heeded the silver one, and Maulkin heeded her. So Shreever followed, as did Sessurea and all the rest of the tangle. Even though this last command from the ship made no sense at all. Destroy the other silver ship. Why, she wanted to know. The ship had not threatened them, nor challenged them in any way. He smelled of serpent, in a confusing, muted way, not as strong as Bolt did, but the scent was there, nonetheless. So why destroy him? Especially, why destroy him but leave his carcass undevoured? Why not bear him down to the bottom and crush him to pieces and share out his flesh amongst themselves? From the scent of him, it would be rich with memories. The other silver they had pulled down had willingly surrendered both flesh and memories to them. Why should this one be any different?

But Bolt had given them their strategy. They were to spray the ship with venom to weaken its structure. Then the larger, longer males were to fling themselves against the ship to turn it on its side. Once its wings were in the water, the smaller serpents could add their weight and strength to seize it by its limbs and pull it under. There they must batter it to pieces, and leave the pieces to sink to the bottom. Only the two-legs of it could they eat. Waste. A foolish, deliberate waste of energy, life and food. Was there something about the ship that Bolt feared? A memory hidden in the silver ship that she did not wish them to share?

Then the silver ship spoke. His voice was deep and powerful, shimmering through the water. It brushed along Shreever’s scales commandingly. She found herself slowing, her mane slackening in wonder. “Why do you attack me?” he demanded. In a harsher voice, he added, “Does
he
bid you do this? Does he fear to face me then, but sends others to do this task in his stead? He was not once so guileful about treachery. I thought I knew you. I thought to name you the heirs to the Three Realms. But they were a folk who served their own ends. They did not scurry and slither to a human’s bidding.” His voice dripped disdain like venom.

Abruptly the serpents were milling in confusion. They had not been prepared to hear their victim speak to them, let alone question and accuse them. She Who Remembers spoke for them all as she demanded, “Who are you? What are you?”

“Who am I? What am I? Those are questions with so many answers they are meaningless. I have pondered those questions for decades, and never discovered an answer. Even if I knew, why do I owe you an answer, when you have not replied to my question? Why do you attack me? Do you serve Kennit?”

No one responded to his question, but no serpent attacked either. Shreever spared a glance for the silent two-legs that clustered along the ship’s flanks and clung to his upper limbs. They were still and unmoving, silently watching what transpired. They knew they had no say in this: it was business for the Lords of the Three Realms. What did his accusations mean? A slow suspicion grew in Shreever’s mind. Had the command to kill this ship truly come from Bolt, or did she speak for the humans aboard her? Shreever watched avidly as both She Who Remembers and Maulkin waited for the other to reply.

But it was the nameless white serpent who spoke. He had remained an outsider to the tangle, always on the edges, listening and mocking. “They will kill you, not at the command of a man, but because the other ship has promised to guide them home if they do so. Being noble and high-minded creatures, they immediately agreed to murder as a small price for saving themselves. Even the murder of one of their own.”

The creature that was part of the ship spread wide his limbs. “One of your own? Do you truly claim me, then? How strange. For though with one touch I knew you, I still do not know myself. Even I do not claim myself. How is it that you do?”

“He is mad,” a scarred scarlet serpent trumpeted. His copper eyes spun with impatience. “Let us do what we must do. Kill him. Then she will lead us north. Long enough have we delayed.”

“Oh, yes!” the white serpent chortled throatily. “Kill him, kill him quickly, before he forces us to face what we have become. Kill him before he makes us question what the other ship is, and why we should give credence to her.” He twined himself through an insulting knot, as if he courted his own tail. “Perhaps this is a thing she has learned from her time infested with humans. As we all recall, they kill one another with relish. Have not we been assisting them in that task, all at Bolt’s behest? If, indeed, those commands come from Bolt at all. Perhaps she has become the willing servant of a human. Perhaps this is what she teaches us to be as well. Let us show her what apt pupils we are. Kill him.”

She Who Remembers spoke slowly. “There will be no killing. This is not right, and we all know it. To kill this creature, not for food nor to protect ourselves, but to kill him simply because we are commanded to do it is not worthy of us. We are the heirs of the Three Realms. When we kill, we kill for ourselves. Not like this.”

Relief surged through Shreever. Her misgivings had been far deeper than she had conceded to herself. Then Tellur, the slender green minstrel, spoke suddenly. “What then of our bargain with Bolt? She was to guide us home, if we did this for her. Shall we now be left as we were before?”

“Better, perhaps, to be as we were before we encountered her than as she nearly made us,” Maulkin replied heavily.

She Who Remembers spoke again. “I do not know what kinship we owe this ship. From all we have heard, we converse with death when we speak to these beings. Yet once they were of us, and for that we owe them some small respect at least. This one, we shall not kill. I shall return to Bolt, and see what she says. If this command comes not from her but from the humans aboard her, then let them fight their own petty battles. We are not servants. If she refuses to guide us home, then I will leave. Those who wish to can follow me. Perhaps all I remember will be enough to guide us. Perhaps not. But we will remain the heirs of the Three Realms. Together, we shall make this last migration. If it does not lead to rebirth for us, it will lead to death. Better that than to become like humans, slaughtering our own for the sake of personal survival.”