Snake Heart (33 page)

Yanko blinked and looked up, but Dak was still working and didn’t bother glancing back. It didn’t matter. The words drove the feeling of defeat out of Yanko’s heart. He smiled at the rest of the comment, though he’d barely heard anything after the offer of back-watching.

“Your problem might be that you’re too picky, Dak.”

“Undoubtedly.”

Yanko went back to the bunk, heartened that if Sun Dragon started a fight with him on the deck tomorrow, he wouldn’t be alone.

Chapter 23

T
he sea stretched in all directions, the surface undulating outward from the Turgonian fleet, empty of continents and islands. Or so it appeared from the surface. Yanko let his mind stretch out as he stood by the railing, delving below the waves, brushing past fish and crabs and octopuses going about their simple lives, eating and basking in the sun, in water made shallow by land below the surface. A
lot
of land. Yanko could sense valleys and canyons, ridges and mountains, the tops of those mountains sometimes within a few meters of the surface and shallow enough to provide obstacles for ships sailing through the area.

Dak had called this the Deadly Shoals. The Nurian name was the Wrecked Reaches, probably because the words rhymed in Yanko’s language and lent themselves to song, songs that warned sailors to stay away, promising that many ships had crashed upon the rocks hiding beneath the surface. To Yanko’s mind’s eye, there was far more down there than rocks. Even without the lodestone, he knew they had found the missing Kyattese continent. What he didn’t know was how to access it or how his people could possibly farm land that lay under the sea. There were Nurian dishes, especially along the coast, that featured seaweed and kelp, but he couldn’t imagine such edibles supplying millions of tables across the Great Land.

Yanko wasn’t ready to give up on the idea that this landmass, however buried in water, might be the solution his people sought, but the first inkling of doubt gnawed at his belly. What magic had the Kyattese used to sink their continent seven hundred years ago? And could it be raised again?

Even as a lover of earth magic, he struggled to grasp how that might be possible. Once eroded away, a landmass could not be built up again. Was it possible that the Kyattese hadn’t used magic to hide their land at all? That the seas had simply risen over the years to cover it? Had it been flat, the whole continent near sea level, he might have believed that, but there were mountains down there, mountains that had somehow been pushed a mile or more into the earth’s core, so they wouldn’t break the surface now.

Lakeo appeared at his side, nudging him in the ribs. “Should you be standing there with that vacant expression on your face when there’s an assassin on board? One who may even now be fantasizing about sticking a dagger in your back?”

“She prefers throwing stars.”

“Well, that makes it all right then.”

Lakeo leaned against the railing, facing the deck of the ironclad rather than the sea, and rubbed her bare arms. “I guess we’re not in the tropics anymore.”

“No, the Kyattese reputedly came from a more temperate climate with a less intense sun.”

“I’ve been thinking of snagging a Turgonian sailor to keep me warm at night.”

She gave Yanko a speculative look that he wasn’t sure how to interpret. His conversation with Dak was fresh in his mind, but all he could think was that Dak had been mistaken, especially if Lakeo was fantasizing about Turgonians.

“Don’t you and Arayevo have a guard on your cabin door?” Yanko asked. Even as he spoke, he glimpsed the man, a sergeant with the sleeves of his uniform rolled up, revealing beefy forearms. He stood out of earshot, but he was keeping an eye on Lakeo, as well as Arayevo, who was also up on the deck, chatting animatedly with the watch officer.

“Yes, and he’s irritatingly dedicated to his duty,” Lakeo said. “Refused to come in and dine with us. These Turgonians let their eyes roam, but they keep their hands to themselves. Wish they’d keep their words to themselves too. They like to mutter snide comments when they pass you.”

The muttering had been minimal for Yanko, probably because he usually walked around with Dak, but he was glad that was all the men had done to Lakeo and Arayevo. Had the crew been more inclined toward groping Nurian captives, Yanko would have been using his magic for more than sightseeing, and that could have caused trouble.

“The water’s a lighter blue here,” Lakeo said, peering over the railing. “Shallow?”

“Yes.”

Shouts came from the crow’s nest, which were relayed through a horn and cable system to the helmsman and navigators in their fancy interior bridge, one that looked out on the sea from behind a bank of windows. Dak had taken Yanko, Arayevo, and Lakeo to see it earlier. They hadn’t been pleased to find Sun Dragon in there, chatting with the admiral and the bridge crew, plying his mental magic and hugging the lodestone.

“That should be a warning about rocks under the water,” Yanko said, though the shouts had been in Turgonian. “They’ve been doing that all afternoon. Sun Dragon is sailing us over an underwater mountain range.”

“Sounds smart. If he wrecks a fleet of Turgonian warships, will he be treated like a hero back home?”

“Possibly. I’d rather he not wreck anything we’re riding on. I’ve had enough of that.”

Lakeo rubbed her arms again. “Where’s your parrot?”

“He’s befriended the cook.”

Arayevo walked over and joined them, her hair streaming behind her, caught by the breeze. She smiled and leaned against the railing, her gaze toward the water.

“That was about an iceberg that someone spotted. I had no idea we were that close to the pole.” Her exuberance for exploration wafted off her, and she leaned out, trying to spot it.

Yanko looked away, trying to tuck away his ache of longing for her, fastening it in a chest and locking the lid. If he could, he would toss that chest into the waves, now that he knew it could never be opened. Such exercises were easier thought of than done.

A couple of Turgonians walked past, fresh from a shift in the engine room down below, as evinced by their coal smeared faces and uniforms. They gazed wistfully at Arayevo. Yanko wasn’t the only one with a chest of longing when it came to her.

“Who let them out without their keeper?” a man walking past with sooty hands and a box of tools asked. He must not have noticed the sergeant keeping an eye on the women from across the deck. Dak ought to be nearby, too, though Yanko hadn’t seen him for a few minutes.

A second big man—
all
Turgonians were big—strode along at the tool-bearer’s side, and he gave Yanko a dark look but said nothing.

Yanko braced himself for a confrontation, but the men continued past without veering in his direction.

“There it is,” Arayevo pointed to a towering block of ice floating by itself through the blue water. She’d either not noticed the men or had decided ignoring them was the proper course of action. “I’ve never seen one before. Minark liked warm waters.” She sounded wistful when she said his name.

Yanko tried to ignore that, but he still puzzled over why she’d enjoyed Minark’s company, when he... well, he wasn’t anything special, either, he supposed. But at least he tried to do the right thing. Not like some scruffy smuggler.

“Let it go,” he mumbled to himself.

“Nice dress, puntak,” a man with a mop said as he wheeled a bucket past. He did not appear to be older than Yanko and was probably at the bottom of the pecking order here. Yanko found it easy to ignore his comment.

Lakeo, however, scowled at him. She gritted her teeth, and Yanko, sensing her calling some magic, laid a placating hand on her arm.

“This isn’t the place to pick a fight. We’re outnumbered a hundred to one.” A thousand to one, he added silently, thinking of the other ships out there. The Turgonian admiral had invited the entire fleet to come on this journey.

Lakeo ignored Yanko. The soldier’s mop started smoking. Yanko knocked over the bucket with his mind, aiming the water to douse the incipient fire. Turgonian vessels had so much metal in them that a burning mop probably wouldn’t be the cause for concern that it would be on a wooden ship, but there was no need to call attention to the fact that he and his little team could use magic. His robe was enough of a signal flag. He wished he had more mundane clothing that he could change into, but he’d lost almost everything after being captured numerous times.

The soldier tripped over the upturned bucket, kicking it across the deck.

“Nice feet, Dotts,” the man in the crow’s nest called down.

Nobody seemed to have seen the smoke. Good.

The mop soldier scowled over at them but picked up his bucket and hustled away.

“Might want to work on that temper,” Yanko murmured to Lakeo.

“Thanks for the tip.” Lakeo sniffed and turned toward the railing, looking irritated that he’d kept her from lighting the ship on fire.

Dak joined them a minute later. Yanko eyed him warily, wondering if he had seen the mop—and the smoke.

“The admiral and the helmsman are getting impatient,” Dak said quietly. “Sun Dragon is directing us in circles.”

“Good,” Yanko said.

“I thought you wanted there to be a continent here,” Lakeo said.

Yanko shrugged, not sure he should admit to all that he sensed under the surface. If Sun Dragon didn’t realize it was there, Yanko wouldn’t tell him, though it was hard to imagine that the older and more experienced mage hadn’t grasped the significance of the terrain below them. More likely, he was trying to figure out a way to raise it. Maybe the Kyattese had left some magical keyhole somewhere that the lodestone was designed to fit. Yanko still couldn’t imagine the power that would be required to raise a continent. Maybe if he could retrieve the lodestone, then return home and find Zirabo, a legion of mages could be sent out here to investigate the possibility. Earth magic specialists—if any could be found. He smirked, imagining a hundred old women being responsible for un-sinking the landmass.

“There is a continent,” Dak said, watching him, “isn’t there?”

Yanko shrugged again.

“A smallish one, and possibly more likely to be considered a large island,” Dak went on. “Just under a million square miles, I estimate, but all the way out here, it’s likely tectonically independent of the nearest mainland, so the label might fit.”

By now, Yanko wasn’t surprised by the breadth of Dak’s knowledge, though he had only encountered one book that theorized the existence of tectonic plates and continental drift when he had been reading about the earth sciences. It had been translated into Nurian from Kyattese. He had found it fascinating. His father had taken the book away and told him to go outside and work on fireballs. Now, he wondered if such a thing could have played into how the Kyattese sank their continent. Was there a fault line out here that they had opened up somehow? That seemed more plausible than just pushing down from above. How could they have kept the shape and terrain largely intact though? It seemed like everything would have been bunched together, squished and destroyed. Maybe he was letting rational thought get in the way of what he believed possible again. Couldn’t it be that the Kyattese of seven centuries past had simply had some amazing mages who had done what seemed impossible to an eighteen-year-old mind?

“You look daunted by something, Yanko,” Arayevo commented.

“He’s thinking about throwing stars in his back,” Lakeo said.

“That would daunt me slightly too. I haven’t seen the hunter since Sun Dragon berated her. You’d think she wouldn’t want to work for someone like that.”

“Perhaps she seeks to redeem some family honor, and he has promised a means to that end.” Yanko could understand all too well the means that one might pursue to that end. If Sun Dragon had other people convinced he could take the dais from the Great Chief, then they would believe themselves smart for sticking with him.

But that was not what Yanko cared about, not at that moment.

“Is a million square miles the size of the Deadly Shoals?” Yanko asked, wondering how Dak had arrived at his estimate.

“Roughly. I used that old atlas and a Kyattese map detailing current flow patterns in the Southern Hemisphere to refine my estimate.”

“Would a million square miles really be considered an island?” Arayevo asked. “That doesn’t sound small.”

“No, it’s a sizable landmass. It would be an amazing discovery for a nation. If it weren’t underwater.” Dak gripped the railing and peered into the greenish blue water, then cocked an eyebrow at Yanko. “I assume it wasn’t at its current elevation when the Kyattese were enjoying it.”

“I would guess not, but I have no idea how it sank.” Well, Yanko had ideas. He just wasn’t sure he wanted to share, since they might be born of foolish ignorance. He also didn’t want to help the Turgonians discover this land. Or Sun Dragon. More and more, he liked the idea of stealing back the lodestone, finding Zirabo, and returning with ships full of allies rather than enemies. “Nobody on Kyatt told me anything. Including that I was having dinner with the Turgonian president’s children.” Yanko returned Dak’s expression of raised eyebrows. “I would have tried to be more charming. And less distracted.”

“And would you have spent less time with the Nurian neighbor, spilling all of your secrets?”

“Maybe.” Yanko opened his mouth to say more, but a familiar figure strode into view.

Sun Dragon. Yanko would rather have dealt with the mop-wielding soldier.

The man walked past, his robe snapping about his legs, his gray-streaked topknot being tugged by the wind. He clutched the lodestone in one hand, and Yanko could feel its magic singing to him. Sun Dragon did not glance in his direction. He trotted up some steps to what passed for the forecastle on this hulking ship, and he pondered the sea from his elevated position. Yanko hoped he wasn’t finding what he sought.

Admiral Ravencrest walked into view, coming from the direction that Sun Dragon had come. He saw Dak, frowned at Yanko and the others, then walked in their direction.

“Problem, Admiral?” Dak asked, leaning against the railing.