Tempest (8 page)

“Shouldn't they be dead before we eat them?” Colm persisted, but his hopes were dashed when both Nichol and the girl shook their heads.

“Ruins the flavor,” the girl said.

“Ruins the texture,” Nichol said.

“How could death ruin the texture of food?” Colm asked. “In my mind, it doesn't become food until it
is
dead!”

The girl looked over at Nichol, whose mouth was twitching, and smacked him on the shoulder with her spoon. “I don't need you givin' my stall a bad name by bringin' me country lads who wouldn't know a delicacy like this if they stepped on it in the street.”

“I'm just breaking him in, Kiara, ow!” Nichol grimaced, rubbing his shoulder pointedly. “And be honest, they do come by the roach bit honestly. Colm's more likely to have seen somethin' like this in a dirty outhouse than he is to've eaten it.”

Kiara's face went red with anger, and Colm decided to intervene before the girl tried to beat Nichol to death with her spoon. “I'll try one,” he told her, stepping a bit in front of Nichol. “But I haven't any idea of how to get into it.”

“It's simple,” she told him, mollified by Colm's new willingness. “Here,
give
me those,” she snapped at Nichol as she grabbed two of the roaches from his palm. “You just pry up the edge of the shell with the flat of your knife, right down here, and then peel back,” she said, and demonstrated with one of them. “And then you slurp them up.” She tossed the one she'd opened back and seemed to swallow it whole. “They squirm a bit on the way down occasionally,” Kiara added with a smile. “But you get used to it. Here.” She handed Colm her knife. “Now you do it.”

Colm managed to get the bottom of the shell off rather quickly, but once he was faced with the small, pulsing pink body inside the top half of the shell, his courage faltered. It was just momentum that got him to raise it to his lips and let it slide inside, a brief burst of salty succulence on his tongue before it hit the back of his throat and kept going, wriggling just a bit from side to side as it went down.

“Well done!” Nichol congratulated him with a grin, eating the rest of them in quick succession. “Shall we take some for the road?”

“No thank you,” Colm managed, barely keeping himself from bending over the edge of the wharf and returning that poor creature back to the sea. He followed Nichol in silence for another few minutes until the man finally noticed that his quips weren't getting any reply.

“Colm?” Nichol asked, his brow furrowed as he reached out and touched Colm's arm. Colm had no idea where they were anymore, he just knew that Nichol was touching him and that he needed to make him understand something.

“Please don't ask me to do that again,” Colm said, and something in his voice must have intimated just how serious he was, because Nichol didn't make a joke or brush it off. Instead his grip on Colm's arm tightened further.

“I'm sorry,” he said softly. “I knew you'd never have had anything like that before, and I thought it would be funny. I didn't think you would dislike it so much, though. No more, I promise.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh now, don't thank me for not being a bally ass to you,” Nichol said with a grin, letting Colm go but staying close. “How about we get the things Gran'll need for the ceremony tonight? We can be back to the inn by the lunch rush. I know she'll appreciate the help for that.”

The store they ended up at was a little place not far from the cathedral, where men in deep blue cassocks strolled and spoke and blessed the occasional passerby, and the bells rang almost constantly to signify the beginning or end of another service.

“Grandad wanted to put the inn here originally, but Gran convinced him that the bells would be bad for business at a place where you actually want people to get some sleep,” Nichol said as he looked over the shelves, pulling things free. “Smudge sticks for burials, a votive—these ones have a scent that Gran loves—and a sugarglass bowl. Be careful with it,” he cautioned as he handed it over to Colm. “It's very brittle.”

It looked perfect, smooth and sparkling and not at all tacky under his fingertips like he'd feared. “Amazing,” Colm breathed. Nichol patiently waited for Colm's fascination to wane a bit before he wrapped the bowl in a piece of thin white cotton cloth, and handed all of it over to the acolyte who ran the store.

“Eight coppers,” she said, and Colm pulled his money out and paid even though Nichol protested that he could take care of it, that it was the least he could do after torturing Colm with his company all morning.

“I enjoy your company,” Colm told him, and that put a smile back on Nichol's face. They paid, and the acolyte packed everything carefully into paper, tied it with twine and handed it over to Colm.

“Blessings of the Four on thee and thy dead,” she told them somberly.

“I certainly hope so,” Nichol said to her. “We'd best be off, Colm. Gran will think I've sold you to slavers or something at this rate.”

“I don't think they'd take me,” Colm replied as they headed back to the Cove.

“Oh, sure they would. Perhaps they're desperate to reach some very tall things and have need of a human ladder. Or perhaps they're looking for a gorgeous ivory idol to carry with them from town to town, inspiring new followers to worship.” Nichol spoke loudly enough that several nearby priests gave him dark looks. “Oops,” he giggled. “Forgot where I was for a moment. All praises to the Four!” he called out toward the men before ducking down an alley and pulling Colm along behind him.

“It's settled, then,” Nichol said, picking up their conversation as though it hadn't been interrupted at all. “If I ever lose you and Gran's about to gut me, I'll tell her you were stolen by a group of very short, religiously ambiguous slavers with grand ambitions. Sound good?”

“Oh yes, sounds delightful,” Colm said sarcastically. “I've always loved the idea of being adored from afar while surrounded by domineering midgets.”

Nichol stopped and turned to face him. “Are you actually…jesting with me?” he asked seriously.

“I…yes?”

“Well done! I didn't think you were capable of it.” Nichol laughed. “Keep that attitude, and you'll fit in fine with the rest of the Sea Guard, mate.”

Frankly, if the rest of the Sea Guard was anything like Nichol, Colm didn't think he'd fit in with them no matter how deliberately abrasive he made himself, but he kept that thought to himself. It was enough that he had Nichol's company for now.

They returned to the Cove and, as Nichol had predicted, were immediately put to work by Megg. Nichol worked the taproom, passing glasses and plates and making conversation with the clients with equal efficiency, while Colm was set to dishing up chowder in the kitchen. It was simple work that nevertheless passed the time quickly, and then came the washing up and the quick sweep of the floors and last-minute deliveries by the butcher for that evening's special, and by the time Idra got there to help get things ready for dinner Megg was taking off her apron and hanging it up with a sigh.

“Braised pork ribs and roasted red potatoes tonight, and don't give 'em more than three apiece unless they pay extra, all right, love?”

“I'll take care of it, Mistress,” Idra said. “May you have calm seas for your father's ceremony, Colm,” she told him formally, then got to work seasoning the slabs of ribs laid out on the counter.

“You've got everything, then?” Megg asked her grandson once they were all out in the courtyard, freed from the crowd for the moment.

“Right down to the boat, although I'm afraid Master Grainger isn't too happy with me,” Nichol said.

Megg sighed. “Ye catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, lad.”

“I'm not trying to catch flies, Gran, I'm trying to hitch a ride on the back of a gull,” he told her. “Although some of your rum cake would probably go a long way in soothing Master Grainger's feelings.”

“I can't buy your entrance to the navy with cake!” Megg protested, but it was a tired, thin denial. “Though I would if I could,” she added. “Right, then. Let me get my shawl, and we'll be off.”

Colm frowned in question. “So early? Don't you still do the burials at twilight here?”

“Aye, but it'll take some time for us to make it to the cove, and we'll need a bit for the prayers too. Trust me, love, I've done this enough times to know,” Megg soothed him before heading into the family quarters. Her spirit cat followed at her heels.

“I'm going to grab us a bit to eat while we're out there,” Nichol said. “Why don't you go and get the ashes and meet me back here?” He vanished back into the kitchen before Colm could say anything, which was perfect, because the reality of his purpose here was just now hitting home with him. This was it, the primary reason for his being in Caithmor: to give his father a proper burial. He didn't know what he would do with himself once that was done.

Chapter Six

Colm climbed slowly up the stairs to his tiny room and pulled his pack out from beneath the cot. Ger's ashes were tucked away in the very bottom of it, tightly bound in their linen sack. Colm took it into his hands and pressed it against the tender skin at the base of his throat, imagining for a moment that he could feel heat still within the bag, that it was more than just remains. The priests said it was, and so did Megg, but Colm had never seen any proof of it himself. The few burials he'd attended in Anneslea had been simple things, with nothing mystical about them other than the blessing at the end, just as the last rays of the sun vanished from the sky. He, like everyone, could feel the presence of the gods then, the holy power that the priests commanded that made his spine shiver with fearful reverence.

“Colm? Are you ready?” Nichol shouted up the stairs. Colm was so startled, he almost dropped the ashes, but controlled himself at the last moment.

“Yes…I'm coming,” he shouted back, getting to his feet. He pulled his cloak around his shoulders and headed back down to where Nichol and Megg were waiting for him. Meg was carrying the package from the acolyte's store, and Nichol had a heavy metal lantern slung over his shoulder.

“Good. Let's be off, then, boys,” Megg said, leading the way out onto the street. Her little spirit cat followed at her heels. “Which berth, Nichol?”

“Forty.”

“Down at the end, then. That's good. You lads will have less distance to row.”

“So thoughtful of you, Gran,” Nichol said with a simper, then yelped as her hand found his ear and tweaked it. “Bloody—that hurt!”

“Good! It was meant to!” Megg replied, walking with a long stride that made Nichol rush to keep up with her, while Colm felt right at home. “Honestly, can you take nothing seriously in this life, my boy?”

“I take the Sea Guard very seriously, Gran,” Nichol said, sounding a bit hurt.

“Well, when you take the rest of your life as seriously as you do the thought of gettin' into the navy, you'll finally be an adult.”

“I'd rather not, thanks,” Nichol said with a cheeky wink at Colm. “It sounds too dull to keep me happy.”

“That may be,” Megg agreed, but she wasn't smiling now. “Come on, boys, put some leg into it.”

Once they finally got to the right section of the docks, they handed their note to the officer responsible for guarding the boats. He inspected it with a squint. “I'm not so sure…that could be Master Grainger's signature, but there's no official stamp.”

“He didn't have his stamp book with him, but it's from him, trust me!” Nichol entreated. “Just a little rowboat, mate, and we'll bring it right back.”

“I don't know…”

“Tobin, are you suggesting that I'm not worthy of your trust?” Megg interjected, crossing her arms and looking as imposing as a little old woman could. “What would your own gran have to say about such a thing, I wonder?”

It was hard to tell in the early evening light, but Colm thought that the officer went a bit pale. “Oh, Missus Searunner, don't do that to me.”

“Then don't call me a liar and let us borrow this one little boat for the evening.”

The officer crumbled after another moment's hesitation. “Fine.” He went back to his shack and brought them a small burning taper to light the lantern with. “But mind that you bring back
both
the oars,” he added as they walked past. Nichol shook his head.

“Honestly, it was one time, just one, and I carved them new ones. Better ones!”

“The folks you wrong always have a longer memory than you'd like,” Megg said absently as she sought out berth number forty. All the navy's boats at this end of the docks were small ones, closely protected by the jutting sea wall that signified the northern edge of the more cosmopolitan part of Caithmor. There was plenty of city beyond it, but very little of it was accessible by sea. Caithmor was built on the only decent port on the coast for over a hundred miles in either direction. The rest of it was rocky cliffs, settled here and there by villages that could manage with a small fleet, but nothing else even remotely as large as the capitol.

“Come on then, lads,” she said, “help me clear it.” They pulled off the tarred canvas that covered the four-man rowboat, rolled it up and set it aside. Nichol got to work on the ropes while Colm helped Megg down into the boat, and handed her their packages. After a moment, he handed over the bag of ashes as well. It hurt a bit to let go of it, but once Colm managed to set it in Megg's wizened palm, he felt a sense of relief.

“Thank you, love,” Megg said with a gentle smile. “All done, Nichol?”

“Yes, Gran,” he said, pausing only to affix the lantern to the prow of the boat before he hopped down inside. “Shall we share the hard labor portion of the evening, then?” he asked Colm.

“Certainly.” It only took them a few moments to find a rhythm, and Megg took hold of the tiller and steered them around the larger boats and out along the dark-stoned sea wall, thick and imposing, until they rounded the edge of it and broke into open water.

“Keep it up, lads, you've about an hour of this to look forward to,” Megg informed them. Nichol groaned good-naturedly but Colm just sighed, feeling a strange sense of peace as the water surrounded them. The salt air and the gentle breeze combined to make him feel a bit like he was in a dream, and Colm shut his eyes and just rowed for a while, trusting in Megg to keep them from crashing into the cliffs as he basked in the sense of peace he felt.

“Selkie blood for sure,” Megg said with a chuckle. “The sea is in your bones, Colm Weathercliff.” In that moment, Colm felt like he could believe her.

They rowed steadily, coasting over low waves that sent them bobbing up and down. Megg sat and steered and cradled the supplies in her free arm, and it wasn't too long before she guided them in toward the cliffs. “Ye'll have to duck your head down in a moment, love,” she told Colm. “We've got to get under a little ledge here.” Colm ducked down, and a moment later, they passed through.

“See?” Nichol said quietly as they kept rowing. “It's not all fun and games being a giant, is it?” He smiled, but it was a soft thing, not the perpetual grin he seemed to carry with him everywhere. The light was softer in here too, somehow hazy, and the water was much clearer, not churned as it was by the waves and the wind beyond the rocks. Farther back in the cove—although it seemed to be as much a cave as a cove, almost—was a tiny gravel beach. Before long, they'd rowed up to it, and Nichol leapt out and pulled the boat ashore. Colm joined him and helped Megg out, Sari nestled in her arms, then looked around.

The light filtered in through a narrow crack at the top of the cliff, no more than two or three feet wide. It spread out from the surface to create roughly a bowl shape, with the beach along the back of it. Blue moss glistened on the craggy granite surface, long tendrils of it dripping moisture down to the water below like slow-moving tears. Tufts of dark green algae emerged from the surface of the sea every now and then, and the pebbles of the beach crunched gently under Colm's feet.

“How did you even find this place?” he asked, the stillness of it affecting him as much as it seemed to Nichol, and keeping his voice down.

“It used to belong to the selkies,” Megg said as she took the lamp and set it against the back wall of the beach. “My husband's father lived in a village close to these cliffs, and he heard the selkies playing below and watched them transform on this very beach. It took him months to work up his nerve, but one night he climbed down from the cliff top and stole one of the selkies' pelts. He climbed back out again, and the next day a beautiful young woman came to his village and declared herself his wife. They had three children together before she found her pelt again, and my Rory was the last of them. She left them when he was only three, but he saw her many times in his youth, though she and her family have long since abandoned this place now.” Megg smiled a little sadly. “I think she came to meet him, when Rory made his own return to the sea.” She shook her head, then brightened. “Now, my loves, let's get things ready. The sun will be down before we know it.”

Megg used the lamp to light both of the smudge sticks before blowing it out to preserve what was left of the oil. She handed one stick to each of them. “Use them to cleanse the air,” she instructed them. “Just use the basic symbol.”

The basic symbol for the Four, the gods worshipped by the whole of the Muiri Empire, was an elongated X, with brief pauses at each of the endpoints. The gods, each associated with a cardinal direction, were the guardians of the elements, and through them the masters of the entire world. That, at least, was what the priests taught. Colm had always been interested in the other Two, those who guarded the places that were made of no element at all except space, above and below, but worshipping their power was forbidden. The worst mages, those who had caused the most egregious casualties during the war, hadn't been the mages who worshipped fire or water, air or earth. It had been the ones who had worshipped the deepness of the abyss, or the lofty darkness of the night, who had been able to kill scores of men with no warning, nothing but a sweeping wave of shadow.

Now definitely wasn't the time to be thinking of such things. Colm made the simple X through the air, watching the smoke dissipate almost as fast as it appeared. The smell of cedar oil almost overwhelmed the other ingredients, drifting hints of sage and lavender and sailor's tobacco. It smelled different from what the priest had used back in Anneslea, which Colm supposed was part of the point. This seaside scent was more suited to his father's spirit.

“Well done, lads, bring them back now,” Megg said after a bit, and they returned the sticks to her. Megg set them on the edges of the sugarglass bowl, then poured Ger's ashes into it. On top of them, she set the votive, which she lit after blowing the edge of a smudge stick to a glowing point. The smell of lavender joined the rest of the miasma, familiar and soothing. Sari extended her nose toward it, bowing her head low in a movement strangely like a benediction, before she backed away from the water's edge.

“May the Four look with favor on the spirit of our departed kin, Ger Weathercliff,” Megg intoned, but there was still love in her voice, not impersonal like with the priests. “May they welcome him back to their fold, may they give him the comfort that he has earned after his time toiling in this world. May his spirit find the peace of the water, the strength of the earth, the gentleness of the air and the warmth of the fire. Bless him, and take him back into your loving embrace until such time as his soul is ready to return again.”

Megg leaned forward and set the sugarglass bowl down in the shallows, and the four of them watched it float there, unmoving, for a long moment. After a while, Colm thought that perhaps it had been a mistake, perhaps this wasn't what his father's spirit would have wanted for its remains, but no sooner had he had the thought than the bowl began to move, drifting outward as though the tide was going out instead of coming in. Colm watched it go and unexpectedly felt his breath catch in his throat. The little light of the votive intersected with the light of the setting sun, floating beneath the rocks of the cove before it headed out into the ocean.

“There he goes, there's a lad,” Megg said gently. “Go on, Ger Weathercliff, go on to your next life. All's well done here. We'll look after your boy.” She wrapped a comforting arm around Colm's waist. After a moment, Nichol's arm crept over his shoulders, and for the first time since the night before he left Anneslea, Colm was able to let his tears fall, not worrying that someone might judge him for it.

The light of the votive rose and fell with little eddies, and just before it passed beyond the edge of the cove, it suddenly went out. “There he goes,” Megg sighed. “Home again, and glad of it I'm sure.” She leaned up and kissed Colm's cheek. “You did well to bring him here, my love. Don't be sad for him. He's where he needs to be now.”

“I know,” Colm whispered, and then on impulse kissed Megg's forehead. He could barely see her smile in the fast-encroaching dark, but it was there.

“I'll relight the lantern,” Nichol said, pulling his flint and steel from his pocket.

“Thank you, love,” Megg said distractedly, sitting up straighter and then grimacing. “Oh, these old knees of mine… Colm, be a dear and help me to stand, won't you?” Colm got up and brushed the gravel from his knees, then offered his arm to Megg. She pushed up from the ground and was almost vertical again when she suddenly froze. “Oh.”

“What is it?” Colm asked, worried by the sudden tension that had frozen Megg in place.

“Oh, my darling,” she said, not paying Colm any notice now. “My darling, you're here.” At her feet, Sari meowed loudly, her two tails twisting against each other until they were practically knotted together.

“Who's here?” Colm asked. Was Megg having some sort of episode? “Do you need to sit back down?”

“No,” Nichol said quickly, his voice excited. “No, it's my grandad! It's him, look!” Colm looked where Nichol was pointing and, after a moment, saw a pair of glowing eyes in the water. The rest of the creature was too dark to make out.

“Are you sure?”

“I would always know him,” Megg said, throaty with emotion. “And Sari knows him. Rory, come here! Don't be shy now, darling, come here to me.” The eyes grew larger, and a moment later, the sleek dark body of a seal crawled up onto the little beach, its whiskers wiggling with excitement. Megg reached out, and the seal let her touch its head, turning to nuzzle against her palm.

“My love, it's been too long,” Megg said, and laughed. “Ahh! Be careful, those tickle! You are still a rascal, aren't you?”