The Harvest Tide Project (24 page)

Emos soared towards the town of Rutledge-on-Coast, his fake feathers ruffling in the wind. From this height he could see the headland of Noran out to his left, just on the edge of the horizon. The air was clear and there was only a light breeze, perfect flying weather. He was in the shape of an eagle, wings outstretched and tail splayed, a form he would have been relishing if he had not been utterly exhausted.

He had stopped only twice for rest along the way, and then only long enough to hear what news there was of Braskhia and the esh. The last couple of days had turned up a series of ominous rumours. Esh-boats flying Braskhiam colours had been seen far out to esh, but no one recognised the boats or the crews. Karthar esh-boats had attacked Braskhiam vessels, but some survivors had sworn that the attacking ships had been manned not by Karthars, but by humans. Emos knew now what Namen was planning, even if he did not understand how it was possible. He knew enough to terrify him, enough to hope that Taya and Lorkrin were safe with Draegar, and to turn back for Rutledge-
on-Coast
as soon as he had heard what Cholsch had told him. He knew that Namen intended to crush both the Braskhiams and the Karthars together, and that he planned to do it using the Harvest Tide. Somehow, he had found a way to make
the esh flood the land. But for his plan to succeed, the Braskhiams and the Karthars had to be at the same place at the same time when the Harvest Tide struck.

Skirting the Braskhiam shoreline, he kept the land to his right, following its ragged edge to where Rutledge lay. Out at esh, he saw two freighters at anchor and curiosity got the better of him. It was unusual to see two such large esh-ships together. He flew nearer, and saw that they were dumping their cargo overboard. He was too far away to see what it was, but it looked like it might be crumble cones. He was reminded of the people he had seen gathering the cones under Noranian supervision, and he was suddenly sure that they were part of the plot.

Below him, he could see trawvettes pulling in their nets, and other esh-boats at full sail. It was a peaceful scene.
Rutledge
came into view and he circled above it, finally spotting the
Lightfoot
, Murris’s boat, making its way into the harbour, bringing in its catch for the day. He dived down towards it, swooping around the sails and landing heavily on the deck, breathing hard and unable to do anything else but stand wearily while the crew gathered around this curious sight of a huge eagle with a bag on its back.

Then he slunched and stood up straight, his wings
shrinking
to re-form his arms, and his legs lengthening to bring him back to his full height. His beak settled back into his
tattooed
face, restoring his normal visage, and he turned to look around him.

‘Now, that is what I call an entrance,’ Murris remarked from the door to the compressor room.

‘The Noranian Prime Ministrate means to kill you all,’ Emos said simply.

‘He’s going to have to get in line,’ Murris replied. ‘We’ve just come from out east. The entire Karthar fleet is bearing down on us. It seems we are at war.’

The Braskhiams had to get away from the coast. Emos argued frantically with Murris and others all evening as they made preparations for the town’s defence. But it was
proving
hard to convince the Braskhiams that the esh itself could be a threat to them; they knew it better than anyone after all. The armoury near the town square was opened, and men and women queued up as weapons were handed out. Murris was the leader of a group that included several engined catapults, and was organising setting them up on the docks. His wife, Berra, was sharpening short swords on an oilstone.

‘Peddar, you’ve got to listen to me,’ the Myunan pleaded. ‘Forget trying to defend the
town
; forget the town altogether. You need to get everyone out!’

‘Maybe we should listen to him, Peddar,’ Berra said
anxiously
. ‘What if he’s right? What if the Tide happened and we weren’t ready?’

‘Whatever it is you think the Noranians are up to, Emos, it will have to wait,’ Murris grunted as he loaded the harpoon gun he was holding. ‘We have more pressing concerns. My daughter and folks are at home, just beyond town. The same goes for everyone here. We’ve all got family to protect.’

‘That’s exactly what I’m talking about, by the gods,’ Emos exclaimed. ‘At least get your families as far away from the coast as possible! And make sure they get to high ground.’

Murris stared at him for a moment, then looked to his wife
and nodded. Wiping her hands on a cloth, she started moving through the defensive ranks, spreading the word that everyone not able to bear arms should flee to high ground. Emos took some comfort from that, but meanwhile every fighting-fit man and woman was gathering on the docks. Murris’s team was soon in position, and settled down to wait.

Braskhiam war machines rolled onto the quays, their crews racing to get to the port in time for the initial attack. The Braskhiams gathered and waited as night fell, some lighting fires and lanterns, and preparing food for the remainder who stood with weapons at the ready, gazing out to esh. The eshtrans moved from camp to camp, giving
purified
air to every man and woman and blessing them before the battle. All over the docks, quiet prayers could be heard.

The Karthars came at dawn. Emos had taken the chance to get some sleep finally, stretched out on the cowling of an engined catapult, and he was woken by the clatter of
weapons
being readied and bodies moving into position.

There, appearing from one end of the horizon to the other, was a fleet of fighting ships. Triangular sails drove low hulls through the gas; harpoon cannons were pressured up and loaded; soldiers stood on the decks in readiness for an invasion. The Karthars were bringing war to Braskhia. Murris gripped his harpoon gun and glared out at the oncoming esh-boats, his limbs and body trembling with adrenalin. People were running or driving in from all over the area to join the army that was forming on the dockside.

‘Curse them, damn their eyes!’ he snarled. ‘We should
have listened to the Noranians while we had the chance. We should have put them down like the dogs they are before any of this could happen.’

Emos did not say a word. Like all Braskhiams, Murris had been trained for battle, but he was no warrior. Nevertheless, the Karthars were bringing war to them, and the Myunan knew every man and woman along that line would fight like a demon to stop the invaders. They would never give up their homes.

He looked up and down the sea wall; the rows of men and women stood on the edge of the docks, and waited as the Karthar fleet approached the mouth of the harbour. Laying his tools on the bonnet of Murris’s catapult, he hurriedly began reshaping his body.

‘What are you doing?’ Murris asked, watching as the Myunan amorphed his arms into wings.

‘The Karthars are descended from cave-dwellers – bats are sacred to them. They even breed them as pets.’ Emos stretched the sides of his head into huge, convoluted ears.

‘So?’

‘So, I’m hoping that if I fly over them in the shape of a bat, they won’t shoot me out of the sky.’ He quickly finished the transformation, and, leaving his tools where they were, he struck out with his wings and took off out over the esh, heading for the approaching fleet.

The sound of the wind in a thousand sails carried like thunder, and, from above, he could see the huge snowy wake left by the spread of vessels. Spotting the lead ship by its flags, he descended slowly and cautiously towards it.
Harpoons
were raised and sighted on him, but no one fired. His tactic seemed to be paying off.

‘I have a message for the Karthar Fleetmaster!’ he cried. ‘Will he hear me out?’

There was some activity on the deck, and then a Karthar in a lavish purple uniform waved him down. Emos steeled himself for what might come, and glided gently down to the wooden boards. He placed a wing against his heart and then held it out to the Fleetmaster in the traditional Karthar
gesture
, and the Karthar returned it, but then folded his arms and waited in silence.

‘Braskhia does not want war,’ Emos said, breathing
heavily
. ‘Noran has started this, and they will finish it when Braskhiams and Karthars lie broken and dead together. Rak Ek Namen has engineered this war by attacking each side under the other’s flag, and his final stroke will be the destruction of your fleet and the Braskhiams’ homes. The Noranians have mastered the Harvest Tide and mean to bring it down on your heads.’

There was some laughter from the men around him, but the Fleetmaster silenced them.

‘Since when did the Braskhiams use
Myunans
to deliver their messages? And what a message! Do you take us for fools? Do you think you can delay us, to gain the Braskhiam scum more time to prepare? If so, you should have invented a more believable story.’

Emos stared into the Karthar’s eyes.

‘Who does this war serve? The Braskhiams will lose more than they could gain, as will the Karthars. Fishing grounds are no use if there are no men to fish them. Only the
Noranians
will win. Ask yourself why they are not here to help defend their allies. Ask yourself what would happen if the Harvest Tide broke over your fleet while it lay off the coast.
Then ask yourself why the tide is high right now … when it should be low.’

Some of the crew looked towards the shoreline as he said this, and saw that it was true. Any esher knew when the tides were, and what they saw did not sit well with what they knew. A sudden swell rushed from behind the Karthar vessels, running beneath them, lifting them gently and then rippling out ahead and up against the harbour wall.

‘Only Rak Ek Namen wants this war!’ Emos shouted to them. ‘Are you willing to die for him today?’

Answered only with a stony silence, he beat his wings hard against the air and took off, rising above the sails and making his way back towards the docks. He landed by
Murris’s
group and slunched back into his normal shape. The area was utterly quiet.

‘What did you say to them?’ Murris asked.

‘The same thing I said to you,’ Emos replied, watching the oncoming ships. ‘They don’t seem to want to listen. At least that’s one thing you all agree on.’

With their eyes fixed on the enemy, the Braskhiams did not see the fine layer of sessium well over the edge of the wall and spread like an impossibly light carpet along the ground. Emos looked down in alarm and then cast his gaze around him, but the eyes of the Braskhiams were focused on the enemy. To the disbelief of the defenders, horns sounded abruptly, and the Karthar ships began to turn about and make for the open esh. People started to mutter among themselves. No one could understand why the enemy would come so close only to retreat again. Murris shifted his weight uneasily and wiped the sweat from his hands before replacing his grip on his harpoon gun. Emos grabbed his wrist.

‘Peddar! Open your eyes, man.’

The Braskhiam glanced down; he was up to his ankles in esh. He froze. It was not the season for Harvest Tide. And even if it were, he had never seen the esh rise like this. This was something else. He called to those around him and pointed out to the sea of gas.