Voyage of the Fox Rider (37 page)

“Four hours,” gritted Aravan. “Again we are late.”

“But on the right course,” said Jinnarin, pointing easterly. “It was nearly straight ahead.”

Aravan sank into thought. Finally he turned to Jatu and Frizian. “Cut through the position where fell the plume, but maintain our course and sail on past if nought is seen. I deem that we can reach the expanse
where the next one will fall ere the Sun sets on the morrow.”

Aye, Captain
, they each replied.

But a coldness clutched at Jinnarin’s heart, for throughout her mind echoed the bodeful thought,
Fourth time is harm…is harm…harm
…

At four in the morning on the twenty-first of December the
Eroean
sliced through empty chill waters where Alamar had judged the third plume had fallen, and neither lookouts nor deck watch saw aught. And not slowing at all the Elvenship sailed on easterly, running before the steady winter wind. Thirteen knots and fourteen was her speed, and leagues of cold ocean slid under her keel as the day drew on, dawn arriving at last, the low winter Sun rising later and later as Year’s Long Night approached.

Jinnarin and Aylis and Alamar took to their quarters, for in a bare nine hours the Sun would set, and they needed sleep.

Jinnarin found Rux curled up in her under-bunk cabin, and she spent some time grooming him and speaking softly, for she felt as if she had neglected him of late, though it was not so. Nevertheless she used a small comb to groom his cheeks and chest and the tip of his tail—in those places where his fur was white. And then she curled up at his side and promptly went to sleep.

Alamar came into his cabin and fell into his bunk, and shortly his snores filled the chamber. A partially full bottle of brandy sat untouched on the writing desk, the elder completely uninterested in drinking, now that he was engaged in the chasing of plumes.

Aylis and Aravan lay side by side, the Elf clasping the Lady Mage. And when she slipped into slumber, carefully he disengaged his arm from around her and softly slid from bed. He sat on the floor with his back against a bulkhead, resting his mind in gentle memories, meditating deeply…as Elves are wont to do.

Yet Aravan had been resting but an hour or so when a loud knocking came on his stateroom door. After a moment and another knock, Aravan roused. He stood and glanced at Aylis, the seeress sound asleep. Stepping to the door, he found Frizian standing outside.

“Captain, the Sun. ‘Tis being eaten by the Moon.”

“Ah me, Frizian, I had forgotten. An occultation will come this day. I will speak to the crew.”

All day the gloom grew as the Moon slowly crept across the Sun, steadily blocking out the light, while in the darkening skies above glimmered faint traces of the aurora. Protecting their eyes, sailors and warriors only occasionally glanced at the spectacle, and then but briefly. And they muttered to one another in low voices and timorous whispers, for no matter the fact that Captain Aravan had spoken to them, and no matter the fact that they knew the cause, still, old tales and superstitions hang on grimly to the hearts of Men and Dwarves alike. And every Man and Châk among them looked upon this occultation as an ill-starred omen.

Alamar arose just after the noon hour and railed at the sky that no one had thought to awaken him, for his passion was the study of the heavens, and now a full half of the Sun was obscured and he’d missed all to this point. It was Aylis, however, who reminded him that he, too, had forgotten the significance of this date.

Steadily the eclipse deepened, and was at its fullest less than an hour ere sunset, though still a sliver of the Sun showed. “Were we at my cottage on Rwn, we’d have seen the whole of it for there the Moon has eaten all.”

But Jinnarin looked at the darkness with disquiet in her heart, for her thoughts kept repeating,
Fourth time is harm…Fourth time is harm
.

“Keep her under constant sail, Frizian,” ordered Aravan. “Run her about a tight, closed course. I would have us lose no time and already be in motion when the next plume comes down.”

Frizian glanced back at the slender limb of the setting Sun, yet obscured by the Moon. “Aye, Captain. We’ll be under all silk when the next plume falls. We may be going the wrong way at that moment, but if we are, we’ll bring her about straightaway and leave wake aft.”

“We’ll run it down, whatever it be, Captain,” added Hegen. “It’ll not get away from us this time, will-o’-the-wisp or no.”

The ecliptic penumbra slid into night as the Moon-obscured Sun finally set, and the ship began running a triangular course, cutting through the same waters again and again.

Hours passed, and still the ship continued orbiting about, the crew haling on the sheets to bring her onto the same repeated headings over and again.

“Lor,” said Artus, “I thought it was bad running all day beneath a disappearing Sun, but it’s even worse sailing the same course over and over. Why, I say it’s just like being on a ghost ship sailing to nowhere.”

“Ooo,”
shuddered Lobbie, “don’t say that. It’s bad enough that we’re runnin’ under these ghostly lights in the sky above wi’out you pronouncing a ghostly doom on us all down here as well.”

Reydeau’s piping broke up their conversation, and they moved to hale on the lines and bring the ship about once more.

“Argh!” growled Bokar among his armed and armored warriors. “I feel as if we are chasing our own tails.”

Beside him Dokan nodded and inspected the blunt face of his warhammer. “Just give me something to fight, Armsmaster. Pirates, Grg, even a Madûk—it doesn’t matter which.”

“Aye,” added Dask. “We’ve been too long without action, chasing will-o’-the-wisps.”

Bokar nodded and thumbed the edge of his axe. “Mayhap tonight, Châkka. Mayhap tonight.”

Still the ship ran its tight course, another hour or so, and then Jinnarin called out, “Overhead. Aravan! Overhead! A plume! A great plume! —Oh, Adon, it’s going to hit us!”

Aravan looked up, the plume plunging down, and even his Elven eyes could see it, it was so close, the luminous streamer flowing toward the
Eroean
. Huge it was, and palely lucent, pouring down from above, yet roaring as would a vast fire, it hurtled on past them and aft. Even the Men and Dwarves, though they did not see it, knew that something immense raced by, for hair stood on end and the rigging glowed, and witchfire raced along the yardarms and masts, and there was a great bellowing in the sky. Above the ship the streamer arced
past, racing aft to strike the ocean just over the near horizon.

“Bring her about starboard, Reydeau,” called Aravan, but the bo’s’n seemed frozen in awe.

“Reydeau!” barked Aravan. “I said bring her about.”

Reydeau shook his head as if regaining awareness. “Aye, Captain,” he said at last, and he raised his pipe to his lips, a series of piercing whistles relaying the commands.

Even so, still the Men moved cautiously, as if afraid to touch the sheets, for they yet glimmered here and there with the glow of spectral fire. But Bokar raged across the deck, shouting, “Be you a bunch of superstitious poltroons? Take hold those lines and bring her about!”

Spurred into action by the warrior, at last the Men sprang to the sheets and haled the yardarms ‘round, bringing the ship to a southerly course, Hegen spinning the wheel hard over. Slowly the
Eroean
turned deosil, the wind aiding in swinging her from the northerly course through the east and toward the south.

“Alamar!” called Aravan. “To me!”

The eld Mage came aft to where Aravan stood. “How far?” asked the Elf.

“No more than ten miles. Mayhap less.”

“Even mine eyes saw it this time, Alamar, and I would say thou art right.”

Aravan turned to Frizian. “Our speed on this course, give me a mark as soon as able.”

As the Elvenship steadied up on the southerly course, Frizian and Artus let out the knot line, the sand running through the glass. “Eleven knots, just under, Captain,” called Frizian.

“Damn!” cursed Aravan. “Nearly an hour away.”

On ran the
Eroean
, gaining no speed, aiming for where the plume landed. And in the bow stood Jinnarin and Aylis, peering forward through the starlight.

Southerly they raced, and as they drew nigh—“Look sharp,” called Aravan.

Jatu rumbled, “Would that there were a full Moon above, then mayhap we could see something.”

“Fear not,” said Aravan. “Lady Jinnarin stands in the bow. Lady Aylis as well, with her magesight. Mine own
eyes are sufficient to see by starlight. And the Drimma see well in the night. Between the lot of us, we should espy whatever there might be.”

“Aye, Captain, but the Men aboard would like to see as well.”

“Hola, Captain,” came Bokar’s shout from the bow, “Lady Jinnarin sees something bobbing about in the waters ahead.”

“Where away, Bokar?”

“A point or two off the starboard.”

“Run for it, Hegen.”

“Aye, Captain,” responded the steersman, turning the wheel a bit.

A minute or so later Bokar shouted, “Someone is in the water. Dead ahead.”

Aravan’s gaze swept to the horizon all about. “I see nought in the way of threat. Wear her around the wind and luff her up, Reydeau. Jatu, ready a gig. We’ll take him aboard, whoever it is.”

“Stand ready at the ballistas,” called Bokar when the Dwarf heard the piped signals. It is questionable whether the Dwarven warriors needed the command for they already crewed the missile casters.

“He’s not swimming, Captain,” called Bokar. “Just bobbing about.”

“Take him up regardless, Jatu,” ordered Aravan.

Swiftly the gig was lowered, and Jatu and five others clambered aboard, two Dwarven warriors among them to act as eyes and to provide arms should combat be called for.

Aravan watched as the gig rowed out, and then came Jatu’s voice calling across the water. “He’s dead, Captain.”

They fished the naked body from the icy brine, the gig returning to the ship. Jinnarin and Aylis and Alamar joined Aravan as a litter was davit-lowered and the corpse laded and brought aboard.

“Oh, Adon,” gasped Aylis when she saw the cadaver, for it was the horribly mutilated remains of a Man: he had been eviscerated, his eyes were gouged out, some fingers were missing, his privates were torn loose, and his arms and legs flopped unnaturally, as if the bones
within were broken, and he was slashed with hideous burns.

Horrified, Jinnarin turned her head aside. “What did this?”

Tink looked. “Shark?”

“Nay, lad,” growled Bokar, “neither shark nor other fish. The evil that did this does not swim in the sea, but walks about on two legs instead.”

“I am the seer,” said Aylis, kneeling at the dead Man’s side. She laid her hands on the mangled corpse and closed her eyes and murmured,
“Percipe praeteritum.”
Suddenly her face blanched, and she gasped, “The pain. Oh, the pain.” Her breath came in great gulps, and she wrenched back and forth, as if she were trying to break loose but could not, and she wept in agony.

Aravan leapt forward and pulled her away, Aylis swooning in his grasp.

Now Alamar bent down and laid hands on the corpse.
“Quis?”
he demanded. His face went white and filled with rage, and with venom in his voice he hissed, “Durlok!”