Voyage of the Fox Rider (55 page)

As Rico piped the crew, Jatu himself brought a sounding line, a heavy lead bob at its end. “Captain?”

“Cast it over and let it run deep, Jatu. We will use it to gauge the grasp of the weed.”

At Jinnarin’s puzzled look, Aravan explained. “To keep the
Eroean
from being trapped, we will take the measure of the weed and stop while we are yet in safe waters, for the closer we come to the center, the thicker it becomes until it is nought but a clutching snare. I would not have us suffer the doom of others…ships unwittingly caught—storm blown, ill-captained, or ill-fated, it matters not—all have been lost.”

“Oh, Adon,” breathed Jinnarin, scanning the horizon, “a sea of lost ships.”

“Aye,” said Jatu, giving the plumb a vertical length of slack, “some call it that.” He whirled the bob ‘round a time or two and cast it hard, the cord uncoiling smoothly, the lead weight flying far to the fore and landing with a small splash.

Aylis turned to Aravan. “How far inward can we sail?”

Aravan glanced up at the Men furling the silks and turned up his palms. “I know not,
chieran
. Running only on the stay and spanker and mains and jack, mayhap a day or two; mayhap but an hour. It all depends on the weed.”

Alamar came shuffling forward. Looking up at the crew in the rigging, he said, “I see you take down silk. Slowing the ship, eh?”

Aravan nodded. “Aye. It would not do to run full tilt through these dire waters.”

Jatu drew up the sounding line. “A small amount of weed, Captain. No threat at all. We could run through such forever.”

Aravan shook his head. “Fear not, Jatu, it will change.”

“For the worse, too,” called out Bokar, the Dwarf just then coming up the steps, the rest of his warband—armed and armored—pouring onto the decks, axes and warhammers and crossbows at hand, all Dwarves moving to the ballistas to make them ready as well. Bokar eyed his warband, then turned to Aylis and Jinnarin. “But if there be some green-tentacled monster in this weed, we will be prepared.”

Another twenty-eight hours they sailed, moving steadily toward the center of the Swirl, the ship covering another one hundred sixty miles. And all the while the weed gradually thickened until the amount gathered by the plumb line at last became substantial. Aravan once again stood on the foredeck, and he finally called out, “Heave to and maintain!” and Jatu headed her up into the wind, the silks flapping lank, the bosom of the sea slowly rising and falling as of a sleeping creature softly breathing, the weed acting to smooth the waves into long, gentle swells.

Aravan turned to the Dwarves at the foredeck ballistas. “Stand ready, for we are dead in the water.”

Slowly the ship drifted, the current forming the Great Swirl carrying her deosil. “Were we north of the midline,” mused Aravan, “I deem we would run widdershins.”

“There’s a difference?” asked Jinnarin.

“Aye, Lady Jinnarin. In the north the air, storms, water…all tend to turn widdershins—against the Sun.
To the south it is just the opposite…deosil—with the Sun.—Why? I know not. Part of Adon’s plan, mayhap.”

“Oh,” said Jinnarin, peering down over the side, puzzled, seeing nought but drifting weed and pale green water, the Pysk, no closer to understanding why things north of the midline should be any different from those south. At last she said, “I suppose it’s for the same reason that the seasons are opposite, too.”

Aravan glanced at the angle of the Sun and looked at the Pysk as if to say something, but before he could comment Jinnarin turned, peering aft. “Well, it’s up to Alamar now. Where is he?”

“When last I saw, he was in the salon arguing with Bokar as to whether warriors are wanted on this task.”

“And…?”

“See for thyself. Lady Jinnarin,” answered Aravan, pointing sternward.

Bokar and Alamar came up out of the aft quarters, the armsmaster scowling, the Mage with a triumphant sneer on his face. Aylis and Jatu came after, the seeress looking exasperated, the black Man laughing. Jatu called Rico to him and gave instructions, and swiftly the bo’s’n assembled a boat crew, two Dwarves included. Leaving the others behind. Bokar came stomping toward the foredeck, muttering in his beard, only part of which Jinnarin overheard—the words “obstinate old fool” among his grumbles.

Aylis embraced her father and kissed him on the cheek, and the elder clambered into one of the newly built dinghies, which was then swung out on davits, the rowing crew entering the boat after. The dinghy was lowered, Aylis watching until it floated free, then she came forward with Jatu.

As they came onto the foredeck, “Lady Aylis,” growled Bokar, “does your sire never listen to reason?”

Before Aylis could answer, Jatu said. “Oh come, Bokar, he was right, you know.”

Bokar bristled. “Jatu, we don’t know
what
kind of creatures lurk beneath this weed.”

“Agreed,” responded Jatu. “But this we
do
know: no Child of the Sea will come to Alamar as long as one of us is about—be we Man, Dwarf, Lady Mage, Pysk, Elf, or aught else.”

“And just
how
do we
know
this?”

Aylis turned to Bokar. “We know this because my father said so.”

“Is he always correct?”

“No, Armsmaster, but he is always truthful.”

Bokar turned his face to the sea and watched as the dinghy drew farther away. “Then let us hope that he is correct as well as sincere.”

Tivir came to the foredeck bearing a tray of tea, offering it all ‘round. Aravan and Jatu each took a cup, the others declining, their eyes fixed on the now distant boat.

“Oy,” said Tivir, peering at the dinghy as well, “they tell me Maige Aliamar needs t’ be alone t’ meet th’ Children o’ the Sea. Naow, if ‘at’s so, then just ‘ow is ‘e going t’ do it, eh?”

Jatu turned to the cabin boy. “Tivir, your meaning…?”

“Just this, Mister Jatu: Oi mean, if ‘e’s got t’ be alone, then is th’ crew going t’ leap from th’ dinghy ’n’ swim back? Or is ‘e instead going t’ tread water? Wot’ll it be, eh?”

Jinnarin grinned. “Just watch, Tivir.”

Bokar growled, “I told him that he should tow a dinghy after, but did he listen? Oh no. No sitting about in a boat for him. Instead—”

“There he goes,” interjected Jatu.

While the Men and Dwarves aboard the dinghy gesticulated wildly, as if arguing with Alamar, the elder clambered over the starboard wale and walked out on the surface of the sea, as if the long, low swells were nought but dry land gradually rising and falling.

“Oh, lor!” breathed Tivir. “Naow Oi’ve seen it all, Oi ‘ave.”

With a disdainful wave of a hand, Alamar dismissed the crew of the dinghy, and they turned about and pulled oars for the
Eroean
, coming back considerably faster than they had gone.

When they had nearly reached the ship, Alamar drew up his sleeve and squatted down, immersing the wrist with the bracelet into the brine. He remained motionless for some lengthy time, then with effort stood upright again, holding his hands to the small of his back and slowly twisting and stretching.

“Oh my,” murmured Aylis, “he does so need to return to Vadaria.”

Time passed, an hour or so, the ship continuing its deosil drift as the Sun crept down the sky, and all the crew stood transfixed at the larboard rail and marvelled over the old Mage standing as he did on nought but water, the dinghy crew below marvelling as well. And on the foredeck, Aylis, Aravan, Jinnarin, Jatu, and Bokar stood watch…and slow swells passed below in the pale green sea.

At times Alamar paced in a small circle; at other times he squatted and plunged his bracelet into the brine, each time getting up more slowly.

“How long can he keep this up,
chieran?
” asked Aravan.

Aylis shook her head. “Father says that it is a simple casting. Even so, given his lack of youth, it must be draining. —Oh where are the Children of the Sea?”

Tivir brought more tea, along with slabs of bread and a new jar of Tholander honey, and this time all partook of his bounty. And still the Sun crept down toward the horizon and still the ship drifted. Until…

“Cap’n,” called down the mainmast lookout, “something moving under the weed!”

“Where away?” called Jatu.

“It’s making a run at the Mage!” the lookout cried.

“Kruk!” spat Bokar. “I
knew
that he should have warriors with him! —Stand by ballistas!” he called to the crews. “Ready to cast!”

Jinnarin’s heart hammered in her breast, and Aylis’s lips drew into a grim line.

“Hold, Bokar!” barked Aravan, the amulet at his throat emitting no chill. He called to the mainmast lookout, “Man-size or bigger?”

“There’s more than one—”

“Look! Look!” cried Jinnarin.

In a wide ring about Alamar five dolphin came leaping out of the water, gracefully arching up and over and down, splashing into the weedy brine, ripples marking the surface where they had been. Again the pod leapt, still in a ring, this time closer to the Mage.

“Oh my,” breathed Jinnarin, “how elegant.”

Aravan glanced down at her. “I deem, Lady Jinnarin, that they herald the coming of the Children of the Sea.”

Once more the dolphin arched up and over, even closer to Alamar, the splash of their entry showering the Mage. Jinnarin burst out laughing as Alamar raised a clenched fist and shook it at where the dolphin had been, though she could not hear what he was yelling.

Now in a wide ring about Alamar, the dolphin came to the surface and took up station, their sleek muzzles out of water, their curious eyes fixed upon the Mage, their high-pitched voices chattering, calling.

And then another sleek head broke through the water, and another and one more—three altogether, with flowing silver locks…

…The Children of the Sea had arrived.

Slowly the Merfolk swam to and fro, seldom pausing, maintaining a margin of four yards or so between themselves and the stranger.

Alamar gazed down at the three, with their translucent, pale jade flesh and delicate elfin features, their large, catlike light green eyes and their silvery hair spreading in the water. A bit smaller than Magekind, they were, and a long, wide, webbed fin ran down each side of their supple bodies, from shoulder to ankle, merging with their finlike feet, and a similar fin ran along the outside of each arm. All three returned the Mage’s gaze, and one—the one slightly to the fore—glanced at the drifting ship and then back at Alamar and raised a hand, his long, webbed fingers spread wide.
“¡Tklat!”