Читать книгу Stormtide - Den Patrick - Страница 7

It was just before dawn; a prelude to the sun lay across the horizon like shimmering gold. The few clouds that scudded across the sky were a spectral white, travelling over a sea of deep and majestic blue. Steiner stood at the prow of the Watcher’s Wait in awe, adoring every second of the early morning. Cinderfell, his home of eighteen years, had always existed under a pall of permanent grey cloud. The winters promised grey snow and the spring gritty rain. There were few places more bleak in all of Nordvlast, few places more grim in the whole of Vinterkveld. But not so today. They were many leagues from Cinderfell and the dark red frigate sailed ever further south. Steiner basked under the blue skies, savouring the briny tang of the sea with every league travelled.

‘How far south are we?’ said a woman’s voice behind him.

‘Hoy there.’

‘Hoy there yourself,’ replied Kristofine. He’d left her sleeping below decks so he could enact his new morning ritual of greeting the sun. Kristofine drew close and her arms encircled his waist. She pressed her nose against his neck and made a small, contented noise. Steiner slipped an arm around her waist in return and gave thanks to Frøya that he was free.

‘How did you sleep?’ he asked. She made a face.

‘You’re all elbows and knees and you move around in your sleep. If I didn’t know better I’d say you’re still trying to escape from the island.’

‘No double beds on a ship like this.’

‘But very thin walls,’ she replied, wrinkling her nose. ‘Where are we today?’

‘We’re down by Svingettevei, I think,’ he replied. ‘Romola said we’d have to put in at Virag for supplies.’ He kissed the top of her head and looked out to sea once more. The gilt on the horizon took shape and became a sliver then a soft curve of brilliant gold. The sky took on all the colours of the forge, fading to indigo and darker still where the night persisted on the opposite horizon.

‘I’m surprised the food lasted this long,’ said Kristofine.

Steiner ran a hand across his scalp. His hair, singed and burned away to nothing during his incarceration on Vladibogdan, had started to grow back. There was hard stubble on his jaw and the many scars across his face and arms were less livid against his pale skin.

‘I’ll be glad to get my feet on dry land after three weeks aboard,’ he said. ‘And I doubt I’m the only one.’

‘It’s so quiet,’ said Kristofine after a pause. Steiner nodded and smiled. The ship’s timbers creaked or groaned occasionally, and the waves met the hull with a hushed susurrus. Even the gulls, normally so raucous and loud, flew silently as if in reverence for the coming day.

‘That’s why I’ve started to come up here each morning,’ said Steiner. ‘To give thanks for my life and everything in it.’ He squeezed Kristofine tighter and her smile broadened.

‘You? Giving thanks to the goddesses?’

‘Don’t tell Kjellrunn or I’ll never hear the last of it.’

Romola appeared on deck and approached the prow.

‘Strange to see young lovers aboard my ship,’ said the captain. ‘Usually it’s stolen cargo and dried-out jetsam, right.’

The sometime-pirate, sometime-storyweaver wore her usual attire of a deerskin jerkin with matching knee-length boots. Her wrists were encircled by all manner of copper hoops, bright with verdigris, bangles of shining jet and polished ivory. Steiner wondered if all pirate captains were so flamboyant.

‘How are you this morning?’ asked Kristofine.

‘Concerned would be the word for it.’ Romola eyed the horizon.

‘Is Virag so terrible?’ asked Steiner.

‘No telling what we’ll find there,’ said the captain. Romola didn’t look at either of them, peering out to sea as if she might discern some clue of what awaited them once they went ashore.

‘We just need food,’ said Steiner. ‘We don’t have to stop for long.’

‘Clearly you’ve never restocked a ship’s stores,’ replied Romola, raising an eyebrow.

‘I overheard some of the novices talking last night,’ said Kristofine. Around two dozen novices had come with them from the academies of Vladibogdan, all students of the arcane. The Empire permitted children with witchsign to live only on the understanding that they would one day become Vigilants for its Holy Synod. The escaped children would be hunted to the very ends of Vinterkveld.

‘Some of the older children are talking about leaving,’ said Romola. ‘They want to find their way back to their families.’ The captain shook her head. ‘I can’t imagine that will work out well, but they won’t be told otherwise.’

‘But that’s not what’s bothering you,’ said Steiner.

‘When those children are caught the Empire will squeeze answers out of them, one way or another. And those answers will point back to me and my crew.’ Romola sighed. ‘But I can hardly keep them prisoner on my ship, can I?’

‘Tell me about Virag,’ said Steiner, keen to change the subject. He had no solution for Romola’s problem and felt an uncomfortable pang of responsibility hearing her mention her crew and the novices.

‘Virag is the capital city of Svingettevei. They’ve always maintained a more flexible relationship with the Empire than the other Scorched Republics. Officially there isn’t a garrison there but …’

‘There won’t be any troops,’ said Steiner. ‘Imperial troops only visit the Scorched Republics during an Invigilation.’

Romola rolled her eyes and nudged Kristofine. ‘A few months on Vladibogdan and he’s an expert on the Empire.’

Steiner had the good grace to cough and feel embarrassed. ‘Sorry.’ The Scorched Republics clung to their sovereignty by the tiniest of margins, acquiescing to as few of the Empire’s demands as they dared.

‘Why don’t some of you go ashore before everyone else?’ said Kristofine. ‘That way you can scout ahead and see what’s waiting for us.’

‘She talks a lot of sense,’ said Romola. ‘You should make an honest woman of her, Steiner.’

Steiner smiled and felt the heat of a blush at his cheeks. He squeezed Kristofine’s waist with one wiry arm. ‘All in good time. There’s a few things I need to do first.’

‘Care to tell me what you’re planning?’ said Romola. ‘I’m not keen on surprises.’

‘I’ve had three weeks aboard this ship to think about my next move. I still can’t believe I’m free to be honest—’

‘The plan?’ pressed Romola.

‘Right. The plan. Well, I guess I’ll pick a fight with the Empire when I can and hide when I have to. Little by little word will get around, and maybe others will decide to pick a fight too.’

‘And you need to tell people about Vladibogdan,’ said Kristofine with a shy look. ‘About how the Empire is taking children and pressing them into service.’

Steiner nodded. ‘Of course, but my talents lie in fighting, not talking, so the raids will take precedence. Word will spread from there.’ Steiner was hoping for some words of encouragement from the pirate but his plan was met with silence, the only sound the lapping of sea against boat.

‘Is that it?’ said Romola finally, an incredulous look on her face. ‘You’re going to pick a series of fights and hope you don’t get outnumbered or unlucky? And that will inspire your uprising?’

‘Others will join me, I’m sure of it.’ Though he could hear the uncertainty in his own words. ‘And I’ll find Felgenhauer. Father and I will stand a better chance with Felgenhauer by our side.’

‘Right,’ said Romola with a slow nod and a concerned look in her eye.

Steiner spent an hour whittling driftwood and chatting to Kristofine on deck. They had rarely left each other’s side since he’d escaped Vladibogdan. They talked about everything, heads bowed close together in conversation, their voices low. They shared the details of their time apart and Steiner placed kisses on her cheek or neck when no one was looking. He found himself lost to long seconds of gazing, learning the shape of her, every gesture and expression.

‘It will be good to eat something other than ship’s rations,’ she said, leaning against the gunwale looking towards the coastline where Virag waited for them.

‘Can’t say I care too much for any more fish stew or ship’s biscuit,’ replied Steiner.

She smiled. ‘Perhaps we could find a room at an inn and have a little privacy of a night-time …’ The ship was more crowded than anyone liked to admit. It was hard to find a moment’s peace amid snoring, chatting, arguing, or defecating.

‘Privacy?’ Steiner raised an eyebrow and nodded as a slow smile crossed his face. ‘That sounds very fine. Think I’m long overdue for some privacy.’

The call went up from the crow’s nest that land had been sighted and the ship came alive with people from below decks. Steiner watched them all arrive from the prow of the blood-red frigate. A gang of novices arrived on deck first, seven in number and no older than thirteen summers. Their faces were bright with excitement, and a babble of questions and speculation filled the air. The last few weeks had put some meat on the children’s bones but they still resembled windswept scarecrows. Steiner wondered if their families missed them, or if their loved ones were ashamed to have had the stain of witchsign sully their history.

‘What’s troubling you?’ asked Kristofine, noting the frown on his brow.

‘Just wondering what welcome those children will get when they return home. If any.’

‘It’s not just the parents that are a worry, either.’ Kristofine turned her eyes back to the water. ‘The whole town takes against you.’

Marek emerged from his cabin and made his way across the deck to catch his son in a rough embrace. Steiner returned it with fierce smile.

‘We’ve been on this ship for three weeks now,’ said the blacksmith. He took a step back and took in the sight of his son once more. ‘And every morning I can’t quite believe we got you back.’

Steiner looked at his father’s scarred hands, so much like his own, with burns and blemishes stark against the pale skin.

‘There’s a lot that’s hard to believe about the last few months,’ agreed Steiner. ‘Best not to question it. Just be grateful.’

Marek laughed and raised his eyebrows at Kristofine. ‘Seems my son is growing up to be a warrior philosopher.’

‘Philosophy is fine,’ said Kristofine. ‘It’s the warrior part that bothers me. I’d rather he didn’t rush off and get himself killed. I have need of him.’

‘I think he’ll be yours for a good while yet,’ said Marek. ‘But for now it’s for the best you stay with Kjellrunn once we take to the road.’

Kristofine narrowed her eyes but said nothing and Marek failed to notice her silent disagreement as Kimi Enkhtuya arrived on deck. Marozvolk followed close behind. She still wore her Vigilant’s garb, but had eschewed the snarling wolf-faced mask. The two women of Yamal were distinguished by their dark skin and tightly plaited hair – so different to most of the pale-skinned crew and the many novices. Kimi eyed Steiner across the throng of bodies and nodded, but no expression crossed her face. She did not approach and Steiner felt the distance between them keenly. Kimi held hands with little Maxim, leading the boy to a place at the railing where they might watch Svingettevei slide into view. He was olive-skinned and might have passed for Spriggani at first glance, but a profusion of dark curls hinted at a Shanisrond heritage. Steiner felt a pang of something. Jealousy perhaps? Maxim and Steiner had kept an eye out for one another on Vladibogdan but now the boy had fallen in with the Yamali princess. Steiner couldn’t say he blamed him. There was a soft buzz of excitement from prow to stern as everyone waited to catch their first glimpse of Virag.

‘How are things between you and her highness?’ asked Marek quietly, shooting a concerned look at Kimi.

‘I think she’s avoiding me.’ Steiner turned away and looked across the sea. ‘She took a big risk in giving me the Ashen Torment. It must be a hard decision to live with.’ Steiner released a long sigh.

‘Hard to imagine such an artefact could exist,’ said Marek. ‘Hard to believe in a simple carving with all that power to bind the spirits of the dead.’

‘And command them,’ added Steiner, his voice a whisper. Kristofine squeezed his hand.

‘You did the right thing when you destroyed it.’ Kristofine had been full of questions about Vladibogdan, of course. Telling her about the Ashen Torment had been difficult. He’d woken in the middle of the night more than once in the last three weeks, haunted by the remnants of a dream. It was always the same. He had not escaped the battle in Academy Square but had died instead, becoming a cinderwraith bound to the island, bound to toil in service to the Empire for all eternity as the Vigilants watched over him from behind their masks. Steiner blinked away the nightmare and turned his eyes towards Kimi.

‘I promised her I’d find a way to stop the Empire harming the Yamali people, but I’m just one man and that promise is a far heavier weight than I ever thought.’

‘We’ll figure something out,’ replied Kristofine.

‘That we will,’ agreed Marek. ‘I’m all done with a life lived quietly. It’s time to take the fight to the Empire.’

The ship edged ever closer to the white and jagged cliffs of Svingettevei. Every league they sailed brought wider smiles and greater laughter.

‘Here he is,’ announced a gravelly voice from behind them. ‘The dragon rider of Nordvlast, if you can believe such a thing!’ Tief clapped Steiner on the shoulder and nodded to Kristofine and Marek. Tief was a Spriggani in his forties, his dark hair touched with grey. He wore patched trousers with a threadbare smock. A thick strap of leather crossed his body from shoulder to hip, festooned with tools and knives.

‘The dragon riding was a one-time thing,’ replied Steiner with a laugh. ‘And I’m glad to keep it that way.’

Sundra and Taiga joined them on deck moments after Tief’s arrival. The women spent a few moments greeting Marek and Kristofine warmly, which is to say Taiga was warm while Sundra merely greeted them. No one could accuse the high priestess of Frejna of being overly friendly. Sundra was attired in her usual black, the colours of her priesthood, while Taiga wore her customary green. Tief set about fixing his pipe for a smoke and Steiner felt a pleasant rush of relief that his friends had escaped their fate on Vladibogdan.

‘Do the bones still whisper my name?’ Steiner asked the high priestess, a small smile on his lips. Sundra looked at him from the corner of her eye and pursed her lips.

‘I have not communed with my goddess of late,’ she said. ‘And you would do well not to mock my methods of divination.’

‘I didn’t mean to mock,’ replied Steiner. ‘But if the goddess or her high priestess have any advice in the coming weeks …’ He let the request go unspoken, afraid he might reveal just how daunting he found the endeavour.

‘You’re a good boy, Steiner.’ Sundra’s usual severe demeanour softened and she patted him on the shoulder. ‘Not a Spriggani boy but no one is perfect.’ Steiner chuckled and ran a calloused palm over the long stubble on his jaw.

‘I’ve not been a child for a while now.’

‘You all look like children from where I stand,’ replied Sundra. There was a quietness to her words that almost hid the pang of sadness. Steiner was suddenly aware of the high priestess’s papery skin. The usual olive hue, so common to the Spriggani people, carried a hint of grey that had nothing to do with the forges of Vladibogdan. Her hair was run through with strands of dull silver, while her eyes, usually so quick and piercing, were heavy-lidded with a great weariness. Steiner offered her his arm.

‘The sooner we get you back on land the better.’

‘You’ll get no complaints from me,’ said Sundra, linking her arm with his. ‘Though I’d prefer Shanisrond to Svingettevei. Or Yamal for that matter.’

‘I’ll speak to the captain,’ replied Steiner. He cast his eye across the deck, over pirates and novices, pale-skinned and dark. It was hard to imagine where such a disparate gathering might settle in peace, if such a thing could be found.