Catechist - A Triumph Of Souls Part 2

"Here's your wind, sailors! You think yourselves masters of the sea and all that's above and below it-but I, Crice, command the air!" He held the gla.s.s container a little higher. "Here in this bottle I have all the wind that covers this portion of the sea. Found it at the bottom of a chest in a ruined s.h.i.+p. Must have been a thousand years old, she was, and reeking of magic fantastic and decayed. But the stopper on this bottle was intact, and I, yes I, discovered by myself how to open and close it. I let a little out when I need it and keep the rest shut up when I don't." He gestured at the perfectly flat, motionless water on which both craft floated. "That way I can see the fish I seek as clearly as if looking through a window. When I have enough, I let out just the right amount of wind in precisely the appropriate direction to carry me home."

"No wonder he's not afraid to travel out of sight of land," Simna whispered. His hand tightened a little on the Captain's waist.

"Not if he can control all the wind in this part of the ocean, no." Pressing forward against the railing, Stanager raised her voice. "Ayesh, fisherman, can you not let us have back a little of that wind?"

"Every s.h.i.+p must find its own," he reiterated implacably. "And if I give some to you, that will mean less for my sail. How much do you think a bottle like this can hold, anyway? I found the bottle, I captured the wind, and now it's mine! Seek out your own breezes."

Sitting back down in the stern, he pointed the neck of the bottle toward his mast. Slowly and very carefully, he unscrewed the pewter stopper just a little.

Emerging from the gla.s.s alembic, a gust of wind immediately filled his small sail, sending its thrusting curve billowing outward. Seeing this, several sailors on board theGromsketter looked to their own masts, only to see their own sails luffing uselessly against spar and line. Yet to look at the little boat was to see it beginning to accelerate with a freshening breeze astern. Except no breeze advanced from the vicinity of the stern. It had emerged straight from the bottle that the fisherman was now firmly restoppering.

"Etjole, do something!" Simna blurted anxiously. At the same time, Stanager became aware of the arm coiled around her waist and stepped away. Her expression was a mixture of anger and-something else.

"If he gets away with all the wind from this part of the sea we could be stuck here for weeks!"

"I know." Ehomba had not taken his eyes from the little boat heavily laden with fish and its contrary master. "I need a stone."

"A stone?" Simna knew better than to question his companion. If Ehomba had declared that he needed a purple pig, the swordsman would have done his best to find one.

Actually, on board a s.h.i.+p the size of theGromsketter, finding the pig might have been the easier task. Of all the lands they had journeyed through together, of all the astounding places they had visited and countries they had traversed, here was the first that was devoid of stones, and here the first time Ehomba had required one.

"Ballast!" the swordsman yelped. "There must be ballast in the hold!"

Stanager was quick to disappoint him. "We carry base metals. Ingots of iron and copper that we can trade with the inhabitants of the towns on the other side of the Semordria. You'll find no rock in the belly of theGromsketter. "

"Well then, there must be at least one stone somewhere on this s.h.i.+p! Firestone in the galley, to protect her wooden walls."

The Captain shook her head sadly. "Firebrick."

"In someone's sea chest, then. A memento of home, a worry stone, anything! If Ehomba says that he needs a stone, that means he needs-" Simna broke off, gaping at his tall friend.

Reaching into a pocket of his kilt, the herdsman had removed the small cotton sack of "beach pebbles"

he had carried with him all the way from his home village. As Simna looked on, Ehomba selected the largest remaining, a flawless five-carat diamond of deeper blue hue than the surrounding sea, and shoved the remaining stones back in his pocket.

"No, long bruther." The swordsman gestured frantically. "Not that. We'll find you a rock. There's got to be a rock somewhere on this barge; an ordinary, everyday, commonplace, worthless rock. Whatever it is you're thinking of doing-don't."

The herdsman smiled apologetically at his friend. In his hand he held a stone worth more than the swordsman could hope to earn in a lifetime. In two lifetimes. And somehow, Simna knew his friend was not planning to convert it into ready currency.

"Sorry, my friend. There is no time." Pivoting, he returned his gaze to the little boat, now starting to pick up speed beneath the press of the freed breeze its sail had captured. "Soon he will be out of range."

"I don't care what-" the swordsman halted in midcomplaint. "Out of range? Out of range of what?"

"Rocks," Ehomba explained simply-so simply that it was not an explanation at all, but only another puzzlement. Raising his voice, he directed his words to the retreating fisherman. "Truly you are the master of winds! But you must control them through spells and magicks. No mere bottle that fits in a man's lap can contain more than the air that Nature has already placed inside."

"You think not, do you?" The fisherman turned in his seat, one arm resting easily on the tiller. "You'd be surprised, traveler, what a bottle can hold."

"Not a bottle that small," Ehomba yelled back. "I wager it is not even made of gla.s.s, but some marvel of the alchemist's art instead!"

"Oh, it's gla.s.s, all right. Alchemist's gla.s.s perhaps, but gla.s.s incontestably. See?" Holding the bottle aloft and grinning, he tapped the side with a small marlinspike. The smooth, slightly greenish material clinked sharply.

As soon as the fisherman had begun to lift the bottle, Ehomba had placed the blue diamond in his mouth.

At first a startled Simna suspected that the herdsman intended to swallow it, though for what purpose or reason he could not imagine. Not knowing what to think, Stanager had simply looked on in silence.

That was when Ehomba began to inhale. Simna ibn Sind had seen his friend inhale like that only once before, when on the Sea of Aboqua he had consumed an entire eromakadi. But there was no darkness here, no ominous roiling haze with luminous red eyes, not even a stray storm cloud. The sky, like the air, was transparent.

The herdsman's chest expanded-and expanded, and swelled, until it seemed certain he would burst.

Those members of the crew close enough to see what was happening gawked open-mouthed at the phenomenon of the distending herdsman while Stanager, brave as she was, began to back away from that which she could not explain and did not understand. Hunkapa Aub looked up in dumb fascination while Ahlitah, as usual, slept on, oblivious to what was happening around him.

Just when it seemed that the skin of the herdsman's chest must surely rupture, exploding his internal organs all over the deck and railing, he exhaled. To say explosively would be to do injustice to the sound that emerged from his chest and mouth. It reverberated like gunpowder, echoing across not only the deck but the sea as well. The force of it blew its perpetrator backwards, lifting Ehomba's feet off the deck and sending him cras.h.i.+ng into the smaller railing that delimited the fore edge of the helm deck.

Hunkapa ran over to make sure the herdsman was all right.

As for Simna, he remained at the railing, realizing that Ehomba had expelled more than just air. There had been one other thing in his mouth, and it was not his tongue that had been violently discharged across the water.

In the little boat, the disdainful fisherman was preparing to tap his bottle a second time with the metal marlinspike to demonstrate the qualities of its composition when the ejected diamond struck it squarely in the middle, shattering the gla.s.s and sending green-tinted shards flying in all directions. The fisherman had barely an instant to gape at the ruined container, its neck and stopper still clutched tightly in one hand, before the winds it had held burst to freedom.

All the winds that had swept a section of sea greater than a man could see in any direction, and all of it released at once.

"Etjole, you right still?" The s.h.a.ggy countenance of Hunkapa Aub was leaning low over his lanky friend.

Ehomba sat, dazed but conscious, against the railing.

"I am ..." he started to reply. Then a sound reached his ears-a rising sound-and he yelled out even as he wrapped his arms tightly around the nearest post. "Grab something and hang on! Everybody grab someth-"

The liberated winds struck theGromsketter amids.h.i.+ps, howling like a thousand crazed goblins suddenly released from an asylum for insane spirits as they tore through the masts and rigging. Struck hard enough to cause the st.u.r.dy vessel to heel sharply to starboard. For a terrifying moment, in the midst of that awesome roar, Stanager was afraid the s.h.i.+p was going to turn turtle. Her list reached seventy degrees.

But as the initial blast began to subside, the ballast in her hold a.s.serted itself. With maddening slowness, she began to roll back onto an even keel.

Clinging to the rigging, her skin and clothing soaked with gale-driven spray, the Captain screamed orders to the crew. Stays were drawn taut, the mainsail boom secured, the wheel steadied. Somehow, the sails held. Working his way aft, Terious Kermarkh silently blessed a succession of unnamed sailmakers.

Tough fabric caught the wind and contained it.

But with demented gusts blowing from every direction, the sails kept wrapping themselves around the masts, making it impossible for the s.h.i.+p to maintain a heading, any heading. In the teeth of the disordered, chaotic gale there was no choosing a course.

Terious fought his way to within shouting distance of the helm deck. Standing below, he yelled up to the wheel. "Captain, we've got to get out of this! We're starting to take on water!"

"Keep the fores'l reefed, Mr. Kermarkh! All hands hold to stations!" Maintaining a firm grip on a storm line, her experienced sea legs absorbing the impact of every pitch and roll, she staggered over to where Hunkapa Aub and Simna ibn Sind hovered solicitously over their tall friend. Awakened from his sleep by the sudden, unexpected storm, the black litah stood nearby. The heaving, pitching deck did not concern him, not with four sets of powerful claws at his disposal to dig into the wood.

"Mr. Ehomba, you've taken us from the doldrums to the roaring forties, from not a ghost of a breeze to all the winds of the four corners of the compa.s.s. But they've been let loose all together and all at once, and as a consequence blow from all directions unaligned. You got us into this, now you have to get us out, or we'll sit here and spin like a top until we sink!"

Still dazed from the blow to the back of his head, Ehomba accepted the help of his friends to rise. Simna helped him up. Once erect, Hunkapa embraced him in an immovable grasp that held him steady.

Observing the anarchic weather that had enveloped theGromsketter, Ehomba thanked his friends and told Hunkapa to release him. The broad-shouldered man-beast complied reluctantly. All kept a wary watch on the herdsman as he half climbed, half slid down the steps that led to the main deck and disappeared below. Moments later he emerged with the sky-metal sword gripped tightly in one hand.

Simna eyed him uncertainly. Along with everyone else, he had to shout to make himself heard above the howl of clas.h.i.+ng winds. "Hoy, long bruther, what do you want with that? We need less wind, not more of it!"

"Not less, Simna." Ehomba wiped perspiration from his eyes and forehead. "What we have is what we need. It only wants some guidance."

Climbing back onto the helm deck, he made his way to the stern railing. There he tried to a.s.sume a solid stance, but the pitching and rolling of the s.h.i.+p made it impossible. Without using at least one hand to grip a stay or line, he kept stumbling from side to side, forward or back. Leaning against the railing helped a little, but when the bow of theGromsketter rose sharply, the motion threatened to pitch him over the side.

"This is not working," he declared aloud.

"I can see that, bruther!" Spitting seawater, Simna clung to the railing next to him. "What do you need?

What do you want?" Spume-flecked wind shrieked in their ears.

"My feet nailed to the deck, but that could cause problems later." Grimly searching the s.h.i.+p, the herdsman espied the big cat standing foursquare and four-footed to the left of the helm, as stable as the mainmast. "Ahlitah! I need your help!"

"What now?" Grumbling, the cat released its grip on the battered teak and turned. His extended claws held the decking as firmly as crampons on a glacier.

"I need someone to brace me," Ehomba told him. "Can you do it?"

The big cat considered, yellow eyes glowing like lamps in the darkness of the rising storm. When lightning flashed, it was the same color as the master of the veldt's pupils. "It'll be awkward. My forelegs are not arms."

Ehomba pondered, then shouted again. "Hunkapa! Brace yourself against Ahlitah and hold me! Hold me as high up as you can!"

"Yes, Etjole! Hunkapa do!"

The litah set itself immovably against the back railing, the claws of each paw nailing themselves to the deck. Then Hunkapa Aub stepped across the cat's back and straddled him, locking his s.h.a.ggy ankles beneath the feline belly. With Hunkapa thus anch.o.r.ed to the litah, and Ahlitah fastened firmly to the deck, Hunkapa put huge, hirsute hands around the herdsman's waist and lifted him skyward. TheGromsketter rocked in the wind and waves, she rolled and pitched, but on her helm deck the unlikely pyramid of cat, man-beast, and herdsman rode rigid and straight.

Holding the haft of the sky-metal sword in both hands, Ehomba raised the otherworldly blade skyward, lifting it into the storm. When the flat, etched blade began to glow an impossibly deep, spectral blue, Simna immediately sought cover from something that he knew was more powerful than the conflicted storm itself.

A gust struck the pulsating glow-and bounced off, shearing away to the west. A complete concentrated squall bore down on Ehomba, only to find itself shattered into a thousand timid zephyrs.

Swinging the great blade, secure in Hunkapa Aub's powerful grasp, Ehomba battled the winds.

No stranger to danger, Stanager crouched close by Simna and looked on in astonishment. "Ayesh, I was wrong to doubt you about your friend: It's a sorcerer he is!"

"Hoy, ask and he'll tell you it's not him but the sword that wreaks the magic. A sword he did not make himself, but that was given to him. No wizard he, he'll tell you again and again. Just a herder of cattle and sheep lucky enough to have learned friends."

She looked at him through the wind and rain. "Then which is he, Simna? What is the truth?"

"The truth?" He considered a moment, then broke out in the irrepressible grin that, when words failed, defined him. "The truth is a riddle wrapped in an enigma-or sometimes in a nice piece of hot flat bread fresh from the oven. That's my friend Etjole."

Stanager Rose was a woman of exceptional beauty and competence-but not a great deal of humor. "In other words, you don't know whether he's actually an eminent alchemist, or just a vector for the sorcery of others."

Simna nodded, rain dripping from his hair and chin. "Just so. But this I do know: I've seen renowned swordsmen battle a dozen skilled opponents at a time, I've seen them fight off beasts armed with fang and claw, I've watched others deflect the attacks of mosquitoes the size of your arm and thorn trees with minds of their own-but this is the first time I've seen anyone use a blade to fence with wind!"

Indeed, Ehomba was not merely parrying the gusts that swirled around him, but doing so in a manner that saw one after another line up aft of the s.h.i.+p. Deflected by the weaving, arcing sword and its attendant indigo aurora, gale after gale was forcefully merged to blow steadily from astern. Gradually the Gromsketter stopped sailing in ragged circles and resumed a westerly heading. The storm continued to rage, but now the bulk of it, aligned by blows from Ehomba's blade, raged from directly behind the s.h.i.+p, driving it across the wild Semordria in the direction it had originally been traveling.

Steer the winds as he might, Ehomba could not subdue them, not even with the wondrous sword. Priget once more gained control of the helm, and managed to keep the s.h.i.+p on course, but before the herdsman had been able to get the winds organized and under control theGromsketter had taken a terrible beating.

"We need a respite." Stanager had taken one half of the wheel, opposite her helmswoman. "A blow from the blow." She flung her head to one side and slightly back, flipping sodden red hair out of her face.

"An island in whose protected lee we could shelter would be best, but none lie close on our chosen heading." Tilting back her head, she examined the storm-swept sky. "Of course, we are no longer sailing on our original heading. I think we have been blown many leagues northward."

"Put me down, Hunkapa." As the hulking biped obediently complied, Ehomba smiled up at him. "You did well, my hairy friend. Are you all right?"

Through the rain and darkness the bulky figure beamed at him. "Hunkapa like to help. Hunkapa strong!"

Long, powerful arms reached up and out, as if to encompa.s.s all ocean and sky.

"Strong enough." The herdsman blinked away rain, staring forward. Simna was at his side, trying to follow his friend's line of sight.

"What is it, bruther? What do you see? An island?" His tone was hopeful. Not that he cared overmuch for the condition of theGromsketter, so long as she continued to float, but as a landsman raised on open plains and prairies, he felt himself overdue to stand on something that did not precipitously and unpredictably drop away from beneath his feet.

"No, not an island," Ehomba replied as softly as he could, given the need to be heard above the wind.

"Something else." Turning, he addressed the stalwart redhead. "Captain, I think if you head your s.h.i.+p fifteen degrees to port you may find the respite you are looking for!"

Squinting into the squall, she tried to descry what her singular pa.s.senger was pointing out. "I don't see anything, Mr. Ehomba."

"Please, call me Etjole. If you do not see anything, then youare seeing it."

Her expression contorted and she barked at the tall southerner's companion. "Simna! What nonsense is he talking?"

The swordsman could only shrug. "Sorcerers speak a language unto themselves, but I've learned these past many weeks to heed his advice. If he says to sail toward nothing, I'd be the first man to set my helm for it."

Stanager mulled over this second suggested absurdity in succession. "I see no harm in sailing toward nothing." Her gaze drifted upward. "The storm holds steady behind us. A little to port or starboard will not strain the stays any more than they already are. Helm to port!" she ordered Priget. Working in concert, the two women forced the wheel over.

It was late afternoon before they arrived at the place Ehomba had espied through the depths of the tempest. It was not, as he had told Simna, an island. Nor was it land of any kind. But it was a place of calm, and rest, in the midst of raging windblown chaos. That did not mean it was a haven for the exhausted crew of theGromsketter and their battered s.h.i.+p. What the herdsman had seen and what they were about to enter into proffered an entirely unnatural and potentially perilous tranquillity. It was a valley.

A valley in the sea.

III.

The bowl-shaped depression in the ocean's otherwise unbroken expanse was large enough to hold most of Hamaca.s.sar. Through the fulminating winds they could see that the ocean sloped gently down into the gla.s.sy green basin on all four sides. Attempting to a.n.a.lyze the impossibility, Stanager would have ordered theGromsketter hard to starboard to avoid it, but there was no time. One moment the s.h.i.+p was thundering westward, driven by gales whipped into line by Ehomba's parrying blade. Then its bow was tilting downward into a trough the likes of which no sailor aboard had ever seen.

The concavity lay not between the crests of two waves, but between four uniquely stable oceanic slopes.

Several women and not a few of the men held their breath as the s.h.i.+p's keel began to slide downward at a perilously sharp angle. As she descended she picked up speed, though not a great deal. It was not so very different from sailing upon level waters, save for the fact that a mariner had to guard against sliding along the deck until he fetched up against the bow.

The unrelenting gusts that had been flailing the s.h.i.+p from astern immediately began to moderate in intensity. Pounding squalls became gentle breezes. Ehomba estimated that the floor of the valley lay little more than a hundred feet below the surrounding surface of the ocean proper. Not a great difference, but one sufficient to provide them with a safe haven while the winds liberated from the mysterious bottle blew themselves out overhead.

They could hear those freed siroccos and emanc.i.p.ated mistrals bl.u.s.tering and raging overhead, but they did not blow down into the olivine depression to roil the serene waters. There was no perceptible current; only a gentle lapping of wavelets against the tired sides of the s.h.i.+p.

Climbing down out of the rigging, Stanager confronted her tall, laconic pa.s.senger. "For someone who's never been to sea, you seem to know much of its secrets."

Ehomba smiled gently. "I have lived by the sh.o.r.e all my life. The Naumkib learn to swim before they can walk. And there are many in the village who have been farther out on the waters than I. A wise man is a sponge who soaks up the experiences of others."

With an acknowledging grunt, she studied the walls of water that formed the basin. "I would've preferred the lee of an island."