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Chapter 7

Castaway

I’m sure that you’ve heard enough bards sing that when a ship goes down, survivors will grab a barrel or door or other driftwood and survive for weeks.

That’s poppycock; most of them die in the first two or three days.

But when you find some sunburned fool, clinging to life, you swing by, strike sails, lower a longboat, and row out to them. You take spears and harpoons and bidents, all with an edge of silver alloy, but you go.

Sea-Witch Jeanne was among those on the boat, and she whispered to the captaine.

.....

“Twenty degrees to port!”

The order was relayed across the deck by the sailors, who made haste in adjusting the sails.

“Sea monster?” I asked.

“Indeed. Dandan fish, no clue what one is doing this far south.”

“Should I ask the crew?”

“Imagine a fish big enough to mistake the Sharkbite for a crumb of food. It’s not malicious, it’s not even smart, but it’ll gobble down the ship all the same. On the plus side, if we can’t avoid it, we won’t feel much pain before we die.”

Comforting to know.

“And we’re turning away from the fish?”

“Away from the wind. We need speed right now, not direction.”

“Not objecting, just curious. Why?”

“To avoid the tsunami waves when something else tries to eat it.”

We passed a herd of manta rays, swimming with the current rather than the wind. It was actually kind of soothing to watch.

We sailed as the wind let us, for the next two days.

On the third day, the tarring, holystoning, and swabbing of the deck was delayed due to a major adjustment of course back to starboard.

After my classes with Jeanne, I sought out the navigator. Auguste Baudet was a short man, dark of skin and darker of mood. He was usually on the aftcastle, trying to take measurements off a compass needle while the deck canted beneath him.

“Not objecting to the course change, but how much time have we lost?”

“Only three days. I understand your ambassadorship approves?”

“The crew knows sailing. We get there when we get there, and any interference from me is likely to get us there even later.”

“A refreshing perspective to hear. May I ask a question?”

“Go ahead.”

“Why did you join the crew at the swabbing? I’ve had passengers try to tell me my job, or those who mistake our female hands as wanton sluts. Why swabbing?”

“Honestly, Nature was the first magic to open for me. Wood... seems right to me.”

“You should be a carpenter.”

“I have a class level in carpenter. And one in lumberjack.”

“And how many in diplomat?”

“Not a single one. Honestly, I don’t see why it’s a class. It’s just talking to people.”

He snickered, and then broke out in laughter. “Thank you, ambassador. That actually explains quite a bit about you and Miss Kismet that I have been wondering.”

#

I stopped by the hospital room.

“Doctor, Surgeon. How is the castaway doing?”

He looked horrible. Thin, with his red skin peeling away to reveal more red skin underneath.

Not naturally red skin, but the angry red of sunburn. His hair was black, his eyes were sunken and closed, a yellow crust across the lids. His ears lacked lobes and came to points, speaking of some mixture of the bloodline.

It was Craster who responded. “His fever continues, and the surgeon and I fully expect him to perish in the next day or so. In the meantime, we change his wrappings twice a day, and we feed him such broth as he seems able to keep down.”

“And water? What about teas?”

“There is no statistical evidence that tea is any better than boiled water.” Said Madra. “Water is fine.”

From that day, I stopped by daily with a pot of garlic and sage tea. It was foul stuff, but I infused it personally.

His fever kept for three days, he was in a cold sweat the next, and then...

But I get ahead of myself.

“I notice the float nets aren’t out today.” I said to the helmsman. I always forget his name.

“Captaine’s orders. Something was found cutting the nets. No nets for three days.”

“More merfolk?”

He shrugged. “Something.”

Further investigation with the quartermaster revealed that whatever had cut the nets had done so with a knife, which revealed sapience, but not any kind of specifics.

Turns out that anywhere in the ocean, there are a LOT of somethings.

One hero said that to enter the ocean is to enter the food chain, and they aren’t wrong. There are actually interlocking ecologies, and the top shark of one is just a minnow to the next. Big creatures were sometimes taken down and eaten by schools of smaller, and the sheer number of thinking races in the ocean throws much of the ecology onto different paths than it should be.

Then there were the effects of tides, of currents and storms and just plain seasonal migrations. So you always knew roughly what was where, but never specifically. The lack of surface scenery did not help.

So, on your map where it shows a mermaid, or just says “Here there be monsters”, those really aren’t accurate at all.

“Get the lizard! Starboard side! Starboard side! Less than five minutes out!” Jeanne screamed.

“No, landlubber! The other side is starboard.”

Of course, it was.

The ship had time to turn into them, a series of waves. The first and last were only thirty footers, but toward the middle they got up to double that.

“Mother Ocean, hear my plea, grant my request. It is I, Rhishisikk, blood of the Titans and child of your waters. Part before me this ripple in your surface! Move Water! Part Wave!”

Of the three times I repeated this, it succeeded twice. The waves didn’t totally part for me, but the swells hitting the boat were reduced by a good ten feet. Maybe twelve.

As the others guided the ship back to port, Jeanne and I drank deeply of the Ocean mana.

“And THAT,” she said, “Is why you practice breaking waves.”

#

“What was that?”

She shrugged. “Two sea-beasts fighting? Volcanic eruption? Shifting of the seabed? It happens, but not too often.”

“So why didn’t you do that during the storm?”

“Do you have any idea how many sea-witches and warlocks die from doing that manner of reckless work? The storms can snap hemp line. Ever wonder why each sail is secured with four?”

I raised a hand. “I meant no offense.” I said.

“And you can’t do it from inside the forecastle because Wood drinks Water?”

She sighed. “Wood isn’t an element in my tradition. What you speak of is not a thing.”

Not all truths need to be spoken, I decided.

“But your magics are stronger when exposed to the elements.”

“As are every mage’s. And most divine casters, from what I understand.”

“Both are lumped together as the Mystic arts.” I agreed.

She sighed. “The truth is that magic isn’t always the answer. It requires time and concentration, and that’s something you just don’t get during a storm.”

I shrugged. “It seems to help, every so often.”

“Well, it’s time for you to deliver your foul brew to our castaway, is it not?”

“I can certainly do that. Thank you as always, for your lessons.”

Her eyes focused on the horizon. “You’ve a good way to go. Don’t thank me yet.”

.....

But our castaway still had a fever that day. You see what I mean about getting ahead of myself.

And the theories about how and why he survived ran rampant through the crew.

I even called my Mystic Vision to mind and verified to Doctor Craster and Surgeon Madra that he wasn’t a bearer of Taint.

Having been on the wrong side of THAT particular fear, I was glad to save him.

Even if ... but again, I get ahead of my story.

That night, there was a soft, subtle rain and a mist that seemed to absorb sound.

“It’s a ghost mist.” Said one deckhand.

“Bite your tongue, Spencer.” Said another.

“I’m Tanner. Spencer’s somewhere over that way.”

“I’m Spencer.” A voice of to the starboard confirmed.

“Like I can see EITHER of you in this soup.”

A pale white misty light came from above.

“A ghost! I told you.”

“That’s the moon, you fool. Get over here and coil this rope.”

“I did coil that rope.”

“I’m right here looking at the rope, and it isn’t coiled!”

“Well, then you must have uncoiled it.”

A translucent woman passed me in the mist, pudgy and wrinked, definite laugh-lines visible on her face. She raised one hand to her lips to shush me.

“OI!” said the Bosun. “You two calm down, and Tanner, you’re the junior, you tie the coil of rope.”

The woman appeared, still mostly see-through, in front of Bosun Smythe.

He broke into a smile. “Missus Levemont. Please wait here while I make certain the captaine has time to see you, ma’am.”

She nodded, waited until his back was turned, and drifted right through the double doors.

#