“We thought you were dead,” Selena said.
“And yet I see none wearing the black of mourning, nor sobbing tears of anguish,” the sirrak said snidely. “I was only able to escape by hauling myself aboard that old bucket of timber where we found you,” he said to Niven. “Three nights passed and then the ship was swarmed again. I was forced to burn it to ashes.” Svoz grinned. “I took a good twenty merkind down in the blaze. If I close my eyes, I can still smell the burnt flesh…”
“Svoz, do you know what happened to them?” Selena asked. “The merkind?”
The sirrak looked down his nose at her. “No. I admit they remain somewhat mysterious. However,” he added haughtily, “I must bestow grudging admiration to that which has wrought such changes to the merkind. These beasts were pure, unmitigated vileness with no thought to anything but the death of their victim. Had I not been one such victim, I would be moved to shake the hand of their creator. But in light of the week I spent in excruciating pain, only to have to return to servitude here, to find myself amidst a ring of slack-jawed lack-wits—”
“That will suffice,” Selena said. “If you are hungry, you may go feed. If not, please make yourself useful to the captain.”
The sirrak made to reply—undoubtedly something rude or insulting—but stopped. Selena hunched deeper into her coat under his black-eyed gaze.
“Enjoying the weather are we?” Svoz asked.
Ilior growled low in his throat but Selena laid a hand on his arm. “We’re trying to outrun the merkind,” Selena said. “They can’t abide the cold.”
Svoz seemed satisfied with this. “A surprisingly intelligent decision, despite your obvious distress.”
Niven cleared his throat. “Cook indicated he needs more firewood.”
“There are some crates in the hold that can be broken down for kindling,” Julian said.
“Go,” Selena told Svoz. “Do whatever is required of you.”
“Ah, menial labor. My favorite.” Svoz leveled a black-clawed finger at the group. “You would all do well to heed my warning: do not let one of those foul creatures break your flesh. If they do, your death will be putrid, excruciating, and most definitely guaranteed. Not that I’d complain, mind you…”
He stomped away with Niven following—at a safe distance—behind.
Julian met Selena’s eye for a moment then strode off without a word.
“He’s become as mute as his crew,” she muttered. “What has happened to the merkind?” she asked Ilior. The Vai’Ensai wore a heavy cloak; his lone wing was a misshapen lump under the wool. “Do you think their entire race is affected so?”
“I can’t imagine it,” he said. “Who or what can corrupt an entire race?”
“Illness, then.”
“I’ve never heard of a disease that turns its victims into monsters.”
Selena bit her lip, partially to keep her jaw from chattering, partially in thought.
“Come,” Ilior said. “You should stay by Cook’s oven. For now, the merkind are not your greatest threat.”
“Nor yours,” Selena said, noting how pale Ilior’s scaled skin had become in the cold.
He said nothing but the truth was there between them. When they sat down in the galley by the fire, Ilior would warm himself at it. She could not.
For his sake, she forced a smile, linked her arm in his as they made their way belowdecks. Before climbing down the hatch, Selena glanced at the pale sky, and the slate-gray waters around them. The Black Storm would sail into the Ice Isles and then the cold would truly grip her in its icy hand and begin to squeeze.
Isle Nanokar
The whaler was the first sign of life they saw in a more than a week before sailing into the Ice Isles. A schooner, similar to the Black Storm in rigging, but twice as wide and half as long; she sat low on account of its cargo. It dragged six or seven small rowboats with mounted harpoons, but it was the whale that weighed the ship down. Selena frowned as her spyglass showed her the enormous carcass hung from the port side of the ship, streaming blood. The schooner didn’t cant to the port side; she guessed another whale was hung similarly at starboard. The bloody waters around the ship churned with sharks.
“It looks so light for the work it does,” Selena observed through her glass.
“The shallow draft is to navigate the Ice Isles,” Julian answered tersely. “The township is inland, hidden from sight by the ice bergs.” He glanced at her huddled form. “Why don’t you stay in the galley, near the stove? Bloody Deeps, it’s got to be warmer there than out here.” His breath plumed with every word as if to accentuate his point.
Selena ignored his suggestion. Walking the ship kept the numbness from her limbs but seemed to irritate Julian.
Weakness, she guessed. He can’t abide it.
The passage between the icebergs looked to Selena like the gullet of some terrible monster ready to swallow them whole. It was narrow and allowed for only one ship to navigate safely through it, and the Storm and the whaler converged on the entrance at the same time. Julian barked orders to slow the ship to a drift, and the whaler drew up broadsides with the Storm.
“Ho there!” Julian called. “A fine catch!”
Selena stared, amazed at Julian’s transformation from sullen and dark, to cheerful and friendly.
Astride his quarterdeck, the whaler captain grinned and tipped his cap. His face, and the faces of his crew, were covered in light and dark paint in varied designs. The captain bore a white swath on the lower half of his face, just under his nose and cheeks and over his bushy beard, while his nose, eyes and brow were painted brown. Small white and brown circles outlined his face so as to make it look as if he wore a mask.
“Aye, t’is that!” The captain called back. His oilskins, Selena saw, were slicked with blood. “Last o’ the season, I reckon. But yer no whaler nor packet. What brings you to our fair isle? The gentle weather?”
His laugh rang out among the ice walls and Selena flinched at the sound.
“For provisions, rest, and water,” Julian said.
“You’ll find all three on Nanokar, an’ please sail a’fore us. Our catch is tedious heavy an’ I don’t mean to grieve yer crew by trying to keep abaft o’ us.”
“That’s kind of you,” Julian replied. “Tell me the name of your favored tavern so that I might repay your courtesy with a glass or two of mead.”
“Golden mead?” The white paint on the captain’s lips cracked and flaked off as he smiled.
“The Lords’ best,” Julian agreed.
“The White Sail pours the best o’ the gold,” the captain said. He jerked a thumb to where the whale—a huge bowhead—hung, impaled by giant hooks through its blubber at head and tail. “I hafta see me catch into the pots an’ then I’ll look fer you there. Yer buy the first round, I’ll the second in trade for news an’ the like from warmer climes.”
“Deal,” Julian said. He took the wheel and ordered Helm to help maneuver the sails. “All hands, sharp now,” he called to the rest of them. “This is no easy business.”