Blasted ships. Blasted sailing. Blasted eternal rocking and incessant noises in the night. Water lapping against the hull. Ship creaking. Sailors snoring. It was enough to drive one mad. Sleep was as fickle a hope as a decent meal at this point. After over a month at sea, Tempest had yet to warm to this most unlikeable of pursuits. She had long since found her sea legs, at least. That much was something. It wasn’t her first time at sea, after all. The vomiting and the constant sense of displacement were gone. She had thought her torture over. But no matter her acclimatisation to sailing, she still could not find any joy in it.
The company was good, though. Tiberius lay facing away from her, an arm resting on his ribs, rising and falling with each slow breath. Tempest inched closer, careful not to wake him. Close enough to feel his warmth. Close enough to breathe in his smell. Life at sea had given his usual musk a salty redolence. His smell always made her a little heady, a joyful, almost unbelievable satisfaction coming over her, almost too good to be true. Beside him she felt safe, a level of content she had never experienced in her eighteen years. Although that wasn’t surprising, given what she’d been through in the last few months. Her trauma-filled recent memories, she knew, were the true reason for her sleepless nights, not the cog’s lack of seaworthiness. The trading ship was intended for calmer waters, not open stretches of ocean. Although not many ships ever survived journeys across the Black. The cog was as likely to sink as the rest of them. Perhaps there was something in that.
Coming to grips with what she’d experienced of late would not happen overnight, she knew. But gods, must she be tortured so endlessly? Every time she closed her eyes, there it was. Some horrific image from the last few months, from which there were too many to choose. Her parents, the King and Queen of Hondos, being burned alive by Kambae, her recently discovered birth father, before all of Deepwater. Her grandfather, Itae, dying in her arms after the storm in which her previous ship had sunk. Her imprisonment in Matando, the treetop city in Sanga, where Kambae had denounced Tempest as his daughter. The battle of Deepwater in which she’d fought Kambae and lost. Badly. The wounds in her thigh, hip and shoulder, where swords had sliced through her, were testament to that. After all this time at sea, since Tempest and her crew had fled Deepwater on the first ship they could find, the wounds had still not healed. They would become awful scars one day, assuming they did not fester and kill her first.
Tempest closed her eyes, once more willing sleep to take her and free her from the burden of her overactive mind. Give me a moment’s rest, I beg. Tiberius’s smell helped. She breathed him in again, attempting to match the rhythm of his gentle snoring. His breaths were too long and far apart for her, though. She almost had to hold her breath an extra second or two after every exhalation to match his, which only added to her anxiety. She settled for basking in his scent. There was nothing more soothing to ease her nerves. As long as she was beside Tiberius, all would be well. Their courtship had matured ever so slightly in their time on the ship into something new. What, exactly, she was not sure. But the excitement she felt in his presence, the hope for a future with him, helped assuage the awful memories that haunted her nights.
The knock at their cabin door brought her back to the present. ‘Who’s there?’ she whispered.
‘It’s me. Mufara.’
The Dzurwi warrior, and Tempest’s closest friend, stepped through the door before Tempest had a chance to sit up straight. Mufara had to duck slightly to prevent her horns from spearing the cabin ceiling. Were it not for her gentle voice, the Dzurwi warrior could have been mistaken for a sizable threat. She towered over most Hondosi men that Tempest had ever come across.
‘What is it?’ Tempest asked.
‘Another ship nearby. We’re going to pass one another soon. The crew saw it too late.’ The skittishness in Mufara’s voice betrayed her natural introversion and constant anxiety.
‘Pirates?’ Tempest said.
‘Perhaps. Could be smugglers. Could be nothing and nobody of note. But Baldric says we best be ready. No point taking any chances.’
‘He’s right,’ Tempest said. ‘What kind of ship is it? Do we stand a chance?’
‘Don’t know. It’s too dark to make out. Besides, we put all the oil lamps out, hoping we can just slip by. If not unnoticed, at least not encouraging engagement.’
‘Okay, we’ll be up on deck shortly. Let me wake Tiberius.’ Mufara left the cabin and Tempest turned to nudge Tiberius.
‘What is it? Another nightmare?’ He moved to bring her into a tight embrace, something Tempest increasingly relied upon to put her at ease.
‘Not this time,’ she said, choosing not to worry him further by admitting she’d been up for hours because of the nightmares. ‘Potential trouble. The crew spotted another ship. They’re readying themselves now in case it’s pirates.’
‘Okay,’ he said.
Tempest couldn’t help but be impressed with his constant composure. No panic. No questioning. Just a moment to process the information then take action. He was up on his feet and reaching for his sword before she’d blinked.
They made their way to the main deck in silence. All around, Tempest heard almost silent footsteps as the rest of the crew moved to their pre-agreed positions for just such an event. Again, Tempest had to credit Tiberius for his forethought. Training the crew of orphaned children had been his responsibility. The little miscreants moved about like seasoned warriors, ready for battle. If there was any fear on their part, they didn’t show it. Tough little bastards.
‘What did you see?’ Tempest said as she approached Mufara and Baldric on the ship’s aftercastle.
‘Might have been something. Might have been nothing,’ Baldric said. The stout smuggler raised a hand to his balding scalp and scratched at a phantom lock of hair. His pale dome could almost be mistaken for the moon on a night like this. ‘It’s probably something, though. I got that tingly feeling in my balls that says it’s been too quiet of late. We’re overdue a little trouble.’
‘Sure that tingling feeling isn’t something you caught back in Deepwater?’ Tiberius said.
Tempest noticed Mufara’s head turn ever so slightly at that.
‘Careful, lad. We wouldn’t want that pretty little face used as bait for our next catch,’ Baldric said.
The two men smiled at each other’s playful jests and then turned to look out at the dark. Tempest turned too. It took her a moment to spot the shape. At first she thought perhaps her eyes were just playing tricks on her. But a quick flash of light, presumably someone moving with an oil lamp, confirmed it. The ship had to be bigger than the cog Tempest and her crew were on. The light she’d spotted was somewhere higher up than her own eye level. Not by a whole lot, but enough for her to understand the implication. The others must have been thinking the same thing. She felt their shapes go rigid at the realisation.
‘Big fucker, eh?’ Baldric said.
‘Just means they’ll overestimate their abilities,’ Tiberius said. ‘We can take them, if it comes to it.’
‘Let’s hope it doesn’t,’ Tempest said. ‘Hopefully we can pass by and think nothing more of it.’ She turned to check on Mufara, who looked a little anxious. Tempest wondered which version of Mufara they’d get if it came to a fight, the warrior or the wimp. Mufara had been almost entirely useless from the moment Tempest had met her. The Dzurwi warrior had been cast out from her own ranks because of her fear of fighting. It hadn’t been until the battle of Deepwater, in which Kambae had almost killed Tempest, that Mufara had finally stepped up and demonstrated her ability with a weapon. ‘You going to be okay if it comes to something?’
Mufara straightened, seemingly willing her fear away. ‘I’ll be fine. Is there anything you can do to prevent them from engaging us?’
Tempest hadn’t thought about it. She hadn’t considered her abilities as a sorceress since they’d fled Deepwater. Most of her time on the ship had been spent recovering from her wounds. The physical and emotional trauma she’d suffered had turned her into a shell of her former self. She wasn’t sure if she had the strength to perform any kind of magic. Wasn’t sure if she wanted to, either. So far her experiences of it had been distasteful at best and horrific at worst. Her grandfather, Itae, had taught her how to bend the elements to her will. She’d been well beaten by Kambae, a considerably more powerful sorcerer than herself, but still, she’d shown a little talent so far. Water was perhaps one of the elements over which she had better control. Perhaps I can do something to guide the ship away. She tried to remember her lessons with Itae, how he’d counselled her to relax and let the two become one – she, the water and the water, her.
Tempest felt the eyes of her crew on her. No pressure, then. She closed her eyes and thought of the time their ship had been wrecked in a storm heading up the coast to Sanga. That night she’d joined Itae in creating a vortex that had carried a few key crew members to shore. It had taken all her energy to do so. Right now she didn’t have that level of energy. Every step, every breath, was agony. Her wounds might be healing but it didn’t mean that the pain of having been cut through by swords in three different parts of her body hadn’t left its toll. She couldn’t let that deter her, though. The people aboard this ship were her people. They’d saved her life in more ways than one. They believed in her in a way that few others ever had, and they’d put their own lives on the line to help her sail to the other side of the Black to help raise an army so she could return to Nyazere and take her place as Queen of Hondos. Without them she would never be able to mount any kind of resistance to Kambae and his forces. Without each one of them she was nothing.
She balled her hands into fists, tried again to think of how she’d previously commanded the vortex. How she'd willed the water to do her bidding. She remembered the feeling of it, as if she were rolling as one with each wave. As if the water was as much a part of her as the blood flowing through her body. It didn’t feel like that tonight. It felt empty. Like she was a husk, a shell of her former self. Itae had taught her that sorcery was not the same as wizardry. She couldn’t just whisper some spell and have everything work. Sorcery was true magic, and that required every part of her to be in tune with the world. Right now she wasn’t in tune with anything. She was a broken instrument, no good for anything. Pretty soon they would all know it.
Tempest opened her eyes and examined the expectant looks on her crew members’ faces. She sensed their disappointment. She couldn’t admit to having lost her abilities, though. That would surely cause them all to completely lose faith in her. It might cause her to lose faith in herself. ‘I better not,’ she said. ‘There isn’t a way to do it subtly. If I do anything they will know and they will attack. We’re better off trying to sail on by.’
‘Sure you can’t just give their ship a nudge or something?’ Baldric said.
‘Not without causing a stir,’ she said.
Tiberius seemed to be weighing her words heavily. He called Cassius over. His loyal protector and friend, never far from his side. ‘Speak to the crew. Make sure they’re ready. But keep them quiet. The last thing we need is some overly exuberant kid starting a fight.’
‘I will keep them quiet,’ Cassius said. He left to his duties.
Tempest felt butterflies take flight in her belly. Her mouth filled with acidic saliva. She wanted to be sick. This time it had nothing to do with the rocking of the ship. What was she going to do if she’d lost her abilities? The ship had not been fitted out for battle. They had simply commandeered it in the night when they’d fled Deepwater. Even the orphans hiding aboard had been a surprise. The minuscule stockpile of food had run out a few weeks into their journey. Recently they had relied on fishing to keep them fed. The crew had lost weight. They were thin and weak, physically and emotionally spent. A fight would likely be the end of them all, Tempest realised.
The other ship was getting closer. At least we’ll be put out of our misery soon enough if it comes to something. Perhaps there was something in that. If it all ended now the gods might grant her the chance to reunite with her parents. It would be so much easier. She’d be free of all these burdens. Having to take a stand against Kambae. Having to deal with the horrors he’d brought forth from some other world on the night she’d fled Deepwater. The memory of the rift he’d opened sent a chill down her neck. He’d sliced the sky open as if it were no more than a bedsheet being cut open with a knife. Monsters unlike anything she’d ever seen had poured out from wherever or whatever lay beyond. Tempest hadn’t the energy to even contemplate what might exist beyond. Assuming she made it through tonight, her only reward was an eternal burden. Seek a new alliance. Raise an army. Go to war. Defeat a tyrant. Free her people. Take the throne. Her chances of achieving any one of those things were surely nil, let alone achieving them all. And if it did go remotely to plan, then what? Rule over Hondos for the rest of her life? She was too young to have her life so mapped out before her. Was it really her duty to carry such a burden? Had she no choice in the matter? Not if she was to honour the memory of her parents. Not if the people she loved were to be kept alive. She knew there was no real choice. She would do anything for these people. It would be nice, though, to have time to concern herself with her ever growing feelings for Tiberius. To go for long walks, arm in arm. Or dine together in a humble home, growing old together like vines binding themselves eternally to one another. What a life it would be to smile all day in his presence and dream all night about their future together. Wouldn’t that be something? To let her heart explode with joy. Surely, of all people, she deserved a little respite from the pressures of the world?
Not so, apparently. The other ship was almost in touching distance. She hunkered down, as did the others. Holding her breath, she kept her eyes peeled, waiting for any sign of attack.
Silence.
Just the lapping of the water and the gentle creak of the ship as it wound its way towards the other. At the helm, Tiberius tried to subtly alter course but Tempest knew it was too late for that. Had they been able to do it in time they would have done so. No, now they could only watch and wait. She breathed deep, willing her nerves into oblivion.
Just a few more moments.
She cocked her head to listen for any noises coming from the other ship.
Nothing.
She could only hope the other crew were just as desirous of a peaceful passing as she and her crew. Then again, perhaps they were just waiting to strike.
Gods, be done with it. End me or not, but relent from this torment.
The two ships closed in, the swell below pulling them towards one another. Tempest could almost reach out and take hold of the other. She closed her eyes as they ran alongside and then, hoping nobody had witnessed her cowardice, opened them again. With a firm grip on her sword’s hilt she peered over the side. Multiple pairs of eyes stared back from across the water reflecting the moon above. Terrified eyes. Just as terrified as her own, no doubt.
It was over before she had a moment to contemplate her next move. The other ship passed by into the dark and Tempest exhaled a long breath, freeing herself from the weight of the world momentarily.
We live to fight another day.
