There should have been a cheer then, but there was not; for a moment there was only a heavy silence as what Meas had said sank in – that this was truly to be the day they died. Then a shout came from the crowd, the voice of Garriya, the woman Mevans had insisted be brought aboard as lucky, a small and unkempt presence among the deckchilder.
“Sing for us, Joron Twiner,” she said. “Sing us to our grim work.”
Joron had not sung since his father had died, but after a moment’s faltering hesitation the words came. He opened his mouth and he sang a song his father had sung to him as a child. But the tune was not the one his father had used. Oh it was similar, but subtly changed, familiar and yet not familiar. He sang the song of the windspire, the song he heard when he dreamed of moving, free and vast, beneath the ocean.
I’ll not deny the Hag my love,
Let us fly to her in pride.
I’ll not deny the Hag my love,
For duty have I died.
I’ve always loved the sea, my love,
So deep and blue and true.
I’ve always loved the sea,
my love, As much as I loved you.
And when he had finished the first chorus, after they had got used to the strangeness of the tune, the crew joined with the familiar words of the deckchild’s lament.
I’ll not deny the Maiden love,
I’ll play her games and sport.
I’ll not deny the Maiden love,
I’ll die as I was taught.
I’ve always loved the sea, my love,
So deep and blue and true.
I’ve always loved the sea, my love,
As much as I loved you.
The gullaime joined them, calling out a counterpoint, a harmony beyond the ability of any human, singing many notes at a time and changing the song, bending it, twisting it.
I’ll not deny the Mother love,
She birthed me into life.
I’ll not deny the Mother love,
So to honour her I’ll die.
I’ve always loved the sea, my love,
So deep and blue and true.
I’ve always loved the sea, my love,
As much as I loved you.
I’ll not deny the Hag my love,
Let us fly to her in pride.
I’ll not deny the Hag my love,
For duty have I died.
As the last bars of the song died away, Joron could feel a change. He did not know if anyone felt as he did, but from the way they looked to one another there was definitely some awareness that a difference had come upon them. A sudden energy. As if the ship shivered. And there was some hope, some possibility that they were not completely lost, that they may stand a chance.
Meas glanced at Joron and spoke quietly.
“A good choice of song, Joron. It has lifted our spirits.” Then she raised her voice. “Well! What do you stand around for? To the bows! Set the wings! Have the flukeboats put overboard. Bring up the hagspit and we’ll fire the bolts we send at them. Get yourselves moving! I do not allow slate-layers on my deck!” And all was life and action.
Joron put a hand on the rail. It felt as if the whole ship vibrated, but not from the many feet that ran across the decks and up the spines. This was something else. He turned to find Garriya standing behind him.
“What just happened?
She smiled her toothless smile at him.
“You gave us a chance,” she said. “Now I should get to the hagbower before the hagshand kills anyone.”
“But there is no one down there yet.”
“Do not underestimate his incompetence.”
Behind her the gullaime cackled.
“Death, Joron Twiner. Death is coming.”
“Enough of that.” Meas’s voice cut across the deck. “Gullaime, come to me. You too, Joron.”
As Joron crossed the deck he watched the profile of Hag’s Hunter change as he came around, angling to make a pass at Tide Child, side on side. When he looked back, the gullaime was before Meas in a posture that, had it been human, he would have taken as subservient, but something about the gullaime made it only appear curious. It was crouched down before her, head angled up to look at her as she spoke. “Can you speed us past the Hunter and call up enough wind to throw off their shot at the same time?”
The windtalker let out a harsh croak. Black Orris came fluttering down from the rigging to land on Meas’s shoulder. The windtalker angled its head towards Hag’s Hunter.
“Twelve of the nest ride that ship.” Then it called again, opening its beak and making a swallowing motion as the noise rose into the air. “They will fight me. I will fight them. Speed or shot, Meas Gilbryn. Speed or shot. Speed easier.” It let out a throaty croak.”Think less. Keep strength longer.”
Meas stared at the enemy ship, at the great gallowbows on its maindeck, at the the two decks below, bowpeeks raised to reveal smaller but still fearsome bows. It appeared to Joron that she stared past it and into the future, into the moment the bows loosed and the shot flew and her crew were dying around her. Her landward foot tapped on the slate.
“Which would you choose, Joron?”
He tried to imagine twenty-seven gallowbows sending their deadly cargo across the sea. Gullaime guiding them home. The devastation, the maiming, the pain.
“You know Hunter’s shipwife,” he said. “How fast will they loose their bows?”
A pause before she answered, and she did so with a touch of pride.
“Fast enough.”
“Then speed,” he replied. “She chases us out of pride, to best you. She won’t want to do it with fired wingbolts, not with us so outclassed. So we are safe from burning, I reckon. I imagine she’ll want to be able to feel like it was a fair fight. We just have to hope the spines survive what she sends at us, then we can loose for their tiller and hope to cripple them.”
Meas nodded.
“Dinyl?”
“It is a Hag’s deal,” he muttered. “I would say the opposite of Joron: protect the spines from shot at all costs, even if it leaves the gullaime dried out on the deck. Without spines we have nothing.” She nodded at that too.
“A Hag’s deal indeed,” she said, “but I think speed, in this instance, is the better choice of two bad ones.”
“Do we lie flat,” said Dinyl, “and take our punishment?”
Again Meas stared into the future, seeing the carnage and what she hoped to get from it.
Joron touched the birdfoot on a string that hung around his neck, the one his father had given him for luck. I shall see you at the bonefire soon, he thought. And I have missed you so much.
“No, we stand,” she said. “I don’t want Kyrie to guess what we are about, so we must answer them shot for shot. To see their bright blue corpselights dim a little will give the crew some cheer.” She raised her voice. “You hear me? We’ll not simply let him rake us! Spin the bows! Load the shot. Gullaime, fill our wings with wind!”
Sudden activity, every body on the ship moving. Coughlin’s men climbing up into the rigging with their bows, though Joron doubted the ships would pass near enough for them to be of use.
And Hag’s Hunter came on. Beautiful and implacable.
“Load our wingbolts for fire,” shouted Meas. “We’ll gain nothing here from mercy.” Hagspit was measured. Torches passed around.
Joron’s ears hurt as the gullaime brought the wind to them, and Tide Child leaped forward, a great wave kicking up from the front and a great groan coming from his hull. Joron hurried to stand by the mainspine, Dinyl going on to the forward spine and Meas remaining by the rumpspine.