“If it dies here,” said Meas, “we simply provide a corpse to be picked over, and all can see that too.”
“Who will find it here? Who will see it here? We are as far north as we will ever get,” said Dinyl, “and we have a duty.”
“Not kill sea sither.” The gullaime had appeared from below-deck. It made no move to approach Meas, Dinyl and Joron, only stood by the hatch to the underdeck amid a mass of tangled rope and broken spar, occasionally clacking its hooked beak shut. “Not kill sea sither,” it said again.
“It is the last,” said Dinyl. He looked around, found the whole crew watching him. “Do you not understand? This is what have fought for. When it is gone, there will be no more boneships built.” His eyes were wide, and Joron knew in that moment that Dinyl felt the terror of battle just as keenly as he did, maybe more so. “No more dead children.” He turned to the gullaime. “No more blinded gullaime. No more battles like the one we have been through.”
“Not kill sea sither,” it said again.
“It is the last!” shouted Dinyl. “The bow is loaded. We can end it all. Go back, report this place to Kept Indyl Karrad. He will have the corpse towed away. This will be the end of war.”
But for his voice the only sound was the lapping of the sea against the ship and the grind of the pumps.
“Not last,” said the gullaime.
“What?” Meas stepped forward, standing within an arm’s length of Dinyl and Joron. “What do you mean it is not the last?”
“More come,” said the gullaime. “Sea sither is first only.”
Joron glanced to seaward. The great head of the arakeesian lay in the water, one burning eye regarding them as if it were unconcerned with its own mortality.
“If that is true,” said Dinyl, “then it is even more important it dies. Indyl Karrad can use the bones. Sell them. We can use the money to forge alliances.” He locked eyes with Meas. “We can still change our world.”
“What do you think, Joron?” Meas said.
And Joron, to his own surprise, found he did not hesitate.
“It saved us,” he replied. “We needed it and it came. It seems a poor way to repay it, to put a bolt through its eye.”
“No!” The word from Dinyl’s mouth was a howl, his expression one of utter misery. “Joron, it is our duty!” Then, more quietly: “We were given a duty.”
“To be fleet is about more than duty, Dinyl,” said Meas. “It is about honour and it is about loyalty.”
“I am loyal!” he shouted. “And I have honour. I remember my promise.” He turned to the deckchild at the bow. “You, loose the bolt!”
Joron felt himself flinch, waited for the low thruum of the bow launching, but nothing happened. The deckchild at the trigger only stared at Dinyl.
“I obey the shipwife,” she said. “I do as she orders.”
Dinyl looked at her. Nodded to himself.
“Very well,” he said and produced a small crossbow from behind his back. He raised it and pointed it at Meas’s temple.
“Give the order, Shipwife.”
“Mutiny, is it, Dinyl?”
“No.” He looked miserable, sounded it. “I have no wish to remove you from command. You are the greatest shipwife I have ever served. I only ask that you give the order. Only ask you to do your duty.”
“I believe my duty has changed. Somehow, that keyshan came when we needed it. Maybe death is not the answer.”
“Please, Shipwife,” said Dinyl. “Give the order.”
“Put down the crossbow, Dinyl, and we will forget this happened.” She turned so she stared at him over the weapon. “Do as I ask.”
“I have done everything that has been asked of me.” Was that a tear in his eye? “I have given up everything, taken on the black armband when it was asked of me. Lost my family because it was asked of me. Become a disgrace because it was asked of me. If I do not deliver what Karrad wishes, I will never remove the armband, never get back what I was. Shipwife Meas, I have no wish to kill you, but I will. All I ask is that you do what you were ordered to do when we set out.”
“I told you at the beginning, Dinyl, once you wear the black band there is no taking it off.”
“You make us into traitors,” said Dinyl.
“She is no traitor,” said Joron, taking a step closer.
“No traitor?” shouted Dinyl. “Why do you think she is here? Joron, you can convince her, please, for our friendship. Tell her to give the order.”
“I will not, Dinyl.” Meas smiled at Dinyl over the weapon he held in her face.
“I will kill you if I have to, Shipwife. Give the order to launch.”
“No.”
“Then” – his voice shook – “I am sorry for what I must do.”
Joron’s hand went to the curnow at his hip. Unhooking it, he brought the blade up in a fluid, skilful movement that cut cleanly through Dinyl’s wrist. The crossbow bolt flew harmlessly over the side, and Dinyl staggered back, grasping his bleeding arm, his eyes wide with pain. Meas moved, and Joron saw the flash of the rockfist wrapped around her knuckles as it cracked into Dinyl’s temple, knocking him to the slate, unconscious.
“Get him to the hagbower,” she said, staring down at him. Two deckchilder stooped to gather him up. “Make sure his arm is seen to.” She turned to Joron. “See, I told you. When you really needed the skill you would get it right.”
He Joron tried to smile but could not for he knew had as much as killed a man he come to hold dear.
“It is kinder to let him die today from blood loss,” he said quietly, “than to save him to be thrown to the longthresh later for mutiny.”
Meas shook her head.
“Dinyl did what duty demanded of him, and I can respect that. I can not even say he may not have been right. He is a good officer and I will keep him, if he survives.” She turned to the deckchild at the bow. “Those hiylbolts,” she said, “they are simply weight we do not need. Put them over the side.”
She watched the weapons go over the rail, and as if this was some agreed signal, the wakewyrm raised its head and opened its beak, letting out its deafening call, and Joron heard the beautiful spinning song within it. Then it began to move.
Tide Child rocked as the sea was disturbed by the beat of the keyshan’s flippers. They watched it swim away, its huge body building up speed on the surface until it lowered its head and dived, massive tail rising from the sea and waving as if in farewell before disappearing into the depths.
“So,” said Joron to the air, “it is over.” He felt more than heard the gullaime come to stand by him. The heat of its body. The hint of a song in its voice.
“No, Joron Twiner,” it said. “Now it begins.”
The story will continue in book two of the Tide Child trilogy.
Appendix: Ranks in the Fleet and the Hundred Isles
Bern The ruling class of the Hundred Isles consisting of women who have birthed children well-formed and unmarred.
Berncast Second-class Citizens of the Hundred Isles. Those who are born malformed or whose mothers die in childbirth proving their blood “weak”.