Dark Sea's End (Beyond Ash and Sand Book 1) Read online

  "Look at her!" Eka cried with the first signs of actual enthusiasm. "Bloody look at her!"

  Chang's crew gaped at the sea, then at each other, just as amazed as he was.

  "True," muttered Old Mata—the only word he could still make with regularity—splitting clumped line with old and three fingered hands.

  Chang had sailed on a dozen ships and watched thousands in his decades on the sea. Never had he seen one move this fast, nor with such confidence. Not even close. Such a ship could sail the isles without fear, for none could catch her. She would be free in all the ways others were bound—to go where she pleased, no matter which king or killer told her the the waters were his, the laws already made.

  Chang's eyes turned to the savage pilot standing precariously on the edge of his ship. One push and he would be gone, lost in the sea and leaving one man against ten with no space to run. Only one huge hand gripped the rail as the pilot looked over, watching the side of the hull.

  As Chang watched him, the barbarian's head turned, ever so slightly, as if he'd smelled something foul on the air, and met Chang's eyes.

  Chang turned and coughed. The man frightened him, though that wasn't why. Even a giant could be killed, and killing both men to steal their ship would lose Chang not a moment's sleep.

  But he could wait. There would be less risky moments, more favorable chances for 'Lucky' Chang to earn his namesake. There always was. They were only at the first horn, and still they had to cross a hundred ri of open water, past the Lonely Isles, all the way to the Western edge of the world. In a way, perhaps, Chang was curious. Before he killed these madmen, he wanted to see how far they truly meant to sail.

  * * *

  Zaya, daughter of Juchi, clutched the rail of a foreigner catamaran, and watched the pirate ship come closer.

  "They're still gaining," said the old island captain in his own language. Then, after a long delay, with something like resignation. "Steady course. We can't outrun them."

  Zaya knew little enough of ships. In her own lands she was a skald—a singer of songs, a lifter of fears and maker of joy. She knew how a man felt by the look in his eyes, or the slightest change in his posture. She knew terror when she saw it.

  "Can't we toss the cargo? They'll just take it. Let's throw it overboard, aye?" One of the sailors paced and pulled at his clothes and tried but failed to swallow with a mouth drained of moisture.

  The captain snorted and rolled a hunk of root in his teeth. "Do that and we're all dead men. At least with the pirates, we have a chance. Fetch weapons! Ready the hooks! Prepare to be boarded!"

  Zaya stood paralyzed on the prow. When she'd first decided to make the crossing, her fear had been the sea, and maybe what traveling men might try in the depths of night. She hadn't even considered pirates.

  The great eye of Volus—the 'sun' in these lands—bore down from above with heat she had never known; the clear, blue waters of the Alaku sea sprayed as the strange, three-hulled ship turned straight towards the Great Continent. She put a hand up her shirt, fumbling to hold the knife tied to her chest. She had never used it. Her mother had trained her with spear and bow, but she had never killed anyone.

  In her own land, the land of ash, she would be the safest person on the ship. In the Ascom men did not harm women. To do so was to burn in the fires of hell forever, trapped with the mountain god until the stain burned clean. But here, in the Pyu isles, they had no such belief. As far as she knew, men slaked their lusts whenever power allowed. A woman could be bought, owned, abused and discarded. Zaya knew she was young and beautiful. She was foreign. And she was the only woman on this ship.

  She flinched and turned to find the youngest member of the crew—a boy of no more than twelve—who had apparently tugged at her sleeve. "Sorry, miss, you're to go down below now." He gestured, clearly unsure if she understood. "Safer. Down below."

  Zaya looked one last time at the approaching vessel, then did as she was asked.

  She stepped over barrels of cloth and silk, loaded along with supplies in the cramped space of the transport, until she'd reached the back. She felt the rocking of the waves, and in that strange moment of waiting, was reminded of the much longer and more frightening voyage from her homeland. There had been storms that seemed to consume all the world, but her ship had weathered it. Now perhaps she was to die before she even reached her destination. It was what she deserved, perhaps, for her stubborn foolishness. Her head had been so full of great tales like Haki the brave, or the great shaman of Noss.

  When the war with the empire had ended, and many ships full of adventurers and pioneers began their journeys to the new world, Zaya had decided to go with them. All her life she had only ever wanted to see her own grand adventure, to see the heroes and make the stories for herself. Her father had tried to warn her.

  "They never put hunger, boredom, or the shits in great tales," he'd said without his customary humor. "They never say you'll near break your back on some damned horse, and eat the same rotten potatoes for weeks." He'd sighed and met her eyes. "They don't tell you about the waiting, or the fear of what will happen. There's no songs of the helpless terror of not knowing how the story ends."

  She'd smiled and comforted him, told him she'd be careful and that she loved him, but she had to go or else her music and stories would become a lie, and she'd grow to hate them, and then herself. He'd patted her hand.

  "I know, child. Now be gentle with your mother. She'll never understand, and she'll rage, but she loves you as much as I."

  She'd hugged him, then she'd told her mother and forced herself not to match the angry, disappointed words.

  "Why? Why would you do this? Do you think all I've done has been to send my daughters into danger, alone? All your father has done? All your father has suffered? For you?"

  "I will be forever grateful, Mother. I love you, and thank you, but I must live and see what this world is or else I will never love my part in it.'

  She hadn't said it, and perhaps couldn't until she'd sat for weeks on a ship and thought on her mother's anger, surrounded by sweating families and the sounds of the sea. Instead she'd left the home she loved, and turned away without another word.

  She was older now, in spirit if not in body. She had waited, and feared, as her father warned her. But she did not understand, not truly, until this moment, as she sat in a foreigner's hold, her hands shaking on the formed handle of her father's blade in the dark. Zaya had not known what terror was until she heard the sound of arrows whistling like shepherds, and the first brave sailors screamed.

  * * *

  "Look, there, Chiefy! I told you. Two ships fighting off the coast."

  Chang frowned but stepped to the rail and squinted. They'd been practicing rigging all morning, making loops around the seas outside of Sri Kon. He wanted nothing more than to fall down in his bunk with maybe a bottle of rum, but the day was yet long. He glanced at Eka watching from the prow, and by his face, the captain felt the same.

  "Those aren't Alaku colors," the captain shouted, almost as if were trying to convince someone. "They're not our problem."

  He turned his head towards the giant pilot, who leaned against the heavy door of his cabin, eyes downcast as if bothered by the harsh light. Eka shook his head, and sighed.

  "Damn you, Savage, very well. We might chase them off if we get closer. Six degrees port and maintain sail," he shouted. "Arm yourselves while you're at it."

  The Steerman glanced at Chang, who raised a calming hand before shouting up to the prow. "With what, Captain? We've got nothing save a few cobbled knives."

  Eka gestured below. "There's bows, hooks and spears. Go and get them."

  Again the Steerman looked at Eka with wide, incredulous eyes, and Chang merely shrugged. "You heard the man. Go get armed."

  Basko went first, as always. Behind him the pirates went in twos and three, coming up with fine spears of carved yew and bronze tips, short bows and a pile of well-made arrows. Not a one intended to fight, of cou
rse, save to kill their hosts. But it was still nice to have them.

  Chang found Eka's eyes roaming him and his men. He clearly noticed the surprise and pleasure—the comfort and familiarity with tools of death. Chang cleared his throat to cover his own excitement, sensing freedom drawing ever closer. Still, he couldn't help but notice, the captain did not look afraid.

  They sailed in relatively tense silence. The outline of the two ships came closer, and Chang soon recognized the first as a mid-sized merchant catamaran, likely an island trader from the outskirts of the isles. The other was a military scoutship—sleek and fast and no doubt belonging to some island lord, filled with marines out of uniform, robbing any vessel they could catch with tacit approval. Such men were not considered 'pirates' like Chang and his men, though that's exactly what they were. After all, these 'pirates' were sanctioned. They killed and robbed on the approval of some rich man in a fortress, and that made all the difference in the world.

  "They aren't running." Eka said flatly. "There's at least fifteen crew, maybe more."

  The barbarian hadn't moved from his position by the door. His golden eyes had taken on a kind of glow, his dour expression darkening by the moment.

  "I will not kill," he said at last.

  "Admirable," snapped Eka, "but unhelpful. When we started this venture you claimed to be pilot and I the captain. Well as captain I suggest we steer clear."

  The giant's eyes snapped to the smaller man. He seemed almost ready to lunge from his rest, but he calmed. "Yes," he agreed, "you are captain."

  "Good." Eka took a breath and gestured away from the ships, still circling and loosing arrows. "Turn West. We'll get out of sight, then move at half sail throughout the…"

  "Help us!"

  A feminine voice crossed the waves. It was rich, and strong with a strange accent Chang couldn't place.

  The giant blinked and surged forward, his head turned like a dog with a scent. He disappeared into his cabin, and Eka sighed.

  "Change of plans," he called to the crew, then stepped down to meet Chang's eyes. "We're going to help that ship, Chief. If I were you I would tell any of your men who would like to see the dawn not even to whisper of betrayal. For as frightening and violent as looks our good friend the pilot, I assure you, the reality is worse. Do you understand?"

  "Of course, Captain." Chang smiled. "We wouldn't dream of it."

  Chapter 3

  Zaya spotted a ship from the only window in the cluttered hold. At first she was seized with dread, assuming it another enemy vessel filled with pirates. She felt what little hope of resistance she had fade to nothing, and nearly fell back to wait for doom on one of the many barrels. But she forced herself to look. Though the light was fading she soon saw the new ship's sails were enormous—angled and curved forward, almost like triangles. Her heart pounded as recognition came—these were not island sails. They were the sails of her people. Could the vessel be from the Ascom? Was that possible?

  "Help us!" she cried in the island tongue with all the strength in her considerable voice. She watched, and waited, then cried again in the Ascomi tongue.

  Above she could still hear arrows and men crying out in triumph or agony. The merchant vessel twisted and turned, no doubt trying to prevent the attacker from being able to board. In one such turn she caught sight of the enemy vessel in close pursuit, and with resignation, she realized their potential savior was still too far away. They would be boarded soon, slaughtered long before it could arrive.

  She took deep breaths, then looked for a weapon. "Gods curse these people," she muttered, rummaging through the endless crates and barrels of fabric and spices, lumber and iron nails. As she prepared to use a long piece of wood as her weapon, she remembered how the sailors from her own people had bound their weapons to the hull itself with nets. In the gloom she felt her way along the swaying ship, hands running over the many objects stored in the same manner. She cried out in surprise and relief as she jabbed something pointed and sharp, then struggled with the ropes and tipped a bundle of short spears at her feet. They were too small and blunt, and perhaps had been made for fishing or whaling, but they would do.

  Zaya hummed a low song of war to steady her nerves. She heard hooks scratching against the hull, then clattering as they threw planks and rope and who knew what else to bind their prey. She felt her breaths turning ragged, and rose her voice to sing of Haki the Brave as he fought the giant Omaka. How many times had she sung of the great heroes? How many times had she told the stories of warriors in battle?

  Now she knew she must put deeds to words. Perhaps then the goddess Edda might hear, and bring her honor.

  Men screamed as metal and wood clanged in the sounds of combat. The door to the hold broke open, the dim light from a clouded sun showed the silhouette of an islander. Zaya roared, and lunged, ramming her spear through the first pirate's gut.

  * * *

  "More sail!" Eka called from his perch, and Chang motioned at the Pitman to obey. He wasn't much concerned about the handful of marines in the scout. He was concerned that when they realized they were under attack, they would have enough sense to start firing their arrows, and if they were lucky, they'd burn down Chang's future ship.

  "Damned stupid fool bastards," he muttered to the men at his side.

  "Heavy in the water," said the Steerman with a grin.

  "Might be a tidy haul, Chiefy," Basko agreed, "if we play it right, could be just like old times." He grinned, and Chang pushed him towards the masts with a scowl.

  "Just do what he bloody says 'till I say otherwise, and don't get killed."

  "Aye, Chiefy." Basko went with a chuckle, his mood finer than it had any right to be. But then Scab-eyed Basko always did like a fight.

  The Prince barreled down on its target with disturbing speed. The manouevering of the merchant and her pursuer brought their movement to almost nothing, and despite their good sails in the mostly headwind, The Prince pursued like a monstrous wolf.

  "We're nearly on them, Savage!" the captain called, and for a moment Chang wondered exactly what the hell the barbarian intended. Then his cabin door opened, and the warlord stepped outside. Chang forced his mouth to close.

  Gone was the half-naked barbarian, replaced by a metal giant clad in rings of iron from neck to knees. "I will not kill," the giant said low and fierce, as if to himself, his eyes staring out at nothing.

  "Spirits." The Steerman muttered as he stared, the rest of the crew gawking in turns. Chang managed to turn away long enough to glare at the fast approaching enemy ship, which was now nearly stationary and half attached to the other vessel with grapples.

  "We should slow," he called to anyone who might listen, thinking you're going to ruin my damn ship!

  The giant blinked and looked at the enemy, then shrugged. "This hull is more iron than wood. The Prince does not fear such little things."

  Eka looked at Chang, and bloody grinned. "Hold course, Chief. That should get their attention."

  Chang stood with the other men on the foredeck, for a moment too stunned to react. Madmen! he wanted to shout. And so stupid to name your ship. Even worse to give it a masculine name to strike the sea-god's ire! Damned stupid fools.

  But he held his tongue, and shook his head. "Rope, lads. Get yourselves bound to the ship. Move!"

  The men realized their predicament and scrambled to obey, most tying themselves to the masts, a few dashing down to the hold. Chang might have joined them, but he wanted to see.

  He watched the profile of the scout ship grow and grow, then the gloomy water churn around the fighting ships, cutting aside to permit The Prince on her deadly course. Some of the privateers realized they weren't turning and began to shout and cut ropes and raise sail, but all in vain. If he'd had more time, Chang might have prayed to Roa. And if he had more time than that he'd have tried the good spirits and the rice-king's gods, or even the damn sun god of the empire. A good pirate knew anyone who'd spare him would do.

  Chang had been
on many ships in a ram, on both ends, and could have gone his whole life without another. But such was the way of things. He cringed and held to the mast as the ship struck, and for a few terrible breaths Chang wasn't sure if he'd flown forward or stood still. The screech and crunch of the huge weight coming together became his world, wood splintering and crushing as The Prince slowed itself on the corpse of her enemy. Chang coughed from the pressure of the ropes digging into his chest. Whether from fear or instinct, he was soon on his feet with a knife in one hand and a spear in the other, racing towards the doomed scout ship.

  "Come on, you bastards!" he roared at any man insane enough to follow. Basko was already at his side and snarling for blood, the Oarmen brothers on his flanks. The Steerman staggered behind kicking off rope and taking aim with a bow, apparently a killer today and not a coward.

  Ahead of all, the giant charged, a metal shield in one hand, a strange club in the other, his size and gleaming iron armor making him look like a statue come to life.

  The few marines still on their own sinking ship tried to stop them at the edge of the hull. Ruka swiped the first from his feet as if he kicked a rabid dog. Chang ducked behind him for cover from an arrow, then leapt at the closest man and just missed his throat with a spear thrust. He dropped and followed with his knife, sinking the blade deep into the man's side before knocking him back with his knee. Basko caught a spear beside him and tossed it away, matching the strike with his own into a fleeing marine's thigh.

  More of the enemy charged back from the merchant vessel, which they'd seemed to already secure. The captain leapt from his perch—an impossible jump that should have broken his legs, instead he rolled and flung two knives that lodged firmly in two sailor's throats. Before Chang had time to gawk, he heard a woman's voice singing words he didn't understand, the sound rhythmic, and harsh, like a marching chant. At the sound of it, the giant went mad.