Blackwatch...”
Both Jyrine and Calder leaned forward even more, scenting weakness.
Then Artur held up a book, a copy of Sadesthenes’ From Rising Sun to Setting Moon. “When we finish this volume, I would be happy to answer one question from each of you. Without violating any Guild secrets, of course.”
Calder slumped in his chair, disappointed, but Jyrine narrowed her eyes. “What if we have more questions?”
The Chronicler grinned. “Fortunately for you, I have more books.”
C HAPTER S EVEN
For a Navigator, Calder wasn’t a very good navigator.
That had been Jerri’s job, more than his: reading the maps and the stars, comparing them to the compass, telling him which direction to go as he steered the ship. She was the pilot, he was just the captain. Without her, he had to rely entirely on Naberius, with occasional input from Andel.
Therefore, he was effectively taking it on faith that they were headed in the right direction.
At the moment, he had focused his entire body and Intent to steering The Testament through the Starlight Spires—mountainous spikes of some silvery metal that stuck up from the water like a porcupine’s quills. At night, the Spires supposedly lit up with spots of white light as though they were covered in stars, but Calder would rather swim through than try and navigate these turns after sundown.
Some of the silver Spires were too close to one another to squeeze through, and others didn’t reach entirely out of the water. Off to port, he saw the sun-bleached remnants of a ship that hadn’t cleared one of the sunken Spires, so the metal spike gouged a chunk out of the hull, leaving the corpse of the vessel impaled forever.
It didn’t look like a Navigator ship, so it was that captain’s own fault for venturing this far into the Aion. Still, it was a grim reminder of what could happen if Calder lost concentration for even a moment.
He couldn’t rely on the Lyathatan to pull them through, either. Alien irritation flowed up through the ship, burning Calder’s mind with its sullen resentment. The Elderspawn was not at all happy that it had to dodge around sunken silver spikes, so it couldn’t spend the day sleeping as it normally did. If Calder called upon the Lyathatan now, he had the uncomfortable feeling that he’d end up dining with Kelarac on the bottom of the sea.
Dalton Foster stomped up the ladder to the stern deck, cradling a musket in one arm and a bottle in the other. Calder nodded to him without taking his eyes from the closest Silver Spire.
“Duster,” he said pointedly. Foster had a history of forgetting his false name.
The old gunner grunted. “So. It’s been a week.”
Aching pain shot through Calder’s gut, but he kept his expression blank. He’d tried to spend the last week distracting himself with work, and the crew had mostly stayed out of his way. He should have known it was too good to last.
“We probably have another week until we get there,” Calder said, in an attempt to keep the conversation on their voyage. At another time of the year, the trip wouldn’t have taken so long: the coordinates Naberius pointed out on the map was at the very edge of what Navigators called the Deep Aion. It was far enough into the sea that only members of Calder’s Guild could get there, but still only a few days from shore in a straight line.
The ‘straight line’ part was what got people killed. This time of year, a Deepstrider migration ran parallel to the coast, and the Kameira would reduce his ships to matchsticks if he tried to drive straight through them. He’d heard rumors that Lhirin Island had drifted west, so he’d have to spend another few days looping wide enough around the island. He didn’t want his crew to start eating each other, as the last Navigators to land on the nomadic isle had. And he couldn’t move at full speed through the Silver Spires. All in all, it turned a four-day trip into a two-week voyage.
Traveling through the Aion
Both Jyrine and Calder leaned forward even more, scenting weakness.
Then Artur held up a book, a copy of Sadesthenes’ From Rising Sun to Setting Moon. “When we finish this volume, I would be happy to answer one question from each of you. Without violating any Guild secrets, of course.”
Calder slumped in his chair, disappointed, but Jyrine narrowed her eyes. “What if we have more questions?”
The Chronicler grinned. “Fortunately for you, I have more books.”
C HAPTER S EVEN
For a Navigator, Calder wasn’t a very good navigator.
That had been Jerri’s job, more than his: reading the maps and the stars, comparing them to the compass, telling him which direction to go as he steered the ship. She was the pilot, he was just the captain. Without her, he had to rely entirely on Naberius, with occasional input from Andel.
Therefore, he was effectively taking it on faith that they were headed in the right direction.
At the moment, he had focused his entire body and Intent to steering The Testament through the Starlight Spires—mountainous spikes of some silvery metal that stuck up from the water like a porcupine’s quills. At night, the Spires supposedly lit up with spots of white light as though they were covered in stars, but Calder would rather swim through than try and navigate these turns after sundown.
Some of the silver Spires were too close to one another to squeeze through, and others didn’t reach entirely out of the water. Off to port, he saw the sun-bleached remnants of a ship that hadn’t cleared one of the sunken Spires, so the metal spike gouged a chunk out of the hull, leaving the corpse of the vessel impaled forever.
It didn’t look like a Navigator ship, so it was that captain’s own fault for venturing this far into the Aion. Still, it was a grim reminder of what could happen if Calder lost concentration for even a moment.
He couldn’t rely on the Lyathatan to pull them through, either. Alien irritation flowed up through the ship, burning Calder’s mind with its sullen resentment. The Elderspawn was not at all happy that it had to dodge around sunken silver spikes, so it couldn’t spend the day sleeping as it normally did. If Calder called upon the Lyathatan now, he had the uncomfortable feeling that he’d end up dining with Kelarac on the bottom of the sea.
Dalton Foster stomped up the ladder to the stern deck, cradling a musket in one arm and a bottle in the other. Calder nodded to him without taking his eyes from the closest Silver Spire.
“Duster,” he said pointedly. Foster had a history of forgetting his false name.
The old gunner grunted. “So. It’s been a week.”
Aching pain shot through Calder’s gut, but he kept his expression blank. He’d tried to spend the last week distracting himself with work, and the crew had mostly stayed out of his way. He should have known it was too good to last.
“We probably have another week until we get there,” Calder said, in an attempt to keep the conversation on their voyage. At another time of the year, the trip wouldn’t have taken so long: the coordinates Naberius pointed out on the map was at the very edge of what Navigators called the Deep Aion. It was far enough into the sea that only members of Calder’s Guild could get there, but still only a few days from shore in a straight line.
The ‘straight line’ part was what got people killed. This time of year, a Deepstrider migration ran parallel to the coast, and the Kameira would reduce his ships to matchsticks if he tried to drive straight through them. He’d heard rumors that Lhirin Island had drifted west, so he’d have to spend another few days looping wide enough around the island. He didn’t want his crew to start eating each other, as the last Navigators to land on the nomadic isle had. And he couldn’t move at full speed through the Silver Spires. All in all, it turned a four-day trip into a two-week voyage.
Traveling through the Aion
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