world’?”
The captain was silent for a moment. Japheth decided he’d managed to push the old salt back on his heel.
Thoster asked, “How’s it you still live? Behroun told me you’ve walked the road for a decade or more. You should’ve perished years ago, ain’t that right?”
It was Japheth’s turn to laugh. “The fey spirits I commune with provide me with more than the words to curse the heart, still beating, from the chest of an enemy.”
Thoster frowned, his easy manner finally dissipating. The captain recognized Japheth’s veiled threat. He began, “Listen, if you”
An ululating scream interrupted Thoster’s response. The yell of pain and terror resounded. Another cry followed. “Ghost! A ghost is killing Dorian!”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Year of the Secret (1396 DR) Green Siren on the Sea of Fallen Stars
Heaps of black stone lay tumbled in plank silos in the moist confines of the ship’s hold. A brownish fungus had a good start across the slick piles, an indication that the heavy ballast hadn’t seen much rotation in recent months.
Begrimed barrels, filled with liquid barely more palatable than seawater, stood two high along the starboard wall under reams of white sailcloth folded on top. Along the hold’s port wall, coils of thick hawser hung. Rope was like ship’s blood. It could be used for hundreds of tasks, from lashing men and equipment to the deck during storm seas, to repairing sail lines during hot becalmed days when nothing else could be done. Also, rope was useful for punishment. Keelhauling wasn’t unknown on the
Green Siren for crew members who defied the captain and his hulking first mate, Nyrotha.
Smaller kegs were stored under lock and key behind an iron portcullis, whose rusty expanse covered the port wall. Harsh fumes proclaimed their rum-filled contents to any who drew near.
A shelf next to the portcullis was stuffed with sheathed swords, spears, hanging crossbows, and a few well-polished shields.
The ceiling was composed of well-fitted planks, except for a wide, square opening directly above, which pierced the ship from the top deck, to mid deck, to hold, to the orlop deck. A rope ladder of rough hawser ran up the side of the opening, connecting all four decks.
Beneath the opening, a sailor lay on the stained, planked floor of the hold.
The sailor quivered and bucked as if possessed, and froth formed at the corners of his mouth. The veins that crisscrossed the exposed flesh of his face, arms, calves, and bare feet flamed scarlet with pain.
Anusha Marhana looked down at the thrashing, barefoot man, a hand to her mouth.
All she had done was touch him!
A dark-haired woman with a scar disfiguring the left side of her face perched halfway down the ladder leading into the hold. Terror robbed the woman of the strength to move up or down. Her ability to scream, however, was unhampered. The scarred woman’s mouth was wide with a howl of dread, and her eyes seemed locked at something she saw near her writhing companion.
The scarred woman looked not at Anusha, but at one of the half-silvered shields that hung from the ship’s weapon depot. Anusha followed the direction of the woman’s terrified vision, into the face of the mirror-like shield… and something looked back at Anusha. A humanoid silhouette of purest black, outlined in erratic white and blue flashes. She recognized the silhouette as her own.
*****
The first time Anusha had dream-stepped, she hadn’t realized it.
She had awakened from what seemed merely an unusually detailed dream. During the dream she’d seen her half brother, Behroun, and the mysterious warlock plotting. True, upon “waking,” her mind was almost ready to accept the first wild explanation that occurred to her, that she’d somehow stepped beyond her body and spied on events in the outside world as she slept… but she backed away from that explanation quickly enough. She managed to convince herself the experience was mere fancy, born of
The captain was silent for a moment. Japheth decided he’d managed to push the old salt back on his heel.
Thoster asked, “How’s it you still live? Behroun told me you’ve walked the road for a decade or more. You should’ve perished years ago, ain’t that right?”
It was Japheth’s turn to laugh. “The fey spirits I commune with provide me with more than the words to curse the heart, still beating, from the chest of an enemy.”
Thoster frowned, his easy manner finally dissipating. The captain recognized Japheth’s veiled threat. He began, “Listen, if you”
An ululating scream interrupted Thoster’s response. The yell of pain and terror resounded. Another cry followed. “Ghost! A ghost is killing Dorian!”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Year of the Secret (1396 DR) Green Siren on the Sea of Fallen Stars
Heaps of black stone lay tumbled in plank silos in the moist confines of the ship’s hold. A brownish fungus had a good start across the slick piles, an indication that the heavy ballast hadn’t seen much rotation in recent months.
Begrimed barrels, filled with liquid barely more palatable than seawater, stood two high along the starboard wall under reams of white sailcloth folded on top. Along the hold’s port wall, coils of thick hawser hung. Rope was like ship’s blood. It could be used for hundreds of tasks, from lashing men and equipment to the deck during storm seas, to repairing sail lines during hot becalmed days when nothing else could be done. Also, rope was useful for punishment. Keelhauling wasn’t unknown on the
Green Siren for crew members who defied the captain and his hulking first mate, Nyrotha.
Smaller kegs were stored under lock and key behind an iron portcullis, whose rusty expanse covered the port wall. Harsh fumes proclaimed their rum-filled contents to any who drew near.
A shelf next to the portcullis was stuffed with sheathed swords, spears, hanging crossbows, and a few well-polished shields.
The ceiling was composed of well-fitted planks, except for a wide, square opening directly above, which pierced the ship from the top deck, to mid deck, to hold, to the orlop deck. A rope ladder of rough hawser ran up the side of the opening, connecting all four decks.
Beneath the opening, a sailor lay on the stained, planked floor of the hold.
The sailor quivered and bucked as if possessed, and froth formed at the corners of his mouth. The veins that crisscrossed the exposed flesh of his face, arms, calves, and bare feet flamed scarlet with pain.
Anusha Marhana looked down at the thrashing, barefoot man, a hand to her mouth.
All she had done was touch him!
A dark-haired woman with a scar disfiguring the left side of her face perched halfway down the ladder leading into the hold. Terror robbed the woman of the strength to move up or down. Her ability to scream, however, was unhampered. The scarred woman’s mouth was wide with a howl of dread, and her eyes seemed locked at something she saw near her writhing companion.
The scarred woman looked not at Anusha, but at one of the half-silvered shields that hung from the ship’s weapon depot. Anusha followed the direction of the woman’s terrified vision, into the face of the mirror-like shield… and something looked back at Anusha. A humanoid silhouette of purest black, outlined in erratic white and blue flashes. She recognized the silhouette as her own.
*****
The first time Anusha had dream-stepped, she hadn’t realized it.
She had awakened from what seemed merely an unusually detailed dream. During the dream she’d seen her half brother, Behroun, and the mysterious warlock plotting. True, upon “waking,” her mind was almost ready to accept the first wild explanation that occurred to her, that she’d somehow stepped beyond her body and spied on events in the outside world as she slept… but she backed away from that explanation quickly enough. She managed to convince herself the experience was mere fancy, born of
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