The Wings of Ashtaroth

Chapter 19: Massenqa: Section II: Kirin

Kirin: The Shores of Kemassen

It was a cloudy morning on a rough sea outside Kemassen. In the distance, far from the Eralia, the Anouti and Lorai fleets engaged the Masseni navy outside the city.

Kirin squatted beneath a tarred canvas tarp that had been hauled over the tucked heads of every one of Varco's men not manning the Eralia's rowing benches. The tarps stretched the length of the decks of the three warships hidden beneath the shadow of Kemassen's two harbour islands, keeping not just the men out of sight, but the skiffs they'd soon use to ferry themselves to the tunnels where the slaves were waiting.

Man by man, the soldiers in front of Kirin scurried to the head of the line where they were lowered as silently as possible onto the waves.

As one of the men on the outside of the lines, Kirin could just about see the sides of the cliffs from beneath the tarp. He didn't dare peek out any further in case there were any Masseni lookouts left after the ones Varco's archers had shot down. It seemed too easy—but then, the Masseni wouldn't be looking their way at all. All eyes would be on the navy at their gates.

Kirin shifted ever-so-slowly in place, crab-walking forward, his buttocks and thighs burning.

Almost there. He could all but feel dry land beneath his feet.

In the dark under the tarp, he glanced at the dimly lit figure of Vasthes beside him. Light from the side of the tarp reflected across the boy's eyes, revealing a dazed stare like he was entranced by something in the distance that only he could see.

He'd worn that expression for days.

The Anouti parade had cheered Vasthes for a short while, but then his melancholy had worsened. Over the last three nights, Vasthes's usual stream of words had slowed to a trickle before he'd gone silent completely. The quiet gave Kirin far too much time to think. Always, it was Ydelka and Oran, or Marianus and the mysterious stranger who'd foolishly tried to kill him back in Ledan.

Puzzles for another time. Distractions.

Kirin was here to hunt rats, and this time he would do his job. The sooner the better, so he could be free of Vasthes and his guilt and all the unexpected diversions that had plagued him since he'd made his bargain with Kordelia's cousins. He'd be free to chase Oran then. Kirin would follow the murderer across the desert if he had to.

And if he died here instead? Well, that might not be so terrible a thing as it seemed.

At Kirin's turn to clamber into the skiff below, he swung himself around the ladder. A fierce wave jostled the ropes attaching the Eralia to the skiff and he clung on tight to the sides and kept his gaze on the skies.

Above him, carved in the side of one of the islands, a titan of a goddess reared her impassive face above the mortal men below her. She seemed to stare at nothing and everything, her hands vast enough to crush him between her fingers, her mouth wide enough to consume him whole. She wasn't as strange and foreign as the statues Kirin had seen in Ledan—more human than animal—but her size! He shuddered to think what hands had wrought her.

"Good lady," Kirin mumbled. He clutched the rungs of the ladder all the tighter. "I ask your pardon. Let our swords strike true today. Let our arrows pierce and our shields withstand. Let us live."

Kirin let go of the ladder and thudded onto the boat gracelessly. The skiff wobbled at the impact and another of the strange waves rolled the ship back against the Eralia's hull. The men in the boat cast him evil stares, but Kirin grinned back. Let them fear him. Kirin was a man in his madness, didn't they know?