Runespeaker

Chapter Seventeen

Elevar hated the sea. He hadn't realized that before, having never even seen it, but now it was entirely clear that Imla was no friend to him. Day after day, he saw nothing but the vast expanse of water, and not once did the sun peek out from behind the clouds. It snowed frequently. Once or twice, the ship was even pelted with frozen rain that stung like fire on any inch of skin foolishly left uncovered. Thus, everyone aboard Kalia dressed thickly, their heads protected within their cloaks, and their faces masked.

Rarely did the wind blow toward Melikesh, and thus, the sailors had to row most of the way. Everyone took their turns at the oars, even Elevar and Tira. Not even Skernir was exempt, and his willingness to put in hard work with his crew was perhaps the only thing about him Elevar that could think of that came across as being the least bit respectable--not that the runespeaker could bring himself to respect the murderous sea captain, of course. No. That he could never do.

When he wasn't rowing, Skernir stood at the bow, watching the sea in front of him. He always looked unhappy, but he looked a little less so when his eyes were on the water. Occasionally, a bit of gray jagged rock or a small chunk of ice would peak out above the surface, and he'd direct the man at the steering oar to turn the ship to one side or the other.

Skernir ate little, preferring to let his men have some of the food that might have gone to him. After four days of watching this go on, Elevar almost began to like him a little. Almost.

***

It was late at night, and it was Elevar's turn at the oar.

"Spellmaker," Skernir growled, watching the horizon from the bow. "Come here. Brekulf, you take his place."

Grimacing as he took his blistered hands off the oar, Elevar stood up from the rowing bench and walked to the bow to stand just behind Skernir.

"Closer, boy." Skernir's voice was quiet.

Elevar stepped up next to Skernir on the ship's wall, teetering uncomfortably above the water. The ship's captain clearly had a sense of balance that was entirely alien to the runespeaker.

"Look." Skernir pointed ahead with his left hand, holding onto the figurehead with his right.

Nearly hugging the stemhead, Elevar followed Skernir's finger toward the horizon. In the distance, several stone columns jutted up out of the water, reaching for the sky but not quite touching it. Beyond them, a shadow blotted out a small piece of the sky--an island, surely.

"That should not be there." Skernir lowered his arm and looked at Elevar. "Maybe you knew what you were talking about after all, spellmaker."

"I always know what I'm talking about." Elevar had intended to sound defiant, but his voice shook a little too much as he struggled not to think about either the prospect of falling off his perch or--perhaps worse--of surviving to find out precisely what sort of curse Malin vin Valiir had placed on the water surrounding Melikesh.

"Do not try my patience, spellmaker," Skernir said.

Almost losing his balance, Elevar leapt back inside the boat.

"What is this place that should not exist, spellmaker?" Skernir's eyes were fixed on the row of columns ahead of his ship.

"Melikesh."

Skernir didn't take his eyes off the columns. "You've already told me that."

"It was the site of a Relinian colony in the Elven Age." Elevar didn't trust Skernir with the whole nature of his objective here any more than he trusted him with the knowledge that these were cursed waters. "There is something here--or there may be something here--that I want to see."

"A sight-seeing voyage?" Skernir turned away from the mysterious columns and looked deeply into Elevar's eyes, searching for...something. "I've overheard enough of your conversations to know that there's far more to this than curiosity. You'd best open up, if you want to remain aboard my ship. And it would be a pity if you fell overboard. We wouldn't rescue you, boy."

Somehow, Elevar couldn't imagine that Skernir's threat was idle. Still, he didn't want to tell the man everything. "I believe there's something here that could have drawn in some--How do I word this?--bad characters. I need to know if I'm right."

"What sort of thing? And what sort of bad characters?"

"I know little about my enemy at the moment," said Elevar, relieved that he could answer the question with very little deceit or redaction. "As for what's here, it's a necromantic material that ought never fall into anyone's hands--anyone's at all."

"Necromancy." Skernir turned back to watch the water in front Kalia. "Gods. I've spent my whole life avoiding magicians and their tricks like the pox. Curse the day I met Brekulf."

"How did you meet Brekulf?" Elevar asked. Skernir, however, didn't seem to be listening--or perhaps he simply didn't care to answer the question.

The columns drew closer by the moment. Whatever horrors lay beyond them, Elevar was quite certain he'd have no idea how to handle them. Most curses could be counteracted, but that nearly always required knowledge of the curse, its rune, and the material used in its creation. He knew nothing about any of these.

"When are you going to tell him?" Tira's presence behind Elevar had gone unnoticed until he felt her whispering in his ear.

Elevar jumped. Once he'd collected himself, he whispered back, "When it's too late to turn around."

"Too late for him to choose?"

"I thought we agreed." Elevar turned to face her.

Tira ran her eyes over the captain's back as he stood at the bow, watching silently as the columns loomed larger and larger. The gentle rhythm of the oars sang a song unlike any other the two runespeakers had heard before setting to sea. "We did...but perhaps we shouldn't have."

"Perhaps," said Elevar. "But it's too late now."

They were passing under the columns.

"Spellmaker!" Skernir's voice was far more hostile than Elevar had heard it before, and that was saying something.

"Yes, Skernir?" Once more, Elevar rushed to the captain's side.

"What is that?" Skernir growled.

The water below them tossed and turned. And it was marked. By the gods, the water itself bore the runes of Malin vin Valiir's spellwork. They rippled with the motion of the sea, but they were clear enough. Elevar waited a moment, as the columns passed behind them.

A low gurgling sound issued from the water...a sound that made Elevar's hair stand on end.

"What was that?" Skernir's tone was no less angry than before, but now the anger was mingled with fear, and his voice shook like the air around them.

"I'm afraid, Skernir, that we have sailed into cursed waters," Elevar said. His voice trembled too. He may have been expecting this, but he had not been prepared for it.

"Gods damn you, spellmaker," said Skernir. "You knew."

"Did I?"

"Go back!" Skernir bellowed. "Row back!"

But already the runes had company in the waves. A thousand glowing eyes appeared beneath the surface of the water, and a hand grabbed hold of the ship's side, the fingers wrapping themselves over the top of the wall. It was joined by another hand, then another. They were bone-thin hands, and Elevar doubted that there was any flesh left beneath the skin stretching over them like a glove that was far too small for its wearer.

"It's too late," Elevar said, but he found that his successful deception yielded far less triumph than fear. It was too late, not just for Skernir, but for all of them.