Don Bassingthwaite - The Binding Stone

Geth fought back the growl that grew in his throat. Dandra was glancing between him and Singe. Even quiet Pandon noticed something was up. Natrac, however, carried on. “Some do cause trouble,” he confessed. “Most adjust well enough, though-eventually.” He rapped the ship’s rail. “That’s the value of taking passage on an elemental galleon. I used to book passage on ordinary ships, but you can imagine the effect of keeping ten or so strapping, half-wild savages on board a ship for two weeks or more. I saved on transportation, but the cost of damages was ruinous. On Vennet’s ship, the trip takes less than half the time and I simply increase the period of my clients’ service to cover the cost.” He clapped his hands. “Happiness all around.”

Singe nodded. “Aren’t you worried about offending House Deneith?” he asked nonchalantly. “I’ve heard that the Blademarks Guild sometimes recruits in the Eldeen Reaches.”

Natrac chuckled. “They never come this far and I’d be nothing to them even if they did. To be safe though, I never hire my people out as mercenaries. Porters in Zarash’ak, guides in the Marches, gladiators in Sharn if they have a knack for it-but mercenaries? No.” He tapped a finger against the side of his nose and winked at Singe. “Not that I’ve ever turned anyone away if they’re a tough fighter. There’s always more that want to go than I can take in a trip. Just before we boarded, one of my clients broke another’s jaw so she could take his place on the ship! If you need to hire a porter with a strong fist while you’re in Zarash’ak, ask me.”

“I’ll do that,” said Singe with a smile. His eyes scanned the deck. “Where are these fine porters anyway?”

“As much as I like to see other passengers come on deck to enjoy the view, my clients stay below deck in the aft hold except when necessary.” He folded his hands across his stomach. “Part of my arrangement with Vennet. My clients can be a little … rough around the edges.”

“That’s often the way with backcountry types, isn’t it?” agreed Singe. He turned around to look out over the river, deliberately putting his back to Geth. The shifter’s hands curled into fists. Dandra frowned, however, and put a hand on his arm.

“Don’t,” she urged him.

Geth shrugged her off and stalked over to the far side of the deck.

Beyond the Grithic’s northern bank-now a long bowshot away, even from Lightning on Water’s position in the center of the river-the land rose into the rolling, barren hills they had descended only that morning. Beyond the hills lay the great forests of the Eldeen. Fourteen years ago, he hadn’t been able to put those forests behind him quickly enough.

Seven years later, he’d promised himself he’d never leave them again. How many of Natrac’s clients below deck, Geth wondered, were wishing for some last glimpse of their own homeland? How many would eventually find their way back to Yrlag?

He stared at the hills as the river gradually widened and the smell of the land faded away, replaced by the growing salt-tang of the sea. The harsh croaking of gulls echoed across the water. It reminded Geth of Breek’s familiar squawk-lost along with Adolan. He closed his eyes, shutting out the last sight of the distant Eldeen.

A sudden shout from Vennet drew his attention back to the ship. “All hands, prepare to take speed!”

Geth raised his head as, around the ship, the crew called back to the captain. A murmur of anticipation rose from the other passengers.

It was drowned out by another cry. “All clear, captain!”

“Taking speed!” Vennet cried out. “Taking speed!”

From where he stood, Geth saw the captain take a firm grip on the wheel. The half-elf’s eyes narrowed in concentration.

A low, haunting whistle seemed to pass through the air. Geth’s eyes darted up, following the sound to the great blue ring mounted behind the ship. Its translucent surface was quivering, like a pot of water coming to a boil. The wisps of mist it had given off before grew denser and became streams thick as smoke. The whistle screeched higher and louder, making Geth’s ears twitch unbearably. The hair on his arms and on the back of his neck rose. The growl that he had suppressed before broke out of his throat and his lips pulled back from his teeth. The whistle faded away. The ship seemed to hold its breath.

In the next moment, the blue of the ring vanished like snow thrown on a fire, puffing away into a hoop of roiling mists as a howling gale blasted out behind the ship. Lightning on Water gave a tremendous leap and surged forward in a powerful burst of speed. Caught off-guard, Geth lurched and staggered. The wind of their passage took his breath away. He clenched his teeth and blinked against it as his fingers dug into the wood of the rail. The ship seemed to rise up underneath him. A few of the crew were snickering and pointing at him. He didn’t care-he just held on.

“Geth!” called Dandra. “Geth!”

A hand tapped his shoulder. Geth glanced back at the kalashtar. Singe stood behind her.

“Relax!” she said. “It’s not that bad.”

“What is this?” Geth gasped. “What’s going on?”

The ship shuddered and rose again. The roar of water rushing against the hull shifted in pitch. Geth’s hands clamped around the rail even harder. Singe peered over the ship’s side, then pointed down. Geth leaned over cautiously to follow his gesture.

Lightning on Water was moving so fast that her hull had lifted almost entirely clear of the water. Previously hidden below the waterline, a long wooden fin arced gracefully down from the ship’s side to slice through the water like a paddle held sideways.

“There’s another on the other side,” said Singe. “As I understand it, because they’re thinner than the hull, the ship can go even faster.”

“That’s good,” gulped Geth. “Because we need to go faster.” He looked at Dandra. “Now I know,” he said, “how you feel on a horse.” He forced his hands open and slid down to sit on the deck with his back against the rail and the racing water out of sight.

The first two days of the voyage were among the most physically miserable of Geth’s life. Most of his time-day and night-was spent on deck. Even with the rushing wind of their passage, the fresh air was far more comforting than the disturbing creaks and eternal shifting below. It also alleviated the worst of his seasickness. Water and plain bread were the only things that could pass his lips without sending him rushing to hang over the ship’s rail.

Some time on the third day, it seemed as if his body made a bargain with the sea. The shifter found that he was actually hungry and cautious sampling showed that a little food would stay settled in his stomach. The sea wind felt good on his face and in his hair and there was thrill to the rise and fall of the ship as it surged over the waves. The crew had grown used to his presence on deck; they seemed genuinely pleased when they discovered that he had started to enjoy the journey.

The only thing he couldn’t get used to was the sensation of being below deck while the ship was moving. He’d never been afraid of tight spaces before, but onboard Lightning on Water , it was disquieting. Fortunately, the weather was warm in spite of the wind. If he’d survived two nights on deck while puking his guts over the side of the ship, he told himself, he could survive a couple more.

As the sun set over water and darkness fell, he found himself alone in the bow of the ship. The crew had gone to their hammocks and blankets. The other passengers, Singe and Dandra among them, had made a habit of remaining in the captain’s cabin after dinner. It seemed that sharing Vennet’s table wasn’t exactly the exclusive invitation Singe might have thought it was. Geth stared out at the broad horizon-at the moons and stars above and the shining Ring of Siberys in the south-and finally allowed himself to mourn Adolan. The druid’s loss was an empty ache inside him. Geth reached up and brushed his fingers over the collar of black stones, feeling the deep grooves of the ancient symbols that had been carved into them.