James Barclay - Beyond the Mists of Katura

It amused Ystormun to watch the Wesmen work. They were unskilled as sailors, particularly of ocean-going vessels, but they were enthusiastic and strong, and their sheer energy made up in good part for their lack of experience. Enough skilled sailors had been put on board each of the ten ships to ensure they could survive the crossing, and the rest was left to the fates. Not even Wytch Lords could tamper with the elements. Not yet, anyway.

Ystormun walked his host body all the way to the prow. Wesman sailors and soldiers alike made a path for him, seeing all the signs of possession in his face. He stared through the shaman’s keen eyes and could just about make out the dark on the horizon that was Calaius.

He found himself experiencing a thrill that pushed aside the thoughts of revenge and the memory of his humiliation. Ystormun found he could recall the scents of the rainforest and the sounds echoing night and day in the deeps of the canopy. He could taste the sweetness of Calaian fruit and herbs, the potency of their root alcohols. And he could hear the screams of elves dying at his behest.

Ystormun allowed himself the briefest of hidden smiles. Incredibly, he had actually missed the place, and there was some form of faint excitement at the thought of his return, however vicarious.

How long he had waited for this moment to come; his pleas to the cadre, his plotting and planning, his aborted attempts to defy them and mount an invasion of his own to make himself independent from them. And now, thanks to Septern, his spell and the wars engulfing Balaia, the full force of his fury could be unleashed. This time slavery would be replaced with the glory of genocide. Wesmen would sail the barges, wield the axes and skin the animals for their rich fur. This time Calaius would be the wealth mine it would already have been but for the cadre’s endless meddling.

But first the elves would suffer, and he would force two of them to watch it all before he freed them. Free to endure their failure for the rest of eternity, to know that their gods had deserted them. Ystormun had pondered so many excruciating tortures but none other would provide the end he desired for them: endless mental pain, now that was a delicious thought.

Ystormun let their faces play in his memory one more time and their names touched the shaman’s lips.

Takaar and Auum: the twin architects of his diminution. If they still lived, and he had no doubt that they did, he would visit upon them such misery as to eclipse the sun and leave them only darkness on which to feed. It would be the crowning moment of his life. It would satisfy his every craving.

Ystormun withdrew from the shaman to rest.

He did not hear the shout of warning from the crow’s nest.

Auum spent most of his time in the mainmast crow’s nest because only there could he imagine he was above the canopy, taking in the elements unfettered by his beloved rainforest. It also gave him peace from the bedlam on board ship. The creaking of the timbers wasn’t as permeating of his consciousness; the rattle of rigging up and down the length of the vessel was muted by the roar of the wind and the snap of sails in his ears. And he was away from the claustrophobic presence of so many elves in such a confined space.

It didn’t matter that many of them were his people. Enough were Il-Aryn or sailors to ensure he constantly felt uncomfortable. He had trouble sleeping, his appetite was gone and he craved the room just to run .

Auum looked down past the sail canvas to the deck over a hundred feet below. The ship was in a light swell, the yawing exaggerated way up here. Faleen was engaged in combat training with her Tai, inviting them to attack her two on one. He watched them for a while, smiling at their instant innate balance despite the shifting of the deck at the sea’s whim. Sailors with a lifetime on the ocean had nothing like the same skill. Such was the talent of the TaiGethen.

Having seen Faleen’s Tai dumped on their backsides twice by their veteran leader, Auum sat down facing aft, his legs stretched out before him. He studied the sky, watching gulls circling overhead waiting for scraps while the high cloud whipped across the heavens. Three days was the longest Auum had ever gone without feeling Gyal’s tears, and it did nothing to improve his mood.

Ulysan’s head appeared through the hole in the centre of the crow’s nest, a broad smile on his face.

‘Still alive, then,’ he said.

‘Did you miss the part where I said I wanted total solitude up here?’

‘Nope,’ said Ulysan, heaving his body though the gap. ‘Budge up, budge up.’

‘Beeth drop a branch on your head, Ulysan, what are you doing? I’m trying to think up here.’

‘Carry on, I won’t interfere.’

Ulysan sat down opposite Auum and stared intently at the knots in the wooden frame of the nest. Auum tried to muster some genuine anger but succeeded only in feeling a sense of relief he was not alone. He scowled at the big TaiGethen nonetheless.

‘All right, what are you really doing up here?’

‘Making my morning report, my Arch.’

Auum snorted to hide a laugh and played his part.

‘Ships still afloat?’

‘All four, skipper.’

‘TaiGethen still on board?’

‘No reports of any individuals attempting the swim home, skipper.’

‘Il-Aryn still puking their guts up?’

‘Unfortunately there has been some improvement in that area. The seagulls have lodged a complaint. We suspect some form of casting might be settling stomachs.’

‘Sorry to hear that but you can’t have everything.’

‘Indeed you can’t.’

The friends fell silent for a time.

‘Thank you, Ulysan,’ said Auum.

‘What for?’

‘For not letting me retreat too far inside myself.’

‘It’s not good for you, you know, spending all this time up here. Not good for our people, either.’ Ulysan raised his eyebrows. ‘It’s about time you shared whatever’s got you so worried.’

‘Is it that obvious?’

‘It is to me.’

Auum sighed. ‘We don’t have a plan. We’ve rushed out to sea because Stein says there’s probably a fleet headed our way and if we meet them we know what to do, but what about when we get to Balaia? We’ve scarcely discussed it, and I’m as much to blame as anyone. It’s like we’re hoping it’ll all be laid out for us like a recipe for bread.’

‘I think you’re being a little harsh.’

‘Really? We don’t know the size of the forces against us. We don’t know where they are. We don’t know the true state of alliance between the four colleges of idiots. We only know the geography of this accursed place through a very poor map and Stein’s guesses of distances, heights and terrain. We can speculate endlessly about all these things but we have to make a plan.’

Ulysan frowned. ‘But we do know what we’re doing, don’t we? We’re going to Julatsa, we’re rescuing our adepts and we’re leaving. Right?’

‘That’s just naive, Ulysan, and you know it.’

‘I’m just making the point that it’s not quite so bleak as you paint it.’

‘Not quite. I’m starting to regret not being on the same ship as Drech and even Takaar. At least then we could make a few decisions. I’m feeling in limbo and I shouldn’t. I’m Arch of the TaiGethen.’

‘This isn’t really about the lack of a plan though, is it?’ said Ulysan.

‘Isn’t it?’

‘We all feel the same to a greater or lesser degree. Most of the TaiGethen spend most of their time below decks trying to remember the canopy over their heads. You’re up here trying to escape the crowds. We’re born to the rainforest and we’re heading for a barren wasteland.

‘It’s natural to be fearful, to try to cling to tight organisation. But if we place faith in our gods, keep Yniss in our souls every step of the way and believe in our skills, we’ll prevail.’