The Scourge of Muirwood
Page 36
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“Go back!” he roared at her.
Lia obeyed, fighting against the slick flooring to make it back to the captain’s quarters. After shutting the door, she staggered to the captain’s bed and thrust herself on it. Each pitch of the waves terrified her. The storm blew with fury and rage. Something inside nagged her that it was because of her somehow. The shutters rattled and thunder continued to explode overhead. Lia squeezed her eyes shut and trembled.
* * *
The storm raged for days. Lia was sick, exhausted, and frightened by the ferocity. In all the gales that struck Muirwood, she had a sturdy roof overhead and though there were leaks, they were not the kind that threatened her life. The crew worked furiously bailing water, mending cracks and fixing spars, their actions continually compromised by the dashing waves and violent pitching of the Holk. Tomas Aldermaston was rarely in his quarters, retiring there only when exhaustion overwhelmed him, sleeping a few short hours, then rushing back to the helm to battle the storm’s fury.
He entered the cabin again, his face wretched with fatigue and despair. “She cannot endure much more of this pounding,” he said, conflicted. Then he stared at her. “My crew say the storm is because of you.”
Lia looked incredulous. “They think that I brought the storm?”
“Aye, and many seek to throw you overboard to prove it will cease. It is unlucky to sail with womenfolk. Others say you are cursed. A crewman’s fear yet they are angry. I have never suffered a storm as great as this one. Not in all my years at sea.”
Lia moved slightly, adjusting her legs around the edge. Her stomach was taut with hunger, but she dared not eat with the general queasiness. “I did not bring this storm, Tomas. Surely you believe that?”
He leaned back against the door, as if holding it closed to protect her. “Are you aware of sailors myths? Do you know of the kingdom of Ilkarra in Sheol?”
Lia shook her head, though a shiver ran through her at the word. She understood the language through her Gift of xenoglossia. Ilkarra was the representation of the underworld, the land of the dead.
The ship pitched again, nearly throwing Lia off the bed. She clutched at the rails and held on. Tomas wedged his boots against a post and held on. He grimaced with anger. “We will break apart. I have lost three men to Sheol already. Maybe we will all perish.” His eyes narrowed when he looked at her. “Your journey must be important if you bring a storm upon us.”
Lia frowned. “I brought no storm with me.”
“Not you yourself – but your thoughts. What seek ye in Dochte Abbey?”
“I am only a messenger,” she said. “As I told you last night, I warn them about the Blight.”
“Then Sheol mayhap does not wish to be warned,” he replied.
“Who is Sheol?” Lia asked. “You have mentioned that name. The sailors curse by it.”
“Aye, they do. Sheol is the Queen of the Sea. Queen of the Unborn. The sea is the gateway to her domain, to Ilkarra. When every man dies, their bodies are returned to the earth, but their souls sink down into Ilkarra. Sheol is what we call her. The Queen of Storms. The Queen of the Unborn. The Whore of all the earth. The mastons call her Ereshkigal. Did you know that, lass?”
The name sent a shiver up Lia’s spine. She stared at him in shock and surprise. “How do you know that name?”
“Sometimes a maston is careless with his whispers. Sometimes they speak in their sleep or when they are tempted. Sometimes they do not mind the Abbey doors as they ought and a young wretched sneaks in and overhears the maston rites. Ereshkigal is the mother of hetaera. Is that what you seek in Dochte Abbey?” His eyes squinted at her, his face jutting forward intensely. “Do you seek to join them?”
“I am no hetaera,” Lia answered distastefully. “They are my enemy.”
He nodded. “Some believed that my prisoner, all those years ago, that she was one. That she had power over storms. That she was Ereshkigal made flesh. But she was a maston. I promise you that. She was a maston and she could calm a storm.” He swallowed heavily. “I cannot speak what I cannot say. Can you…save us, child? Can you banish these winds? You may be the only thing that can save us now.”
Lia stared at him. “Me?”
“I have done all that I can. My ship will break up. She is already beginning to. In my pride, I thought I could ride her out. I thought I could bring you safely there. But I see now that I cannot. The crew thinks you are causing the storm. Except Malcolm. He says you will save us from it.”
A furious pounding sounded on the door. Tomas whirled and opened it and the black-haired crewman stumbled in, sea-drenched, and gasping.
Lia obeyed, fighting against the slick flooring to make it back to the captain’s quarters. After shutting the door, she staggered to the captain’s bed and thrust herself on it. Each pitch of the waves terrified her. The storm blew with fury and rage. Something inside nagged her that it was because of her somehow. The shutters rattled and thunder continued to explode overhead. Lia squeezed her eyes shut and trembled.
* * *
The storm raged for days. Lia was sick, exhausted, and frightened by the ferocity. In all the gales that struck Muirwood, she had a sturdy roof overhead and though there were leaks, they were not the kind that threatened her life. The crew worked furiously bailing water, mending cracks and fixing spars, their actions continually compromised by the dashing waves and violent pitching of the Holk. Tomas Aldermaston was rarely in his quarters, retiring there only when exhaustion overwhelmed him, sleeping a few short hours, then rushing back to the helm to battle the storm’s fury.
He entered the cabin again, his face wretched with fatigue and despair. “She cannot endure much more of this pounding,” he said, conflicted. Then he stared at her. “My crew say the storm is because of you.”
Lia looked incredulous. “They think that I brought the storm?”
“Aye, and many seek to throw you overboard to prove it will cease. It is unlucky to sail with womenfolk. Others say you are cursed. A crewman’s fear yet they are angry. I have never suffered a storm as great as this one. Not in all my years at sea.”
Lia moved slightly, adjusting her legs around the edge. Her stomach was taut with hunger, but she dared not eat with the general queasiness. “I did not bring this storm, Tomas. Surely you believe that?”
He leaned back against the door, as if holding it closed to protect her. “Are you aware of sailors myths? Do you know of the kingdom of Ilkarra in Sheol?”
Lia shook her head, though a shiver ran through her at the word. She understood the language through her Gift of xenoglossia. Ilkarra was the representation of the underworld, the land of the dead.
The ship pitched again, nearly throwing Lia off the bed. She clutched at the rails and held on. Tomas wedged his boots against a post and held on. He grimaced with anger. “We will break apart. I have lost three men to Sheol already. Maybe we will all perish.” His eyes narrowed when he looked at her. “Your journey must be important if you bring a storm upon us.”
Lia frowned. “I brought no storm with me.”
“Not you yourself – but your thoughts. What seek ye in Dochte Abbey?”
“I am only a messenger,” she said. “As I told you last night, I warn them about the Blight.”
“Then Sheol mayhap does not wish to be warned,” he replied.
“Who is Sheol?” Lia asked. “You have mentioned that name. The sailors curse by it.”
“Aye, they do. Sheol is the Queen of the Sea. Queen of the Unborn. The sea is the gateway to her domain, to Ilkarra. When every man dies, their bodies are returned to the earth, but their souls sink down into Ilkarra. Sheol is what we call her. The Queen of Storms. The Queen of the Unborn. The Whore of all the earth. The mastons call her Ereshkigal. Did you know that, lass?”
The name sent a shiver up Lia’s spine. She stared at him in shock and surprise. “How do you know that name?”
“Sometimes a maston is careless with his whispers. Sometimes they speak in their sleep or when they are tempted. Sometimes they do not mind the Abbey doors as they ought and a young wretched sneaks in and overhears the maston rites. Ereshkigal is the mother of hetaera. Is that what you seek in Dochte Abbey?” His eyes squinted at her, his face jutting forward intensely. “Do you seek to join them?”
“I am no hetaera,” Lia answered distastefully. “They are my enemy.”
He nodded. “Some believed that my prisoner, all those years ago, that she was one. That she had power over storms. That she was Ereshkigal made flesh. But she was a maston. I promise you that. She was a maston and she could calm a storm.” He swallowed heavily. “I cannot speak what I cannot say. Can you…save us, child? Can you banish these winds? You may be the only thing that can save us now.”
Lia stared at him. “Me?”
“I have done all that I can. My ship will break up. She is already beginning to. In my pride, I thought I could ride her out. I thought I could bring you safely there. But I see now that I cannot. The crew thinks you are causing the storm. Except Malcolm. He says you will save us from it.”
A furious pounding sounded on the door. Tomas whirled and opened it and the black-haired crewman stumbled in, sea-drenched, and gasping.
