“As Storesmaster, the task fell chiefly to Seatheme, for such was her training and skill. She was a Giant to warm the heart, and—” Again he stopped. Ducking his head, he passed a hand over his eyes, muttered, “Ah, Pitchwife. Shortly.” When he looked up once more, he was smiling crookedly through his tears. “Chosen, she mistimed the catch. And rare is the Giant who returns from the jaws of the Nicor.”
Linden met his gaze with an awkwardness in her throat. She wanted to say something, but did not know how to offer comfort to a Giant. She could not match his smile.
Beyond the foremast, the crew had completed the construction of three large objects under Galewrath’s direction. They were coracles—boats made of leather stretched over wooden frames, each big enough to hold two Giants. But their sides rose and curved so that each vessel was three-quarters of a sphere. A complex of hawsers and iron rings connected the coracles to each other; they had to be lifted and moved together. At Galewrath’s orders, the boats were borne forward and pitched over the prow.
Guiding Linden with a touch on her shoulder, Pitchwife took her to a vantage from which she had a clear view of the coracles. They floated lightly on the flat Sea.
A moment later, the Storesmaster’s blunt voice carried over the foredeck. “The calling of Nicor is hazardous, and none may be commanded to share it. If I am answered by one alone, mayhap it will be a rogue, and we will be assailed. If I am answered by many, this Sea will become a discomfortable swimming-place. And if I am not answered—” She shrugged brusquely. “For good or ill, the attempt must be made. The First has spoken. I require the aid of three.”
Without hesitation, several Giants stepped forward. Seadreamer moved to join them; but the First halted him, saying, “I will not risk the Earth-Sight.” Quickly Galewrath chose three crewmembers. The rest went to uncoil a rope as thick as Linden’s thigh from its cable-well near the foremast. This hawser they fed down toward the coracles.
The Storesmaster looked to Honninscrave and the First for parting words. But the First said simply, “Have care, Heft Galewrath. I must not lose you.”
Together Galewrath and her three companions dove overboard.
Swimming with accustomed ease, they moved to the coracles, towing behind them the free hawser. When they reached the tackle connecting the boats, they threaded their line through a central iron ring. Then they pulled it toward the foremost coracle.
This craft formed the apex of a triangle pointing eastward. With a prodigious heave of her legs, Galewrath rose up in the water and flipped herself over the edge into the coracle. It rocked under her weight, but continued to float. She braced it as another Giant joined her. Then they accepted the hawser from the remaining swimmers.
The two separated, one to each of the outer coracles, as Galewrath and her partner tugged a length of cable from Starfare’s Gem through the ring into their craft. When she was satisfied with the amount of line she had available, she began to knot a large loop into the end of the hawser.
As soon as the other Giants had boarded their coracles, they announced that they were ready. They sounded tense; but one was grinning fiercely, and the other could not resist her temptation to cast a mock bow toward Starfare’s Gem, rocking her coracle as she clowned.
Heft Galewrath responded with a nod. Shifting her weight, she tilted the edge of her craft down almost to the waterline. From that position, she placed an object that looked like a one-sided drumhead in the water. Her partner helped her balance the coracle so that it remained canted without shipping water.
Pitchwife tightened expectantly; but Galewrath’s stolid mien gave no sign that she had undertaken anything out of the ordinary. From her belt, she drew out two leather-wrapped sticks and at once began to beat on the drum, sending an intricate, cross-grained rhythm into the Sea.
Faintly through the stone, Linden felt that beat carrying past the keel, spreading outward like a summons.
“Pitchwife.” She was still conscious of Covenant, though the intervening Giants muffled her perception of him. He was like a bruise between her shoulder blades. But Galewrath held her attention. Anticipation of danger made her nervous. She needed to hear voices, explanations. “What the hell is going on?”
The deformed Giant glanced at her as if to gauge the implications of her acerbic tone. After a moment, he breathed softly, “A calling of Nicor. The Nicor of the Deep.”
That told her nothing. But Pitchwife seemed to understand her need. Before she could ask for a better answer, he went on, “Such calling is rarely greeted swiftly. Belike we confront a wait of some durance. I will tell you the tale.”
Behind her, most of the crew had left the prow. Only the First, Honninscrave, Seadreamer, and one or two others remained; the rest ascended the ratlines. Together, they kept watch on all the horizons.
“Chosen,” Pitchwife murmured, “have you heard the name of the Worm of the World’s End?” She shook her head. Well, no matter.” A gleam of quickening interest ran along his tone—a love for stories.
Galewrath’s rhythm continued, complex and unvarying. As it thudded flatly into the dead air and the rising heat and the Sea, it took on a plaintive cast, like a keening of loneliness, a call for companionship. Her arms rose and fell tirelessly.
“It is said among the Elohim, whose knowledge is wondrous, and difficult of contradiction”—Pitchwife conveyed a chortle of personal amusement—“that in the ancient and eternal youth of the cosmos, long ere the Earth came to occupy its place, the stars were as thick as sand throughout all the heavens. Where now we see multitudes of bright beings were formerly multitudes of multitudes, so that the cosmos was an ocean of stars from shore to shore, and the great depth of their present solitude was unknown to them—a sorrow which they could not have comprehended. They were the living peoples of the heavens, as unlike to us as gods. Grand and warm in their bright loveliness, they danced to music of their own making and were content.”
A rustle went through the Giants watching from the foremast, then subsided. Their keen sight had picked out something in the distance; but it had vanished.
“But far away across the heavens lived a being of another kind. The Worm. For ages it slumbered in peace—but when it awakened, as it awakens at the dawn of each new eon, it was afflicted with a ravenous hunger. Every creation contains destruction, as life contains death, and the Worm was destruction. Driven by its immense lust, it began to devour stars.
“Perhaps this Worm was not large among the stars, but its emptiness was large beyond measure, and it roamed the heavens, consuming whole seas of brightness, cutting great swaths of loneliness across the firmament. Writhing along the ages, avid and insatiable, it fed on all that lay within its reach, until the heavens became as sparsely peopled as a desert.”
As Linden listened, she tasted some of the reasons behind the Giants’ love of stories. Pitchwife’s soft narration wove a thread of meaning into the becalmed sky and the Sea. Such tales made the world comprehensible. The mood of his telling was sad; but its sadness did no harm.
“Yet the devoured stars were beings as unlike to us as gods, and no Worm or doom could consume their power without cost. Having fed hugely, the Worm became listless and gravid. Though it could not sleep, for the eon’s end of its slumber had not come, it felt a whelming desire for rest. Therefore it curled its tail about itself and sank into quiescence.
“And while the Worm rested, the power of the stars wrought within it. From its skin grew excrescences of stone and soil, water and air, and these growths multiplied upon themselves and multiplied until the very Earth beneath our feet took form. Still the power of the stars wrought, but now it gave shape to the surface of the Earth, forging the seas and the land. And then was brought forth life upon the Earth. Thus were born all the peoples of the Earth, the beasts of the land, the creatures of the deep—all the forests and greenswards from pole to pole. And thus from destruction came forth creation, as death gives rise to life.
“Therefore, Chosen,” said Pitchwi
fe firmly, “we live, and strive, and seek to define the sense of our being. And it is good, for though we compose a scant blink across the eyes of eternity, yet while the blink lasts we choose what we will, create what we may, and share ourselves with each other as the stars did ere they were bereaved. But it must pass. The Worm does not slumber. It merely rests. And the time must come when it is roused, or rouses itself. Then it will slough off this skin of rock and water to pursue its hunger across the cosmos until eon’s end and slumber. For that reason, it is named the Worm of the World’s End.”
There Pitchwife fell silent. Linden glanced at him, saw his gaze fixed on Galewrath as though he feared the limitations of her strength. But the Storesmaster did not falter. While her partner balanced the coracle, she went on articulating her rhythm steadfastly, reaching out into the deeps for an answer. Ripples danced around the edges of the drum and were swallowed by the flat calm of the Sea.
Slowly Pitchwife turned his eyes to Linden; but he seemed not to see her. His mind still wandered the paths of his tale. Gradually however, he came back to himself. When his sight focused, he smiled in bemusement.
“Chosen,” he said lightly, as if to soften the import of his words, “it is said that the Nicor are offspring of the Worm.”
That announcement brought back her anxiety. It gave her her first hint of what the Giants were doing, how they meant to move the ship. Perhaps his tale was nothing more than a myth; but it accounted for the purpose which had galvanized the dromond. Implications of peril pulled her attention outward, sent her senses hunting over the inert Sea. She could hardly believe what she was thinking. Do they mean to capture—?
Before she could ask Pitchwife if she had understood him correctly, a distant thrumming like a sensation of speed touched her feet through the stone of Starfare’s Gem. An instant later, a shout cracked across the masts.
“Nicor!”
The cry snatched her around. Searching the shrouds, she saw a Giant pointing southward.
Other shouts verified the first. Linden’s gaze reached for the starboard horizon. But she could descry nothing. She held her breath, as if in that way she could force her vision into focus.
More with her feet than her ears, she heard Galewrath’s rhythm change.
And the change was answered. Thudding beats echoed against the keel of the dromond. Something had heard Galewrath’s call—and was replying.
Abruptly the horizon broke as a surge of water like a bow-wave rose out of the calm. The Sea piled upward as though a tremendous head were rushing forward just below the surface. The surge was still a great distance away, but it came toward the ship at a staggering rate. The wave slashed out to either side, climbing higher and higher until it looked large enough to swamp the Giantship.
Galewrath’s rhythm took on a febrile edge, like pleading. But the answer did not vary, gave no sign that it understood. Yet it cast suggestions of power which made Linden’s knees tremble.
Now through the water she could see a dark shape. It writhed like a serpent, and every heave of its form bespoke prodigious strength. As the Nicor came within jerrid-range of the vessel, its head-wave reached the height of the rails.
With the clarity of panic, Linden thought, It’s going to ram us.
Then the Storesmaster hit her drum a resounding blow which split it; and the creature sounded.
Its long body flashed ahead of the wave as the Nicor angled into the depths. A moment later, the surge hit with a force which rocked the dromond. Linden staggered against Cail, rebounded from the railing. Starfare’s Gem bobbed like a toy on the Sea.
Gripping Cail for balance as the Giantship resettled itself, Linden threw a glance downward and saw the colossal length of the Nicor still passing the keel. The creature was several times as long as Starfare’s Gem.
The coracles lurched in the waves which recoiled from the sides of the dromond. But the four Giants kept their poise, held themselves ready. Galewrath had abandoned her riven drum. She stood now with the loop of the hawser in both hands; and her eyes watched the Sea.
Another shout. Some distance off to port, the Nicor broke water. For an instant, its head was visible, its snout like a prow, foam streaming from its gargantuan jaws. Then the creature arced back underwater and plowed away in a long curve westward.
Starfare’s Gem fell still. Linden could feel nothing except the pervasive ache of Covenant’s need and the rapid beating of the Nicor’s talk. She lost sight of the wave as it passed behind Foodfendhall toward the stern of the vessel. Every eye in the rigging followed the creature’s path; but no one made a sound.
Her fingers dug into Call’s shoulder until she thought the joints would part. The thrumming of the creature became louder to her nerves than Covenant’s plight.
“Ward!”
The suddenness of the cry stung Linden’s hearing.
“It comes!”
Instantly Giants scrambled out of the rigging. Honninscrave and the Anchormaster yelled orders. The crew gained the deck, braced themselves for a collision. Half a score of them slapped holding-blocks around the hawser near the cable-well.
The Storesmaster’s strident shout rang over the vessel.
“How does it come?”
A Giant sprang into the prow, responded, “It comes truly!”
Linden had no time to do anything except cling to Cail. In that instant, the heel of the Giantship began to rise. Starfare’s Gem tilted forward as the Nicor’s head-wave struck the stern. The creature was passing along the ship’s keel.
At the same moment, Galewrath dove into the Sea. Hauling the hawser behind her, she plunged to meet the Nicor.
Linden saw the Storesmaster kicking strongly downward. For one suspended heartbeat, Galewrath was alone in the water. Then the head of the Nicor flashed out from under the ship. The creature drove straight toward Galewrath.
As the two forms came together, a flurry of movement confused the sight. Linden clutched Cail’s hard flesh, ground grip toward bone. The Nicor seemed to shout at her through the Sea and the stone. She heard its brute hunger, its incomprehension of what had called out to it. At her side, Pitchwife’s hands wrestled the railing as if it were alive.
All at once, the hawser sprang outward. It leaped past the coracles, rushed hissing like fire into the water.
“Now!” cried the First.
Immediately Galewrath’s helpers abandoned their craft. As they did so, they overturned the coracles. With the openings downward and air trapped inside, the coracles floated like buoys, supporting between them the tackle and the iron ring through which the hawser sped.
Beneath the swimmers, the long dark body of the Nicor went writhing eastward. Lines were thrown down to them; but they did not respond. Their attention was focused on the place where Galewrath had disappeared.
When she broke water some distance past the coracles, a great shout went up from the Giantship. She waved her arms brusquely to signal that she was unharmed. Then she began to swim toward the dromond.
Short moments later, she and her companions stood dripping before the First. “It is done,” she panted, unable to conceal her pride. “I have looped the snout of the Nicor.”
The First returned an iron grin. But at once she swung toward the Giants poised on either side of the hawser near the cable-well. The cable was running headlong through the holding-blocks. “Our line is not endless,” she said firmly. “Let us begin.”
Ten Giants answered her with grins, nods, muttered promises. They planted their legs, braced their backs. At Honninscrave’s command, they began to put pressure on the holding-blocks.
A scream of tortured cable shrilled across the deck. Smoke leaped from the blocks. The Giants were jerked forward a step, two steps, as they tried to halt the unreeling of the hawser.
The prow dipped under them like a nod; and Starfare’s Gem started forward.
The screaming mounted. Honninscrave called for help. Ten more Giants slapped holding-blocks onto the hawser and threw their weight
against it. Muscles knotted, thews stood out like bone, gasps burst along the line. Linden felt the strain in them and feared that not even Giants could bear such pressure. But by degrees the shrilling faded as the hawser slowed. The dromond gained speed. When the cable stopped, Starfare’s Gem was knifing through the Sea as fast as the Nicor could tow it.
“Well done!” Honninscrave’s eyes glinted under his massive brows. “Now let us regain what line we may, ere this Nicor conceives a desire to sound.”
Grunting with exertion, the Giants heaved on the hawser. Their feet seemed to clinch the granite of the deck, fusing ship and crew into a single taut organism. One arm’s-length at a time, they drew in the cable. More of the crew came to their aid. The dromond began to gain on the Nicor.
Slowly Linden uncramped her grip from Cail’s shoulder. When she glanced at him, he appeared unconscious of her. Behind the flatness of his visage, he was watching the Giants with an acuity like joy, as if he almost shared her astonishment.
From the prow, crewmembers kept watch on the hawser. The buoys held the line’s guide-ring above water; by observing the cable’s movement in the ring, the Giants were able to see any change of direction made by the Nicor. This information they relayed to the steerswoman, so that she could keep Starfare’s Gem on the creature’s course.
But the buoys served another, more important purpose as well: they provided forewarning in case the Nicor should sound. If the creature dove suddenly and strongly enough, the prow of the Giantship might be pulled down before the hawser could be released. Perhaps some of the crew might be rent overboard when the others dropped the line. The buoys would give the Giants advance warning, so that they could let go of the cable together safely.