The Serpent Bride

  Ba’al’uz stood for a long time, watching StarDrifter’s back, then he, too, lay down on his bunk.

  Sleep did not come.

  Over the next two days conditions on the fishing vessel grew ever worse. The ship’s crew fed StarDrifter only the very worst of scraps from their galley (a fact that hardly surprised StarDrifter, given Ba’al’uz’ earlier threats), although he often found a better gruel in his bowl than that which appeared in Ba’al’uz’, and a piece of good toasted bread secreted within a napkin.

  While Ba’al’uz and StarDrifter wanted to go directly to the southern coast of Escator, the fishing boat was going on a circuitous route to get there. It did, after all, need to collect fish, and the best fish was always to be found in the Widowmaker Sea far to the north of Coroleas. Both this fact, and that the boat appeared to be heading into rough weather, did not improve Ba’al’uz’ temper in the slightest.

  To cap off all his woes, Ba’al’uz suffered badly from seasickness.

  StarDrifter didn’t get a twinge.

  StarDrifter discovered that one of life’s greater pleasures was standing over Ba’al’uz in his bunk, looking down at his green face while chewing voraciously on a piece of bread and fish, and asking, through his enthusiastic chewing, if there was anything he could get Ba’al’uz from the galley. It invariably drove Ba’al’uz into a hissing, spiteful fury, and gave StarDrifter an excuse to spend many hours on deck, the Weeper tucked comfortably under one arm, chatting to the crew as they went about their chores.

  The crew had been wary of StarDrifter at first, but as Ba’al’uz’ antagonism toward him grew ever more noticeable, so did his popularity with the fishermen.

  They knew what the Weeper was, and they were intrigued by StarDrifter’s acquisition of it, while at the same moment growing ever more anxious about whatever repercussions its theft might have for them back in Coroleas.

  “Frankly,” StarDrifter said one afternoon, as the crew paused for a break after spending hours cleaning their nets, “I’d advise you to seek sanctuary with King Maximilian in Escator. He has a good reputation for protecting his fishing fleets, and I’ve heard the harbor at Narbon has excellent facilities.”

  “But our families are back in Yoyette,” the captain said, obviously still smarting over Ba’al’uz’ threats.

  StarDrifter was about to say something, but just then the Weeper, tucked under StarDrifter’s arm, went cold.

  It did more than go cold—it became completely icy.

  StarDrifter pulled it onto his lap and, along with the crew, looked at it in surprise.

  Its contours were outlined in frost.

  A sense of incredible peace pervaded StarDrifter. He looked up at the crew, and saw that they, too, had expressions of wonder on their faces.

  StarDrifter, as did the crew (and none of them knew how they knew this, but know it they did), realized that the crew’s families were safe…and no longer in Coroleas.

  After that, StarDrifter began to eat and sleep with the crew, and left Ba’al’uz to the cabin.

  Three nights after leaving Coroleas, while the fishing vessel was some two leagues from the Escatorian coast, a storm began to build.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The River Lhyl, the Tyranny of Isembaard

  Ishbel opened the curtain that gave her tiny cabin on the riverboat some privacy, then moved toward the foredeck, where Axis and Zeboath were sitting in the twilight.

  Ishbel had felt much more relaxed and at peace since the night she had healed Madarin. She now traveled with a group who knew precisely what she was—the archpriestess of the dreaded Coil—and who not only did not condemn her, but either regarded her with intrigued fascination or varying degrees of adulation (several of Madarin’s comrades had asked her, hesitantly, if perhaps she might talk to them about the Great Serpent and enlighten them).

  She was accepted and to some degree respected.

  She no longer had to keep secrets, or listen to a husband who asked her to hide her origins and pretend to be something she was not.

  And she still had the power of the Coil within her.

  Ishbel had been so unsure of herself from the moment the Great Serpent had revealed he wanted her to leave Serpent’s Nest and marry Maximilian. The realization of her pregnancy had distressed her, for she’d believed that it would disrupt the Coil within her, and separate her still further from the protection and the love of the Great Serpent.

  She should have listened to the Great Serpent.

  Wash with the tide.

  He had not been upset by her pregnancy, and indeed had appeared pleased by it, while the experience with Madarin had demonstrated to all, and most particularly to Ishbel, that her connection with the power of the Great Serpent had not been lost at all.

  Above all, having relaxed away from her fears and the draining need to constantly hide her true identity, Ishbel was beginning to enjoy herself. She found herself intrigued by the company with whom she traveled, and fascinated by the land and culture through which she moved.

  It was all so different from her life within the Coil at Serpent’s Nest. Ishbel knew she’d clung to her isolation, and to the enveloping, if suffocating, protection that the mountain and the Coil afforded her, because of the childhood terrors that continued, even now, to torment her.

  But she was discovering that she might learn to deal with the terrors, that she was capable of dealing with most things, and that she had more courage and fortitude than she had thought.

  She also trusted Axis and Zeboath to an extent she’d trusted few people in her life.

  Maximilian’s lack still managed to cause her some sleepless hours at night. She could hardly forget him, not with his baby growing inside her, but Ishbel wondered if Maximilian ever thought of her. She thought that he’d probably accepted her kidnapping with profound relief. No longer was he saddled with a wife who was not merely an embarrassment to him, but one who threatened to saddle him with the guilt of every murder and injustice committed throughout the Central Kingdoms over the last half year. Maximilian would likely annul the marriage and forget her.

  Well might Axis have said that BroadWing had told him Maximilian would tear apart the earth for her, but Ishbel thought she knew the truth of her relationship with Maximilian far better than did BroadWing.

  Maximilian would not care overmuch, she was sure.

  Ishbel climbed the short steps to the top deck, lifted her head, and walked out to join Zeboath and Axis.

  Ishbel decided she liked this hot, vast country. It was so different from anything she’d ever known previously. She appreciated the warmth of the evening wind, and the scent of distant spices it carried on its back. She enjoyed being able to wear loose, less restrictive clothes. She was fascinated by the vast aridness that spread beyond the fertile swathes of agricultural land that ran either side of the river. But of everything, Ishbel loved the River Lhyl the most. It was so peaceful and so beautiful, so calm and yet so strong, lined with deep reed banks that, at dusk and dawn, throbbed with the glorious song of the frogs and during the day erupted great clouds of brightly plumed river birds into the air.

  The river was a world to itself. To Ishbel, it sometimes appeared to be so full of promise and sweetness that her eyes filled with tears.

  She felt a wonderful serenity within herself every time she stepped from the lower decks of the riverboat and once again was enveloped by the sights and scents of Isembaard.

  It felt almost as if she was coming back to a long-forgotten home.

  It felt right.

  “My lady,” she heard Axis say, and she blinked.

  He was standing before her, a gentle smile on his face at the expression on hers. He had his hand out, and she took it, and allowed him to lead her to where Zeboath waited among a group of chairs and low tables at the very prow of the boat.

  With the authority of Isaiah, which he commanded, Axis had been able to requisition for them the most luxurious riverboat available.

  Zebo
ath smiled and gave a slight bow as Ishbel and Axis approached, then sat down once Ishbel had made herself comfortable.

  They chatted for an hour or more, often lapsing into comfortable silence as dusk settled about them. Servants came with lamps, and with food and drinks, and they busied themselves with their meal.

  As the meal drew to a close, Zeboath patted at his mouth with his napkin, and addressed Ishbel.

  “You look very content, my lady, for someone who has been kidnapped away from her home.”

  Ishbel gave a small smile, and decided to speak the truth. “Sometimes I feel as if Maximilian did the kidnapping, and you two the rescuing.” She paused. “I have never felt so relaxed with anyone, save for Aziel, archpriest of the Coil and a dear friend, as I do here, in this company.”

  She looked over the railing at the twilight vista before her. “And this land—it is so…intriguing. Listen to the frogs! Are they not beautiful? And the scent on the wind…”

  Axis and Zeboath exchanged amused glances.

  “Maximilian has some work to do, I think,” said Axis, “if he is to win you back to his side.”

  “If he can,” Ishbel said, still looking out at the view.

  Then she turned her eyes back to her two companions. “Sometimes space—distance—can give you such perspective.”

  “And sometimes it can be very distorting,” Axis said. “You and Maximilian met and married under pressure, and the start to your married life was not easy.”

  “Certainly not when he kept asking me to pretend to be something I was not,” Ishbel said.

  “You can understand his reasons, surely,” Axis said.

  “Neither you nor Zeboath have condemned me for who I am,” said Ishbel, “nor any of the men who accompany us. Why did Maximilian?”

  “Don’t talk yourself out of this marriage,” Axis said. “Not yet.”

  She gave a small shrug.

  Axis frowned, leaning forward as if to say something more, but just then Ishbel gasped, and put her hand on her belly.

  “The baby moved!” she said. “I am sure of it.”

  She looked at Zeboath. “Can you feel? Am I right? Oh, it moved again!”

  Zeboath moved his chair closer to her, resting his hand on her belly. He felt in one place, then another, then grinned at her. “Yes, Ishbel, the baby is moving.”

  “Oh,” Ishbel said on a long breath, “it is not dead, after all. I’d been so worried after the poisons Ba’al’uz gave me.”

  “Well,” said Zeboath, sitting back in his chair, “I think that baby is making up for lost time now.”

  Ishbel sat for a moment, her face a welter of different emotions. Then she leaned over to Axis, took one of his hands, and put it on her belly.

  “Axis? Feel?”

  He said nothing, and Ishbel looked into his face and saw there, for the first time since she’d met him, the unmistakable darkness of desire.

  It was a complete revelation, and Ishbel sat back slowly as Axis’ hand slid away from her body, and allowed the world to open up about her.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The Widowmaker Sea, to the West of Escator

  The captain of the fishing boat had set course for Narbon.

  No one argued with him over the matter.

  Fishing had become impossible the night previous as the storm had gathered and the sea arose in huge, rolling waves that made work impossible.

  Even the crew began to feel queasy as the deck undulated back and forth, back and forth, rolling ever closer to the black, glassy surface of the sea.

  Ba’al’uz suffered as he had never thought possible. He lay in the cabin, twisted among sweat-stained sheets, his head resting on the wooden sides of the bed, the deck beneath slippery with the thin fluid he vomited forth every few minutes.

  No one came near him. Everyone had too much respect for their own life to risk his foul temper.

  StarDrifter was unaffected, his stomach tranquil.

  He sat on the deck, his back pressed against the timbers of the tiny bridge, knees drawn up, trying to make himself as small as possible so he would not trip any of the crew who ventured forth, the Weeper tucked in securely at his side, watching the rolling seas with distant eyes. He could not merely see the storm building—the dark, heavy clouds milling close to the sea then piling higher and higher until they completely obscured the sun—but feel it. The air was heavy, almost thick, uncomfortably humid.

  Oppressive.

  It was not just the storm. StarDrifter thought he could feel a sense of expectation slowly accumulating as the cloud mass thickened and darkened. A sense of power. Magic.

  Something was happening.

  Something was building.

  StarDrifter did not know whether to anticipate or to fear.

  So he sat through the morning and the early afternoon, his eyes fixed on some distant unknowable point far out to sea, watching the storm gather in strength and in power.

  By midafternoon the wind had strengthened to almost gale force. It was not yet raining, but the sheer force of the wind blew spray over the ship’s deck, slicking its timbers, and soaking StarDrifter. The captain, Prata, made his way out of the sheltered tiny bridge, grabbing handholds as he came, cursing once as he slipped to his knees and grabbed at StarDrifter’s shoulder—as much for support as to get the man’s attention.

  “My friend, get belowdecks! This storm will hit us within the hour, and no one is going to survive out here then!”

  StarDrifter looked up at Prata’s concerned face, an amused glint in his eyes. “Then perhaps we should persuade Ba’al’uz that some open air would be good for him.”

  The captain chuckled. “StarDrifter, get below. Please. I can’t be wasting energy worrying about you out here while trying to save the boat.”

  “Leave me be, Prata. I will go below soon. Do not worry about me.”

  Prata looked at him searchingly. “Then make sure it is soon, StarDrifter. Please.”

  StarDrifter nodded, and Prata struggled back along the deck into the slightly safer confines of the bridge.

  StarDrifter returned his eyes to the sea, wrapping his cloak about him a little more tightly in a futile effort to keep some of the spray from his flesh.

  He was fascinated by what was happening. Something, something other than the storm, was about to happen. Stars, the power gathering out to sea was sending electricity thrumming along his skin and making the hair on his head rise slightly.

  Something was coming, and StarDrifter knew he would go insane if he were trapped belowdecks.

  Even the Weeper felt different. It was growing colder, much like it had the day before when StarDrifter had felt the sudden explosion of power from the deity. But its current coldness could just as easily have been due to the increasing amounts of spray that soaked it, or to the fact that it may be expending small amounts of power merely in anticipation of the storm…

  StarDrifter didn’t really know. He knew he should heed Prata’s warning to go belowdecks, but the storm looked a little way off yet, and surely he could sit here for a few more minutes.

  Maximilian, Serge, and Doyle rode for Narbon. They were some two or three hours distant from the port city, and they wanted to get there as fast as they could.

  To the west a massive storm was building over the Widowmaker Sea.

  The atmosphere was heavy and oppressive, their horses skittish, too ready to shy at every gust of wind and every leaf blown across the road.

  The road itself was deserted. Everyone had taken themselves inside and shut and bolted the doors, and Maximilian thought that he, too, should get himself and the two Emerald Guardsmen behind shelter.

  Above them, treetops whipped to and fro, and leaves burst from shrubs in small, violent explosions.

  How had the storm become this violent, so fast?

  Maximilian pulled his horse to a halt, signaling the other two to stop as well.

  The horses milled about on the road, unnerved by the violence carried on the win
d, their heads tossing, their haunches bunched close to the ground, ready to bolt.

  “We can’t stay out in this,” Maximilian said, having to almost shout to make himself audible above the howling wind. His hair whipped about his face, but it wasn’t worth taking a hand away from the reins and risking what little control of the horse he had left to try to tuck it away.

  Serge and Doyle nodded.

  “We need shelter,” shouted Doyle.

  Maximilian looked up to the sky, squinting.

  BroadWing and his three companions were still there, black dots high in the sky, riding a wild current that buffeted them about like leaves that tumbled across the roadway.

  Maximilian momentarily waved an arm at them, hoping BroadWing would somehow intuit his meaning.

  Find shelter.

  His horse plunged to the left, and Maximilian grabbed at his reins again, pulling the horse up barely an instant before he totally lost control.

  “Anywhere,” said Maximilian between clenched teeth. “We need to find shelter now.”

  StarDrifter thought that he needed to get belowdecks very soon. The storm front was now only a few minutes away. The clouds hung like a thick veil before the ship, lightning forking through them in angry flashes of white and gold.

  The sense of power was not only growing stronger, but far more unsettling.

  Deciding he’d waited too long, StarDrifter began to move, slowly, trying to get to his feet without tangling his legs in the sodden cloak and slipping on the soaked deck, or being blown away by the increasingly violent gusts of wind.

  A few drops of rain splattered across his face—a different feel to the spray: harder, more aggressive.

  Icy. Sharp.

  The wind threatened to unfoot him with every move he made, but StarDrifter finally managed to stand, clinging with one hand to the overhanging eaves of the bridge.

  The Weeper whimpered.

  “I’ve not forgotten you!” StarDrifter muttered, wondering how he was going to hold on to the bronze deity and still manage to reach the safety of belowdecks.