Spellsong
The West Wind drifted on placid waters. Only days earlier, the battle and storm had nearly destroyed the ship. Although the crew had rushed to repair the mast and plug the leaks in the hull, after all the savage fury, no wind blew now. Night had finally fallen with clear skies, and the navigator reported just how far off course they were.
Captain Runar dismissed the navigator curtly. He had expected the news, but after the report of the loss of stores, he had grown surly. The sortie had gone all wrong, and as the captain of the flagship, it had largely been his fault for falling for the bait. The summoned storm that had allowed them to escape one disaster may have only delayed their destruction.
Although everyone knew the risks of being at their mercy, songstresses, and their more powerful ilk, the windcallers, were highly sought after for their abilities. Every ship employed at least one windcaller. It had been Runar's mistake as well, not to have contracted at least two - or even forked over the cash for a true stormcaller - while they sailed hostile waters. And now the West Wind ironically had no wind.
Runar avoided thinking about the damage or losses of the other three ships in his command. Until the surviving ships reconvened at the rendezvous, Runar could not afford to waste time worrying about what he could not change. Like his crew that trusted their captain to make decisions, he trusted the other captains.
A sharp rap on the door marked his second's arrival. Konrad entered without waiting for a reply, though Runar let the transgression slide. Unlike most of the crew who understood her sacrifice, Konrad was upset that it was the songstress who had saved the ship. Runar tapped his fingers on the edge of the desk in some unknown melody.
"Sir, I advise you to go to oars. We only have a few days on rations," Konrad said. "If we start tonight, we can be within sighting distance of the Farthen route," he continued, pointing at the map that hung on the wall. "If we manage further, we can ride the trade wind."
The suggestion was nothing that Runar had not considered already. He waved his hand before returning to his tapping. "And who is going to help us? We have not exactly made many friends in these waters."
Annoyed with the responses, Konrad raised his voice to argue his position. He was the only man from whom Runar accepted both suggestion and criticism. "Your decision is to continue drifting? One day could make the difference." He raised one finger to illustrate.
Turning to face the window of a bleak sky, Runar grunted. He knew that as captain he had to make a decision soon, but he did not want to order a battle and weather worn crew to oars without a good chance of coming out of it. The West Wind had taken so many losses already.
"Wait," Konrad interrupted his thoughts. "What are you doing?"
"Determining our fate," Runar muttered.
Konrad pointed. "That," he said, shaking. He indicated Runar's hand on the desk. "Do you hear something?" he asked hesitantly.
Runar blinked slowly and raised his hand. Only after Konrad had brought it to attention, Runar realized that he had been tapping throughout the entire conversation. He listened intently. He did hear something... someone singing... a woman. Sarina? "I hear it!" he said brightly. He suddenly felt compelled to find her. "Perhaps she survived? She wants to be found. We can reach her." Runar stood up and began to dress, pulling on his clothes as quickly as possible.
Konrad knew whom Runar addressed. "I hear nothing, sir," he said, shaking his head. "Grief has addled your brain. Sarina cannot have survived."
In the middle of buttoning his shirt, Runar paused momentarily to wave his hand nonchalantly. "If not Sarina, another windcaller is stranded. We can find her, and that is our way back to shore and safety." A windcaller would be the answer to their prayers. The West Wind only had to find her.
"There is no guarantee that she is a windcaller or even that she is a songstress," Konrad argued.
"At sea?" Runar questioned. He shook his head. "She has to be a windcaller," he insisted. He could not entertain any possibility that she was not.
"I hear nothing," Konrad repeated. "It must be some trick of the mind. Ask if anyone else hears it," he said, gesturing toward the door.
Shaking his head again, Runar finished his preparations. "No need. You know as well as I do how spellsong works." Runar opened the door. "I want to find her. This is our best chance," he said and left his quarters.
As the door closed, Runar heard Konrad say quietly, "Only those who hear the song can be moved to act upon their desire." Runar ignored the statement. Spellsong did not force people to do anything they did not already want to do. In his experience, hostility toward songstresses came from those who did not like to admit that they had the desire in the first place.
Above deck, Runar barked commands, sending scouting parties in the direction of her song. His sailors carried out the orders with alacrity, though as the night wore on, he felt their apprehension. Although he trusted that Konrad had not gone behind his back, word spread anyway. No one else admitted to hearing the song, but whispers about the fool's errand arose as the crew took stock of their situation. Runar took some comfort in not having to deal with a mutiny. There simply would be no time for other attempts at salvation. When Runar no longer heard the song, he said nothing, for it would only have made matters worse.
Near dawn, one of the scouts flashed their beacon. After Runar ordered the lantern signal given to call the rest back, he watched the boat's approach with the spyglass. Although he felt a pang of disappointment that the passenger was not Sarina, he could hardly contain his excitement for there was indeed a woman on board. They had found her.
Konrad moved to stand beside Runar. "So you have followed her song. Exactly as she wanted," he said. Now that the songstress proved not a figment of Runar's imagination, Konrad changed the target of his ire.
Tired of hearing Konrad' complaints, Runar did not hold his tongue. "Are you daft, Konrad? I chose to find this woman," he insisted. "Those on the ship chose to follow. As did you."
Still combative, Konrad countered, "And if she is not a windcaller?" Runar said nothing. He would not entertain the possibility. He could not. He had sealed their fate hours ago.
The woman looked hale enough to climb, but her hands moved unsteadily as if she had never touched wet rope before. How had she come to be at sea if not by ship? Available hands helped her aboard. Every crew member on duty gathered around to witness, watching silently with eyes full of hope and desperation. Runar noted the woman's coloring and her unusual clothing. Even the way she stood idle was strange. The songstress was a foreigner, and she could very well be the enemy. He stepped forward and placed his hand on the hilt of his sword.
"Homuranian?" Runar asked, as soon as she had set foot on the deck.
The woman responded with a string of unintelligible syllables, gesturing wildly. Runar understood nothing, but he recognized her voice as the singer. He repeated his question, pointing at her with his other hand.
The woman shook her head. Runar loosed a breath of relief until he remembered that some places used a different gesture to indicate 'yes' and 'no'. But she did not look frightened or hostile in any way. Regardless, the language she spoke did not resemble Homuranian. He swallowed back some uneasiness. Since she did not raise the winds against them, Runar gave the order to his crew that she would be treated as a passenger: one that would earn her keep. Given her own situation, they obviously had similar interests, and she would likely agree to a deal. That is, if they could communicate. He could already hear Konrad protesting that a deal could not be brokered.
Runar studied her clothing, which were oddly dry - he would have to ask his men later where they found her. Trousers were common among seafaring women, but the stitching on her clothes looked far more intricate than he had ever seen. Patches of assorted colors dotted much of the front of her clothing. She did not back away when he stepped nearer. Instead, she eyed him with as much curiosity as he did her. Runar reached forward and caught her wrist. The woman flinched, but because he remained gentle, she did not pull away. Runar's fingers passed over the texture of the odd flecks of color on her sleeve. She tried speaking again, but there was no comprehension.
Suddenly, Runar barked in laughter, which startled his crew and the woman. He moved his hands and bent to give the songstress a kiss on the back of her hand. After straightening, he released her. "Wake Jorri. Fetch pen and paper from my quarters," he ordered, sending sailors to the task. Bewildered, the woman watched her surroundings.
As the two ran to complete their errands, Konrad stepped forward. "What good is pen and paper? She does not know the language."
"Correct. But we are not writing," Runar said.
Curious, Konrad asked, "What are you doing?"
Runar replied, "Determining our fate."
Author's Note
Intended to be an introduction to a longer piece. Feb 2015.
Back