The Cradle of Ice (Moonfall #2)

Chapter 35

35

R HAIF SHIVERED ON the floor of the sailraft’s hold. His teeth clattered, and his chest heaved up and down. His impaled leg was a fiery torch, but it failed to dispel his feverish chill. Agony flared with each beat of his heart. Cold sweat pebbled his brow. All the while, he quaked and shook under a blanket made of ripped sections of the raft’s balloon.

Herl and Perde knelt beside him, ready to pin him down if his shaking grew worse. Their worried glances and pinched brows did not make Rhaif feel confident in his survival following the venomous attack by those sea creatures.

But at least the beasts hadn’t returned.

Off by the raft’s stern door, Glace stood with Hyck. “We’ll have to dig out that hooked barb,” she mumbled. “We can’t just wait for him to die.”

Hyck shook his head. “Doing that might spread the poison faster. Kill him even quicker.”

“We must try. Blood keeps boiling out around that thorn. It’s not scabbing or clotting. As if the venom is thwarting it from doing so. If we do nothing, he’ll bleed his life away while we wring our hands.”

Hyck was doing just that and dropped his arms. “How long has Shiya been gone?”

“Over two bells. She should’ve been back by now.”

“You don’t know that. None of us saw those torches that drew her into the sea. We can’t say how far off they were.”

“But we all heard those cannon blasts.”

Even Rhaif had. The booms had echoed across the sea like distant thunder.

“Those came from the Sparrowhawk, ” Glace said. “I know the timbre of those cannons as surely as my father’s bellow. The ship is battling something out there.”

“But we’ve heard nothing for a spell. Is that good or bad?”

Glace shrugged. “My father is a hard one to kill. Besides, we have our own challenge here.”

Their gazes turned to Rhaif.

“What do we do with him?” Hyck said. “Wait for rescue or intercede?”

Rhaif coughed and spoke through his shivering. “Can I have a say in the matter of my own fate?”

They stared, awaiting his verdict.

“Hack my leg off if you have to,” he said. “But get this sodding poker out of my thigh.”

Perde grunted and stood up. “I’ll crack open the last cask of ale. He’ll need a cup or two of courage before you get to cuttin’ on his leg.”

Rhaif twisted to look at the man. “Better bring me the whole cask.”

Glace left Hyck to guard the door and drew a dagger from her belt. She set about heating the blade over a flaming tin of flashburn. Perde returned with a cup of ale. Herl helped Rhaif sit up enough to take it with trembling hands. Rhaif downed the cup in one gulp, staring all the while at Glace, knowing what was coming.

“More,” Rhaif said, pushing the cup at Perde.

His order was obliged—and thrice more after that.

He suddenly didn’t mind warm ale.

Finally, Glace turned and nodded to the twin brothers. “Hold him down.”

Rhaif groaned as he was laid flat and rolled on his side. It felt like shifting over a bed of hot coals. As his leg was exposed, he grimaced at the sight of the black barb, the bubbling blood, and the greenish veins driving outward from the wound.

Glace knelt next to him and lifted her fiery-tipped blade.

“Wait!” Rhaif gasped, and held out a shaking arm toward Perde. “One sip more. I’m not feeling quite courageous enough.”

The brother indulged, emptying the last of the cask, and handed over the cup.

Herl did not look pleased. “He did drain it all.”

Rhaif tilted his head and glared over at the man. “You’re welcome to take my place.”

Herl frowned, not accepting his generous offer.

Rhaif turned back and swallowed the last of the ale. He took a deep, shuddering breath and nodded to Glace. “Do it.”

As she shifted closer, Rhaif leaned back. His head spun, but he didn’t know if it was from poisonous delirium or drunkenness.

“I’ll be quick,” Glace promised.

The two brothers closed on him. Large hands pinned his shoulders and ankles.

Rhaif squeezed his eyes shut, readying himself. It didn’t help. With his flesh inflamed, the first cut drew an agonized scream from his throat. The second cut was worse. He thrashed and bucked from the planks. Herl and Perde sprawled over him. Glace continued digging, breaking her oath to do this quickly.

She swore and hollered for the brothers to hold him steady.

Rhaif writhed and panted, soon too agonized to do more than mewl in pain. His vision narrowed to a pinch.

Finally, Glace sat back. “Got it.”

Rhaif collapsed with relief, shaking and shivering. The cabin continued to spin and wobble. His leg remained a torch.

“Let it bleed,” Glace warned. “Best to drain some of the poison before wrapping it.”

Herl made his own assessment. “It’ll leave quite the scar.”

Perde agreed. “Make a right pirate out of ya yet.”

Rhaif groaned, still in agony, but with the thorn out of his thigh, he already felt better. He lifted his head, trying to will the world to settle into one place. “You did good. I should be—”

His head lolled back as a dark wave swept over him. His legs stiffened, then began pounding the planks uncontrollably. As his arms followed suit, his spine arched under him. His neck craned to the point of breaking.

“He’s seizing!” Glace shouted.

His head started hammering the wood—hard enough to finally pitch him into a feverish blackness.

F OR AN ENDLESS time, Rhaif swam through that darkness, lost in oblivion, rising and falling in a rolling tide. He thought he heard voices, chased after them, only to be drowned away again. He eventually gave up the pursuit. A certain contentedness settled over him, both weighing him down and making him feel lighter.

Then a slight glow shone high above. It caught his fading attention, stirred him from his lassitude. It drew him like a curious trout toward a lure. As he rose toward it, it grew into a golden sun, casting out rays deeper into the blackness. A few streams brushed through him, bringing warmth, along with melodic notes, echoes of his mother’s lullaby.

He let those strands draw him higher. His cold heart thawed in that glow, thumping stronger. The spread of heat over his chest coalesced into a palm and fingers.

Words reached him. “I think he’s coming round.”

The world exploded into brightness. He groaned and tried to shade his eyes.

Someone held his arm down. “Don’t move too quickly.”

He blinked, recognizing Glace’s voice.

But his first sight was that of a goddess, hovering over him. Perfect lips parted, sighing with relief, still laced in a melodic song. Blue eyes, full of concern, shone like a cloudless day. Burnished bronze swam with hues that no word could describe.

“Shiya…” he whispered hoarsely.

“I’ve got you,” she shushed back at him. Her palm—still warm, still humming with a soft glow—rested on his bare chest. “Lie still.”

Rhaif obeyed, knowing he would do anything she asked. Besides, the world continued to rock around him, dizzying him. He stared up at the misty skies, which rolled back and forth over him. He groaned, either still drunk or still feverish.

“Wh… Where are we?”

“In a boat,” Shiya said. “Headed to Iskar.”

Rhaif waved away her words. They made no sense. He got his elbows under him and pushed slightly up. Glace crouched with Hyck ahead of him. Beyond the two, a stranger stood at the prow of a wide-bellied skiff, his strong legs braced wide. He carried woven reins in his hands. Other tethers ran from cleats out to sea.

Rhaif tilted high enough to follow those leads. He spotted a pair of harnessed creatures cresting the waves. They humped and worked strong tails, showing flashes of wings beneath the water. But strangest of all, they thrust opalescent horns ahead of them.

Rhaif moaned. “Either this is a dream or I’m clearly still delirious.”

“They call them orksos,” Herl said behind him, confirming their existence.

Perde acknowledged the same. “Ugly beasts.”

The dark-haired stranger, bare-chested and wearing snug breeches, scowled back. His blue eyes flashed icily. “Watch your tongue. Noorish or not, I’ll dump you back on that island. I don’t care if you might be long-lost relations. Maybe you’d rather have another go with those pickkyns again.”

Rhaif let the mysteries fall aside. Especially as he remembered a greater concern. He stared down at his leg. His thigh still throbbed and burned.

Shiya must have noticed the worried set to his lips. “Fear not. Shoalman Hess had a remedy to counter the pickkyn’s poison.”

The boatman heard her. “You don’t travel these waters without it, not with those long-necked beasts prowlin’ about. Regular skorpans of the sea.” He frowned back at Rhaif. “Your mates made a right mess of your leg digging out that spine.”

Rhaif parted a flap of his makeshift blanket, enough to reveal a leafy bandage wrapped around his upper thigh. It wafted a sulfuric scent that curled his nose, but he was not about to complain.

“Such foolishness,” Hess said. “Just gotta piss on that bastard, a good stream, and the spine will release its hooks. Then she slides out smooth as shite out an orkso’s tail.”

Rhaif flashed to that torturous extraction and glared at Glace.

Hyck shrugged. “I told ya we shoulda waited.”

Hess waved back. “All that trouble on the island, and you left a mountain of meat rotting on that sand. The flanks of pickkyns make good steaks. ’Specially with eel gravy.”

Rhaif tried to picture such a meal. It was a mistake. He clutched his belly as the world tipped sideways. Oh, no… He rolled to the boat’s rail and emptied his stomach into the sea, heaving hard, the sour smell reminding him of his last imbibement.

Herl sniffed it out, too. “All that ale wasted.”

A FTER A LONG spell, Rhaif squinted as a shoreline came into view through the fog. The village of Iskar glowed with torches, as if welcoming them to its bosom. But the slow ring of bells, mournful and solemn, echoed over the waves.

He lay in Shiya’s arms. He still occasionally shivered with chills, but the heat of her bronze kept him warm. He shifted his buttocks as the shoalman Hess blew a curled horn, announcing his homecoming through the mists.

Shiya had already related all that transpired. The attack, the deaths, even the loss of Bashaliia. He could no longer whine about his own struggles. Especially as the aftermath came clearer into view.

Boats lay broken along the beach. Rubble and debris had washed deep into the village. Huge bonfires burned winged shapes, casting up flumes of oily smoke. But worst of all, a long row of draped bodies lined an open square. People knelt beside them, rocking in place or leaning on one another.

Rhaif had to look away.

On the far side of the village, the Sparrowhawk had been hauled to shore—maybe by the same horned beasts that pulled the skiff. It lay crooked in the shallows, its bow nosed deep into the sand. The necessity was obvious. Water continued to slosh into and out of the huge rent in its hull.

But it hadn’t sunk.

Not that it made much difference. Above the ship, only a fraction of its great balloon still fluttered; the rest lay draped over rails and deck. According to Shiya, its flashburn tanks were nearly empty.

Figures scurried about the beached ship, inspecting damage, unloading the hold, stacking crates on the sand. Another craft floated above it all. It was the other sailraft, drifting and occasionally flashing fire from its forges. Its gasbag remained perk and taut.

Rhaif pointed it out to Glace. “Looks like your sister managed not to crash her raft.”

Glace scowled. “Sard off.”

He only meant to tease the woman, but from all the grim expressions, no one was in the mood for any amusement.

They all knew the truth.

We’re trapped here.

Rhaif sighed loudly. He gazed up at the mists overhead, brightening with every breath, as if marking a new day—the first of the rest of their lives down here.

He shook his head, resigned to this fate, knowing they’d failed in their mission. He pictured the Crown, a home they’d never see again.

Let’s hope Kanthe and the others are faring better than we are.