Isle Nanokar
The whaler was the first sign of life they saw in a more than a week before sailing into the Ice Isles. A schooner, similar to the Black Storm in rigging, but twice as wide and half as long; she sat low on account of its cargo. It dragged six or seven small rowboats with mounted harpoons, but it was the whale that weighed the ship down. Selena frowned as her spyglass showed her the enormous carcass hung from the port side of the ship, streaming blood. The schooner didn’t cant to the port side; she guessed another whale was hung similarly at starboard. The bloody waters around the ship churned with sharks.
“It looks so light for the work it does,” Selena observed through her glass.
“The shallow draft is to navigate the Ice Isles,” Julian answered tersely. “The township is inland, hidden from sight by the ice bergs.” He glanced at her huddled form. “Why don’t you stay in the galley, near the stove? Bloody Deeps, it’s got to be warmer there than out here.” His breath plumed with every word as if to accentuate his point.
Selena ignored his suggestion. Walking the ship kept the numbness from her limbs but seemed to irritate Julian.
Weakness, she guessed. He can’t abide it.
The passage between the icebergs looked to Selena like the gullet of some terrible monster ready to swallow them whole. It was narrow and allowed for only one ship to navigate safely through it, and the Storm and the whaler converged on the entrance at the same time. Julian barked orders to slow the ship to a drift, and the whaler drew up broadsides with the Storm.
“Ho there!” Julian called. “A fine catch!”
Selena stared, amazed at Julian’s transformation from sullen and dark, to cheerful and friendly.
Astride his quarterdeck, the whaler captain grinned and tipped his cap. His face, and the faces of his crew, were covered in light and dark paint in varied designs. The captain bore a white swath on the lower half of his face, just under his nose and cheeks and over his bushy beard, while his nose, eyes and brow were painted brown. Small white and brown circles outlined his face so as to make it look as if he wore a mask.
“Aye, t’is that!” The captain called back. His oilskins, Selena saw, were slicked with blood. “Last o’ the season, I reckon. But yer no whaler nor packet. What brings you to our fair isle? The gentle weather?”
His laugh rang out among the ice walls and Selena flinched at the sound.
“For provisions, rest, and water,” Julian said.
“You’ll find all three on Nanokar, an’ please sail a’fore us. Our catch is tedious heavy an’ I don’t mean to grieve yer crew by trying to keep abaft o’ us.”
“That’s kind of you,” Julian replied. “Tell me the name of your favored tavern so that I might repay your courtesy with a glass or two of mead.”
“Golden mead?” The white paint on the captain’s lips cracked and flaked off as he smiled.
“The Lords’ best,” Julian agreed.
“The White Sail pours the best o’ the gold,” the captain said. He jerked a thumb to where the whale—a huge bowhead—hung, impaled by giant hooks through its blubber at head and tail. “I hafta see me catch into the pots an’ then I’ll look fer you there. Yer buy the first round, I’ll the second in trade for news an’ the like from warmer climes.”
“Deal,” Julian said. He took the wheel and ordered Helm to help maneuver the sails. “All hands, sharp now,” he called to the rest of them. “This is no easy business.”
“You’ve been to the Ice Isles before,” Selena observed.
Julian didn’t look at her but kept his eyes on the icy teeth around them, his friendly demeanor slipping off like a mask. “I’ve been everywhere.”
The Black Storm sailed slowly into the Ice Isles. Those aboard who could speak did so in hushed tones, as if loud noises might topple over the sheets of ice that rose on all sides.
“Are avalanches common?” Selena asked.
“It’s not unheard of,” Julian said. “But summer’s ending; it’s getting colder so we don’t have much to fear anymore.”
Getting colder means I have much to fear. Selena looked around. The sky was slate gray with clouds blotting out the sun. The water was a muddy color, however, instead of flat gray. When she noted it, Julian said it was whale blood.
“Isle Nanokar is the exclusive seller of whale oil, mostly to the Isle of Lords,” he said. “The season is ending and the last hauls are coming in.” He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “You might not like it.”
“Not like what?”
“The burning beach.”
Julian was right.
The canal of icebergs opened to reveal a wide bay with miles of beach that was part pale sand, part snow, but not much of it that was white. Crimson streaks ran from the bodies of the hundreds of bowhead whales beached upon the sand. The surf was sluggish with rust-colored foam lapping at its bloody shores. Men were hard at work, using flensing knives to slice off huge rashers of blubber. These rubbery steaks, as long as a man in some cases, were lugged up to other men who stood at long wooden tables. The blubber was cut up into smaller pieces and tossed into canoes behind them.
Selena watched the scene from the Black Storm as it came upon the beach. A canoe, filled to spilling with blubber, was dragged further up the beach to a huge brick and mortar oven. There were twenty or so similar ovens all along the shoreline, the smoke of which covered the island’s lone township that clung to the edge of the island. The stench made Selena’s eyes water.
“Tryworks,” Julian told her, gesturing to an oven. “For rendering the blubber.”
“I guessed as much.” Selena turned away.
“You use lamps on Isle Lillomet? In your big fancy temple?”
“We do.”
“Where do you think that oil comes from?”
She forced her gaze out and watched as a great bowhead, its huge mouth a bristly rictus, was stripped of a wide swath of blubber.
“That’s how it goes,” Julian muttered.
“How what goes?”
“Lunos. Something bad for something good.” He looked at her. “There’s always a price to be paid.”
The Storm came to port at the township’s docks that were set aside for merchant packets. The whalers docked at other piers or were run up on the beach to more easily transport the whales to the tryworks. Selena longed to sit beside an inn’s hearth fire but Svoz paced the deck like a caged animal, slavering over the burning beach.
“The Nanokari won’t appreciate a sirrak roaming about, as frenzied by blood as the sharks,” Julian said. “He’ll jeopardize our stay here, especially if he makes a ruin of someone’s catch. The sale of oil from one whale is all it takes to keep a family fed and warm through the winter.”
Selena bit her lip. “Where can I send him?”
“The township is small and backed against the forest. There’s plenty of game there, I’d wager.”
Selena nodded. “Svoz. Seek your meals in the forest. You are to remain out of sight the entire duration of our stay unless I call for you.”
Svoz wore his human sailor guise and looked pained as his pale eyes roamed the beach. “You torture me, Master,” he said with a sigh. “You really do.”
He vanished himself in his usual cloud that blended well with the oil that already hung thick in the smoky air.
Selena did not hesitate but gathered her things from her cabin, and disembarked with only Ilior beside her.
The township on Isle Nanokar stretched along the beach for a league. Stone and mortar homes, shops, and taverns sat huddled against a slope of mountain that was covered with a forest of pine trees. Yellow light of home fires shone in the windows of the squat, one-story structures, and smoke issued from every chimney. Selena and Ilior walked the main thoroughfare. Townfolk garbed in fur seal coats or oilskins, some with faces curiously painted in white and brown, watched them pass with curiosity but not hostility. Dogs that resembled small wolves accompanied many of the people, and Selena saw a team of eight lashed to a sled outside one rustic tavern. The dogs watched them pass with the same curiosity; their teeth bared to better sniff the strangers rather than snap at them.
A shopkeeper was lounging in the door of his business. In the fading light of the day, Selena saw harpoons of all sizes mounted on one wall inside. A pipe was clenched between his teeth and his beard almost hid his smile as he directed them to the finest inn on Nanokar, the White Sail.
“I had thought that a tavern,” Selena said, remembering Julian’s conversation with the whaler.
“Aye, it be tavern an’ inn both. Best lodging’s in town. Loric an’ Hilka be the proprietors. They’ll see to it that you get good an’ warm, lady.” He gestured with his pipe. “Two doors down. Cain’t miss it.”
Selena uttered thanks through chattering teeth. The inn was easy enough to find; the only two-story structure on Isle Nanokar that Selena could see. She stepped into the common room where a hearth fire burned and where a busty, blustery woman greeted them in a booming voice.
“We got rooms a-plenty!” Hilka the proprietor bellowed, showing a smile full of boxy white teeth. She was a voluptuous woman of middle years, with pale, freckled skin and a great mane of coppery curls. “In a week, the packets come to load up on the last o’ the season’s oil an’ you won’t find an eve in the attic to be had then!”
Selena paid for rooms for the entire crew of the Storm, which endeared her to Hilka at once. The woman chatted animatedly, speaking of her husband and two young sons who were still “out at the hunt”; and of the bard who sailed up from the Pleasure Isles to sing for them every night until Ilior cut her off with a curt, “That’ll do, thank you.”
“Aye, an’ thank you too fer yer generous business! Please don’t hesitate to trouble me fer anything.”
Selena didn’t trust herself to speak through trembling lips, but hurried to the hearth fire that was roaring in a mouth large enough to fit a man sideways. Ilior took the seat across from her.
“Better?” he said.
She put her hands as close to the flames as she dared. “Yes, much.”
Ilior missed her lie, as he was busy warming his own cool blood. She was glad. Surrounded by ice and chill winds had awoken the worst malice of her wound. The cold radiated out of the icy cavity of her blasted chest and there was nothing Ilior could do about it but worry.
After a time, the Black Storm’s crew came in, rubbing their hands and blowing on fingers. In no time, Hilka had them eating and drinking. After the meal, Cur, Grunt and Spit played at dicing, while Helm and Cook looked on. Julian sat alone, nursing a glass of golden mead, until Whistle came to the captain, excited and gesturing at the door. Julian reached into his pocket and withdrew something—money for his shore leave, perhaps. Whistle’s eyes widened at the glint of coin in his palm, and the boy looked as though he might hug Julian but the captain waved him off. Whistle scampered away, long legs and arms flailing. Julian watched him go, smiling faintly. He caught Selena watching him and the smile vanished.
Too bad, she thought, turning back to the fire. He’s quite handsome when he smiles.
Niven made short conversation with Selena and then begged her leave. After his wound had healed, he insisted on leaving Selena’s cabin to take a hammock with the rest of the crew, and he professed he’d never get used to the swaying.
“I believe I’ll retire to take advantage of a still bed on dry land while I have the chance.”
Before long, the room filled with whalers in bloody oilskins and faces painted in a variety of designs in brown and white paint. Up close, Selena realized it wasn’t paint at all but mud. She thought to ask Julian about the strange custom, but the whaler captain they had passed on the way in spotted him and the men were clapping arms and hailing the barmaid.
The room was loud with booming voices and guffaws of laughter. The season had been a good one, Selena surmised. The merchant packets would be here in a week to purchase thousands of barrels of whale oil the men had collected, and the township would survive the winter without want. The men were in such a boisterous mood, even the sight of a Vai’Ensai warming his clawed hands at their fire didn’t give them much pause.
Hilka moved easily among the men, jesting and laughing, and barking orders at her barmaids. She lingered near Julian’s table, resting her hand on Julian’s shoulder as they talked with the whaler captain. The township was small, close knit. Selena felt immediately the camaraderie of these people who banded together to make livelihoods in one of the harshest climates on Lunos. Now the windows showed flurries of snow whirling about outside—a small storm. She shivered and tried to sip her cider with shaking hands. It sloshed down the front of her coat on the first try, the second, the third…
She set the mug down, and decided to retire to her room, to curl up beside the fire there without fearing curious or pitying eyes on the “outsider” who couldn’t abide the Nanokar cold. She started to rise when the door banged open and a whaler, his face painted white but for brown circles around his eyes and chin, burst inside.
“It’s Boris! Oil spill! He’s burnt up awful!”
“Well, bring him on in,” Hilka cried, but the man shook his head.
“He’s thrashing like a shark in a blood frenzy. Cain’t touch him fer fear he’ll hurt worse.”
Julian leaned over to Selena from his table. “I’ll get Niven.”
“There’s no time.” Selena climbed to her feet. “You should stay here,” she told Ilior. “It’s storming out.”
She didn’t wait to see if the Vai’Ensai obeyed her, but followed the crowd as they rushed outside. They didn’t panic or cry or wail; but moved quickly and calmly. Hilka carried a jar of white powder under her arm.
Outside, the Nanokari paid the storm as much mind as others might pay to a light rain. To Selena, each little snowflake was an icy dart on her skin. She pulled the hood up over her head and ducked down. An icy patch nearly landed her on her rump but for a steadying hand that snaked out to grab her. Julian offered his arm, and she took it, letting him lead her to the accident so that she might keep her face bowed against the biting wind.
The trek across the beach to where Boris lay seemed to take a year. Selena’s boots crunched over gritty sand and snow, and her hand on Julian’s arm was claw-like and numb. The stench of burning blubber grew stronger and she could hear the burble of the tryworks under the awful shrieking of the wounded man. His cries were weakening and Selena forced her stiffened limbs to move faster.
A crowd had gathered and they made way for Hilka with her white powder, but closed to the strangers in their midst. “Let me to him,” Selena said. “I’m Aluren. A healer.”
The painted men let her pass, and Selena struggled to not let her alarm show on her face when she saw the burned man.
The oil had had burnt itself deep or clung to his skin until the flesh sloughed off. Half of his face was red like the setting sun, the other half still wearing mud in brown and white whorls. His skin bubbled with white foam from his hairline, down along his neck, and over his left hand. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly now, an occasional whimper escaping his lips that were swollen and peeling.
Selena knelt beside him, and peered up at the ring of townsfolk who surrounded them. Her trembling voice was all but torn away by the wind of the gale. “The oil has to come off if I’m to heal,” she said, and bit her tongue with chattering teeth. The townsfolk didn’t understand, judging by their anxious murmurs. She clenched her jaw tightly. “Like a dagger…stabbed in…I can’t heal the wound until…the dagger’s out.”
“Stand aside, by the gods!” Hilka bellowed from the other side of the fallen man. Her cloak blew around her like a sail torn from its yard. “She meant what she said. The oil’s got to come off poor Boris.” She sprinkled white powder from her jar over the burns and then daubed with a cloth. The cloth came up stained with oil and some blood as she worked.
“Good enough?” Hilka asked. “He ain’t got long, otherwise. Shock and cold is like to take him quick.”
Selena nodded. “Good enough.”
The moon was lost behind the flat gray of the sky and the driving snow of the storm, but she found it with her other hand that shook as though with palsy. With the other, she removed the ampulla from her belt, nearly dropping it twice until Julian grabbed it and pulled out the stopper.
“P-pour a little into my p-palm,” she said through chattering teeth.
Julian did as she said, and Selena blocked out the dubious murmurs around her. She ground out the sacred word out from between her teeth. The water in her palm glowed orange and she laid it over the man’s shoulder. The glow spread upward, over the man’s face and neck. The huffing mists of his breath became longer plumes and the cords or his neck relaxed. He lay back and peered at Selena blearily.
“An…angel,” he sighed.
Selena gingerly laid her damp hand on the burnt skin of his face. “Illuria,” she said again, almost a whimper.
When the orange light faded, his flesh had lost much of the angry red color. The white scarring that remained gave the appearance his wounds were years old instead of minutes.
Boris sat up. “Cain’t shoot a harpoon one-handed. Or wrestle with a bowhead on churning seas.” He turned his incredulous stare to Selena and clutched her arm with his hand that had resembled a bird’s claw only a moment before. “You saved me life in all ways. Yer an angel, it’s true. Thank the Two-Faced God fer sendin’ you.”
Selena smiled faintly as the crowd cheered over the howl of the wind. Men moved to haul Boris to his feet but he waved them off and stood on his own accord. He tossed his head back and beat his chest, roaring at the storm to more cheers and hands clapping him on the back.
Selena struggled to stand but her legs buckled under her. “I can’t feel my feet,” she breathed. “I can’t…”
Julian bent swiftly and hefted her in his arms and she turned her face to his chest against the wind.
“Let me,” said a voice and Selena realized Ilior had followed them out into the storm after all.
“You can hardly stand,” she heard Julian snap. “Go. I’ve got her.”
The townsfolk ceased their cheers and Boris’s voice rivaled the storm’s ferocity. “Ye god, what’s a matter with the angel?”
“She’s fine.” Julian’s voice rumbled against her cheek that was pressed to his chest. “Healing wearies her.” Selena breathed a sigh of relief. Julian smelled of leather and salt, and his arms around her were strong.
The party on the beach trekked back to the White Sail. Boris showed off his red, puckered skin as it held battle scars, declared that the next round was on him. His “Aluren angel” would not be permitted to want for anything.
But when Julian made to seat her again by the fire, Selena shook her head.
“I can’t,” she whispered against his long black coat. “Please…my room.”
Julian said nothing but reversed his course and headed for the stairs. He placated the concerned townsfolk with a few gracious comments about the healing having worn her out and that she needed to rest.
“I’ll take her,” Ilior said again, but Julian ignored him. The captain carried her up the stairs to her room that was situated above the common room. She heard the heavy thump of Ilior’s footsteps behind.
At the landing, two old men crossed their path and stopped to let Julian pass by. Selena heard one say to the other, “Oi, look at this. An Aluren.”
“I still remember the Bazira witch, don’t you? Our good librarian will shit his britches…” and then the men were passed them.
Selena sucked in a breath. “Did you hear that? A Bazira…”
“I’ll see what I can find out tonight,” Julian said.
Selena had heard there was a library on Isle Nanokar –a curiosity that harbored ancient relics and scrolls, much of it flotsam that had washed on the beaches over the decades. A vague hope of being able to see it had flitted through her but the cold was unbearable. Now hope burned in her.
But a Bazira witch was here. Accora? If so, the god is good. My suffering here has a greater purpose.
In her room, Julian set Selena down on the feather bed while Ilior went immediately to the hearth to build a fire. It wasn’t a large room but not small either; homey and neat. Aside from the bed, there was a wardrobe made of fine teak, and desk and chair by the window, and some pleasant paintings on the walls of brigantines under sail. Selena tried to remove her sword belt but her hands wouldn’t cooperate. Julian appeared over her, his face hard and cold.
“This is all a bloody mistake,” Julian spat. He tore off her sword belt and dumped it onto the floor, then yanked off one of her boots.
“I had to help him. He was in so much pain…”
Julian looked to say something and then snapped his mouth shut. He pulled off her other boot.
“No, the fire please,” she said when he went to the bed and made to turn the blankets down. He nodded grimly and lifted her again. She looked up at him. A small hook-shaped scar marred the olive skin under his chin and his breath smelled of honey from the mead. His eyes were like chips of sea green glass; beautiful but hard and dark under furrowed brows.
“We had to come here,” she told him. “Or else be overrun with merkind.”
He grunted in reply and then set her at the hearth that Ilior was stoking into a huge blaze. Julian brought the bed’s blankets to the floor and Selena curled up on them while he tucked them around her. She burrowed in but with little hope. She had been wearing the wound long enough to know better.
“I’ll watch over her,” she heard Ilior intone from above her. Inside, in the warm room, his voice was strong again and brooked no argument.
Julian muttered something unintelligible, the door opened and shut, and there was silence.
“Is he gone?” Selena asked, staring into the fire. When Ilior said yes, her tears fell in earnest. She heard a great creaking of leathery skin stiffened by cold, and then her friend was beside her.
“Are you in pain? Are you…?”
“The townsfolk,” Selena said, her breath hitching. “Do you hear them? Down below, celebrating and laughing and dancing?”
“Yes.”
“It’s life.” Selena recalled the sound of Julian’s heartbeat against her ear and the strength of his arms around her, holding her. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a steadying breath. “If I weep too much I won’t stop.”
Ilior hand was heavy on her shoulder. “Rest. I’ll keep the fire burning.”
She drifted into a fitful sleep, waiting for the warmth of the fire to reach her. It never did.