The Children of the White Lions: Volume 02 - Prophecy (54 page)

First, the dizziness faded. The headache went next, followed quickly by the nausea and cramping stomach. Finally, his feverishness withered away. Within two breaths, he felt fine.

Stunned, he stood tall from his hunched-over position and stared out at the horizon with wide eyes, noticing for the first time the reds and purples of the evening sky.

A moment later, his stomach clenched and, thinking we was about to get sick, he bent over the rail again. He gripped the wooden railing hard, wondering why Nundle’s magic had not worked. He waited for the cramping to begin but it never did. It took a moment to realize he was not nauseous at all. The sensation was something different.

Standing tall, he turned around to gape at the four behind him.

“Gods, I’m starving.”

Moments ago, the thought of food would have sent him into fits of heaving. Now, he was ravenous.

The three men and tomble smiled wide as Sergeant Trell asked, “When is the last time you ate something?”

Nikalys thought for a moment before shaking his head and mumbling, “I have no idea.” His stomach gurgled again. It felt wondrous.

Cero said, “Let me run down to the galley and get you something.”

Nikalys nodded his silent thanks, still marveling at his rapid recovery.

As Cero headed toward the foredeck and the stairs leading below, Wil peered after him, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Wait for me! I’m hungry, too!”

He hurried after Cero, dashing around the foremast and dodging the seamen moving about the deck. Nikalys noticed nearby sailors staring at him with wide, good-natured grins on their faces. He supposed they were mocking him, but Nikalys did not care. He felt too good.

Nikalys took in a long, deep lungful of cold air, wondering at how fresh and clean it felt. Staring back-and-forth between Nundle and Sergeant Trell, Nikalys beamed.

“Gentlemen, you are looking at the biggest fool there ever was.”

With a crooked smile, Sergeant Trell kindly offered, “Those are rather strong words.”

Raising an eyebrow, Nikalys said good-naturedly, “You didn’t dispute my claim.”

“No,” said Sergeant Trell, his grin widening. “I did not.”

Chuckling, Nikalys peered down at Nundle.

“Thank you ever so much. You are a savior.”

The already rosy pink hue in Nundle’s cheeks deepened to a soft red. The tomble was evidently embarrassed by the compliment. As he stared at Nikalys, his eyes narrowed and he took a step closer. With wonder in his voice, he muttered, “Your recovery is remarkable. The others got better, yes, but you look as if you could swim the rest of the way to Ursus.”

Grinning wide, Nikalys boasted, “I feel like I could.”

Nundle shrugged, took a step back, and mused aloud, “I wish I had known this Weave when I journeyed to the Arcane Republic. Perhaps I might not have hated sailing as much as I thought I did. The pattern is amazingly simple, you know. Only need a handful of Life Strands and a couple of Soul. That’s it. A few loops, a twist, and—it looks sort of like a thistle when you’re done. A green and silver thistle. I am quite surprised they don’t teach it at the Academies. I wonder if my preceptors ever knew of it. Preceptor Lasavel—he was my teacher at the Academy of—”

“Nundle?” interrupted Sergeant Trell, a tiny smile on his face.

The tomble glanced up at the soldier

“I was going on again, wasn’t I?”

Nodding, Sergeant Trell said, “Yes, you were.”

“I was actually enjoying it,” said Nikalys. “I was going to see how long you could go.”

Nundle shrugged and offered them both a smile.

“Tombles in Deepwell always said I was a perfect Babblebrook on account I…well, I babble on like a brook.”

After the three of them shared a quiet chuckle at the small jest, the tomble tilted his head back to stare upward at Sergeant Trell.

“Seems Broedi won the bet.”

Sergeant Trell eyed Nikalys and nodded.

“That he did.”

“Bet?” asked Nikalys. A wave crashed into the starboard side of the Sapphire, coating the ship and its passengers with a thin coating of icy sea spray. Wiping water from his face, Nikalys repeated, “What bet?”

Nundle nodded his head toward the aft of the ship.

“Might be best if you ask him.”

Nikalys looked to where the tomble was gesturing, squinting against the orange evening sun. He lifted a hand to shade his eyes and saw Broedi standing tall on the second deck, arms crossed over chest and gaze locked on Nikalys.

“What sort of bet?” asked Nikalys. “With who?” Shifting his gaze to the figure on the White Lion’s left, his eyes narrowed. “Never mind.”

Captain Scrag, the master of the Sapphire, was scowling at Nikalys, his thick mane of white hair whipping in the wind. Even though he was rail-thin and shorter than Broedi by almost a foot and a half, the captain was one of the most imposing men Nikalys had ever met. His face was tougher than twenty-year old leather, beaten dry by years of salty sea air. His thick, bushy mustache was so large that it covered his entire mouth. He wore a navy blue coat with scarlet stripes running down the sleeves, a pair of matching breeches, and matte leather, calf-high black boots.

Some men conveyed a natural aura of command. Sergeant Trell, for one. Commander Aiden, as well. Whatever it was that those two soldiers had, Captain Scrag had three barrels worth. Like Broedi, his gaze was reserved for Nikalys alone.

“You looked so miserable,” said Nundle. “The captain bet Broedi we could not get you to let go of the railing.” With a smile in his voice, he said, “Broedi had faith in us.”

Nikalys wondered if he should be upset that his misery had been the subject of a bet. After a moment, he shrugged, not caring. If you were not a sailor, there was little else to do at sea but make bets.

Suddenly curious, Nikalys asked, “What was the wager?”

Nundle turned to look up at Sergeant Trell.

“Nathan?”

The sergeant shrugged his shoulders.

“They did not share with me.”

Nikalys stared back across the deck. Broedi’s expression was stoic as always, but the captain was glowering, appearing rather unhappy he lost. Truth be told, he always looked that way.

“If you will excuse me,” said Nikalys.

He strode off without waiting for a response, heading toward the portside stairs that led up to the deck. His course was not a straight one, interrupted both by the rolling deck and by sailors moving about, performing whatever tasks seamen do.

Holding tightly onto the dual railings, Nikalys lurched up the steps and reached the second deck. After waiting for the Sapphire to pause atop a wave, he hurried a dozen paces to stand next to Broedi, grasping the deck railing as soon as he arrived. He turned an eye to the hillman, expecting a greeting of sorts. However, both Broedi and the captain ignored his arrival.

Leaning forward, Nikalys attempted to catch their eyes yet the pair kept their gazes locked on the eastern horizon. With a shrug of his shoulders, he turned forward as well, wondering if something important lay ahead of them. Before he could focus on the distant line of sky and water, the ship itself demanded he pay attention to it. Now that seasickness no longer consumed him, he could appreciate the majesty of the craft.

The Sapphire was a three-masted, full-rigged ship, the mizzenmast a dozen feet behind them, the mainmast rising high at mid-ship, and the foremast further along towards the bow. The soft, warm light cast by the sunset tinted the normally white sails a soft orange.

Days ago, Broedi had tried to convey the exceptional craftsmanship required to build such a ship: the different types of wood necessary, the techniques shipbuilders used, the style as well as art that went into a seaworthy vessel. At the time, Nikalys had not listened to a word the hillman had spoken, so consumed was he by seasickness. Now, with his stomach right, he tried to recall Broedi’s lesson. He remembered something about oak being used for the keel. He frowned, his gaze traversing the ship as he tried to remember what a keel was.

The sharp crack of skin smacking wood startled him. Swiveling to stare at Captain Scrag, he found the ship’s master glaring at Broedi.

“Blast the Nine Hells nine times over!” shouted the man, his already present scowl deepening ever further. His moustache bounced as he ranted, “That’s two blasted casks of Starwick I owe you! Do you know the favors I’ll need to call in for
two
?!”

Nikalys had yet to get used to the way the captain treated Broedi. Most everyone connected with the Shadow Manes treated the White Lion with respect or reverence. Yet it seemed the ship’s commander felt no such compunction to offer any sort of deference to the White Lion.

Leaning forward, the captain said, “Hold a moment—you didn’t use any of those blasted strings and cheat me, did you?”

Broedi shook his head, his familiar, slight smile touching his lips.

“Yet again, Captain, they are ‘Strands,’ not strings. And I did no such thing.”

Slapping the railing again, Captain Scrag exclaimed, “Bah! I should have known better than take you twice or naught! Hells, I should never have taken the first bet.”

Baffled by their exchange, Nikalys said, “Pardon me…but what is going on?”

Staring at him with eyebrows raised, Captain Scrag said, “Oh, my! So polite. ‘Pardon me,’ he says!” He leaned toward Nikalys, a teasing grin hiding under his moustache. “It’s good to see you have more color in your cheeks than my sails. I nearly had the men run you up the yardarm!”

Since leaving Storm Island, the captain had taken every chance he could to jab at Nikalys. In one sense, Nikalys welcomed the teasing, relieved to be treated like an average soul and not the illustrious Progeny. However, the captain’s mocking was relentless and Nikalys had had enough.

Holding the seaman’s steady gaze, he said, “Now that I am feeling better, I suppose I should take this opportunity to apologize for the mess I made in your cabin.”

The captain’s confident smile faltered a bit.

“My cabin?”

With as much false regret as he could muster, Nikalys said, “Thinking I might feel better with something in my stomach, I forced down a large helping of fish stew.” He grimaced at the thought. The stew was horrid. “I was wrong. I tried to make it to the deck in time, but I took a wrong turn, ended up in your cabin, and well…” He trailed off and gave a small shrug. “I do apologize.”

Not a word he had spoken was truth. He would not touch a spoonful of the wretched stew even if he were starving. The thick, red glop was revolting.

The captain, no longer smiling, stared ahead, eyeing the stairwell that led below deck.

“You got ill in my cabin?”

“I am truly sorry, Captain. I meant to tell you earlier, but I was busy holding up your ship’s starboard rails.”

Nikalys had managed to keep a straight face to this point, but he doubted he could much longer. The forlorn expression on the captain’s face was wholly enjoyable.

Suddenly, a deep, rumbling chuckle rolled forth from Broedi. The rare sound drew both Nikalys’ and the captain’s attention immediately. As the hillman continued to laugh, Captain Scrag shifted his gaze to Nikalys. A moment later, he began to nod, a knowing smile spreading over his face.

“You give as good as you take, don’t you?”

Letting his own smile free, Nikalys nodded and said, “I am a middle child, Captain. I have had plenty of practice doing both.” Looking between the pair, he said, “I know about the first bet. Mind if I ask what the second one was about?”

A disgruntled Captain Scrag huffed, “Hells, I bet twice or naught that if we kept silent once you reached the rail here, you would speak before we crested five waves.”

“And I believed you would remain quiet,” said Broedi.

Tilting his head, Nikalys asked, “How did you know?”

“I did not,” rumbled the hillman. “I was trying to return the captain’s losses from the first bet.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Mark me lucky.”

“Last time I bet you on this trip, Broedi,” growled the captain.

“Don’t say that,” said Nikalys with a smile. “We need something to liven things up around here. After all, this voyage has been rather uneventful, hasn’t it?”

Captain Scrag’s relatively affable mood changed in an instant. Glaring at Nikalys, he slapped the rail with both hands and, with venom in his voice, shouted, “Hells, son! Why would you go and say something like that?! Saewyn curse it all!”

As the captain strung together a long, virulent succession of curses that would sour milk fresh from a cow’s udder, Nikalys stared, wholly confused at the explosion of sharp words. Throughout the outburst, Nikalys repeatedly glanced at Broedi, looking for some sort of guidance. A pained expression rest upon the hillman’s face.

When the captain finally stopped his shouting, Nikalys said, “I don’t understand, Captain. What did I do?”

The captain remained quiet, staring daggers at him. After an uncomfortable moment of silence, Broedi answered instead.

“Men of the sea never mention the ease of a journey, believing Saewyn will hear their words and rectify the situation.”

“Rectify the situation? What does that—?”

Captain Scrag interrupted, bellowing, “It means she’ll drop a blasted storm on us! We’ll be tossed around like apples in a dirgmour’s stout keg during the king’s high festival!”

Nikalys stared at the captain, his face blank. After a few moments of quiet, filled only by the roar of the sea and the creaking of the ship, he turned to look behind the ship. Mu’s orb hovered above the western horizon, peeking through a spattering of clouds in the sky.

“Ah…I don’t see a storm in our future, Captain.”

“Do not mock what you don’t know!” bellowed the old seaman. “I swear, if Saewyn strikes us with a tempest, son, I’m strapping you to the topmast! And you are staying up there until the sun shines bright again!”

The surly captain stomped away, moving further aft to speak to the sailor manning the giant, wooden wheel that guided the ship.

Staring after the captain in a state of minor shock, Nikalys mumbled, “That man is mad.”

“Do not judge him harshly,” rumbled Broedi. “He is a fair man, steadfast friend, and excellent captain. Ask any of the seamen aboard and they will tell you they would not sail under any other.”