Zypheria's Call (A Tanyth Fairport Adventure) (37 page)

Rebecca laughed and held up the canvas-shrouded bundle. “And I haven’t even gotten to the oldest stuff yet. You wrote more then.”

“Di’n’t know I was all that wordy,” Tanyth said with a grin of her own.

“You didn’t write anythin’ last winter, mum? Nothin’ about your time in Ravenwood?”

Tanyth shook her head. “Didn’t learn anything new there. Nothin’ to write down.”

Rebecca scoffed. “Didn’t think to write down about your raven dreams?”

Tanyth shot her a frown. “Not exactly learnin’, is it?”

Rebecca shook her head. “No, mum, but keepin’ track of all that’s happening now might be useful later when you get to Mother Pinecrest’s. You’ll be able to tell her ’xactly when stuff happened.”

Tanyth nodded and thought of the new blank book and pen in her pack. “That’s not a bad idea, my dear. ’Specially now.”

Rebecca cocked her head. “The momma rat, you mean?”

Tanyth gave a half shrug but didn’t answer.

Above them, they heard men shouting and feet running across the decks.

“What is it, mum?” Rebecca asked, eyes wide.

“Just comin’ about, I ’spect” she said. “New course again. You’ll want to get your gear on. They’ll be collectin’ ya soon.”

Rebecca shook her head in wonder. “How do you know more what the ship’s doin’ than I do?”

Tanyth pulled her coat off its peg and started shrugging into its heavy warmth. “I don’t, my dear, but hangin’ about in the cookhouse, I hear the odd bit of this ’n that.”

“Lemme just bundle this back up and I’ll be up in a minute. If you see Scooter or the bosun?”

“I’ll tell ’em.” Tanyth nodded and finished buttoning her coat. She remembered to take the mug with her at the last minute and headed up to watch the ship come about, tea in hand and feeling like a real sailor.

When she got on deck, she didn’t see the men holding on to the lines and levers they needed to bring the ship about as she expected. What she saw was the full complement of sailors in the tall rigging, each one working at some activity or other that involved the sails.

The bosun saw her standing there gazing upward. “Mum, we need Becca now!” he shouted.

“She’s on her way.”

He waved and turned back to the crew in the rigging, bawling orders that Tanyth didn’t understand but moved men from here to there. As she watched, the big canvas sails seemed to evaporate as they were gathered, reefed, and in some cases actually taken down.

Rebecca pushed up onto the deck and stepped around Tanyth.

“The bosun’s lookin’ for you, my dear,” Tanyth said.

“I s’pect he is, mum,” she said and dashed across the deck to where the bosun stood, legs apart and gazing upwards.

He turned at her approach and clapped her on the shoulder, pointing forward and saying something in her ear that Tanyth couldn’t hear above the sound of the wind buffeting past her ears.

She walked forward to the cookhouse and, in its meager protection, up-ended her mug, letting the last of the cooling tea pour into her mouth. When she brought the mug down, she saw the heavy, dark clouds working across the western sky. A flicker of lightning generated no thunder that she could hear over the roaring of the wind in her ears, but she doubted that would last very long. Even as she stood there, the mass seemed to expand, stretching gray fingers across the deep blue sky. She could make out sheets of rain hanging like some strange moss.

With an effort, she pulled her eyes away and wrenched open the door to the cookhouse and slipped inside. There she found Cook busily lashing things down. “Ah, there you are, mum. Looks like we won’t be getting a peek into the hold today after all.”

“Is it bad?”

Cook shrugged and didn’t stop his preparations. “Bad enough, I wager.” He paused to consider his handy work and then turned to the stove. He opened the firebox and stuffed two more sticks into it.

“I thought you had to secure the fire when there’s stormy weather?”

He shot her a smile over his shoulder. “Aye, we do, but she’s not storming yet and this hunk of iron will hold heat for hours. If I can get her hot enough before the storm hits, we’ll have fresh, hot beans at midnight if we need ’em.” He nodded at the trays of biscuits. “Mum? If you’d pull them off the trays and fill up them hampers?” Two covered baskets rested on the deck. “We’ll be able to put some hot food in their bellies before it hits, I think.”

She used a towel to hold the still hot baking sheets and dumped the biscuits unceremoniously into the baskets, throwing a bit of fresh towel in on top and slapping the lids closed. “What about the trays?”

Cook pointed to a narrow slot. “In there, turn the toggle and they’ll stay in.”

She found a flat bit of wood with a spike driven through the middle that allowed the wood to turn. She slipped the empty trays into the slot and turned the wood, which formed a bar across the opening. “Clever.”

“Oh, we sailors are nothing if not clever, mum. Gotta keep gear from flying away, or rolling over the side, or falling on our heads every time there’s a little blow. Simple is good, mum. And when you’re dealing with sailors, it better be darn simple. All-Mother knows we surely are.”

“Are what, Cook?”

“Simple, mum. Every blasted one of us for being out in this.”

Tanyth saw his face for the first time since getting into the cookhouse. His eyes were wider than normal and his skin carried a waxy pallor.

“Anythin’ else I can do, Cook?”

He looked around the galley, checking off things methodically as his gaze traversed each wall. “Well, mum, we’re gonna serve up some grub here in a minute, but if you happen to know any prayers to calm the winds and flatten the seas, now would be a tip top time to say ’em.”

She looked at him, but he seemed to be serious, even if a bit distracted by trying to simultaneously get a meal ready and tie down anything not in use in the galley. “First time for everythin’, I suppose,” she said. “Can’t hurt.”

She headed for the door.

“Where you goin’, mum?”

“Gonna say a prayer.”

He interrupted his frantic scanning and fussing to look at her, a look of surprise on his face. “A prayer, mum?”

“Yeah,” she said. “You just said if I knew any prayers, now’s the time to say ’em.”

He barked a laugh. “And you can’t say ’em in here, mum?”

She looked around the cookhouse. “Oh, prob’ly.” She ducked her head to peer out of the small window at the approaching storm. “But I got a feelin’ I’ll need my stick for this one.”

Tanyth left the cookhouse and made her way across the deck. The dark clouds grew closer by the second and the wind blew stronger than it had when she’d entered the deckhouse. Every once in a while, she felt a single drop of water blow into her face. “There’ll be more where that came from, I ’spect,” she muttered.

She made her way back to her compartment and staggered as the ship took a lurch just as she opened the door, nearly tumbling onto the deck with the sudden movement. Tanyth pulled her staff out from its slot beside her mattress and leaned on it for a moment, gazing out the port at the sunny sky that still showed on that side of the ship. Just the heft of it in her hand made her feel better. She took a moment to button up her heavy blue coat but left her head bare.

Staff in hand, she clambered back up on the deck and stood in the open near the center of the ship, just behind the huge main mast, and just in front of the raised bridge in the stern. It was the steadiest part of the ship and would give her the best footing. The small triangular sails at the tops of the masts had already been furled, and the three large sails that usually graced the bow of the ship had been reduced to one rather small one. The main sails were gone, wrapped and secured to the booms that held them. Above her the wind sang through the nearly naked rigging, making every line vibrate in a horrific symphony.

Out of the corner of her eyes she saw Cook come out of the deckhouse and stare at her. All around her, sailors stopped their work to gawk at her. She stood there, iron-shod staff grounded on the smooth, wooden deck. She glanced up to find the sun just before the advancing fingers of gray wrapped it in a fist of angry gray. She saw Rebecca clinging to the rigging high above her. She gazed straight down at Tanyth, but instead of fear, the girl’s face radiated strength and determination. Tanyth saw her set her jaw and nod once at her before she returned to her task high above the rolling deck.

“Oh, Mother, this better work,” she muttered and turned to face directly north.

The wind’s passage through the rigging grew into something more akin to a howl and she knew there was very little time before the storm fell over them. She took a deep breath and was just about to start when she heard the captain shouting behind her.

“What in the name of Farnsworth’s flaming flatus are you doing out here, mum?”

She turned to see him leaning over the rail above her on the bridge. “Sayin’ my prayers, why?”

“Mum, you need to get below!”

“Tell me somethin’ I don’t know. Gimme a minute and I’ll get out of your way.”

“I’m not sure you’ve got a minute, mum,” he bellowed.

“Tell me about it,” she muttered.

“What?”

She ignored him and turned to face north once more. Her feet found the place they needed and her body found the rhythm. She lifted her staff in both hands and began.

“I call on the Guardian of the North, Bones of the World, to give this ship and her crew the strength of stone to withstand the tempest before us.”

She dropped the staff to the deck with a dull thump that seemed to shake the ship and used it to pivot to her right and face the east. She raised the staff again.

“I call on the Guardian of the East, Breath of the World, to hold the winds that threaten this ship and allow us to pass through this storm in safety.”

Again she dropped the staff to the deck and the dull thump felt more like a drum beat. Once more she pivoted and faced the south. As she raised the staff she saw the startled looking faces of the crew looking down at her from the raised bridge. If she hadn’t been so intent, she might have laughed at their shocked expressions. Even the younger Groves staring up into the rigging looked pale under his sea-grown tan.

“I call on the Guardian of the South, Fire of the World, to grant us the gift of passion to sustain us through the storm that threatens to snuff the fires of our lives.”

The staff boomed on the deck and Tanyth felt a fire growing in her middle that had nothing to do with fear. She turned again to face the west. Her staff felt heavier, or maybe she was just getting tired. She couldn’t be sure.

“I call on the Guardian of the West, Blood of the World, to smooth the seas and calm the waves, to keep the force of storm from breaking this ship and dousing the lives of those aboard.”

The staff boomed again and Tanyth turned, glad it was the last turn. She lifted the staff once more to the north, barely able to lift the heavy oak staff against the buffeting wind.

“May the Guardians hold the circle around this ship and all who sail her. Grant them the strength to endure, passion to live, and flexibility to survive the winds and waves and fire that drive this storm. In the name of the All-Mother, and in the name of the All-Father, I ask. So mote it be.”

She brought the staff down for the last time and the sound of it crashed around her.

“Bother,” she grumbled. “After all that, we get hit by lightning.”

She gnawed on the wood some more. The hole was nearly big enough to get into, but she worried that she might not be able to get out. She could thrust her head in, but it wasn’t enough for her shoulders. She needed to make the hole bigger.

The ground shook a few times and she stopped. There were no others. She heard them up above, but they didn’t let the light in, so she knew she was safe. After a time, she wondered if there was still food in the Small Place or if the others had taken it away. Perhaps her sister mothers had found it and eaten it all.

She stopped chewing on the wood and cleaned her whiskers. Food would be good, she thought, and scampered toward the wet crack and had almost squeezed all the way through it when she smelled the sharp smell, the smell of danger. She froze and looked. A fat ball of food rested on the metal. The metal was danger. She knew danger and it made her angry.

She squeezed through the wet crack and walked around the food. Not touching it. Not looking at it.

She found the round edge that had spilled food. The others had come down and lifted it up, but she found spilled food in the corners and ate until her belly was full. She went back to the wet crack and walked carefully around the food. She was no longer hungry now, but the food smelled good. She squeezed through the wet crack and went back to chewing the wood.