Page 8 of Among the Burning Flowers (The Roots of Chaos #3)

KINGDOM OF YSCALIN

CE 1003

Liyat rode like a windstorm, with Melaugo behind, weary to her bones. She never had much cause to ride, but Liyat sought relics all over Yscalin, and was used to the trials of horseback.

They kept to as much cover as they could, riding under trees and through fields of wheat, covering the most distance at night. Every so often, a wyvern soared overhead, forcing them off the road. The sound of their wings betrayed their approach.

At a certain point, Melaugo took the lead. She knew the way to Oryzon as well as she knew anything.

At the western end of the Groneyso Valley, they passed the remains of the ancient Rose Sanctuary. A sanctarian wandered in the rubble, her robe charred, wringing blistered hands.

Harlowe might well have already sailed, if the same chaos was descending on Oryzon. If so, they would have to ride to Nzene, which could take weeks or months. That was if the wyverns had not already reached the South. For all Melaugo knew, they could be appearing everywhere.

During the Grief, all they had craved was mindless violence. Even with the king’s surrender, she could not imagine how it would be any different now.

When they approached the Port of Oryzon, where Melaugo had eked out her formative years, the flock was not far behind. All day, the wyverns had been calling to each other in their wake. Melaugo wondered if the Knights Defendant had reached the coast first, to herald their arrival, or if these people were unaware that King Sigoso had surrendered to the Nameless One – but as soon as they grew close, the sounds of terror could be heard.

They rode to Halassa Street, to the house with the yellow door, where Harlowe lived whenever he stayed on the western coast. Melaugo pounded on the door, but there was no answer.

‘He’s gone.’ She almost laughed. ‘The bastard has left. Just as I was about to accept his offer—’

‘He could still be in the harbour,’ Liyat said.

She led her mare onward, and Melaugo followed, pulling the nervous palfrey past the imposing walls of the Customs House of Oryzon and down to where thousands of Yscals lined the docks.

The people swamped the small fishing boats, several of which had overturned, and climbed aboard any ship they could see by whatever means they could. The crews either helped them over or used rifles and harpoons to deter them. Melaugo caught sight of an urchin and tensed, seeing herself as that little girl, defenceless and alone. The girl looked her right in the eyes.

Before she could act, the crowd had engulfed the child.

Holding on to the brim of her new hat, she looked at the ships, many of which she knew well by sight. The Red Moon, a caravel belonging to the Comptroller of Oryzon, was already some way out of the harbour. She must have been among the first to receive the warning.

Most of the others were merchant carracks. The Halassa Sea lapped at the nearest hulls, the greenish waves clouded by silt. As Melaugo watched, a woman used a loose rope to scale a Mentish flyboat, only for a gunshot to send her crashing down. Another corpse already floated nearby, circled by stained water. Someone began to pray aloud.

‘We can’t risk boarding those,’ Liyat shouted over the din. ‘We’ll be at the mercy of their crews.’

‘Better than wyverns!’

‘I would choose a wyvern over certain seafarers. At least it would be quick,’ Liyat said. ‘Did Suylos never tell you about keelhauling?’ She turned, shielding her eyes from the sun. ‘I told Harlowe that I meant to take you to Ortégardes if you refused his offer. He knows how long it would take us to get here.’

Melaugo could not reply, even as Liyat pulled her along the harbour, searching for a gap in the crowd. She knew this port like she knew her own freckles, and the Rose Eternal was nowhere to be seen.

Harlowe was gone. At last, he understood. The weight of her would sink the whole ship.

‘Estina.’ Liyat grasped her arm, fingers biting into her skin. ‘There.’

She pointed. Melaugo followed her line of sight, squinting against the glare of the low sun. In the distance, about two and a half miles away, was the outline of an Inysh man-of-war.

A ship of that size was hard to miss. And not many of them came to Yscalin.

‘Shit,’ Melaugo breathed. ‘Is that the Rose, for certain?’

Without replying, Liyat took off her bandolier, then unlaced her jerkin and tossed it aside. Melaugo stared at her.

‘I would usually not protest you undressing,’ she said, ‘but why the fuck are you doing it now?’

‘Where there are wyverns, the plague follows. Every chronicle agrees on that,’ Liyat reminded her. ‘I don’t know about you, but I would rather die by drowning than by cooking from within.’

She knelt to remove her riding boots.

Without looking back, she sprinted to the end of the wharf, past the shallows and the people, and dove into the water.

Melaugo hesitated, unsure if she was impressed or appalled, then cursed and stripped down to her shirt and breeches.

At the end of the wharf, she stopped, heart pounding. Liyat waited for her in the water.

‘Liyat,’ Melaugo gritted out, ‘I may not know about keelhauling, but I do know that I am a terrible swimmer. The Rose is too far. We’ll be dead before we—’

‘No. I have an idea.’ Liyat kicked away from the wharf. ‘Hurry, before the wyverns reach us!’

Melaugo swore again and plunged in after her.

There was blissful silence, then salt in her eyes.

Her fellow smugglers had taught her to swim, but she had not tried since leaving Perunta, and a few days of hearty food had failed to restore her wrecked body.

By the time she caught up to Liyat, every joint and limb was sore.

‘Saint’s shrivelling codpiece,’ she stammered. ‘Harlowe really wants me to be a seafarer?’

‘Just swim, Estina!’

They forged past the merchant ships and the old hulk that served as a gambling den, towards the distant Rose. Melaugo stopped to sputter, the balls of her arms screaming in their sockets.

The sea was calm, but trying to stay above the surface was exhausting her.

‘Estina.’ Seeing her stop, Liyat came back. ‘Come on!’

‘Just leave me.’ Melaugo coughed up seawater. ‘Liyat, please, go without me. I can’t—’

‘Yes, you can.’ Liyat wrapped a strong arm around her waist. ‘Hold on to me.’

Melaugo gripped her shoulders. They bobbed on the surface like a pair of bottles, treading water. Behind them, red fire and screams filled Oryzon. Beside Melaugo, Liyat watched the sky.

‘What are you waiting for?’ Melaugo said, shivering.

As though it had been summoned, the sun broke through the clouds. Liyat thrust up a hand, and the small mirror in her grasp caught the light. She tilted it back and forth, so it flashed.

‘You’re signalling.’ Melaugo laughed so hard she coughed again. ‘You’re signalling, Liyat!’

‘It might not work. We need to keep moving.’ Liyat pulled her on. ‘Stay with me, Estina.’

There was no choice now. Most of the harbour was ablaze, the wyverns circling the ships, setting fire to all of them, from the cogs to the ornate galleons. A few other people were swimming for their lives as well.

The Queen Idreiga, a royal warship, was berthed on the northern end of the harbour. As Melaugo swam backwards, unable to take her eyes off the destruction, three wyverns converged on it, and the gunpowder inside was kindled. It ripped the ship apart with a force that blew the wyverns back. She dived underwater before the heat could reach her. When she broke the surface, the Queen Idreiga was a smoking wreck, and bodies scattered the churning waves around it.

Liyat came up beside Melaugo. With all their strength, they forged onward, though Melaugo was already floundering again. She kept hold of Liyat, who supported her as much as she could while keeping them moving.

The sun was setting now, and with it, their hope of being saved. Liyat held up the mirror once more, catching the last few rays. They had gone too far to turn back. When Melaugo started to sink, she knew she was too exhausted to kick back to the surface. Liyat suddenly let out a laugh.

‘Estina,’ she gasped out, ‘look!’

Melaugo looked. A rowboat was riding the waves, closing in.

When it reached them, a scarred Hróthi woman offered a hand. Liyat grasped it and was pulled, sodden and breathless, into the care of a dozen people. She reached back for Melaugo. Their fingers slipped apart, and Melaugo thought she would be washed away, but then they were both in the boat, wrapped in mantles, and there was a warm hipflask in her grasp.

‘Estina Melaugo?’ the Hróthi woman said. Melaugo nodded. ‘Good. Back to the ship, now!’

‘What about the others?’ Melaugo croaked. ‘There were people in the water, they were swimming—’

‘I see none.’

Melaugo slowly looked. She was right.

Several oars swashed through the waves.

For a time, Melaugo could do nothing but hold on to a shivering Liyat.

To her faint surprise, Liyat grasped her just as tightly, even brushing a kiss against her temple.

Melaugo leaned against her and let her eyes drift shut. A man gave them both knitted work caps to keep the chill at bay, placing them on top of their wet hair.

By the time they reached the Rose Eternal, it was almost dusk.

The harbour blazed in their wake, though the rest of the city was darker, only its greenery burning.

The Act of Preservation was protecting it from the fire – but while the law might save the buildings, it would not help the people inside.

Not for long. All she could hear in the distance was screaming.

The Rose Eternal was anchored in deep water, where the Halassa Sea was rough.

Its lanterns had been dowsed, so it could no longer be seen from the shore.

Melaugo climbed on to its deck, still drenched to the bone, with Liyat just behind.

Harlowe waited on the quarterdeck, his pipe in hand.

‘Estina,’ he said.

‘Harlowe,’ she rasped.

‘I see you’ve accepted my offer. Only took the end of the world.’

Melaugo wheezed something that might charitably be described as a laugh.

‘Liyat. Good to see you.’ Harlowe gave her a nod as she reached the deck. ‘I knew Sigoso was a hypocrite, but I didn’t quite expect this. I imagine you’ll want to go to Nzene, but for now—’

‘Yes. I accept the offer, if it stands,’ Liyat said. ‘Both of us will join the crew.’

‘Good. I could use someone with your knowledge.’

‘Captain,’ came a cry from behind him.

Melaugo turned. A single wyvern was flying in their direction, just visible in the dying light.

Harlowe watched it approach with a stony look. It was coming towards them quickly, its vast wingspan eating up the distance. As it drew closer, he signalled to one of his crew.

‘Harlowe?’ Melaugo said, her voice higher than usual. ‘Harlowe, I hope you’re planning to fire at—’

‘I see you’re already taking to the job,’ Harlowe said drily. She glowered at him. ‘Ready the harpoon gun. Plume, fire on the upward roll!’

‘Fire on the upward roll,’ the quartermaster echoed, his voice loud and clear.

Melaugo reached for the mast of the ship, while Liyat gripped the wale.

As the Halassa Sea raised the Rose Eternal, their boots slipped on the deck, and Melaugo wondered if this was how she would die, like Sabran the Ambitious and King Bardholt, burned alive on a wooden bier.

By now the wyvern was close enough for her to see its eyes, its maw.

Melaugo turned numb.

The guns boomed – a sound so colossal it rattled her teeth – before cannonballs and chainshot went soaring.

One chain ensnared the wyvern by its foot, while a ball struck it hard in the breast and a harpoon missed it by an inch.

The wyvern screamed and beat its wings, wrenching itself back.

The downwind was strong enough to knock most of the crew off their feet, and Melaugo went right down with them, smashing her elbow against the deck.

She forced down the pain and stared up at the wyvern, at its horns and teeth.

It had to be sixty feet long, with a wingspan at least twice that length.

Liyat had been right. During the Grief of Ages, ships would have seemed like toys to a wyvern. Now it was confronted with a man-of-war, with more than a hundred guns on the broadsides alone.

‘Fire,’ Plume roared again, and the cannons released another volley. The wyvern spat embers, which rained on the deck, before it banked away and flew back towards Oryzon.

‘Get us out of here,’ Harlowe said to his quartermaster. ‘Before the damned thing returns with its friends.’

His deckhands were already smothering the small red fires. Melaugo caught her breath and stood. When Harlowe turned to her, she folded her arms with some difficulty, dripping salt water.

‘Listen to me,’ he said. ‘I’m heading for Ascalon, to warn Queen Sabran of what has befallen this place. If we reach Perchling and you still don’t want to be my boatswain, I’ll let you disembark there, and you can go wheresoever in this world you will. But give me this one voyage to convince you. Have we a deal, Estina Melaugo?’

He held out a weathered hand, unsmiling. Melaugo glanced at Liyat, who gave her a nod.

‘You win,’ Melaugo said, and shook.

****

They made decent pace under cover of night. Despite its bulk, the Rose Eternal was swift. Most of the crew stayed awake, but a few rested in hammocks, Liyat and Melaugo among them. Liyat seemed to drift off, but Melaugo could not, despite her exhaustion.

For the first time in her life, she was not in Yscalin.

Before they descended, a gunner had shown them both around the ship by the light of a single lantern. They had been provided with bread and beef stew, though neither of them had the stomach for it.

In the small hours, Melaugo gave up and made her way to the deck, too sore of limb and soul to rest. The scarred Hróthi woman, whose name was Bara, brought her a cup of hot mead. Melaugo decided to ignore the obvious risks of a stove on a wooden ship. It was a trifling danger compared to wyverns. Nursing the mead, she took a slow walk along the deck, taking in the iron capstan, the rigging and cannons, the harpoon gun that had helped save their lives.

She had never realised how many people were needed to keep a man-of-war moving. Harlowe commanded a crew of hundreds. At least a quarter of them were Northerners, like Bara, one of several carpenters. The Hróthi had a long history of seafaring. The others seemed to come from all over, including the East, which had startled the wits out of Melaugo. Most people of Virtudom would never meet or see an Easterner.

Harlowe wanted her to be the voice of this entire crew. To secure their respect, she would have to learn quickly and find her sea legs. It all looked complex, but perhaps that was what she needed. A distraction to keep her from losing her mind.

The Rose Eternal creaked as she cut through the waves, sails billowing in the wind. They made a sound like a drumbeat. To her own surprise, Melaugo found it soothing. So was the motion underfoot. If not for her aching body, and her fear, she might have slept very well in the hammock.

In silence, she went to the right side of the ship. They had been sailing for hours, and there seemed to be no end to the destruction on the western coast. The wyverns had torched almost every harbour.

Her breath came in a fog. Before long, she wished she had brought the bedding from the hammock. She had never been this cold, even on the worst nights in Triyenas, but she could not rip her gaze away. There was a dreadful beauty in that fire. The stars twinkled overhead, blurring every time she blinked, bright and piercing even with the red haze far below.

Liyat came to stand beside her, wrapped in a heavy woollen blanket. ‘Could you not sleep?’

Melaugo shook her head. ‘Could you?’

‘Not well.’ Liyat sipped from her own cup. ‘Long ago, my people lived beyond the great salt desert. A group of them followed Suttu the Dreamer, knowing they might never return. I often wonder how they felt when they looked back for the last time.’

She rarely opened up like this. Melaugo had no wish to interrupt her.

‘I imagine my shop has already burned.’ Liyat paused. ‘But perhaps it is for the best.’

‘How so?’ Melaugo asked. ‘You loved the shop.’

Liyat looked at the blazing coastline.

‘A few years ago, an ancient compass came into my keeping. At some point in time, its needle had rusted in place,’ she said. ‘I was like that compass when you found me. I had finally established a safe place, a home, in Perunta. But the longer you remain still, the more rust starts to cover you, and underneath, you become fragile. And soon it hurts to move at all.’

‘You never stopped moving. How many times did you leave Perunta to find relics?’

‘Yes, but it was always there, waiting for me to return. My work could be dangerous, but it was what I knew, and even the risks were predictable. Perhaps that was why you frightened me so much. Because you were different. I wanted to make space for you in my life, but I fought, because it hurt.’

Melaugo kept listening.

‘For me, change is difficult. It is paralysing. It makes me feel vulnerable,’ Liyat said quietly. ‘I live in fear of making the wrong choice, because I have seen how badly that can go.’

‘And you … thought I might be the wrong choice.’

‘I would have felt the same about anyone who made me feel the way you do.’ She drank again. ‘But now the burden of choice has been taken from me. All of our lives have been shattered this day. The rust has been stripped. I am free to chart a different course. To start anew.’

‘What about your work?’

‘Harlowe will help me continue with it, but he will also train me as a cartographer.’ Liyat looked her in the eyes. ‘Estina, if I have ever made you feel unwanted or burdensome, I apologise. You are neither. You brought laughter and joy to my life, which lacked both for too long.’

Melaugo returned her gaze, a lump rising in her throat.

‘I cannot promise I will heal. Perhaps it is in my nature to rust,’ Liyat said. ‘But life on the Rose will be different, I think. Always on the move, yet always home. And whatever happens next, I want us to face it together. Before, I think that I could only ever have held out a cup for your wine, and a small one, at that. Now look what we have. The depths of an ocean.’

To demonstrate her point, she threw her tankard overboard. Melaugo looked after it with a small huff of laughter, and Liyat smiled in a way Melaugo had never seen her smile before.

‘But perhaps an ocean is too big,’ she said. ‘Perhaps this ship will be enough to hold both of our wine, so it can grow finer each year.’ She looked Melaugo in the eyes. ‘Do you agree?’

Before Melaugo could stop it, a tear had slid down her cheek, tasting of the sea. She was the winemakers’ daughter and the urchin, the smuggler and the culler, and Liyat was accepting them all.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I will happily rust in place with you, Liyat of Nzene.’

Liyat kissed her on the lips, lingering for some time, and wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. A fortress that shut out the wind. And Estina Melaugo realised she had never felt as safe or wanted or settled anywhere, while everything else she had ever known crumbled.

All night they stood that way, beneath the stars, and watched Yscalin burn.