Page 479 of The Liveship Traders Trilogy

No one replied to his question, but no serpent attacked either.

Shreever spared a glance for the silent two-legs that clustered along the ship’s flanks and clung to his wing tips.

They were unmoving, silently watching what transpired.

They knew they had no say in this: it was business for the Lords of the Three Realms. What did his accusations mean?

A slow suspicion grew in Shreever’s mind.

Had the command to kill this ship truly come from Bolt, or from the humans aboard her?

Shreever watched avidly as both She Who Remembers and Maulkin waited for the other to reply.

But it was the white serpent, Carrion, who spoke.

He had remained an outsider to the tangle, always on the edges, listening and mocking.

‘They will kill you, not at the command of a man, but because the other ship has promised to guide them home if they do so. Being noble and high-minded creatures, they immediately agreed to murder as a small price for saving themselves. Even the murder of one of their own.’

The creature that was part of the ship spread wide his limbs. ‘One of your own? Do you truly claim me, then? How strange. For though with one touch I knew you, I still do not know myself. Even I do not claim myself. How is it that you do?’

‘He is mad,’ a scarred scarlet serpent trumpeted. His copper eyes spun with impatience. ‘Let us do what we must do. Kill him. Then she will lead us north. Long enough have we delayed.’

‘Oh, yes!’ the white serpent chortled throatily.

‘Kill him, kill him quickly, before he forces us to face what we have become. Kill him before he makes us question what Bolt is, and why we should give credence to her.’ He twined himself through an insulting knot, as if he courted his own tail.

‘Perhaps this is a thing she has learned from her time infested with humans. As we all recall, they kill one another with relish. Have not we been assisting them in that task, all at Bolt’s behest?

If, indeed, those commands come from Bolt at all.

Perhaps she has become the willing pupil of a human.

Let us show her what apt students we are. Kill him.’

She Who Remembers spoke slowly. ‘There will be no killing. This is not right, and we all know it. To kill this creature, not for food nor to protect ourselves, but simply because we are commanded to do so is not worthy of us. We are the heirs of the Three Realms. When we kill, we kill for ourselves. Not like this.’

Relief surged through Shreever. Then Tellur, the slender green minstrel, spoke suddenly. ‘What then of our bargain with Bolt? She was to guide us home, if we did this for her. Shall we now be left as we were before?’

‘Better to be as we were before we encountered her than as she nearly made us,’ Maulkin replied heavily.

She Who Remembers spoke again. ‘I do not know what kinship we owe this ship. From all we have heard, we converse with death when we speak to these beings. Yet once they were of us, and for that we owe them some small respect. This one, we shall not kill. I shall return to Bolt, and see what she says. If this command comes from the humans aboard her, then let them fight their own petty battles. We are not servants. If she refuses to guide us home, then I will leave. Those who wish to can follow me. Perhaps what I recall will be enough to guide us. Perhaps not. But we will remain the heirs of the Three Realms. Together, we shall make this last migration. If it does not lead to rebirth for us, it will lead to death. Better that than to become like humans, slaughtering our own for the sake of personal survival.’

‘Easily said!’ trumpeted an orange serpent angrily.

‘But harder to live. Winter is here, prophet, perhaps the last winter we shall ever know. You cannot guide us; the world is too much changed. Without a sure guide, to go north yet again is to die. What real choice have we but to flee to the warm lands? When next we return, there will be far fewer of us. And what will we remember?’ The orange swivelled her head to stare at the ship coldly.

‘Let us kill him. It is a small price for our salvation.’

‘A small price!’ A long scarlet serpent agreed with the orange.

‘This ship who gives us no answers, not even his name, is a sacrifice for the survival of our kind. She Who Remembers has said it herself. When we kill, we kill because we choose to do so. We kill for ourselves. This will indeed be for ourselves, to buy survival for us all.’

‘Do we buy our lives from humans, paying with the blood of our own? I think not!’ The mottled saffron serpent who challenged these words did so with mane erect.

‘What will come next? Will humans command us to turn on one another?’ In a display of disdain, the challenger shook fish-stun toxins from his mane onto the red.

The long red serpent retaliated, shaking his head and spattering venom wildly on his neighbours.

Almost instantly, the two serpents locked in combat, wrapping one another and releasing spray after spray of venom.

Others darted into the conflict. A drift of toxin hit one of the giant blues, who reacted reflexively with a stinging spray of his own.

Furious with pain, a green closed with him and wrapped him.

Their struggle thrashed the water to white foam, driving lesser serpents to collide with others, who sprayed or snapped in response. The chaos spread.

Over it all, Shreever heard the bellowing of the silver ship. ‘Stop! You injure one another! Kill me if you must, but do not end yourselves in this useless wrangling!’

Did one of the serpents take him at his word?

Was the drift of venom that brought hoarse screams from him an accident?

Too late to wonder, useless to know. The silver ship bellowed his agony in a human voice, flailing uselessly at the burning mist. The cries of humans were mixed with his, a wild pitiful screaming.

Then from the deck of the ship, a winging arrow skipped over Shreever’s hide and bounced harmlessly off Maulkin.

The futile attack on their leader enraged the agitated serpents.

A score of them closed on the hapless ship.

One immense cobalt rammed it as if it were an orca, while several lesser ones spattered venom at him.

They were not accustomed to fighting above the Plenty.

The fickle winds of the upper world carried most of their spray back into their own faces.

It only increased the frenzy of the attack.

‘Stop them!’ Maulkin was roaring, and She Who Remembers lent her voice as well. ‘Cease this madness! We battle ourselves, to no good end.’

Carrion’s voice rang out over all of them. ‘If Bolt wants this ship killed, let her do it herself! Let her prove herself worthy of being followed. Challenge her to the kill!’

It was his words, rather than those of the leaders, that damped the frenzy.

Sessurea wrapped two struggling serpents and carried them down and away from the ship.

Shreever and others followed his example, dragging the combatants down and away into the calming depths until they could master themselves.

As abruptly as the attack had begun, it ceased. ‘I don’t understand.’ Brashen staggered to the railing and stared incredulously at the serpents as they flowed away from his ship. ‘What does it mean?’

Clef stared up at him in white-faced relief. He clutched at his scalded forearm but still managed a grin. ‘Means we don’t gotter die yet?’

The length of the ship, men were screaming and staggering.

Only two archers had been hit with a direct spray of the stuff, but the drift had debilitated many.

Those who had been affected writhed on the deck, pawing uselessly at the corrosive slime.

‘Don’t rub your injuries! You’ll only spread the stuff.

Seawater!’ Brashen bellowed through the confusion.

‘Get the deck pumps going! Every man who can manage a bucket! Wash down the figurehead, your mates and the deck. Dilute the stuff. Scramble!’

Brashen quickly scanned the water, hoping for a glimpse of Althea’s boat.

He had seen her regain command of it. While the serpents surrounded Paragon, she had turned back towards Vivacia.

The dazzle of sunlight on the waves and the moving, flashing backs of the serpents surrounding the other ship dazzled his eyes.

Where was she? Had she reached safety? It was a physical wrench to turn his back on the water.

He could do nothing for her; his immediate duties were closer to hand.

In several places, the railing and the deck smoked with the cold burning of the serpent’s venom.

Brashen seized a bucket of seawater from a passing hand and took it forwards to the figurehead.

Amber was there before him. She dashed a bucket of water over Paragon’s steaming shoulder.

As the seawater carried away a gelatinous mist of serpent venom, the whole ship shuddered in relief.

Paragon’s keening dropped to panting moans.

Amber turned to Brashen and tried to take the bucket he held.

His breath seized in his chest. ‘Stand still,’ he ordered her gruffly, and upended the bucket over her head.

Great hanks of her hair flowed away with the running water. On the left side of her body, her clothing hung in steaming tatters. That side of her face was rippled with blisters. ‘Strip off those clothes, and wash your skin thoroughly,’ he ordered her.

She swayed where she stood. ‘Paragon needs me,’ she said faintly. ‘All others have turned on him. Every family, every kin he has ever claimed have turned on him. He has only us, Brashen. Only us.’

Paragon suddenly turned a pocked and steaming face towards them. ‘I do need you,’ he admitted hoarsely. ‘I do. So get below and strip off those clothes before the venom eats you through.’