The Mad Ship. Робин Хобб

on her foredeck, tidying up the mess. He damped a leftover piece of bandaging in his bucket of water. He wiped each knife as he put it away, cleaning the needles and the saw carefully. He stowed it all in the medicine chest, methodically returning it to order. He had washed his hands and forearms and wiped the blood from his face, but the front of his robe was stiff and soaked with it. He wiped clean the bottle of kwazi fruit essence and considered what was left. ‘Not much,’ he muttered to her. ‘Well, it matters little. I doubt that Kennit will live long enough to require more. Just look at all this blood.’ He placed the bottle back in the chest and then looked down at the piece of leg. Gritting his teeth, he picked up the thing. Severed meat at both ends and a knee in the middle, it balanced oddly light in his hands. He carried it to the side of the ship. ‘This feels wrong,’ he said aloud to Vivacia, but he still threw it over the side.

      He staggered back with a low cry as the white serpent’s head shot out of the water to snatch the leg out of the air before it could even splash into the sea. As swiftly as it had appeared, it was gone and the leg with it.

      Wintrow darted back to the rail. He clung there, staring down into the green depths, looking for some pale flicker of the creature. ‘How did it know?’ Wintrow demanded hoarsely. ‘It was waiting, it seized the leg before it touched water. How could it have known?’ Before she could answer, he went on, ‘I thought that serpent was gone, driven away. What does it want, why does it follow us?’

      ‘It hears us, we two.’ Vivacia’s voice was low, pitched for him alone. She felt ashamed. People had started to come out of the hatches, back up onto the deck, but no one ventured near the foredeck. The serpent had come and gone so swiftly and noiselessly that no one else seemed to have seen it. ‘I do not know how and I do not think it understands in full what we think, but it understands enough. As to what it wants, why, exactly what you just gave it. It wants to be fed, no more than that.’

      ‘Maybe I should fling myself to it. Save Etta the trouble of doing it later.’ He spoke mockingly but she heard the despair under his words.

      ‘You voice its thought, not your own. It reaches for you, clamouring for food. It believes we owe it food. It does not scruple to suggest your own flesh might satisfy it. Do not listen.’

      ‘How do you know what it thinks and wants?’ Wintrow had abandoned his tasks and come to the rail, leaning over to speak to the figurehead. She glanced over her shoulder at him. The weariness on his face aged him. She debated how much to tell him and then decided there was no point in sheltering him. Eventually, he must know.

      ‘He is family,’ she said simply. At Wintrow’s astounded look, she shrugged one bare shoulder at him. ‘That is how it feels to me. I get the same sense of connection. Not as strong as you and I have now, but undeniable.’

      ‘That makes no sense.’

      She shrugged at him again, and then changed the subject abruptly. ‘You must stop believing that Kennit is certain to die.’

      ‘Why? Are you going to tell me that he is family also and can sense my thoughts?’

      There was an edge of bitterness in his voice. Jealousy? She tried not to be pleased about it, but could not resist prickling him more. ‘Your thoughts? No. He cannot sense your thoughts. It is I who he senses. He reaches towards me and I towards him. We are aware of each other. Tenuously, of course. I have not known him long enough to make it stronger. His blood soaking into my deck seals that bond in a way I cannot explain. Blood is memory. As your thoughts touch mine, so they also influence Kennit’s. I try to keep your fears from intruding on him, but it is an effort.’

      ‘You are linked to him?’ Wintrow asked slowly.

      ‘You asked me to help him. You asked me to lend him strength. Did you think I could do that without bonding to him?’ Vivacia felt indignant at his disapproval.

      ‘I suppose I didn’t think about that aspect of it,’ Wintrow replied reluctantly. ‘Do you sense him now?’

      Vivacia thought about it. She found herself smiling softly. ‘Yes. I do. And more clearly than I did before.’ The smile faded from her face. ‘Perhaps that is because he is weakening. I think he no longer has the strength to hold himself separate from me.’ She brought her attention back swiftly to Wintrow. ‘Your conviction that he will die is like a curse upon him. Somehow, you must change your heart, and think only of him living. His body listens deeply to his mind. Lend it your strength.’

      ‘I will try,’ he said grudgingly. ‘But I can scarcely convince myself of something I know is a lie.’

      ‘Wintrow.’ She rebuked him.

      ‘Very well.’ He set both hands to the forward rail. He lifted his eyes and fixed them on the horizon. The spring day was melting into twilight. The blue sky was darkening, its colour changing gradually to meld with the darker blue of the sea. In moments, it was difficult to tell where the sea left off and the sky began. Slowly Wintrow withdrew into himself, calling his vision back from that far focus until his eyes closed of their own accord. His breathing was deep and even, almost peaceful. In curiosity she reached for the bond they shared, trying to read his thoughts and feelings without being intrusive.

      It did not work. He was instantly aware of her. Yet, instead of being resentful of her invasion, he linked willingly with her. Inside him, she became aware of the steady flowing of his thoughts. Sa is in all life, all life is in Sa. It was a simple affirmation and she realized instantly he had chosen words he absolutely believed. He no longer focused on the health of Kennit’s body. Instead, he asserted that while Kennit lived, the life within him was of Sa and shared Sa’s eternity. No end, his words promised her. Life did not end. After thought, she found she shared his conviction. No final blackness to fear, no sudden stopping of being. Changes and mutations, yes, but those things went on with every breath. Changes were the essence of life; one should not dread change.

      She opened herself to Kennit, shared this insight with him. Life went on. The loss of a leg was not an ending, only a course adjustment. While life pulsed in a man’s heart, all possibilities existed. Kennit did not need to fear. He could relax. It was going to be all right. He should rest now. Just rest. She felt the warmth of his expanding gratitude. The tensed muscles of his face and his back eased. Kennit took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

      He did not draw another one.

5 THE LIVESHIP OPHELIA

      ALTHEA’S WATCH WAS over; her time was now her own. She was tired, but pleasantly so. The spring afternoon had been almost balmy. It was rare for the season to be this kindly and Althea had enjoyed it. The Ophelia herself had been in an expansive mood all day. The liveship had made the sailors’ tasks easy, moving northward towards home with a will. She was a ponderous old cog, now heavy with goods from a successful trading journey. The early evening wind was gentle rather than brisk, but Ophelia’s sails caught every breath of it. She slid effortlessly through the waves. Althea leaned on the forward rail, watching the beginnings of the sunset off the port bow. Home was only a few days away.

      ‘Mixed feelings?’ Ophelia asked her with a throaty chuckle. The buxom figurehead gave her a knowing glance over her bared shoulder.

      ‘You know you are right,’ Althea conceded. ‘About everything. Nothing in my life makes sense any more.’ She began to tick her confusions off on her fingers. ‘Here I am, serving as first on a liveship merchant vessel, about the highest post a sailor can aspire to. Captain Tenira has promised me a ship’s ticket out of this. It’s all the proof I need that I am a competent sailor. With that credential, I can go home and press Kyle to keep his word, and give me back my ship. Yet, oddly enough, I feel guilty about it. You have made it so easy. I worked three times as hard when I was serving as ship’s boy on the Reaper. It just doesn’t seem right.’

      ‘I could make your tasks harder if you wish,’ Ophelia offered teasingly. ‘I could develop a list, or start taking on water or…’

      ‘You wouldn’t do that,’