Winnowing peace out of chaos is the goal of our training. For if you can find the calm within, then the storm becomes an illusion.
DAIPUNA: THE ART OF COMBAT
The rain started sometime in the middle of the night on their tenth day aboard the Hekili. Roshon awoke to a sound like the plink of pebbles in the pond back home as raindrops struck the ship. His sleep had been light, the conflict with Ani still reverberating within him, keeping him from true rest.
But as he blinked up at the ceiling, dimly visible by the low light embedded in the floor of his cabin, the storm intensified, beating against the hard scales. When the ship listed heavily to one side, he rose and ran out into the hallway, not wanting to be so boxed in. He imagined water piercing the hull and flooding the tiny room. The narrow hallway wasn’t much bigger, but he didn’t feel as confined.
He stood outside the door, chest heaving until he noticed Ani at the entrance of the sleeping quarters. She banged on a wall panel until it creaked open. She looked over at him and did a double take, mouth agape. That was when he realized he was bare from the waist up. He ducked back into his room and grabbed the discarded shirt Tai had loaned him. He threw it on before returning to the hall.
When he did, her face was normal again but her expression wary.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“Storm.” Her tone made him wince, underscoring the stupidity of the question. She adjusted something within the panel, then slammed it closed and moved toward the stairwell. Knowing he’d be unable to get back to sleep, he followed her silently up to where Mik was manning the bridge.
The only thing visible through the wall of windows was the orange glow of the ship’s headlamps. They barely cut through the gloom a few paces before them, but they illuminated the angry waves well enough.
“Is this the Okkapu?” Roshon asked, the sheets of rain blowing sideways in the harsh wind.
“We’re still a day away,” Mik grumbled. “Storm came out of nowhere.”
The ship listed left as if in response, throwing Roshon off-balance. He stumbled into Ani’s side, mashing his chest against her arm.
“Sorry,” he said, trying to regain his footing. She merely glared at him.
Mik’s thick fingers tensed on the steering levers, and the floor became level again.
When Tai and Papa appeared on the bridge, Roshon’s growing agitation calmed somewhat. Everyone was here except Varten, though he could sleep through an earthquake.
Tai took over the steering, sliding into his seat smoothly. “Mik, I need you to check the stabilizer tanks. We’re getting a lot of roll, and something feels off.”
“Those salt burns in quick succession could have accelerated the corrosion,” Mik said.
“Right. Better take a patch kit.”
Mik nodded and hustled off.
“Something feel strange to you, Dansig?” Tai asked, still focused on the instrument panel.
Papa settled heavily into the seat behind the co-captain’s chair, rubbing his eyes. “Not anything I can put my finger on, but yes.”
Tai nodded as if this confirmed something for him.
“What could be strange about the storm?” Roshon asked.
His father appeared weary. “For one, it rose without warning. Far too intensely. I’ve been keeping track of weather changes the entire trip and didn’t feel any hint of a disturbance all day.”
“And that’s unusual?”
“Storms don’t just pop into existence out of nowhere. Unless . . .” He looked away, obviously troubled, tapping his fingers on the arm rest.
“Unless what?” Ani asked, standing next to her usual chair.
“Unless it’s not natural,” Papa finished.
Roshon gaped. “You mean, like, created with Earthsong?”
“Something like that.”
“Well that complicates things,” Tai muttered.
“Unexpected,” Ani said under her breath. She finally sat, then opened up the mirrored panels and put on the headset. Only her mouth was visible, and she was talking to herself silently.
Roshon watched her lips move, entranced. He couldn’t tell what she was saying. It might not even have been in Elsiran, which they’d all been speaking as a courtesy to him and his family. Something in his chest tightened, and he tore his gaze away. Through the front window, the waves seemed even more irate, fizzy caps like white smoke battering them.
Once again there was nothing he could do but watch. He was useless here. He couldn’t sense the storm or help with the ship. When he turned to go, the ship canted sharply and a loud boom sounded. Both Tai and Ani cursed in unison. Roshon grabbed on to the back of her chair, barely keeping himself upright.
“That wasn’t a wave,” Tai said ominously.
“No,” Ani agreed, “it was a cannon.”
A red light began to flash on the ceiling in time with the sound of an alarm. “We’ve been hit,” she yelled. “Lower aft cargo hold.”
“What’s in there?” Tai asked.
“The narwhal ivory.”
Tai groaned. “Seal it off.”
“Aye,” Ani answered, then jumped up to take Mik’s seat. She expertly maneuvered around the instrument panel, which still looked impossibly complex to Roshon.
“How close are they?” Tai asked.
“Not close. Must be long-range cannons. I couldn’t even see them.”
Roshon sat in her abandoned chair and put the headset on. It seemed to work similarly to the scope on the rifle he’d used before, but it was somehow more rudimentary. Whereas the visual in the scope had perfect clarity, this was grainier and harder to make out. He pulled the gear off his head and then rushed off the bridge and toward the storage compartment where Ani had returned the guns.
Once he’d retrieved one, he flipped open the rear gun hatch, the same one his father and brother had used, and positioned the rifle. He looked through the scope. Cold air and spray hit him through the small opening, but he ignored it. Flicking the dials on the side of the weapon, he entered a mode that let him see in the dark. More ensorcellment from the Yalyish mages who had created the device.
Ani and Tai hadn’t known much about how it functioned—both had claimed it didn’t work at all—but Roshon was able to see just fine. And as he adjusted knobs he hadn’t used before, he was able to see farther and farther.
A lighted indicator at the bottom of the image ticked off. Could it really be zooming in two kilometers? Two and a half? Three?
The night was a solid wall of black, with churning waves and sheets of rain to boot, but through the magic or science of the scope, a large ship came into view, its deck lit up in glowing blue. It was of Raunian design, with the same gigantic fish scales covering its surface, but it must have been twenty or thirty times larger than the Hekili. Huge cannons dotted the side.
“There’s a giant warship!” he yelled. “A dozen cannons on its side. Three kilometers away.”
“Probably the Siomarra. It’s one of Noa’s.” Ani’s voice came from behind him, and Roshon startled.
“He’s following us?”
“It’s one of his fleet, but he might not even be on it.” She must have turned back toward the bridge because her voice was farther away when she screamed, “Evasive maneuvers!”
Roshon kept his eye pressed against the viewfinder, monitoring what he could of the ship. Unlike the ones that had chased them from Rosira, this deck was empty. Everything must be happening inside. There was no way the rifle, even if it could shoot that far, would do any damage to the behemoth of a ship or its hidden crew. As he watched, two of the cannon barrels shifted slightly.
“Noa wants you alive, right?” he asked.
“Last I checked.” Ani was right behind him again, speaking in his ear to be heard without shouting over the crashing waves.
“I think they’re about to shoot again.”
“Let me see.” He moved aside, and she looked through the scope, then cursed. “Why do these things only work for you? I can’t see anything.”
He took over again, her scent filling his nostrils. It wasn’t perfumed or cloying, mostly a mix of the green soap stocked on board, breezy and grassy with her own unique sweetness mixed in. He inhaled deeply and tried to focus. She was standing too close, as if her proximity would help her see something through the scope his eye covered.
One of the cannons shuddered, and its mouth flashed with an orange flame. Smoke poured out as the missile fired. “Incoming!” he cried.
The ship jerked as Tai changed direction just before the explosion. Roshon wrenched his face back as the floor shook beneath him. It felt like the cannon had missed them; the rattling crash wasn’t nearly as intense as before. He wiped sweat from his brow, and his heart hammered like crazy. Ani had disappeared.
The ship put on a burst of speed, racing through the choppy waters. Mik thumped up the stairs from below, wiping his hands on a towel as he passed before going up to the bridge. As the Hekili drew away, Roshon checked the scope once more, this time finding the battleship fading into nothingness. He decided to keep the rifle available in case it became necessary again and slung it over his shoulder.
When he reentered the bridge, Papa’s eyes were squeezed tight and his hands were in fists. Beads of sweat popped out on his brow.
“What’s he doing?” Roshon asked.
“He said he could try to calm the storm with his Song,” Ani replied.
Roshon clenched his jaw. “Be careful not to drain yourself, Papa.” He wasn’t sure if he’d been heard, but Papa’s knuckles seemed to loosen a fraction.
Tai swiveled around. “Thanks, Roshon. That was a big help.”
“I . . . I didn’t really do anything,” he stammered.
“You had the idea to use the scope. Gave us valuable intel. It’s much appreciated.”
Roshon blinked, unsure what to do with the praise.
“Now we just need to survive this storm.” Tai turned back around to face the windows displaying the force of what they faced.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Ani watching him, assessing. He didn’t move, didn’t look in her direction, but he wondered what she saw.