The Broken Kingdoms of Osvolta (Kingdoms of Osvolta #1)

75. The Dead Strait

Chapter seventy-five

The Dead Strait

“ W hat was so important that you saw fit to go against orders and interrupt us?” Emmerich commanded as he stepped out on to the blustering deck.

“Apologies, Captain,” Lieutenant Garrue said from where he stood at the helm, his stance weary, eyes glazing over, Commander Bleeker stood beside him.

“This idiot refused to stand down without your approval,” Wrenn muttered. “He’s been sailing us since before daybreak.”

“Release the helm to Commander Bleeker, Lieutenant. Go get some rest. That’s an order,” Emmerich declared. The boy immediately stepped away from the wheel to head below deck.

“You know,” Wrenn said, adjusting the ship’s course slightly, “life would be much easier if you reminded the crew that my orders are to be followed in your stead.”

“I’ll try to remember that in the future. Now, what’s going on?”

Wrenn glanced at him for a moment before refocusing on the horizon. “Storms catching up. We might outrun it for a while longer, but it’ll be on us soon.”

“We’ve had a course change anyway,” Emmerich muttered over the wind that whipped his hair across his face.

“Where to?” Wrenn asked, concern marring her brow.

“Torrelin, back to Marrelin City.”

Wrenn swung back to face him. “Tell me you’re joking?” Emmerich shook his head. “You want to navigate The Dead Strait with a storm at our back? The Gate was bad enough, but the Strait?”

“You think I want to put the ship at risk? I’ve got an irate and armed princess below deck, and I don’t particularly want to see what she will do if I refuse her now.”

“Weddings off then?” Wrenn joked, earning a glare in return.

“You get us to the mouth of the Strait, and I’ll sail us through.”

“Aye, Captain,” Wrenn saluted.

“And, Wrenn,” Emmerich pressed, “save your jokes until tomorrow, if we live that long.”

Jagged rocks lay scattered ahead as the sky darkened above them. The mouth of The Dead Strait lurked before them, shrouded slightly in the building darkness.

“We should drop anchor,” Commander Bleeker said, from where she stood beside the prince. “Wait until morning.”

“There’s no time,” Emmerich grimaced. “If we wait until morning, we risk navigating the Strait in even worse conditions.”

“Sailing it at night is suicide, even for you.”

“Have all hands on deck. We’re going to need everyone to get through this night alive.”

A dark head peaked above the deck. The wind caught her hair, sending it flying about her face and neck. She reached into a pocket, removing a black silk ribbon to tie it back at the nape. Emmerich watched on from the helm and Wrenn followed his gaze to where Solveig stood staring out at the passage ahead of them. The churning waters were littered with jagged rocks, many large enough to rip a gash in the hull that would founder the ship. Neither the coast of Elithiend nor Southern Torrelin were close enough to swim to in this weather, lest they risk being sucked under by an unseen current.

“I’ll deal with her,” Wrenn muttered, heading off before the prince could neither object nor agree.

Solveig heard the heavy booted approach of the commander but stayed staring at the siren call of The Dead Strait.

“I think perhaps it might be best if you returned below deck, Your Highness.” Commander Bleeker intoned as she came to a stop beside her.

“And miss all the fun? I think not.”

“The captain needs all his men focused. You may be a distraction.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Solveig turned to face her then. “Say that again.”

“I meant no offence.”

“Yet still you dared say it.”

“We both know you wield your looks as expertly as any other weapon.”

“And yet that still does not make me responsible for the reactions of your men.” She flicked her gaze over the commander’s shoulder to where the prince remained at the helm. “Or your captain. No, I think I’ll stay and watch the game unfold front and centre.”

“You truly have nothing better to do?”

“Believe me, there are many places I would rather be right now. Yet there is little I can do about it, and I refuse to cower below deck, wondering if the next sway of the ship will bring us to our doom. I prefer to face my fate head on.”

“So be it.” Commander Bleeker shrugged. “Just stay out of our way.”

“Pull the sails,” Emmerich called from the helm. “We don’t want to give these winds any more control.” The deck hands raced to the mast, pulling the lines to secure the sails as fast as they could. “Aire Wenders, block the gusts. Earth Breakers, do what you can to those rocks. Clear as large a path as possible and we may get through this.”

A deathly silence fell upon the crew. Howling winds, slamming rain and the groaning ship were the only sounds as the sun fell below the horizon, plunging the world into darkness.

“PYROMANCERS,” Emmerich called. “Light our way!” Solveig launched to her feet; the wind stealing her breath, as she raced to the edge, watching as each pyromancer sent their blue flames out into the darkness.

Strings of flickering blue light formed around each of the rocks; flying beneath the surface, allowing them to see every jagged edge that lurked below. It was a map. A way through The Dead Strait that only pyromancy could show. Giving the Earth Breakers time to break down any edges that came too close to the ship’s hull, as they slowly entered the mouth of the Strait. It was the single most deadly passage surrounding the Osvoltan Continent; besides the whirlpool ridden gate on the southeast edge of Elithiend.

How it worked, Solveig wasn’t sure. She didn’t think volcanic rocks would have existed this far from the Caldera. Yet the only other explanation was too fanciful; that the citizens of Elithiend had painstakingly set charges along the Strait for this eventuality.

Their good fortune did not hold for long. As they approached the halfway point where the Strait narrowed slightly, the storm finally caught up. Aire Wenders fought to keep the winds from sending the ship careening into the rocks and cliffs as they weaved slowly through the maze. But even from this distance, Solveig could see the prince’s men were weakening. If they kept this up, they wouldn’t survive the night.

Thunder rumbled overhead, angry and deafening. Pale blue lightning lit the sky as the rain hammered down. At the aft of the ship, Solveig could see the prince and his commander arguing, about what, she couldn’t be sure. The winds stole their voices away into the night, far from her ears. Whatever it was, the prince appeared resigned, desperate. He didn’t want to agree to the commander’s demands, but with his crew growing weaker by the second, he was running out of options fast.

“Ma’am, the captain has asked that you go below deck now,” a voice said from beside her.

“No.”

“It wasn’t a request, Your Highness.”

“I don’t answer to your captain. Unless he wants to drag me below deck himself, I’m staying right here. I’d hate to miss any other exciting revelations,” she said gleefully, taking pleasure in seeing the uneasy glint in the boy’s eye.

Solveig stood at the rail, sodden hair whipping around her face, as she reached out to touch the damp, moss covered rock before her as the ship crawled passed. Above the water it didn’t appear dangerous, but she had seen the sharp jutting edges that lurked beneath the surface and felt a kinship with it.

She heard a faint command uttered along the wind; a command surely not meant for her ears. “Blind and bind,” they said.

Her eyes flew up to the prince, meeting him glare for glare. She had known he wouldn’t step away from the helm of his ship in their hour of greatest need. Thought she had beaten him at his own game but had failed to realise the extent of his resourcefulness. They seized her arms from behind, thrust a bag over her head and led her to the middle of the ship, where they tied her to the mast.

The wind kissed her cheek softly through the gaps in the weave, words drifting with it for her ears only. “I offered you the chance to go below deck and ride the rest of this out in comfort. You chose wrong. Now you can sit there, devoid of your senses, soaked to the bone, whilst we try to survive the mess you forced us into.”

It was an Aire Wenders power, to send messages along the wind, one she hadn’t seen him use until now. She struggled against her bonds as Emmerich’s voice left her to be replaced by the howling wind. But the more she fought, the more the rope bit into her skin. Even blinded as she was, she could still see the flash of lightning through the bag.

Blinding lights: shouting voices, rolling thunder, crashing waves, and booted feet running across the deck. An orchestra of desperation surrounded her, and then there was nothing.

No crackle of lightning, no roll of thunder, not even a breeze to send chills over her sodden clothing. Even the rain had stopped. An eerie silence crept over the ship, but she could still feel the swaying as they moved along the current. Something had stopped the storm in its tracks, something the prince didn’t want her to see. A secret more precious than how to navigate the Strait, something he had decided was worth severing their trust completely for.

Time passed unknowingly, seconds, minutes, hours. Try as she might, it was impossible to track them. Her mind raced through endless possibilities of what was happening beyond the blindfold that could have quenched the ferocious storm. What power medley had the Elithiend’s uncovered in their years of separation from the rest of Osvolta? All questions her family would demand of her that she would have no answer for.

“HEAVE TO!” the prince called. His voice almost deafening now. Boots thundered across the deck once more as the hands raced to follow his orders.

But beyond their echoing footfalls, she heard another sound, one that chilled her to the bone. An ethereal, lyrical voice, unmistakably that of a woman’s as it whispered, “You owe me.”

For all the days Solveig had spent aboard the Valdrych, she had not come across another female crew member, other than Wrenn Bleeker. And the melody of the woman’s voice that sang and echoed through her mind was not the commander’s.

It was like a whip cracked. A sharp taste cut through the air as the noise of the storm was unleashed upon them once more, and they ripped the bag from her face. She stared up into the exhausted blue eyes of the prince.

“Time to go,” he muttered, taking her by the arm to drag her along with him. Solveig twisted in his grip to see the Dead Strait now behind them. The ship was listing slightly to the port side.

“Who was she?” Solveig demanded.

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t treat me as a fool. I heard a woman’s voice that was neither mine nor the commanders, so who was she? What happened? How did we make it through? How did you dampen the storm?”

“You needn’t concern yourself with any of that.”

“There you go again, keeping your secrets,” she hissed.

“You know me, Princess, I hate to disappoint,” he grumbled; leading her below deck, where he deposited her outside the door to the captain’s quarters without another word.