Chapter 9
A Dread Tide Rising, by Walt Shuler
Welcome to Chapter 9.
Previously, the Talon left Scylline’s Cross and reached their ship, Sparrowhawk, anchored off the coast of Aeth. In this chapter, we get to know a bit more about some of the other people in Thalrassa, as well as some lore about the empire. If you’ve read Landing Day, then the priestess’s song will be familiar.
A Dread Tide Rising is a serialized, pulp-flavored, epic fantasy novel set in the world of Thalrassa. It follows the Talon, a group of mercenaries, thieves, and smugglers, as they come face-to-face with an ancient enemy intent on the destruction of the Rakkian Empire.
New to ADTR? Catch up on all the chapters here. You can learn more about the members of the Talon here and explore Thalrassa-related lore here. The map of Thalrassa can be found here.
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Chapter 9
Canvas cracked in the freshening breeze.
Mac watched the western coast of Anseilor, stained bloody by the setting sun, sink slowly astern as Sparrowhawk bore the Talon west by northwest. Soon they would glimpse Eskelian, the first of the Thousand Isles, to port as they made their way toward Celize and the city of Rom. Mac stood near the aft of the ship, a smile on his face and the sea wind in his hair. Padraig had the helm, and the Talon went about their routine around them.
Hax and Pax sat in a rare moment of quiet, transforming torn sailcloth into newly woven rope for use aboard ship. Gorm sat in his accustomed place at the bow, a leather-bound book cradled in one huge hand, and the wind tugging at his beard. Wynne, as ever, was not far away. She rested against the rail, half of her attention on the horizon, and the other half on the burly warrior.
Padraig’s two sailors, a pair of twins out of Batis-Bota, by name Callan and Derro, were aloft in the rigging. Now and then, Padraig would call for one of the pair to trim a sail or let out more canvas in his effort to make the best time possible. One of the two, Mac could rarely tell them apart, would do as the pilot ordered, and Sparrowhawk would leap ahead like a dancer across the foam, her twin hulls skimming over the tops of the waves.
Mac looked around, realizing he did not know where Kye was. Momentary panic gripped his chest. It was all too easy to slip and find oneself in the drink, the silhouette of your ship vanishing in the distance, particularly for those with little experience at sea. And from what Mac had seen, Kye was about as green as they came. By her own admission, she had spent as little time on ships as possible, preferring the pressing crowd of the streets to the salt and fish stench of the docks. Worry eased as he caught sight of her bright tunic against a graying sail. The young thief was aloft in the rigging, scrambling about like she was born to the sea life.
She moved across the ropes with more agility than Mac would have believed possible; a spider on her own web was clumsier. Kye stopped near Callan. Or was it Derro? The sailor gestured, explaining something to the girl, before she raced down the mast to the deck and then ran toward the forward mast. There, she would sit for hours, perched like a cat and staring ahead of the ship, catching glimpses of far-off islands, blue and hazy with the distance.
Satisfied that all was well aboard ship, Mac turned back to Padraig. “When do you reckon we’ll make port in Rom?”
Padraig glanced west toward where the sun sank slowly beneath the waves. “Not tomorrow,” he said, pointing to a dark fringe of cloud far to the southwest. “Yon storm will be here by then. We’ll need a safe harbor for a day.” He shrugged. “We’ll make Rom a day or two after.”
Mac frowned. Safe harbor here meant putting in at one of the Thousand Isles. It was an archipelago within an archipelago, most of the chain’s islands little more than spits of sand and rock. A handful of islands were large enough to sport villages, and one or two held an actual city, although they were tiny, backward places compared to those closer to the Rings. The people were better. They were shy, but once past the natural reticence, they were a warm lot. He smiled, thinking about one particularly enjoyable winter holed up with a pair of twins. That had been before Molly, of course.
“What are you smirking about, Mac?” Gorm rumbled, approaching unnoticed while Mac was lost in thought.
“Ah, um, nothing.” Mac wiped the smile from his face. “Padraig says there’s a storm coming. We’ll need to find somewhere to make port, preferably with as few people as possible noticing us.”
“Still trying to avoid notice?”
Mac nodded. “The more people who think we’re bound for the troubles down Süt’s way, the better for us, I’m thinking. It means fewer people looking for us to turn up elsewhere and even fewer asking what we’re doing poking around in Rom.”
They sailed on in silence for some time before one of the twins raised a cry from the sheets. “Land! Land ho!”
“That’ll be Eskelion,” Mac said, staring hard at the blot on the horizon. It grew quickly as the ship sped toward it. Soon, the smear on the horizon was a mountain, and then they were able to make out individual details about it. The Talon saw other isles shouldering up behind Eskelion, a chain of emerald and white jewels scattered across Mali’s blue skirts. More — the promise of safety. The winds were already turning against them, bringing the scent of rain and the tang of lightning.
At Padraig’s urging, they turned to port and sought shelter within the Thousand Isles before the coming storm. Sparrowhawk wove her way through the narrow channels between islands, her small size still dwarfing the local outrigger canoes used by the islanders. The little craft swarmed around the larger ship like flies, darting this way and that, nimble in the face of the freshening wind.
Suddenly, a red ball launched from one of the little boats to starboard, bounced off Sparrowhawk’s forward mast, and rebounded to port. Back and forth it went, with children aboard the tiny outriggers lobbing it back every time it reached the water on the other side of the ship. Kye watched it all, eyes bright and lips half-parted in a smile. A cheer went up as someone caught the ball again, and then it was airborne once more, skimming across Sparrowhawk’s deck.
This time, it hit the starboard railing and bounced back, rolling across the deck and coming to rest near Kye. She did not hesitate. Grabbing the ball, she raced into the rigging. Once aloft, she threw the ball starboard. It cleared the edge of the ship, and a nimble lad managed to snatch it out of the air before it hit the water.
Almost instantly, it was in the air again, but this time aimed at Kye. The girl laughed and hit the ball to port, adding distance and speed. Then the game was on in earnest, as young people on both sides of the ship tried their best to hit the ball hard enough to reach Kye, who then sent it on its way once more. Eventually, they began to tire of the game, outriggers peeling off here and there, leaving only a loyal few to follow Sparrowhawk to her anchorage, their laughter drifting behind over the water.
Padraig dropped anchor in a sheltered bay on Tua, a small isle supporting little more than a fishing village and several herds of goats. The villagers welcomed them with flower garlands placed around their necks and an invitation to celebrate with them. One by one, the crew found themselves taken by the hand and danced into the growing throng of celebrants.
It seemed that they had arrived on the eve of Landing Day, and the villagers insisted that the crew participate. As the last of the sun’s light drained from the heavens, bonfires sparked to life along the beach. Everywhere, men and women danced, food cooked, and voices were raised in song and laughter. Mac found a drink pressed to his hand. A sip and he knew what it was, ohai, a fermented beverage made with pressed fruit and the juice of a particular type of seed called niu. Ohai was potent and went down easily, a fact he had learned several years back with those two twins.
Mac was not the only one enjoying the fruits of the islanders’ labors. Hax and Wynne both held wooden cups of ohai. Pax was drink-free, and Mac had a feeling she would stay that way. She worried it would erode her edge. Under other circumstances, Mac could see her point, but there was no danger here. Not tonight. Landing Day was a time of coming together, reminiscing, and celebrating the year that was. Gorm was also abstaining, although that had less to do with the big man’s worry about threats and more to do with certain vows he had made years ago. For his part, Mac was content to enjoy what the waters brought, namely a cup full of ohai, a night filled with song and stars, and a brief moment in which to forget the larger world.
Eventually, the ebb and flow of humanity subsided. With bellies full of hot food and ohai, the villagers settled on the sandy beach. The flames died down, flickering low, all but one central fire. Surrounded by large pieces of volcanic rock, wood was piled on until the flames leaped high into the night sky. A drum sounded, low, rolling beats echoing out over the water, mingling with the drumbeats from other villages on other islands, all across the archipelago. It was a peculiar feeling, of being part of something so much greater than oneself.
A cloaked shape shambled toward the fire, back stooped and hood hiding the face. “Who’s that?” a voice asked near Mac’s elbow. He started briefly, then realized it was Kye. The girl’s eyes were wide as she drank everything in.
He pointed toward the fire and the cloaked figure. “That’s the local priestess of Mali. She’s going to tell of the Arrival.” He looked at her, expression curious. “They still celebrate Landing Day on Rakka, don’t they?”
Kye shook her head. “Not anymore. The emperor made it a crime a few years ago. Said any worship not of the One God was a sin.”
Not since she was a child, Mac thought, laughing to himself. She was still a child. His humor evaporated when he thought about the import of her other words, though. The One God. That was a peculiar thing, in truth. He supposed there was no accounting for what folks did in the Rings. A strange place that bred strange things. Here in the outer islands, folk held to the old ways. They celebrated things passed down across the long centuries from parent to child. He glanced around at the crowd of villagers, noticing for the first time as he did so that they seemed fewer than the last time he had been here. Perhaps Rakka’s ways were not strange to everyone.
“What’s she going to do?” Kye asked, interrupting Mac’s thoughts.
“She’s going to tell the story of the Arrival. About how Kahé, the first king, won Mali’s approval, and she made dry land on the face of the water. You remember that bit from when you were little, right?”
Kye looked sheepish. “Not so much. Landing Day was always more of a chance for easy pickings than anything else. The Faceless plied the crowds, cutting purses and nicking jewels while everyone was wrapped up in the storytelling.”
“Well,” said Mac, guiding Kye to sit in front of him so she could get a better view of the central bonfire and the priest, “seems like now’s your chance to make up for lost time.”
The drums fell silent, and the priestess stepped forward. She threw her hood back to reveal stark white hair and a thin, angular face. “Gather ‘round, family. Hear the tale.” Despite her age, the priestess’s voice was strong and vibrant, carrying clearly to all those gathered before her.
She turned back and forth, encompassing the entire gathering with her dark eyes. “Come listen to the tale of the fallen West and the Arrival. The story of Mali and the first king, Kahé.”
She thrust a hand toward the sky. “Gather round. Hear the truth!” With her final utterance, she stepped before the fire, throwing her features into deep darkness. Behind her, the flames suddenly roared toward the sky, sparks flying away to mingle with the stars above.
As the flames once more sank toward the earth, the priestess began her story. Their story. She sang the song of the Arrival.
When the ancients failed the land,
The land failed.
Pestilence and famine, fire, then flood
Did rend and destroy.
When the ancients failed the land,
Their pride drowned beneath the waves.
A pitiful remnant, the last of the last,
Set forth across the waves to seek redemption,
Forgiveness for their sins.
Long they sailed, dry their cracked lips, red their eyes from weeping,
As the West sank beneath the sea and storm winds
Drove them forward.
No haven did they find,
No land to support their feet or rest their heads.
Only water ruled the earth.
Terror settled in the hearts of the few — dread and
Sorrow for the world lost ‘neath the waves.
In fear, they raised hands to one another,
Blood they shed polluted the waters.
Brother slew brother, and mother murdered
Her children.
Each raised a hand against the other.
Violence so that even Mother Moon
Turned her back in grief and tears.
In that lightless dark, evil was birthed,
And found a welcoming home
In the hearts of the few who still, fruitless, searched.
No haven did they find,
No land to support their feet or rest their heads.
Only water ruled the earth.
Then came one among them, least of stature and
Low of birth.
Kahé, houseless and cast adrift,
Drowned the evil beneath the waves then,
Turned his voice toward the goddess, pleading for
Their salvation and succor.
Hearing him, Mother Mali rose from the sea.
Knowing his grief and sorrow,
She birthed ten thousand isles.
Verdant homes she gave to the storm-tossed remnant,
So long as Kahé’s line should survive.
And the darkness be held at bay.
Haven, at last, they did find.
Land to support their feet and rest their heads.
Water and land rule the earth.
As the priestess’s voice faded away into darkness, Kye turned toward Mac. A thousand questions danced in her eyes, and he could tell this was the first time she had truly paid attention when the Arrival was celebrated. Of course, her time with the Faceless in Rakka and the emperor’s new laws had done the girl no favors.
“What was it like, the land in the West?” Her expression was skeptical.
“The old songs tell us that we came from a land that lay beyond the setting sun, larger than all the islands of the world put together. Dryland,” he explained. She did not look convinced.
“If it was so big, what could the ancients have done to drown it under the sea?”
Mac shrugged. “No one remembers. Whatever it was, it must have been so monstrous that the priests and priestesses saw no need to record it. Guess it was common knowledge. Down the long centuries, we’ve forgotten it, though.”
Around them, the villagers were breaking up. Fires burned low, and sand was kicked over the embers to smother them. The priestess of Mali made her way into the dark with the help of one or two able village lads. Hushed conversation ebbed and flowed around them.
“And what happens if Kahé’s line fails?” Kye asked.
Again, Mac shrugged. “From all I hear tell, the islands will sink back beneath the sea if that ever happens. Mali’s pledge was to him and his line, not the rest of us sots.”
“Don’t sound all that fair, does it?” She looked up at him, expression at once cynical and hopeful. Mac was forced to agree, but he hadn’t been there and, as such, had no say in the agreement.
“No,” he told her, guiding the newest member of the Talon back toward where Sparrowhawk waited on the beach. “No, it doesn’t. And if ever I come face to face with the goddess, I’ll be sure to have words with her about it.”
Kye’s laughter trailed behind them as they boarded the boat.
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A little rest and mythology before mayhem ensues, I assume.
Ooh now we get into more of the mythology and some of the One God mess. Great chapter! Kye is the best 🤍