Asunder: A Gathering of Chaos by Cameron Hopkin (electronic book reader .txt) 📗

“LOOSE!” screamed the captain. The crew burst into motion. The crew’s thorn throwers seemed pathetic as they threw their tiny bolts at the mighty serpent, but the spore cannons were wheeled to face forward on their control poles, and one by one the Seafarer gunners hefted heavy mallets to strike the base of the tubes where they emerged from their red broth vats. Whump whump whump spoke one cannon after another, and rancid green globules of spores lifted skyward, leaving a trail of air smeared gray with toxins in their wake. One flew wide of the beast, but five others thumped home on its scales, where the globs adhered fast and began to sizzle as their acid ate through the thing’s armor. She screamed and thrashed, forgetting about her targets.

Gamarron took hold of the fallen Beast Rider, who still shook uncontrollably, and hauled him bodily off the forecastle deck, both of them falling down the ladder together, bruised but momentarily safe from both teeth and scattering acids. Gamarron opened one of the doors to the forecastle cabins and stowed the boy on the deep berth inside. No time to help him now, and he’s as safe there as anywhere. He considered staying there himself, but if there was a chance that he might be useful, he wanted to take it.

The crew had all taken their places – the gun crews at the railings, the thorn throwers and archers in the rigging, others standing to port and starboard bearing a wide variety of swords and pikes, most of them made of coral. The sea serpent had reared back from the ship and fallen into the water, attempting to dislodge the burning spheres from her hide, but she had not retreated. Even now the black spines of her dorsal fins cut the water, undulating in a path that nearly encircled the ship. The massive head turned round and about in the water and she dove under the length of her own body like a monstrous rope sliding through its own coils, diving deep.

“Brace for ramming! Port side!” came the hoarse call. The first mate? It must have been. He looked about for a secure spot and decided to wedge himself into the space between the ladder and the wall of the forecastle. It was snug, but just large enough for him to sit with his back against the chitinous wall and brace his knees against the inner face of the ladder. He gripped the ladder’s rails with both hands, put his head down, and waited. His heart had escaped his notice and was thumping treacherously fast. He diverted his attention from the dread of impact toward making his body obey. She will crush us. Throw her body across us amidships and tighten and we’ll break in half. No! One. Two. Clean air in. Three. Four. Fouled air out. Control means nothing except under duress. Five. Si – The world shook.

Gamarron jerked hard to port, his hands and knees straining to hold him in place. The groan from the hull of the ship was unbelievably loud. It sounded like the moan of a wounded animal. Unsecured items flew about – a deck brush struck one of the gunners across the back, knocking him into the vat of broth. He floundered and thrashed, his cry of horror quickly becoming gurgles. A coral dagger skittered past Gamarron’s foot, narrowly missing and disappearing over the gunwale. Men’s screams painted the clear blue sky, and he saw one of the archers hanging from the rigging by his neck, frantically trying to gain a handhold to save himself. The ship shuddered again – the beast had not disengaged once she struck. “Port quarter, loose, LOOSE!” someone screamed. The gunner teams scrambled to aim the spore cannons at the waterline.

Gamarron moved to disentangle himself from his makeshift cubby, but as he edged out the starboard side, he heard a dull thump and felt a crushing pain in his left hand. He looked back and saw that a crate that had formerly been stowed to port was pinning his hand to the ladder railing. It must have shaken loose and slid from its spot near the railing without him noticing. He was lucky it hadn’t struck with more force or speed – it was heavy enough to have severed all his fingers. Even so, it hurt badly and held him in place.

More of the wailing screams erupted to port. The gunners must have scored another hit. He pushed against the wooden crate with his shoulder, but the angle was awkward, and he couldn’t get any leverage. Nor could he get his feet against it to push without ripping off his own fingers. He was well and truly stuck. Much help you are, old man. Once again you sit hidden while others do the dying for you. Shame rose in this throat. Stars burn me, not again.

The door next to him flew open, and Kest staggered into view, disoriented and reeling, clutching at his broken collarbone. Streaks of drying blood still marked his cheeks and shirt. He lurched forward, confused but intent. “Kest!” Gamarron shouted hoarsely. The boy wheeled about in surprise and nearly fell. “Help me, please – I’m trapped.” Emotions flitted rapidly across the Beast Rider’s face – confusion gave way to anger, which was replaced by resentment, then resignation, and finally determination. He struggled back over to the older man, bracing himself against the continuing shocks of the serpent’s attacks and his own dizziness.

A quick glance showed the boy the extent of the problem faster than any words could have, and he moved to the far side of the crate, grabbing it with his good hand by the ropes that crisscrossed the top. Planting his feet, he hauled back, grunting in pain. “Push!” he cried, and Gamarron pressed his shoulder into the unyielding mass. For a long moment nothing changed, but then the ship shuddered again, and the heavy cargo shifted just enough