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

two misshapen lumps of head covered with hair the color of clean straw. She had been beautiful and kind and strong, and now she was none of those things. For some reason – no, for no reason at all – Nira was whole and untouched. If she could have had all the Sun’s Sons in front of her, she’d have set them all on fire and danced on their ashes.

Instead, she turned away, burying her friend in a shallow grave in the back of her mind. She crawled to the rope ladder stowed amidships, grateful for the first time to the dead bosun for the extensive tour of the ship with which he’d tried to impress her. The linen of her loose pants was soaked in gore from knee to ankle by the time she made it back to the railing. She was careful to move far enough forward that the ladder would land on the mangled dock instead of dropping her in the bay. She was in no shape to tangle with the sea serpent hatchlings that scavenged the bay.

Over the railing she went, grunting and cursing, seeking out the loose rungs in the hemp with the bare toes of her good foot, trying to keep her weight off both the bad ankle and her upper body as well. It was tricky, and she was mostly unsuccessful, but after an agonizing two minutes, she dangled free from the end of the ladder and let herself drop the last two meters onto the dock. She led with her good foot and landed in a heap on the flat wooden surface.

With her cheek pressed against the dock, she had the perfect view to admire the evenness of the perfect, symmetrical grooves grown into the wood that gave a good barky grip underfoot while allowing water to drain off the sides. Geniuses, those Weavers. Should have grown up with them, instead. Even if they made me pray to their shit goddess Gaia. She hauled herself to her feet and found she had reached the end of her strength. She swayed and braced herself against the shattered bulk of the hull beside her. She could hear the sucking sounds of water coursing into the ship, now sitting much lower in the water. The pink fluid had darkened to a wine-red and was mixing with the froth like blood. Maybe that’s what it is. Die and begone, ship. I wish I’d never set foot on you.

The dock near her was empty, all the displaced workers crouched a stone’s throw away on the main dock with wide eyes and mouths full of quiet curses. A short, fat man was threading his way through the mass and making his furious way toward her. His paunch bounced and swayed as he jogged from one junction to the next. His face was flushed red above the tight collar of his fine coat, and his bald, shiny head was sweating profusely. Nira felt nothing as he approached, not fear nor hope nor despair. After what she’d seen, she’d never feel anything again. She saw the carved stone amulet bouncing on the man’s chest as he drew near. Dockmaster. He had an abacus fused to the fleshy back of his left hand. She’d never seen anyone do that before. The thought of having to spend so much time doing figures that one needed a calculator quite literally at hand every moment made her a little sick.

He took a cursory glance at the sinking ship and fixed his beady pig eyes on her, swelling like a puffer as he prepared for a mighty tirade. “Severing the dock! Goods thrown in the bay! Days of work lost! I’ll have the crew in chains and the captain hanged! Where is the blighted man? I’ll have his money and then I’ll have his head! Does he mean to let everyone go down with the ship? Get him on the dock at once, you skinny whore’s get!”

She couldn’t help it. She laughed. It was a tired, thin little chuckle. She knew it was exactly the wrong thing to do in this situation, but she hadn’t the strength to hold it back. The dockmaster swelled even further in indignation. Going to pop like an over-filled grunter’s bladder. That made her laugh harder. His lip twisting, he reached out and slapped her. She coughed and laughed more. “Shut up, you chaga! I won’t have it!” He took her roughspun shirt in his fist and shook her hard. She gasped in pain as her ribs shifted, and she sagged against him. With a snort of disgust, he shook her off and let her fall. “Where’s the captain?”

She couldn’t muster the energy to stand again. From where she lay on her back she simply pointed down the length of the ship and forced the words out. “He’s dead. All. All dead.”

Confused, he glanced at the ship, and as his eyes took in the information they had previously denied, his jaw dropped and his jowls quivered. Another body had fetched up against the railing further astern. An arm hung over the gunwale, and the fingers looked too long. A closer look showed bones erupting from the fingertips like talons. Spurs of bone jutted like obscene spines all along the length of the forearm, and it dripped blood. The man’s back was pressed against the railing uprights – the first mate? He had a shirt like that – and was a profusion of extruded ribs puncturing the cloth. One had curved up to pierce his neck. His face was blessedly turned away, but it looked like he had grown horns.

“Gaia protect us,” the fat man whispered. His mouth opened and closed and opened again, at a loss for words. He couldn’t look away. “Gaia hold and preserve us.” He turned to her, his face a mask of fear and disgust. “Dear goddess, what happened here?”

Prostrate on the dock, smeared with blood and worse, hurt, cold, and alone, Nira closed her