Wrath of the Blue Lady Read online

  “Easy. I just came up because the captain ordered me up here.” Yugi returned his hand to the ratlines. “We’re hoping to be within sight of the coast before long.”

  Shang-Li put the sticks away and searched for the book he had been working in. The copy he had made of Farsiak’s journal sat beside him. The wooden case containing his writing implements sat atop it where he had left it. He pushed himself into a sitting position and folded his legs so that Yugi could enter the crow’s nest.

  The young sailor leaned back nonchalantly against the edge of the crow’s nest. He scented the air like a hound.

  “Storm’s coming.” He scowled. “It’ll probably catch up with us toward sundown.”

  Shang-Li shaded his eyes against the westering sun and spotted the storm clouds rolling off in the distance. “Where are we?”

  “Not far from the coast. Close to Urmlaspyr. The captain didn’t want to be caught out in the middle of the sea in case a big squall rose up, so we’ll hug the land for the next day or so. We’ll probably reach the coast in time to drop anchor for the night.”

  That announcement probably hadn’t gone over well. Shang-Li knew his father was in a hurry to return to Westgate for supplies. At least the city wasn’t much farther. Weather and wind permitting, Swallow would reach her destination in three or four more days.

  By that time, Shang-Li hoped to have a location in mind to search. Of course, Westgate offered difficulties of its own. Not to mention the menace of the Nine Golden Swords. He yawned creakily.

  “Mayhap you should try sleepin’ at night,” Yugi said. “Take your nose out of that book for a while. That much readin’ can’t be good for you.”

  “I haven’t been able to sleep.” Shang-Li rubbed his marked hand against his thigh. The blue stain hadn’t yet faded. During the last two nights, he’d revisited other sea voyages he’d gone on in the past. In the Dragon’s Reach, he’d help find and salvage Tauric’s Cross, a merchanter that had gone down three hundred and forty years before. In the dream, the hold had been filled with writhing snake-things big enough to swallow a man whole.

  Then there had been the time a storm had left Brass Lantern overturned. The captain and crew had worked four days to get her right side up again. They had never sunk as they had in the dream, and they had never been preyed upon by shambling creatures that struck quick as lightning.

  And in all of those dreams, the Blue Lady had always put in an appearance to taunt him. Shang-Li scratched idly at the blue mark on his hand. He’d cut it with a knife, but only got blood out that morning, none of the blue discoloration.

  Yugi smiled. “You’re not tired because you’re not working on this ship. A sailing man, he’s glad to hit his rack every night because he’s put in a full day’s work.”

  Shang-Li ignored the jibe. He reached into the cloth bag he’d tied to the side of the crow’s nest to keep it from underfoot. He found an apple, a chunk of cheese, and a half-loaf of bread that still felt acceptably soft. Still seated on crossed legs, he took out a small knife and set to his breakfast.

  “That’s a poor meal,” Yugi observed. “Cook’s set a fine table this morning. You should wander on down and eat a good breakfast.”

  “Trying to be rid of me?” Shang-Li used his knife to bring an apple slice to his mouth.

  Yugi shrugged. “Actually I don’t mind having you with me. I spend a lot of hours up here by myself. After a while I start talking to myself just to have company.”

  Shang-Li didn’t want to go down to breakfast. His father would be there and the likelihood of an argument would ensue. Over the last few days, Shang-Li had gotten no closer to the identity of the blue woman that had destroyed Grayling. Farsiak maintained throughout that she was a goddess of the sea.

  Worst of all, if his father had discovered anything about the mysterious paper, he wasn’t sharing that knowledge.

  “Can I look at your book?” Yugi gestured toward Shang-Li’s journal.

  “You may.” Shang-Li cut a slice of bread and a slice of cheese, then put them together and ate them. The sharp cheese jarred with a taste of the apple but his stomach rumbled in anticipation of being filled.

  “Several of the crew are curious about this sailor’s story.” Yugi flipped through pages, stopping every now and again as something caught his eye. Mostly it was images of the Blue Lady.

  “There’s not much to know.” Shang-Li cut another wedge of apple. “Farsiak kept up an intermittent log of his life for six years after the shipwreck of the Grayling.”

  “Have you finished copying his book?”

  “Yes.”

  “So what became of him?”

  Shang-Li shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s hard for a man to write of his death after he’s dead.”

  “Aye, I suppose that would be true enough.” Then Yugi grinned evilly. “Unless he became a lich or something.”

  That, Shang-Li told himself, isn’t a pleasant thought. But he knew it was true.

  “What do you think happened him?”

  “Maybe he simply died of old age or in a fight in a tavern.” Shang-Li had considered Farsiak’s passing while working on the journal.

  That was one of the differences between the work he’d learned to do in the monastery and the work his mother had taught him in the forests. In the monastery, a book often led to trails that couldn’t be explored. However, in the forests, Shang-Li had learned to follow a trail he’d cut by going forward to find out what it happened, or backward to find out how it had all began.

  Yugi leafed through the pages carefully, his fingers barely touching the edges. His gaze scanned Shang-Li’s neat writing but the pages of text didn’t hold his interest for long. Instead he studied the illustrations Shang-Li had made. “You’re one of the best artists I’ve ever seen.”

  “Possibly you haven’t seen very many artists.”

  “Depends on who you want to call an artist. There’s men who do tattooing that do beautiful work as well. Just a different canvas.”

  Shang-Li smiled. “I suppose that’s true.”

  “You don’t have to grow up in a monastery to appreciate art.” Yugi looked over the top of the page with a sly half-smile. “Of course, you didn’t exactly grow up in a monastery yourself, from what I’ve been told. And you haven’t been there to stay in years.”

  Well, sailors aboard this vessel do like their gossip, Shang-Li thought ruefully. “No, I didn’t and I haven’t.”

  Yugi continued turning the pages. Over the last few days he had seen most of the work Shang-Li had done with the translation. “I love the drawings you do of the ship. Is this how she looked?” He held the journal open to one of the pages that showed Grayling cutting across the open sea.

  “Perhaps. I’ve never seen her, but I know the kind of ship she was supposed to be.”

  Yugi turned pages and indicated another drawing. “This one really turns my stomach.”

  The drawing showed Grayling breaking apart amid storm-tossed waves. The illustration was rendered in fine enough detail that crewmen could be seen hanging from the edges of the stricken ship and in the water.

  A feminine figure stood atop a twisting wave, riding it gracefully like it was a spirited mount. She had her hand outstretched and it was obvious the sea and the wind obeyed her will.

  “Watching gods.” Yugi unconsciously touched the charm that hung from his necklace. “I’ve never seen a ship go down, and luck willing, I never will. Just the thought of being pulled down into the sea turns my guts to water.”

  “It’s not a pleasant experience,” Shang-Li admitted.

  The young sailor’s eyes rounded in surprise. “You’ve gone down aboardship?”

  “I have. Twice.”

  “What happened?”

  “The first time, pirates scuttled our ship after taking our cargo. Most of us survived because we weren’t far from shore. The second time a reef ripped our bottom during a sea quake. Not even the ship’s mage had any warning.” Shang-Li shut aw
ay the pain that accompanied that particular memory. “Many of the crew and passengers didn’t survive.”

  Yugi met his gaze with the honest intensity of youthful inexperience. “You lost friends aboard that ship?”

  “I did. Very good friends.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you.”

  Silence between them for a moment. Gull cries sounded overhead and pierced the gentle luffing of a loose sail. Shadowed by the mainsail, Shang-Li looked up into the clear blue sky and saw the line of storm clouds had crept nearer despite the pilot’s efforts to outrun it in a parallel course.

  Moonwhisper sat on a yardarm only a short distance away. The owl was nocturnal and didn’t enjoy the sun as much as Shang-Li did. Despite Shang-Li’s offer, Moonwhisper wouldn’t remain in the darkness of the hold. Shang-Li knew his animal companion sensed the unease that filled him and refused to be separated even aboard Swallow.

  The owl’s territorial nature awakened with the arrival of the gulls. Feathers ruffling, Moonwhisper shifted on the yardarm and focused on the gulls gliding nearby. His keen talons scored the hardwood. When one of the birds darted too close, Moonwhisper unfurled his wings in warning.

  Easy, my friend. Shang-Li slipped into the owl’s mind and reassured him. For all the adventures they had shared, for all the distance they were from Moonwhisper’s home, the raptor had remained stalwart.

  “Do you think it happened like this?”

  Shang-Li turned back to the young sailor and found him again studying the drawing of the Blue Lady confronting Grayling. “When I read Farsiak’s description of those events, that’s the image I formed in my mind.” It was also one he’d seen in his dreams, again and again. Now it almost felt as though he’d really been there.

  Yugi was quiet for a moment and the sound of the gulls’ cries echoed around them. A few conversations from the crewmen on deck drifted up to reach them.

  “Here, she looks very fierce,” the young sailor observed. Then he turned the page to one of the latest drawings Shang-Li had completed. “But here, she looks very beautiful.”

  Shang-Li studied the drawing and stared into the silver eyes that held so much cold cruelty. She was beautiful, her skin like pale blue marble, and every inch of her feminine. Instead of simply sketching her in charcoal, he’d used chalks to add in the color. Her long hair fell past her shoulders in thick curls. Shells and pearls hung on a few of the ringlets. Dark blue and black armor barely protected her and served mainly to reveal enchanting her assets. A small buckler hung on her left wrist. A crest that resembled rain falling from a cloud lay in the center of it, but Shang-Li hadn’t been able to divine its nature.

  “She is beautiful,” Shang-Li acknowledged. “But many of nature’s most dangerous things are. Oftentimes, beauty is just a lure for the unwary.”

  “You got all of this from the description in that journal?”

  Unease spun through Shang-Li. “Not all of it. Some of it comes merely from my imagination.” But some of it didn’t.

  “Have you finished being petulant then?”

  Recognizing his father’s voice immediately, Shang-Li curbed his irritation at his inability to find something meaningful in Farsiak’s journal. He didn’t bother glancing up from the snarled fishing nets he worked on. Stymied in his pursuit of information from the journal, unable to get past his father’s door and unwilling to seek him out to ask him questions, Shang-Li had turned to ship’s chores to occupy his busy mind. He had other books and other studies to attend to in his bag, but he found himself unable to focus on those things.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Shang-Li replied coolly.

  His father stood nearby and easily balanced on the rolling ship’s deck. “You’re playing with ropes like a common sailor.”

  “Perhaps it’s only because I’m being treated like a common sailor.”

  His father sighed. “I see you haven’t given up your petulance.”

  Shang-Li looked up at his father then. “I’m not one of your students, Father, to be dismissed so casually. I’m here now because you wish me to be, and so did the monastery council.”

  His father shoved his hands into his opposing sleeves. His students would have quailed at that.

  “At the monastery, you are taught to honor your elders. I find it shameful that I need to remind you.”

  “I was also taught that a man should treat another equally when they share a duty.” Despite the easy way the words tumbled from his mouth, Shang-Li wished they were not discussing this. He felt angry at the way he always seemed the child before his father.

  A hint of fire flashed through Kwan Yung’s hazel eyes. “You think I am treating you as less than an equal?”

  For a moment Shang-Li considered denying the line of thought. But it was how he felt.

  “Yes.”

  “How am I doing that?”

  Shang-Li lowered his voice so that hopefully not every sailor in the vicinity could overhear. Still, he had no doubt that the crew would learn of the encounter. And their tongues would wag.

  “You took that paper after I discovered it.”

  “Nor have I discussed my findings with you, have I?”

  “No.” In truth, his father had obviously taken pains to stay away from him.

  “You think I have shut you out, don’t you?”

  “Haven’t you?”

  His father sighed again but his features softened a little. For the first time Shang-Li noticed how tired his father appeared.

  “I keep forgetting how long it’s been since you’ve done any original work at the monastery,” his father stated. “These … adventures you’re so enthralled with aren’t disciplined things.”

  Shang-Li started to protest.

  His father held up a hand and silenced him. “I would ask that you remember that you’re not dealing with one of those skilled amateurs you normally travel with. I am a trained researcher, and I work in a disciplined environment. If anything, I would have shown you disrespect by allowing you to watch me work.”

  Immediately, embarrassment flushed through Shang-Li and chased away his anger. He had forgotten how two equals worked to solve a problem at the monastery. The monks didn’t work together. They worked independently, each assessing a manuscript or problem on their own, then coming together to present their thoughts and impressions for discussion.

  Working together often tainted critical thinking. More was learned through independent research and discussions than through a joint conjecture at the beginning.

  “I treated you as an equal,” his father said. “Otherwise I would have invited you to work with me.”

  Shang-Li bowed his head in embarrassment. “I had forgotten.”

  “Let us hope that you still retain some of the training we invested in you.”

  Shang-Li knew that his father’s words were sharper then they needed to be, but he also felt deserving of his father’s ire.

  “These books are very important, Shang-Li.”

  “I know, Father. Liou’s books weren’t meant for anyone to read. There is too much dangerous knowledge written into those pages. I understand that.” Shang-Li thought about mentioning the dreams, but he wasn’t quite ready for that.

  “I’ve left the paper in the cabin for you.” His father gestured over his shoulder. “I suggest you eat something as well. You need to keep up your strength. You can use the room if you’d like.”

  “Thank you, but no. I’d prefer to work outside, by natural light, as long as I am able.”

  His father nodded. “As you wish.” He turned and walked away. “We’ll talk again when you’re finished with your examinations of the document.”

  As Shang-Li watched his father’s retreating back, sadness and anger—both of them new and old—warred inside him. He didn’t know why they could find no peace between them. It wasn’t his elf heritage or the training that his mother had given him. There was just something between them that seemed insurmou
ntable.

  Shortly before sunset, Swallow made land.

  A storm was brewing on the open sea. Yugi shouted out the news of a land sighting, and they sailed a short distance farther before finding a comfortable cove where the captain felt safe enough to drop anchor. Sailors went ashore only briefly as the storm closed in quickly.

  However, the cove was one that had been used before by other ships. The shore party filled a few barrels with fresh water from a nearby spring to replace some of the water that had turned brackish over the last few days. They even managed to find a few succulent berries on bushes near the spring.

  Shang-Li went with them long enough to allow Moonwhisper to hunt voles and eat his fill. While he waited for the owl to return, Shang-Li took shelter within a small cave. Wind whipped the trees around and fat raindrops splashed the stone mouth of the cave. Thankfully, the cave tilted up into the short cliff and no rain entered, but that didn’t keep out the cold draft.

  Working while maintaining contact with Moonwhisper, Shang-Li laid dry wood he’d gathered while in the forest. Shortly after that, a cheery fire filled the cave. Smoke hugged the cave’s roof and the dancing flames revealed the crude drawings left by prior bored tenants.

  Shang-Li smiled at the drawings. Some had been rendered by scratching a knife point into the stone while others had been created with simple paints made with grease and stone powders. No matter where he’d gone, inside caves and inside towns, men had left their marks. Perhaps the effort met a need to be noticed, and a desire to leave something of themselves behind.

  Sitting cross-legged, Shang-Li reached into his back and withdrew the pale white sheet. Although he tried, he discerned no mark left by his father’s examination. Shang-Li wasn’t sure if he was disappointed. Some clue as to what his father was thinking might have been welcome.

  Or it might have influenced your own conclusions, he reminded himself wryly.

  He released his breath and focused on the paper. There was more to it than the nonsensical writing. He was certain of that. A strong force lurked within the paper. The blue mark on his palm pulsed raggedly.