Once upon a Spring morn

15

Chanson

To larboard and starboard great crags reared up from the sea, sheer stone rising out of the depths and reaching toward the dark sky. Waves crashed against rock and pitched up and fell and rebounded, the water heaving and roiling, the pattern unpredictable as billows crossed and crisscrossed among the monoliths, reinforcing here, canceling there, the sea a boiling fury.

And amid this chaos plunged the Eagle, the bow rising up and over a wave to hurtle down into the trough beyond. Rain hammered and lightning stroked and thunder shattered the shrieking air.

“Steady on, Gervaise, steady on,” called the captain above the boom and howl.

“Aye, aye, My Lord Captain,” cried the helmsman.

Celeste turned to Chevell and asked, “Captain, what if one of those bolts from above strikes a mast?”

“Most likely it’ll splinter it,” replied Chevell.

“Then I will pray that the lightning stays far away, or if not, that it altogether avoids the Sea Eagle.” The wind down upon the deck buffeted the crew, and it swirled this way and that, but aloft at the topsails it blew more or less steadily across the larboard stern and toward the starboard bow, the wind pennants atop the masts flowing that way.

“Princess, remember, keep your eye on the streamers,” called Gervaise, pointing above, “for that shows the air what be driving the Eagle and not this muddle down adeck.”

“Oui, Gervaise,” Celeste called back, “I remember.” On they plowed through the raging waters, the ship rolling leftward here and rightward there and at times running eerily calm. And the rain descended in furious sheets, the churning wind driving it into face and back and flank. In spite of her slicker, Celeste became thoroughly soaked, chill water blowing into her hood and running down neck and shoulders and arms and breasts and stomach and onward.

Hewitt came running with capped mugs of hot tea, and all adeck savored the warmth.

And still the Sea Eagle plunged on. A candlemark and then another went by, and the day grew even dimmer, and still the storm raged, lightning cracking and thunder crashing and hammering rain pelting down.

Roel leaned over to Celeste and said, “Rather like a ride on a wild horse, eh?”

Celeste barked a laugh. “Given a choice between the two, I’d take the horse.”

“Aw, this is nothin’,” called Gervaise. “Why, once we were-”

“The wind is shifting deasil, Captain,” said Celeste, her eye on the pennants above, the streamers now swinging out toward the starboard. “It’s coming abeam.”

“Oui, I see it,” answered Chevell. “It means we’ll have to change course.”

“Go out the starboard way?”

“Oui.”

And still the day dimmed as evening approached.

The Sea Eagle plunged toward the turn, and Chevell called, “Ready, Gervaise?”

“Ready, My Lord Captain.”

“Just past this isle, Helmsman.”

“Oui, Captain.”

And as the Eagle slid beyond the crag, there came drifting on the air the sound of singing-women’s voices-and Chevell managed to say, “The Sirenes.” But nought else passed his lips, as on halting steps he jerked toward the port wale.

Roel turned toward Celeste, an agonized look on his face, but then he, too, stumbled toward the larboard rail, as did Gervaise, and Anton, and Florien, and even Hewitt, the boy last of all.

Celeste leapt forward and took the helm and spun the wheel to starboard-“Come, my lady, it’s just you and me now”-and slowly the Eagle swung rightward, toward the outbound leg of the passage through the Iles de Chanson. As the ship came onto the planned course, Celeste straightened the wheel, and onward the Eagle plunged, bearing her cargo of the entranced as well as a lone woman.

And still rain hammered down, and still lightning stroked and thunder roared, yet somehow the singing penetrated the din. How it could do so, Celeste did not know, yet do so it did. There did not seem to be any words to the song, just marvelous voices soaring. To Celeste’s ear it was beautiful, but nothing more than that; yet to the men it was spellbinding.

Celeste looked in the direction toward which the men peered, but in the dimness and sheets of rain she saw nought of the singers. She turned her attention back to the ship and said, “Well, my lady, a candlemark more and we’ll be free of these isles. Mayhap ere then, we will run beyond the reach of the Sirenes and the men will come to their senses. And so, fair maiden, sail on.”

Another quarter candlemark passed, and if anything the singing grew louder. Celeste sighed, and kept the ship running on course.

But then the wind began to shift deasil once more, the pennants above swinging ’round. Gervaise’s words came back to her: “My lady, should ye have to take the helm, remember, keep the wind anywhere in the quarter from stern to larboard beam. Anythin’ else and the sails’ll either be luffin’, or the wind’ll be blowin’ us hind’ards.”

“Oh, Mithras, Gervaise,” Celeste said to herself. “If I turn rightward once more, that means-” Celeste spun the wheel to the starboard, and the ship departed from the planned course. And still the day darkened as the fringe of night came on. Celeste frowned in concentration, trying to recall details of the map Chevell had used when they had planned their passage. But it was useless, for though she could remember the course they had laid out, they rest of the archipelago was a veritable maze. Celeste groaned. “Oh, why didn’t I think to bring the map to deck?”

Ahead in the dimness a great dark mass loomed, and again Celeste turned the ship starboard, and deeper in among the monoliths plowed the Sea Eagle. And still the songs of the Sirenes followed, the men oblivious to all but the singing.

Night fell, darkness absolute, but for lightning flaring.

And where before Celeste had prayed for the strokes to stay far away, now she prayed they would split the sky at hand.

Another quarter candlemark fled into the past, and onward through the storm and the dark drove the Eagle, now sailing for the wrong side of the archipelago.

Another bolt hammered down, and Celeste gasped in fear and spun the wheel rightward, for looming up on the larboard bow stood a monstrous crag.

Slowly the Eagle heeled over. “Come on, my lady, come on,” cried Celeste. And as the Sirenes sang an incredibly beautiful wordless aria, a terrible scraping shuddered along the hull, the ship juddering in response. Celeste called out to Mithras for aid, and then unto the Three Sisters. And of a sudden the Eagle came free, and once more she sailed in clear water.

Another lightning bolt flared out from the ebon sky, and Celeste glanced at the pennants above. Now the wind swung back widdershins, and Celeste haled the ship ’round to larboard.

On plunged the Eagle, plowing through black night in a raging sea, a storm hammering her sails. And among a labyrinth of deadly crags dodged Celeste, jinking the ship left and right, steering by lightning flares alone, and praying for the Fates to guide her through.

Starboard and larboard and to the fore loomed stone, all of it perilously close, and she heeled the ship this way and that, sometimes certain that she would crash and founder the Eagle and kill all aboard. Yet somehow she managed to evade disaster, though at times the hull scraped against stone walls.

Again and again lightning stroked, and once more the wind began to shift widdershins, Celeste turning the ship larboard in response.

Another quarter candlemark elapsed, and another quarter mark after, and still the Eagle veered and slued and cut among monoliths, and at times seemed to slide altogether sideways, riding on thwartwise waves.

And then of a sudden the wind adeck stopped whirling, and a strong flow blew against the larboard beam. The goosewinged sails took up the air, and the Sea Eagle leapt forward in response.

The storm began to fade, as did the songs of the Sirenes, and soon there was nought but a gentle rain falling, and the singing was gone altogether. And the men began to come to their senses, Cabin Boy Hewitt first of all, and he scrambled about lighting lanterns on the stern. And as the entrancement vanished, Roel turned and stepped to Celeste and put an arm about her, but he said nought as she kept a tight grip on the wheel.

“Merci, Princess,” said Captain Chevell, “for getting us through a tight place; else we’d have all been drowned.”

Gervaise beamed, his chest swelling with pride, for, after all, he was the one who had taught the princess how to handle the helm. “Any trouble, my lady?” Celeste looked at him and then burst out laughing in giddy relief, and she managed at last to let go of the wheel. She reached for Roel and embraced him, and her laughter suddenly turned to tears.