The cataclysm

THE VOYAGE OF THE SUNCHASER

A dense red haze surrounded the sun in a hot, silent sky. The sea was calm, though swirls and eddies showed on its surface. The violent upheavals in the air and water had lasted through the long night; now they were done. Across this desolate scene drifted the merchant ship SUNCHASER, listing hard to port, its tangled yards and spars trailing in the oily water.

The ship's master, Dunvane of Palanthas, slipped the loops of rope from around his wrists. In the worst part of the storm, he had lashed himself to the ship's wheel. His wrists were raw and bloody from the hemp's chafing. Dunvane took the wheel now and turned it left and right, but the steering ropes were slack and the ship did not respond.

He drew in a deep breath and coughed. Feathers of smoke clung to the Sunchaser; the shredded sails were still burning. Dunvane had never seen anything like the blazing hot tempest that had swept down upon them. The wind was like fire itself, and it consumed more than the ship's sails. Those sailors who'd had the ill fortune to be standing on the windward side of the ship had ignited like candles. Half of Dunvane's crew of fourteen died in that instant. He and the others who'd been on deck had burns on their faces and hands and arms.

Then came the waves. Breakers as high and solid as cliffs fell on them. Only Dunvane's seamanship had saved the Sunchaser, as he turned stern first to the crushing waves. The ship rode out the extraordinary storm, but with all the spinning and turning, the captain had no idea where they'd come to be.

What crewmen remained were scattered on deck, laid out by exhaustion. Dunvane staggered to the waist of the ship, shaking the sailors awake. Four men, he found, were beyond waking. Within a short time, the only three survivors of the Sunchaser's crew were on their feet.

"Set the lads to clearing away those fallen shrouds," Dunvane said.

First Mate Norry croaked the order, then asked his captain, "As we're short-handed, sir, will we be puttin' back for Palanthas?"

Dunvane squinted into the billowing clouds. "Nay. We've come more than halfway. It's better to make for Gardenath, on the Istar coast." He shook his head and tugged thoughtfully at his dark brown beard. "I haven't a clue where we are, Norry."

"Surely the Solamnic coast lies south," offered the mate, pointing over the starboard rail.

Dunvane was not sure of anything, and said so.

"Well," Norry said, "at least the cargo is safe."

Dunvane looked at the reason for their voyage. Lashed to the deck hard by the mainmast was an enormous bowl, carved out of serpentine stone by master artisans in Palanthas. Dunvane and his crew were being well paid to ferry this stone bowl from Palanthas to Istar. The sight eased Dunvane's fear.

"I'll speak with the Revered Son," the captain said. "He'll know what's going on. In the meantime, keep the men busy. Don't give 'em time to think too much."

"Aye, aye, sir."

Dunvane circled the serpentine bowl, watching the iridescent colors flare and die on its surface as he moved around it. Although made of stone, the bowl was remarkably light, in part because of the skillful fluting of the underside. It was seven feet in diameter and two feet deep in the center, yet four Palanthian stevedores had loaded it without strain. Once the captain was satisfied that its lashings were intact, he went aft to the sterncastle.

A gust of wind disturbed the eerie calm. Something borne on the wind pattered on the deck and stung his face. He stared at it — fine, black dirt. Here was a fresh wonder — a shower of dirt this far out at sea! The wind swirled and stole the dark dust from his sight.

Dunvane hurried aft and knocked loudly on the stern cabin door. "May I enter?" he called.

"Yes, come."

Dunvane pulled off his knitted wool cap and raised the latch. The cabin inside was hot and dark. The sole candle had gone out. Dunvane's eyes adjusted to the lack of light, and he saw a pale face emerge from the shadows near the cabin berth.

"Are you well, Revered Son?"

"I am well, Captain." The passenger stood and stepped into the well of faint light from the open door. A tall, ascetic-looking man, not yet thirty years of age, his fair skin and blond-white hair shone in the gloom. Despite the violence of the night, he appeared remarkably composed. His white priestly robes were neatly draped around his narrow shoulders, and his hair was smoothed back from his forehead. Composure came easily to Revered Son Imkhian of Istar. He wore it as part of the costume of his office.

Seating himself at the table in the center of the cabin, Imkhian asked in a calm, deep voice, "What has happened?"

Dunvane opened the side shutters and let diffuse red light fill the cabin. "A storm like no other I ever encountered in my life, Revered Son. I shot the stars just before eight bells, and everything was as calm as a farmer's pond. The sky was fair. Then the lookout called, 'Fire! Fire!' 'Whereaway?' says I. 'In the air,' says the lookout."

"Fire in the sky? Most strange," Imkhian said coolly. "Then what?"

"A great globe of fire fell into the sea, and a burning hot wind struck us." Dunvane went on to enumerate his losses — sailors, sails, rigging. "But your special cargo is safe,' Revered Son, safe and undamaged."

The priest nodded. "That is well. The Kingpriest himself is expecting the serpentine bowl before the great Festival of Purification."

"If I may ask — what is it for?"

Imkhian folded his hands. "It will be placed in the great temple in the center of the city, and there an eternal flame will be kindled. That is why it must be made of serpentine; any other stone would eventually crack under the continuous heat."

Cries outside interrupted the priest. "Heave away!" yelled a voice, and there was a loud crash. The ship slowly righted itself.

"The men have cut away the broken foremast that was making us list," Dunvane explained. "The hull is undamaged."

"How will we proceed without sails?"

"There is spare cloth on board. We'll patch together a small sail, Revered Son. We are being drawn by a current. Our progress will be slow, but we can proceed."

Imkhian frowned, his pale blue eyes narrowing. "Time is short, Captain. The voyage was only supposed to last a week."

The captain shifted nervously, his head still bent in a posture of deference. "No one could have foreseen the tempest last night, but I don't think it will delay us more than a day. But… Revered Son, what could that globe of fire have been?"

The priest looked thoughtful. "Forces of evil are rampant, Captain, and the work of our great Kingpriest is often threatened. Since the Proclamation of Manifest Virtue, evil sorcerers have plotted to stop this great cleansing work. Perhaps some wizard sought to prevent the serpentine bowl from reaching Istar." Imkhian drew himself up taller, his eyes glinting proudly. "But the will of the Kingpriest is not easily thwarted."

"May his blessings continue upon us," Dunvane murmured with feeling.

Imkhian frowned and studied the sea captain intently, as if searching for some sign of insincerity. Dunvane shifted uneasily.

"Ahoy! Shipwreck, ahoy!" came a cry from on deck.

Bowing, Dunvane hastily quit the cabin, jamming his hat back on his head. The mate and the other two members of his crew stood at the starboard rail, peering into the murk. The first mate put his hands around his mouth and crowed again, "Shipwreck, ahoy!"

Then the captain saw it. Lying very low in the water, some thousand yards off, was a dark, floating object. It resembled a fair-sized vessel, lying on its beam ends.

"Is the helm answering?" asked Dunvane.

"Aye, Captain, but without sheets, we're flowing with the current," Norry replied.

"That will do. Bring her about, four points to starboard."

Sluggishly, the Sunchaser turned its bluff bow toward the distant wreck. The smoky dust hanging in the air parted silently as the SUNCHASER glided along.

"Two points more," called Dunvane. He climbed the rigging and clung to the shrouds, studying the wreck as they came steadily closer. From his loftier perch, he saw that the sea ahead was flecked with flotsam of every kind: tree branches, boards, straw, bottles, the carcasses of drowned animals. Norry steered the ship until the bow was dead-on to the half-sunken vessel.

The water was muddy, a turbid brown mixture. It was impossible to see the usual changes in sea color that warn of shallows. Dunvane stared hard at the water, praying they wouldn't run aground.

"Keep us off that wreck," ordered the captain. "I don't want to foul her."

A sailor went forward with a hefty boat hook in hand. At the last moment, Norry spun the wheel, and the Sunchaser sheered left of the wreck.

A figure rose up on top of the hulk and waved both arms.

"Bring him aboard!" shouted Dunvane, and the sailor with the boat hook held it out to the castaway. The mudcoated figure threw both arms around the pole. The sailor levered him up and around.

Dunvane's attention was drawn from the rescue by a scraping sound below him. He looked down to where the side of the SUNCHASER was brushing against the wreck. Tufts of hay, tied with string, broke loose and floated away from the sunken ship. Bundled straw… thatch from a roof…

"I'll be damned!" Dunvane exclaimed. "That's no ship! It's a house!"

The rescued castaway collapsed on deck. Dunvane slid down a line and dropped onto the deck beside the stranger — a woman.

"Thank you!" she gasped, brown eyes gleaming out from under a thick mask of mud. She kissed Dunvane's hand fervently. "Bless you, sir! I saw your ship and thought it was a vision — !" Her voice choked off.

Embarrassed, the captain pulled away and stood up. He ordered a sailor to push them off from the wreck, and soon the unusual current was once more pulling them along. Norry fetched a bucket of clean water and a rag. The woman wiped her face, then raised the heavy bucket to her lips, drinking deeply. The water cut rivulets in the mud plastered on her throat.

"Who are you?" asked Dunvane. "Where do you come from?"

"My name is Jermina. I am from Gardenath."

Dunvane stared. "Where?"

The woman repeated her answer.

"How in all Chaos did you get out here, in the middle of the ocean?" he demanded.

Jermina looked forlornly at the receding bulk of the wreck. "This was Gardenath," she said. "Right where you stand."

"You're lying!" said Norry.

She shook her head, dazed, in shock. "That house was Herril's Inn. It stood on the highest hill in Gardenath. The wall of water fell upon us, covering the land in a single night. Nothing remains…"

"Bah!" Norry snorted, but the others weren't so sure.

"Can it be true, Captain?" one of the sailors asked.

"I cannot count it so. There was an upheaval, we know that, but I cannot believe that a town of ten thousand souls has sunk beneath the sea."

"So it happened," said Jermina softly.

The sailors frowned, exchanging glances. It was obvious they were beginning to believe her.

"I will ask the Revered Son," said Dunvane firmly. "He will know the truth!"

He took hold of the woman and headed for the priest's cabin. Dunvane knocked until the door opened and Imkhian appeared. The captain brought Jermina forward. She told her story.

The priest's composure remained untouched, and he spared no more than a glance at the muddy, bedraggled woman. "It is a lie, Captain," he said flatly. "Such things do not happen. The Kingpriest does not permit them to happen."

Jermina blinked at him. "Why would I lie? I tell you, the town of Gardenath lies under the water around you!"

Imkhian's impassive gaze remained on the captain. "Resume your course, Master Dunvane. I am on an important mission, given me by the Kingpriest himself. The serpentine bowl must arrive in Istar for the ceremony. Don't waste any more precious time worrying about this ridiculous tale."

"We'll set to work on the sail at once, Revered Son," said Dunvane, relieved, as Imkhian slammed shut the cabin door.

"Captain!" shouted Norry.

The Sunchaser shuddered and heeled slowly to port. Dunvane and his men ran to the rail. The strange current that had been carrying them along was changing direction, and the ship's rudder, tied straight ahead, was fighting the pull.

"Look!" Norry pointed.

"By all the holy gods," breathed Dunvane.

Off the port side was a scene from a nightmare. A vast shoal of floating debris covered the water. Clinging to the mass of logs, shake roofs, and uprooted trees were bedraggled, muddy, sunburned people. All stared hopefully at the oncoming SUNCHASER.

The first cries from parched throats reached their ears. "Help… help us… water, water… help…"

The captain recovered from his shock. "Norry. Take the wheel. Steer wide of them." Dunvane ran to Imkhian's door once again. "Revered Son! Come out, please! You must see this!"

Imkhian emerged. The captain pointed at the scene ahead.

A flicker of surprise marred the smooth surface of the priest's composure. His eyes moved left and right, taking in the dreadful panorama.

The flotsam shoal was only a ship's length away. Norry wrestled with the wheel, but, without sails, the SUNCHASER could not resist the current. The ship's blunt bow was pointed at the thickest concentration of rafts. The people were making ready to climb on board.

"Do not stop," Imkhian said swiftly.

"But, Revered Son, a seaman's duty is to aid — "

"We cannot help them," answered the priest. "There is neither food nor water enough on this ship to save twenty, much less such a multitude. We can do nothing for them. You must fulfill your mission, Captain. The serpentine bowl must be delivered."

"Help us… mercy, please… save my baby…" came the cries.

The cutwater struck the first line of rafts with a sickening crunch. Dunvane saw Norry's hands trembling violently on the wheel. In a cold, anguished fury, the captain shoved the mate away and took the wheel himself. The SUNCHASER rode over everything in its path. The screams and groans of the dying people were horrible to hear. Dunvane knew he'd be haunted by the memory for the rest of his days.

Jermina, left to herself, cast about wildly for some succor to give to the people in the water. She found a coil of rope and threw its free end over the side. The castaways clung to it, trying to climb the rope onto the ship.

Dunvane saw her as she steered to starboard in an attempt to miss a raft laden with people. "The Revered Son is right," he said through clenched teeth. "We've not enough food or water to share. Cut the line, Norry."

Jermina screamed. Norry pulled out his sheath knife, casting a look of agony at his captain. Dunvane could not speak the order again, but he nodded once. Norry cut the rope with one stroke, just as a pair of raw, blistered hands reached for the rail.

Dunvane would never forget that dreadful voyage. When at last they were clear of the floating refugees, he tied off the wheel and slumped against the sterncastle behind him.

"Captain."

Dunvane opened his eyes. Norry stood before him. "We're with you, sir," the mate said. "Me and the men, we don't want to die, but we're scared. What's happened, Captain? Who were all those people?"

"Pirates," said Imkhian, looming in the doorway to his cabin. "Thieves."

"Your pardon, Holy One, but those were ordinary townsfolk, not even sailors, by the look of their pale skin," Dunvane replied.

"Could they be? Could the woman be telling the truth?" Norry asked slowly. "Were those the people of Gardenath?"

"You're speaking blasphemy," warned the priest.

Still sobbing, Jermina cried, "Since when is the truth a blasphemy?"

"Enough," Dunvane barked. The sullen sky was darkening to purple as the sun began to set. "If there is a coast to find, it's got to be south. Norry, you and the men work on rigging a trysail on the foremast. Once it's done, maybe we can steer ourselves out of this current."

The sailors dispersed to their tasks. The woman, Jermina, went forward to sleep in the shadows on the foredeck. Imkhian began to speak of faith and trust in the gods, and faith in the goodness and power of the Kingpriest. After a few minutes, the priest realized no one was heeding him. Scowling, he withdrew in offended dignity back to his cabin.

A wind sprang up before midnight. The breeze scoured the smoke and clouds away, and stars glittered overhead. Dunvane called for his quadrant. He shot the stars and called out their positions to Norry, who scratched figures on a wax tablet.

"Something's not right.about these figures, Captain," Norry muttered. He chewed the blunt end of his wooden stylus. "We're nowhere near where we should be."

Dunvane sent below for a chart of the Istar coast. By lantern light, he compared the figures he'd just taken to the ones given on the parchment scroll. His jaw dropped in astonishment. He shot the stars again, with the same result. The heavens did not lie. He stabbed his knife into the map at their position. "We're a hundred miles from the Istar coast," said Dunvane. "A hundred miles inland of the coastline!"

"The woman's right," said Norry grimly. "The land's gone under the sea. What do we do now, sir?"

Dunvane snatched up lantern, knife, and chart. "The Revered Son must see this." He burst into the priest's cabin without knocking. Imkhian stirred sleepily in his berth.

"What's the meaning of this disturbance?" he asked sternly.

"I have important news, Holy One," Dunvane replied.

"We have reached Istar?" Imkhian sat up. "The Kingpriest will be very pleased! We're a day early — "

"We're in Istar all right, Revered Son, but Istar is not here."

"Did you wake me to ply me with riddles?"

Dunvane spread the map on the table and set the lamp on it. "By the stars of heaven, which I shot not five minutes ago, I got this as our position." He pointed to the hole in the chart made by his knife point. Imkhian bent over to study the map.

"You've simply made an error — "

"I shot our position twice, Holy One," the captain interrupted. 'The woman was right. What we took for a tempest was some kind of great upheaval. There's no way of knowing how far the destruction spreads."

Imkhian straightened. He ran his fingers through his mussed hair and tugged his wrinkled robe into a semblance of order. "I am certain the city of Istar is safe, Captain. The Kingpriest's power is proof against any catastrophe or evil magic."

Imkhian's voice was strong, positive, calm. But this time, the captain's fears were not stilled. The two men stared at each other for a long minute.

"I hope you're right, Revered Son," said Dunvane at last. He rolled up his chart. "I'd best take the wheel. We're in unknown waters now, and a captain's place is at the helm."

He turned to go, but Imkhian caught his arm. "Leave the lantern," he said. "I wish to pray."

Dunvane pulled the cabin door shut quietly. Norry came up behind him.

"The trysail's been rigged, sir," he reported, "and we've spotted lightning. Looks to be a terrible storm, dead ahead."

What else could happen? Dunvane sighed and followed his mate to the wheel. A red glow lit up the horizon, too early and too easterly to be the dawn. "What is that?" asked the captain, staring.

"Dunno, sir. Could be a ship on fire."

Dunvane squinted through the tangle of rigging, masts, and the billowing trysail. "If so, it's a big one," he muttered.

"Aye."

Lightning flickered around the scarlet glow. An uncommonly warm wind blew over them; patches of mist rose from the cooling sea. They could hear the sound of thunder. The previously calm sea was roughened by rising swells. The Sunchaser wallowed in the waves. The motion roused Jernina, who came aft to see what was going on.

"What's that light?" she asked, clutching at the binnacle for support.

Before anyone could reply, Imkhian, white robe flapping in the increasingly hot wind, appeared like a pale ghost at the captain's elbow.

"Let the gods steer your ship, Captain," he commanded. "We are in their hands now."

"Every sailor is in the hands of the gods," Dunvane said, "but my hands stay on this wheel, Holy One."

A thunderclap was punctuated by a stinging hail of dust. The wind crackled the frail trysail. The ship glided along with the speeding current. The dust storm passed quickly, replaced by a steady blast of furnace-hot air. The sailors and Jermina coughed and covered their faces. Dunvane blinked through the grit lodged in his eyes and stared at the rapidly brightening red glow. It soon filled the sky from port to starboard. From its midst rose a column of smoke, reaching from the sea surface up to the sky, where it spread into a flat-topped cloud.

"The whole world's on fire!" Norry gasped.

"The water's starting to seethe like a soup kettle," cried the lookout.

Dunvane stared over the bow. Steam rose from the sea. The water was the color of blood. "I'm putting about," Dunvane said and tried to put the helm over to starboard.

Imkhian's long white fingers gripped the wheel. "Go forward, Captain. In my prayers I was given to know that we must seek out the fire, not hide from it. Fire purifies all it touches. The gods will protect us."

The priest's voice was calm, his gaze fixed upon the crimson glow before them.

Dunvane shook his head. "We must turn away, Revered Son. The ship would go up like a torch."

The priest made his way past the sailors and stood by the rail. His gaze roved around the spectacle before them, the unknown red light, the pillar of smoke, the steaming, blood-red water. He turned abruptly, his eyes blazing. "Keep going!"

Lightning flickered overhead as the hot, glowing column of smoke closed out the last bit of night. The red glow lit them like a bloody sunrise. Dunvane spun the wheel left and right, but the Sunchaser could not break out of the rushing stream that propelled it.

"It doesn't look as if we've got much choice," Dunvane said bitterly. Norry and the other two crewmen began to fidget and cast anxious looks at the churning sea.

Something boomed against the hull. A sailor bent over the side and sang out, "Timbers! There's timbers in the water! Heading straight for us!"

Unable to steer, Dunvane could do nothing. Massive building timbers rammed into the SUNCHASER. Dunvane held grimly to the wheel. The ship rolled and pitched and they were still being drawn toward the great shaft of smoke, fire and lightning.

"Have no fear!" called Imkhian above the thunder and booming waves. "We are being tested! We must not be afraid! Istar lies beyond the wall of fire; we must penetrate the wall!" The priest knelt by the great serpentine bowl, clinging to its smooth surface.

Norry staggered across the canted deck. "Captain! What can we do?"

A bolt of lightning struck the mainmast. The foot-thick oak mast splintered down its length, and the heavy crossyard crashed to the deck, knocking Dunvane back from the wheel. He hit the sterncastle and slid down, stunned. The useless wheel spun freely.

The Sunchaser heeled sharply to port. Dunvane shook the mist from his brain and stood, grasping Norry's arm for support.

The rudder had been carried away. The fallen crossyard had torn the puny trysail like a cobweb. SUNCHASER wallowed dead in the water. The racing current caught its blunt stern and swung the ship in a half circle. Scalding-hot spray, whipped up from the churning water, burst over the rail. Dunvane, his men, and Jermina sought vainly for cover.

Imkhian stood alone on the foredeck, clutching the capstan and staring into the hellish tempest. His hair was slicked down by the hot sea spray. His lips moved, though no one could hear his words. He gazed up at the heavens, as though praying.

Norry prodded Dunvane. The captain shielded his face from the droplets as his gaze followed the first mate's pointing arm.

Great piles of wreckage whirled on the sea's surface — fragments of gilded roofs and plastered walls, furniture, corpses, uprooted trees. The wreckage spun about in the blood-tinged water, then vanished into a gigantic whirlpool in the ocean. Dunvane knew then they were doomed. Smoke rose from the funnel, and lightning flashed in the skies above. "This is the force that has drawn us on since yesterday morning," Dunvane said.

One sailor shrieked a warning. A gigantic bronze statue was coming up fast on the starboard beam.

Dunvane grabbed the person nearest him — it happened to be Jermina — and held on. The hurtling statue smashed into the ship.

The Sunchaser heeled halfway over, burying its port rail in the blood-red sea. A sailor somersaulted over the rail into the water and was swept away by the current. The ship shuddered like a wounded beast, its timbers groaning as it slowly righted itself partway. It was impaled on the wreckage, and sinking by the bow.

The colossal statue — seared by fire, melted and misshapen — lay across the foredeck. "Where's the Revered Son?" Dunvane demanded. He ran forward and found Imkhian crumpled against the capstan. Blood was running from a gash on his forehead.

"Revered Son! Are you all right?"

The priest blinked and looked up at the face of the statue. "Kingpriest!" he cried hoarsely. "You stood upon the arch of Paladine's Gate!" He covered his face with his hands and uttered a long, tearing wail. "What has the world come to, that the most righteous nation on Krynn can be dealt such a blow? The Great Temple — the Kingpriest — the Revered Sons and Daughters — all thrown down! Istar is destroyed! Istar is destroyed!"

Imkhian bolted to the starboard rail. He stared straight into the whirling maelstrom and threw a leg over the rail.

"Stop, Imkhian!" Dunvane yelled.

The sound of his own name made the priest pause. He looked over his shoulder at the captain. His face was twisted with fury. "The gods have abandoned us! The world is at an end." Turning back to face the boiling sea, he raised his other leg over the rail.

"You don't have to die!" Dunvane shouted.

Imkhian's reply was a snarl. "Fools! You are already dead!" He let go and fell from the ship.

Dunvane and Norry ran to the rail. To his horror, Dunvane saw Imkhian break the surface of the bubbling ocean, hands reaching up to the ruined image of the Kingpriest. Without a sound, he sank below the surface.

Hatch covers all over the ship burst off as the flooding seawater filled the hold. Norry pulled Dunvane away from the rail. The SUNCHASER was going down.

"Go aft!" Dunvane yelled. There was a small dinghy lashed to the transom stern. It was the only escape craft they had. Norry and the other sailor worked their way up the port side. Jermina and the captain crawled up the starboard. Blood-red saltwater lapped at Dunvane's heels.

"Don't let the dinghy fall!" Dunvane ordered. "It'll break." The sinking ship had lifted the stern so high he didn't dare release the lifeboat's moorings for fear of it plunging into the water and breaking apart. Norry and the sailor tried to free the dinghy, planning to drag it amidships and launch it there. They were so intent on cutting the knots that they didn't see the mizzen yard teeter above them.

"Look out!" the captain shouted.

Norry looked up in time to see the yard falling. He threw himself back. The railing he landed against gave way and, with a shocked outcry, he plunged overboard. The sailor, crouched by the dinghy, had no time to escape. The heavy yard crushed him and the dinghy in one devastating blow.

The ship's bow slipped under the waves. The bronze statue broke loose and was sucked away into the maelstrom by the racing current.

Water advanced slowly up the deck. Jermina clutched the captain's arm. "There must be something we can do," she pleaded.

"No one can live in that current," Dunvane said grimly. "The priest was right. The gods have abandoned us. We are as good as dead."

"Not" Jermina cried. "I don't believe it. The gods help those who help themselves."

Seawater bubbled around the serpentine bowl. It remained lashed to the deck, though the mainmast yard had fallen across it. Steam billowed up as the hot water touched the cool stone.

"Will that float?" Jermina asked, pointing to the sacramental bowl.

"Float? Maybe. It's light for its size, but why — ?" "Come on!" She seized his arm and dragged him along. They had to wade in ankle-deep blood-red water to reach the bowl. Dunvane was almost numb with shock. "Hopeless," he muttered, but he let Jermina carry him along.

They managed to climb into the gigantic serpentine bowl. Jermina snatched the captain's knife from his belt and tried to hack through the lashings. They were too thick, and she made little progress. At last, Dunvane took the knife from her and set to work. Jermina reached out and snagged a boat hook floating nearby.

When the last line parted, the bowl was free of the ship. Jermina pushed them away with the boat hook. The bowl slid off the canted deck and into the water. The rushing current caught them.

They huddled in the bottom of the sacramental bowl, clinging to each other. The stone's fireproof properties protected them from the heat of the water, but the low sides let gouts of hot spray wash over them. The maelstrom spun them in tighter and tighter spirals toward the huge column of smoke and flame in its heart. Other wreckage crashed into them. The roaring of the rushing water filled their ears. They coughed and gasped in the fiery, choking air.

The serpentine bowl struck hard against something — the statue of the Kingpriest. Dunvane, certain this was the end, shut his eyes. The heat overcame them. They both lost consciousness.

Jermina awoke, sat up slowly. She looked around, dazed. Behind them, the column of fire that marked the grave of the city of Istar burned and flashed. The serpentine bowl she and Dunvane were in, along with other wreckage and rubbish, had been propelled out of the maelstrom. They floated quietly in a backwater.

"Dunvane!" she said, shaking him. He sat up, staring in wonder.

A cool drop hit his face. Another followed, then another, and soon rain was pattering on the ocean. The shower strengthened. Dunvane lifted his head and let the water wash over him. The sound of hysterical laughter grated on his nerves. Jermina was laughing and sobbing at the same time.

"What's funny?" he asked.

"The Revered Son was wrong," she said. "We're alive."