Chapter 26. Tea

himing and shimmering, the sound of brittle music drew her awake.  She was shivering, cold to the core of her being and unable to move.  A great weight pressed over her, drawing all the heat from her body.  Terrified, Brekke pried open her eyes, gazing up at the stars spinning around the little boat.  Alone upon the empty sea, no one would come to her aid.

Translucent and churning, it loomed over her, its shapeless mass forged of living water.  Her cries rent the air as she fought for control of her limbs.  It flowed over her, tracing her shape with an outstretched tendril until it took on fingers and the graceful curve of an arm.  A head emerged from its bulk, forming and swirling before her horrified gaze.

“No!” she cried, writhing ineffectually for her limps grew numb where its chill touched her and she was nearly completely engulfed as it continued to flow over the sides of the boat.  All that she had learned seemed useless to her now as its shapeless visage pressed down over her face, stealing her breath and then her delicate eyes and nose and mouth.  It entered her mind and perused her memories and lore, gathering it into itself so that she melded with its watery nature.

“Brekke!”

“No!” she shrieked, fighting it with every ounce of her will, her arms winning free at last.

“Wake up, Brekke.  Come on, open your eyes.”

“Help me,” she wept, “Oh gods, get it off.”

For the first time she saw Nandao standing over her in the dim light of a lantern that swayed softly from the low ceiling.  The monk’s shaven pate gleamed in the golden glow and he reminded her for a moment of her father come to comfort her after a nightmare.

“Are you alright?” he whispered and she blushed, realizing she shared the little corner of the hold with six others whose snores indicated she had miraculously avoided waking them.

“Yes,” she murmured.  It was awkward being a grown woman and a mesmer in light of her situation.  Nandao, however, contrived to look genuinely concerned.  Perhaps he sensed it was more than a mere nightmare.

 “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I think so,” she replied, her voice quavering and betraying her fear and relief that someone cared, “I am afraid to talk about it right now.”

“I won’t let them dump you in a boat and send you off to your death,” Nandao soothed, “I have a flask of plum brandy around here somewhere if you think that would help steel your nerves.”

Anything to get the bitter taste of the sea from her throat.  Brekke shivered, feeling the cold press of the… thing… on her again.  She had no idea what had happened after she had lost consciousness.  Nandao retreated to his dusky corner of the hold where an untidy nest of blankets lay and poked around through his pack until he found a small brass flask of Canthan manufacture.  He twisted off the top when he reached her side and handed it to her.

“I don’t handle liquor well, I’m afraid,” he smirked, “Even Lemony can drink me under the table.”

Brekke managed a smile for him and blinked the tears from her eyes as the sweet biting liquid burned a trail down her throat.  He took the vessel back and stowed it away.  She had yet to meet a monk who did not keep a little spirit secreted away as a calmative, either for themselves or their patients. 

“Thank you,” she said, her head falling back in the hammock.

“I’m right there if you need anything,” he said, stifling a yawn.

Nodding, she drew the blankets tightly around herself to fight off the memory of bone-chilling cold.  Brekke was afraid to sleep again, fearful it would come for her in the night, seeping through the planks and calking to have its way with her again.  Its thoughtless malevolence and greed lay like a stain upon her spirit.  She swore she would kiss the ground if she ever made it to dry land again.

She drowsed, swaying slowly with the roll and pitch of the great boat, her eyes snapping open at the slightest unusual sound or movement.  When dawn arrived, she climbed from her bed and went above decks, grateful for sunshine and the clean morning wind.  Alert to the disapproving glances of the sailors, she stayed clear of them and was particularly gratified when Orick emerged from the hold clasping half a loaf of crusty bread which he broke in half and offered to her.

“Good morning, my Lady,” he said, smiling politely.

“Thank you, Sir,” she replied, taking the bread from him even though she had no appetite.  His muscular bulk rested lightly on the railing as he gazed off to sea.

“Do you appreciate lore?” he asked mysteriously.

“Yes, of course.”

“I am on a mission to obtain access to a very old and rare book reputed to be in the imperial library.  I’m afraid most do not look beyond my armor and do not take my scholarly pursuits seriously.  If you are in need of money or company, I could certainly use the talents of a skilled mesmer.”

Brekke could not suppress her smile of delight.

“I would be honored to assist a lore master.  I have knowledge of eight languages.”

Orick smiled broadly with the look of a man who had just won an enormous pot of money.

“I do not have a great deal of coin but…”

“Never mind that, I know that you and your friend Nandao are the only reason the sailors have not put me back out to sea.  I consider myself indebted to you and I will gladly work off that debt in service to lore.”

“Thank you,” he said gruffly though joy gleamed in his dark eyes, “but you should know that Nandao character is a bit of a mystery to me.  He’s cranky and recalcitrant, but he is under my employ.  If he threatens harm, please tell me immediately.”

“Boo,” said Nandao bluntly, emerging with a scowl from the hold, “Do I look like I am capable of harming anyone?”

Brekke laughed as Orick turned an amusing shade of scarlet.

“I was just saying I hardly know you,” he replied awkwardly, his explanation doing little to alleviate the annoyance she read in the monk.

“From where I’m sitting, I still have a debt with you, Loremaster Vox, but don’t expect me to be happy about it,” the monk grumbled.

“No need to argue on my account,” Brekke interjected, “I find both of you perfectly charming and honest gentlemen.  And I do plan on spending my time assisting with whatever tasks you have at hand.”

Mollified, the two of them shrugged and flanked her protectively.  They fell silent for a time watching a flock of gulls wheeling and squawking at their approach to land.  Blessed land.  She would be safe, soon.

Soon the three of them were ushered to the stern to stand out of the way of the crew as the ship was guided toward the crowded harbor and their slowly approaching dock.  Brekke was excited to be returning to Kaineng but she had quite forgotten the overwhelming stench of so many people cramped into so little space.  If it troubled her two traveling companions, however, they made no mention of it.  To dull her sense of smell, she instead turned her attention to the scurrying sailors, watching them deftly climb the rigging and haul in the sails a little at a time until the ship glided nearly to a stop within a rope’s throw from the docks.  A man on the dock fastened the heavy rope to a bollard and several of the crewmen scurried down its taut length to bodily haul the ship toward the pier and tie her up.

The ship rested at her moorage at last and the gang plank was drawn down from her port side and perched upon the weathered pier.  Amid the bustle of laboring dock workers and crewmen, they gathered their possessions and strode into the teeming streets of Cantha’s great city.

“I think we should stop for some tea,” Nandao announced as they approached the core of Kaineng with its cacophony of merchants and curious crowds, “I believe Brekke has an interesting story to tell.”

“Is that so?” Orick replied, raising an eyebrow and glancing at her.

“Right now?” Brekke murmured.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but scabby bread and stale water is not my idea of a decent meal.  And Madame Ying’s Teahouse is right across from us and I’m parched and starving.”

Brekke laughed at the silly monk.  He was so peevish it was amusing.  Late in the morning, the teahouse was not very busy and the local entertainment was taking a break.  They sat together at a little table on bright red trestle benches sipping flowery tea and devouring sweet rice cakes and crackers.  She decided that she was, in fact, famished and Nandao’s decision had been truly inspired.

“So the story,” Orick said, “Why were you thrown off your ship?”

“I did nothing wrong,” she stammered, aware now that it must seem very strange for her to be set adrift like that.

“I believe her,” Nandao said, taking a long swallow of tea and refilling his cup, “Sailors see a lot of odd things out there.  I’ve heard tales.”

“What kinds of tales?” Orick asked, intrigued, “I’ve heard there are very large fish and whales bigger than a galleon.”

“Among other things.  I think Brekke has an interesting one for us, if what she said in her sleep is any indication.”

Brekke blanched, feeling violated.

“You were talking rather loudly and I sleep lightly,” he said, attempting to reassure her, “I was not eavesdropping.  Who is Ashekoroth?”

She swallowed, the name striking her like a splash of cold water.  She had no memory of saying it, had no idea what it meant, but she did know it was a name and it was somehow associated with the thing that had come for her in the night.

“I don’t know.  I wish I did.”

“Why did you never mention this before?” Orick asked.

“First, you sleep like the dead -- and don’t glare at me, I envy you that.  Second, how well do you think we could have convinced the crew to let her stay on board if they thought she was possessed or some god awful thing?  Sailors don’t mess around, they fear and worship the sea. If they cast her off her ship, they had their reasons.  They believed it was her or them.”

Orick looked annoyed but nodded.

“Very well then,” he grumbled, “Then what actually happened to you?”

“I don’t remember everything,” Brekke said, shuddering as the chill of the sea returned to her.  She began with the storm and the lightning dancing in the rigging and then the dreadful calm, “The whales came, a vast pod of them and there were creatures in the water, shapes.  They were not human, I am not even certain I actually saw them now, but I sensed no malevolence. I think the whales were trying to draw me away, for the water was becalmed.

“But soon I grew tired.  The moon set and there was only starlight and the glow of the water.  There was a sound like a bell tolling as if from sea itself, like a great heartbeat.  The whales fled below the waves and abandoned me and I felt their fear. There was a mind, a being, but it was vast and inhuman and I could not comprehend it.  It came for me then.”

And as she spoke of it, her guts twisted with a horrible cold, causing her to gasp.  Nandao’s brows furled and he took her hand, holding it tightly.

“Look at me, Brekke, come back.”

“I’m scared,” she gasped, “It entered me somehow and I could not fight it off.  It took my breath and my memories and my face.”

“This sounds bad,” Orick murmured in what was possibly the largest understatement Brekke had heard for a very long time.

Nandao rubbed his chin.

“You’re from here, can you think of anyone that can help her?” Orick asked the monk.

Nandao flushed and bit his lip.

“Well, I’m only half-Canthan.  I didn’t actually grow up here, and I can’t read a jot of it without books.”

“But you speak the local tongue.”

“Well enough to insult people in it.”

“Please, help me,” Brekke moaned as the cold crept up from her gut and began to overwhelm her.  The chiming tinkle of glass and the strange sweet smell that had lulled her to sleep were coming back.  Nandao rose suddenly and doused her with  the lukewarm tea in the pot.

“Bugger off, Ocean Devil!” he yelled at her.

Panting, Brekke gratefully drew the warm stuffy air of the teahouse into her lungs and felt the cold leave her at last.  Orick stared at the monk in shock as tea leaves dripped from Brekke’s face.

“Why’d you do that?”

“Well, what else was I going to do?  I doubt the crackers would have proved useful,” the monk grumbled.  Then, gazing at Brekke, “I’m sorry, but I’m glad it worked.”

“Thank you,” she breathed, trying to remain composed, “I need a ritualist or another mesmer.  If you know any who can help me, I would be grateful.  I don’t think I can hold the thing off for very long.”

“That, and I think you’ve upset the proprietor,” Orick murmured as the woman who owned the teahouse began swearing at Nandao.

“Right,” Nandao mumbled, turning an even deeper shade of red, “Can you give me an advance on that stipend you promised me?  Ten coins?  Put it on the table please.”

Orick hurriedly counted out the gold and the woman crossed her arms, her dark eyes flitting between their faces and the coins.  Brandishing a fist at Nandao, she scooped up the coins and left, nodding demonstratively at the door.

“Well, I do have friends here, but I doubt they’ll be thrilled to see me.”

“Please,” Brekke murmured, “It’s just that I’m tired and I know if I sleep again it will finish what it started.  I’m scared, Nandao.  Please.”

“Very well,” he said with a sigh, “It’s in Wajjun Bazaar, the Order of the Crystal Palm.  They have a compound out that way.  Come along.”