Waterborne (Wanderlust 3)

Chapter Twenty-One

The Wanderlust burned beautifully.

She was a beautiful ship, and so everything she did, she did beautifully.

Flames spread across her deck and her masts. Rigging caught quickly, and her rolled sails bloomed red, yellow and orange. The two flags on her repaired flagpole fluttered amidst the floating, burning bits of ash, until the pieces landed on them and they flickered with flames.

The Wanderlust's mizzenmast, the one on the quarter deck, cracked first. The mast fell backwards, pulled down by the weight of the boom, dragging down ropes and sails and tearing through the captain's quarters.

The mainmast fell a moment later, with a terrible wrenching crack. It came down sideways, crushing the bulwark and deck, and crashing through the hull. The Wanderlust listed to the side as water rushed into her lower decks. Then she was sinking and on fire, opposite disasters that seemed like they should have cancelled each other out. But they didn't.

And the Wanderlust sank beautifully.

She cracked in the middle, along the wound caused by the mainmast, and both sides sank together. She slipped beneath the water elegantly. It must have been low tide, because even as the stern vanished below the waves, the bow didn't quite disappear as it settled on the seabed below. The foremast stood strong above the water, still burning. The bowsprit pointed towards the moon defiantly and beneath it, the figurehead gazed up at the night sky.

For the first time in his life, Tanden's mind felt empty. There were no thoughts fluttering around, no plans trying to form. He watched his ship go down with glassy eyes. Unfeeling, as if she was someone else's ship. As if Soren hadn't been aboa—

The crew wasn't taking it nearly as quietly. Tanden could hear them, in a distant, hazy sort of way. He heard Jale yelling, Roan singing a sort of mournful shanty, other shouts and arguing. But why? None of it would help.

Arguing couldn't bring back the Wanderlust. Arguing couldn't bring back—

Tanden only noticed that the ship was moving because what was left of the Wanderlust was getting further away. Further and further, until he couldn't see her anymore. The sun came up, and the cloudless sky was bright and blue. Good sailing winds billowed in the Exhun's sails. It was an offensively beautiful day.

Which wasn't fair. If the gods were real, how could they let such a perfect day follow such a tragic night? How could they let the world continue as if S—

Tanden dragged his thoughts back under some semblance of control. He looked around, noticing for the first time that some of his crew were gone. Either belowdecks, or maybe moved to one of the two other pirate ships. Toliver stood at the helm, jacket fluttering in the wind. Tanden wanted to hate him, but he couldn't let that kind of emotion in. If he did, rage wouldn't be the only emotion breaking through.

He protected himself by shunning all feelings. It was time to be calculating, a cold leader. He looked up at the sky. The sun's position meant they were travelling east, away from Alvara. If they were crossing the Alvan Bay, Tanden wasn't sure what their destination could be. A pirate stronghold, maybe? A new country, off the edges of the map, unrecorded? He tampered down the flicker of intrigue. One feeling would lead to more, and he couldn't afford that. He didn't want to explore new lands without—

Tanden forced himself to look across the deck. Jerios and Jale were still there, tied up with a handful of the crew. Jerios' leg had been wrapped. Roan and Ivern were nowhere to be seen.

Tanden looked around. No one seemed to be paying them any attention. Cautiously, he spoke up in Tallenese.

"Where is everyone else?"