Black Salt

Black Salt - Chapter 29

 He ran to the barracks, and led all the men he could to the harbour, where they spent the remainder of the day pulling men off their boats and ships, or out of the sea, when they'd chosen to swim rather than dare the advancing flames. The whole area reeked of charred wood, and the sun hid behind a bank of thick black smoke, that turned the day into choking night.

He'd taken all of the soldiers he could spare, leaving just enough to secure the prison, and his ranks swelled with common people, who banded together on their own initiative, to help the sailors. He was surprised and pleased to see the fervour with which they helped that mass of sodden, terrified men. Of late he'd seen so little kindness among men, he'd forgotten it could exist.

The first time that he reached out to a terrified sailor, cornered by flames, and hauled him off to safety, he felt such elation in his heart, he thought a god had come down and breathed new life into him. It spurred him to press on, and he rescued many more, often running from boat to boat, using ropes, boards and other jury rigged tools to save men from their ships. In spite of their job, many sailors couldn't swim a stroke, and when the fire forced them to risk a leap into the water, they often floundered, and more than one drown. Worse yet, for more than a few, the only way off a burning ship was to jump into the space between vessels, but as every captain struggled to get his craft out of the fiery trap, those who chose to take that leap pierced the air with hideous screams, as the moving ships and boats crushed them, or pinned them until the water sapped their strength, and exhausted they drowned.

Indeed, the first wild joy of playing the saviour soon gave way to grim effort, as he found fewer and fewer people to pull from the floating wreckage, and more and more bodies left by those he had failed to reach in time. Part of his mind told him that he wasn't to blame, that he couldn't have saved everyone, but each new corpse seemed to whisper in reproach, to ask, again and again, why didn't you come for me? I needed your help, but you never came.

The salty water of the sea soaked his arms and legs, and made them itch and sting. His hands bled where countless minute splinters stabbed them. The smoky air clawed his lungs, and made his breath rasp, and ash coated his hands, and made them look strange and disturbing.

He worked on, no longer able to save anyone, but left with the gruesome task of fishing bodies out of the harbour. His soldiers and city guards worked alongside him, and every man he saw had eyes that shone with tears. When they came to drag out the body of one lifeless little girl, one of the oldest and sturdiest men in the guard, Gontes, fell to his knees and wept. Two of the younger men led him back to the barracks, crying so much that he could barely walk.

Nikias kept at his task until the sun had fallen, and he couldn't work any longer. His entire world tasted of bitterness and ashes.

And then he was at the palace, with the time in between a blur, and his grip on the present just as weak. Garantzis spoke with the flow and fire of true enthusiasm, and it seemed he held his audience spellbound, but Nikias couldn't tell one word from another. "...sign of the gods. We must not put off the wedding another day, or a worse tragedy will befall us. You, do you not agree?"

Nikias became aware that all eyes were on him. He frowned, and tried to puzzle out the priest's meaning, but all he managed to do was notice the little patches of spittle that had gathered at the corners of the man's mouth.

Garantzis huffed and sighed. "Perhaps you do not share my feelings about delay, but even you will admit this is a message from the lords of fate."

"A...message?"

"This catastrophe. This loss. It is a sign that the king must wed, just as I foretold."

Nikias didn't recall that Garantzis had foretold anything, but at last he understood what the man was talking about. He looked at his hands, black with ashes, smelling of smoke and salt water. He pictured Gontes, on his knees and weeping. He saw the lifeless face of the girl, her eyes staring at him with an accusation he could not answer.