Goddess Tithe Read online

  TALES OF GOLDSTONE WOOD

  Heartless

  Veiled Rose

  Moonblood

  Starflower

  Dragonwitch

  © 2013 by Anne Elisabeth Stengl

  Published by Rooglewood Press

  www.RooglewoodPress.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  ISBN-13:978-0-9894478-1-2

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Book design by A.E. de Silva

  Cover art by Phatpuppy, www.phatpuppyart.com

  Interior illustrations by Anne Elisabeth Stengl

  To Kyle,

  for a great idea

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  DEVIL IN THE HOLD

  SECRETS SPOKEN AND HEARD

  BOTH HONOR AND CURSE

  CLIMB TO THE SKY

  THE STARS WHO FELL

  DEATH ON THE WATER

  RED VEILS

  THE UNICORN

  CRADLE HITCH

  BREWING STORM

  RISAFETH VENGEFUL

  PICH’S KNOT

  GODDESS FLED

  WHITE PEONIES

  A Note to the Reader

  About the Author

  Devil in the Hold

  “SHE WILL ALWAYS CLAIM her tithe,” the old man said. “Such is the law of this sea.”

  The boy sat cross-legged before the old man, tying knots as fast as his small fingers could fly. During the months of this, his first voyage to the western reaches of the great Continent, he had learned to tie more than twenty different knots under the old man’s direction. As a little child on his mother’s knee, the boy would never have believed so many knots existed.

  But that was long ago. A lifetime, it seemed, since he kissed his mother goodbye; perhaps forever. Since then he had begun to learn the secret of knots, and his fingers had toughened until the rough fibers of the ship’s ropes could no longer flay them to tear-blinking agony.

  “When you have learned a hundred knots, then you will be a sailor,” the old man had said. The boy believed him, because he was so old and so ugly that he must be very wise.

  This was why the boy also believed the old man when he said, “Just you wait, young Munny. Captain knows the laws better than you or I ever will. He knows what she demands.”

  The boy—who was called Munny, though this was not the name his mother had given him—glanced uneasily over his shoulder toward the hatch that led, eventually, down to the Kulap Kanya’s deepest hold.

  The hold where the devil lurked.

  “Why,” Munny asked, “does the Captain not give him over? We have been six days at sea, and still he is down there!” Munny shivered as he spoke, for the devil in the hold frightened him.

  But the old man reached out and tapped him sharply on top of his head, hard enough that it hurt and brought the boy looking round again. “Do I hear you questioning the Captain, little sea-pup?”

  “No, Tu Pich,” Munny said, bobbing respectfully in an awkward seated bow, and focused once more upon his knots. He was practicing what the old man called the “Mother’s Arms,” and it was difficult enough for his small hands without the added pressure of the old man’s scowl . . . or the dreadful chill of the hold’s gaping mouth at his back.

  He hunched over his work, fingers trembling, and was relieved when the old man, seated upon a large cask above him, leaned back at last and closed his eyes.. The world was full of sounds: the creak of timbers, the shouts of sailors, the ever-present rumbling conversation of the wind and the sea. But somehow the old man could make the small sphere of existence around his wrinkled self seem a haven of calm. Glancing up at him every now and then, Munny felt calmer too, despite the lurking evil below deck.

  “Never doubt the Captain, my boy,” the old man said suddenly, his voice as creaky as the timbers themselves and equally as strong. “I’ve sailed with him two ten-cycles of years, and while I have withered and bent under the ocean’s harsh caress, the Captain never has. He is as hale and hearty as he was the day I first saw him. He knows the laws of the sea. He will honor Risafeth when the time is right.”

  Even as the old man spoke, a sudden change in the air brought both him and the boy sitting upright and twisting their heads about. All those upon the deck did likewise, and all those running the tack lines, even up to the man in the lookout. As a well-tuned orchestra turns ever to its conductor, so the crew of the Kulap Kanya turned to Captain Sunan as he stepped from his cabin into the sun.

  He was a tall, lean man with a face unweathered by the salty air he breathed. To the men of his command he was like an ancient hero out of legend come to life. How could it be that he was nothing more than the master of a merchant ship sailing between Lunthea Maly and the western trade city of Capaneus, back and forth with the regularity of the changing seasons? Such a man should not be bound to one ship, to one repeated voyage. Such a man should not deal with traders and the shore-hugging businessmen back home.

  Such a man—or so Munny thought with a thrill in his thin young breast—should be fighting dragons and monsters and devils with his bare hands. He should consort with gods, goddesses, and Faerie queens.

  But no. Instead, Captain Sunan commanded the Kulap Kanya¸ which not even Munny could pretend was the proudest merchant vessel on the seas.

  Munny sat frozen over his work, watching as the Captain strode across the deck and mounted the stairway to the quarterdeck. There the quartermaster, Sur Agung, saluted smartly after the Noorhitamin fashion, his right fist pressed to his left shoulder.

  A kick planted itself in Munny’s thigh, causing him to drop his half-worked knot. Munny, startled, gave a cry and looked up into the face of Chuo-tuk, his nemesis.

  “Get up, scrub-louse,” Chuo-tuk said, speaking with the imperiousness of a prince, though he was only the boatswain’s boy. However, he was bigger and older than Munny by six years, and if there was one rule Munny had learned in the months of his first voyage, it was to listen to anyone bigger than he.

  Munny scrambled to his feet despite the old man’s protests of “Leave him alone, Chuo-tuk. He’s not bothering you.”

  Chuo-tuk ignored the old man and took Munny by the ear. “Get up there, quick-like,” he said, with a vicious tug to emphasize his domination. “Find out what Captain is saying to old Agung.”

  Munny hastened to obey the moment his ear was released. He was often called to this sort of work, being small and light on his feet. It was easy enough for him to slip into shadows and crevices to overhear conversations the lower sailors were not meant to hear. It was a crime punishable by five lashes if he was caught. But Munny considered the possible threat of five lashes compared to the definite reality of a kicking from Chuo-tuk to be odds worth taking.

  He climbed not the stairs themselves but the outside railing, clinging to the shadows just beneath the quarterdeck. The sea was calm that afternoon, the Kulap Kanya rising and settling as gently as a baby rocked in a cradle. For this, at least, Munny could be thankful, as he clutched the railing and craned his neck to hear what he might.

  Sur Agung was speaking. “You’d have to ask Bahurn to know for certain. But I hear he’s been swearing storm-bursts below about the ‘large rat,’ and I little doubt what his answer will be.”

  “Summon Tu Bahurn, if you please, Agung,” said the Captain.

  Bells were
rung, orders were bellowed, and soon Bahurn the boatswain was scrambling up from the hold, swearing even now, “Dragon’s teeth and tail and gizzard!” Munny pressed himself still further into the shadows of the stair, terribly frightened that Bahurn would spot him as he went past. But Bahurn was too busy swallowing his curses and pulling himself together to present a respectful front to notice one skulking cabin boy.

  “What is the news on our . . . little problem?” the Captain asked when the boatswain had saluted.

  “If I may respectfully contradict my captain, I wouldn’t call him so ‘little,’ if I were you. He’s found his way to the cheeses now, and we’ll have no Beauclair blue-crust left to offer our masters in Dong Min or Lunthea Maly if he goes on unchecked.”

  From where Munny clung, he could just see the Captain’s face. And—though he would never have told Chuo-tuk as much for fear of a disbelieving slap—he could have sworn he saw a smile tilt the corner of the Captain’s stern mouth.

  “We would not want to be without our prized Beauclair blue-crust come trade day in Dong Min, would we?”

  “No indeed, Captain,” said Bahurn.

  “The time has come then,” said the Captain. “Our hold-devil has become too much of a nuisance. Bring him to my cabin, will you?”

  “With pleasure!”

  Munny dropped quietly from the rail, backing into a dark recess even as Bahurn flew down the stairway, roaring, “Saknu! Chuo-tuk! I require your assistance in lower storage!”

  So Chuo-tuk was called away, scrambling down to the lower hold before Munny could bring his report. Munny scurried back to the old man, who remained sitting upon the cask, gazing out to sea as if he was not at all interested. But Munny knew he was and hastily said, “They’re bringing him up, Tu Pich! They’re bringing up the stowaway at last!”

  “Ah. This is good,” said the old man. “Risafeth will have her due, and our voyage will be safe.” He smiled then, displaying his three yellow teeth. “Did I not tell you the Captain would do what he must when the time was right?”

  Munny did not answer. He could already hear the shouts and sounds of struggle deep down in the bowels of the ship. He stood a little behind the old man’s cask, breathless as he waited.

  Soon Bahurn and his two sturdy boys appeared through the hatch, dragging the brown foreign devil behind them.

  Secrets Spoken and Heard

  GROWING UP IN THE VAST trade city of Lunthea Maly, Munny had seen his fair share of foreigners, from the ghostly pale strangers of Parumvir to the dark-skins of Southlands. His mother had taught him that they were all people, as human as any man or woman to be found in the Noorhitam Empire. For the most part, Munny believed her. She was his mother, after all. Mothers have a way of knowing things.

  But his uncle Mokhtar had told him that all foreigners were devils or, at the very least, possessed by devils. “Look at the size of their eyes,” Uncle Mokhtar would say. “See how big they are? That’s because the devils get in that way, leaving them malformed. And you can bet if devils got in, they’re sure to get out as well, quick as lightning! Watch for the devils, boy. Watch for the big eyes.”

  Somehow, the more horrible an idea is, the easier it is to believe.

  Munny had no trouble whatsoever believing Uncle Mokhtar’s warning as he watched the stowaway dragged kicking and screaming up from lower storage. He babbled at great speed and volume in a language Munny did not know, and his eyes were as large and wide as two black coins, windows through which any number of devils might comfortably pour.

  Munny ducked behind the old man who, by contrast, continued to sit as placidly as ever upon his cask, only turning his head slightly to watch the progress of the boatswain and his boys as they hauled the culprit sternward to the Captain’s cabin.

  One thing was certain: If the stowaway was devil-possessed, they were not dignified sorts of devils. Indeed, when the brown foreigner flung himself headlong upon the deck, trying to cling to the boards by his fingernails, Munny fought to suppress a nervous giggle.

  Chuo-tuk and Saknu grabbed their prey by his ankles and dragged him, scraping and clawing, several paces. Then Bahurn, snarling, took hold of him by his collar and, little caring if he choked to death, heaved him to his feet. Saknu caught him by one arm, Bahurn by the other, and Chuo-tuk followed behind, aiming kicks at the stowaway’s backside as they went.

  Bahurn, having twisted the stowaway’s arm to the point of breaking, rendering him temporarily immobile, let go with one hand long enough to knock at the Captain’s door.

  “Shall I bring him in, Captain?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s a sullen one. Not trustworthy. Shall I bind him?”

  “That will not be necessary.”

  So the stranger disappeared into the cabin. Munny heard the thud of kicks, the scream of foreign curses, and the growl of Bahurn’s voice. “Stand in the presence of your betters.”

  “Hard to stand when being kicked,” the old man muttered, surprising Munny. The boy looked but could not read the wrinkled face beside him. Had he mistaken the sound of compassion? Surely Tu Pich would not feel sorry for a stowaway! Not when he knew what was coming for him.

  At a command from the Captain, the boatswain and his boys withdrew, shutting the cabin door. Munny gasped.

  “They left him alone! Tu Pich, the Captain is alone with the devil! What will happen?”

  “Hush,” said the old man. “Westerners do not understand the ways of the waters beyond Chiara Bay. Perhaps the Captain wishes to inform him of his fate in private. Allow him some pride.”

  Munny, considering the display he had just witnessed, did not think the stowaway cared two straws for his pride. But he had no time to question further, for the old man pinched his arm suddenly. “Tu Bahurn wants us.”

  Sure enough, Bahurn beckoned violently to the old man and the boy from his place of guard before the Captain’s door. Munny scrambled hastily forward, leaving the old man to creak his way down from his cask and hobble more slowly behind.

  “You wanted me?” Munny asked, bowing to the boatswain. Chuo-tuk, standing at his master’s side, smiled smugly as though Munny had bowed to him. The hateful ape. That was one act of subservience Munny flatly refused to grant Chuo-tuk, no matter the kickings.

  Grinding his teeth, Munny said, “How may I serve you, Tu Bahurn?”

  “Chuo-tuk, take him up to the quarterdeck,” the boatswain said. He spoke quietly, as though afraid to be overheard.

  The old man, having now arrived, frowned. “What do you intend, Master Boatswain?”

  “Never you mind,” Bahurn snapped. “You go up with the boy and do as Chuo-tuk tells you. Under my order. Quickly now.”

  Munny ducked away from Chuo-tuk’s grasp and scurried up the stairway to the quarterdeck on his own. Chuo-tuk, also afraid of being overheard, could not even curse him, but was obliged to follow in his wake, the old man trailing behind last of all. Upon gaining the quarterdeck, however, Chuo-tuk took up a stout rope and said, “Come here, scrub-louse. Tu Bahurn’s orders.”

  “What are you doing?” the old man asked, even as he dragged himself up the last few steps.

  “I’m not doing anything,” said Chuo-tuk, and handed the rope to the old man. “You are. Secure him well; then we’ll lower him down the side. Tu Bahurn wants to know what the Captain intends, and we can hear nothing through the door.”

  “Dragon’s teeth!” Munny squeaked, the words tasting strange in his mouth. His mother had never permitted him to curse by the Dragon; but after many months at sea, Munny couldn’t help picking up a few sailor phrases. He glanced across the quarterdeck to where the quartermaster, Sur Agung, stood with his back pointedly to them, gazing out across the waves. After all, if Munny was caught, it would only be a lowly cabin boy who received the five lashes. Sur Agung couldn’t be held accountable for every misdemeanor among the crew, now could he?

  “We’ll learn the Captain’s will soon enough,” the old man protested, though his fingers already
flew as they twisted the rope into the shapes he willed. “He will honor the goddess.”

  “Tu Bahurn didn’t send you up here to question his orders,” Chuo-tuk said, and folded his arms.

  So the old man secured Munny in a hastily-formed harness. He finished it with a special knot of his own, saying quietly, “No fear, my boy. Pich’s Knot has never yet given way. Not when tied by Pich himself.”

  Munny nodded, his eyes solemn. Chuo-tuk took him by the shoulder and pushed him to the railing. Looking over, Munny could see the small window on the starboard side: a window to the Captain’s cabin. It was open to the lovely breeze that stroked the Kulap Kanya that day.

  Afraid that Chuo-tuk would fling him over if he did not move quickly, Munny scrambled up onto the railing and swung his skinny legs over. Had the sea been rougher, he would have bashed himself rather severely on the seasoned wood of the ship’s hull. As it was, he scraped several knuckles and the top of one foot as they lowered him down to the window. Chuo-tuk and the old man held the rope, looping it several times around the rail for added security.

  Even so, Munny did not feel secure. Sometimes, living aboard the Kulap Kanya, he could forget how very near the sea always was, just beneath his feet. Here, however, suspended over the water with nothing but Pich’s Knot to protect him, he felt the presence of the swelling waves like a vast entity, a huge life.

  And down below—deep down, beneath the white foam, beneath the reach of the Lordly Sun’s rays, moving alongside the ship but ever in its shadow—lurked Risafeth herself.

  Munny shuddered and froze in place, his shoulder pressed against the wooden slats. The window was near, but he must first let that image pass from his mind. If he let it stay, he would not be able to move again.

  His lips began to murmur, beyond his will. Words formed, tremulous, stolen away by the swift sea breezes. This did not matter, for Munny heard his mother’s voice in his head, whispering to him as he had heard it many nights when, as he wakened from a nightmare, she came to him and held him close, singing softly to his fears: