Black Sun (Between Earth and Sky, #1)(31)

The conversation flowed easily around her. Stories of the day and how far they’d come and what good weather it was for storm season and how it was because their captain was Teek and good luck, and through all of it she ate and smiled and worried about what she would say once all had full bellies and the balché had run out. Would all this camaraderie vanish, all this goodwill disappear like it never was? Would she still be good luck, or would she be a curse, a bad omen, when the waves rose and the rain fell, as they undoubtedly would before they reached Tova?

She held off telling them just a bit longer, basking in the moment as the sun settled behind the horizon and the moon rose to take its place. And then she held off a bit more as one of the crew, Loob was his name, regaled them with a story of a swimming jaguar that chased him across a river and up a tree until he had been rescued. He turned his back to show the scar as proof, a place where claws had gouged a chunk from his flesh.

“My house cat has done worse,” another man, Baat, said.

“Hells, your wife did worse to me,” Xiala added, and Loob was the first to laugh.

“Loob’s wife is from Tova,” Callo said. “That’s where we’re headed. Maybe you can bring her back something from her homeland.”

“Do you mean Loob or the captain?” Baat asked.

More raucous laughter that Xiala joined in. She motioned for someone to pass her the balché shell, and she drank deep again. And then she was ready.

She stood and waited for their attention to turn her way.

“Let’s talk about Tova,” she said. The fire on the edge of their gathering flared as the driftwood Patu had used to make it shifted, sending small orange sparks into the light breeze. The air smelled of cooking spices and ocean, and the waves lapped a soft rhythm behind her. She cleared her throat and did her best to make eye contact with each man as she spoke. “Lord Balam hired us all on, gave us our commissions for the voyage. And he’s paying us well,” she said, gesturing around at the remnants of the feast. “In cacao and food.”

A cheer went up. “To Lord Balam!”

“To Lord Balam,” the rest called back.

“To Lord Balam,” Xiala agreed. “Who has tasked us with a difficult mission. Difficult, but not impossible.”

Most cheered at that. They knew they were sailing in storm season and expected some challenges, but others, those sailors with more experience, understood she was leading them somewhere and exchanged uneasy looks, not sure they were going to like what was coming next.

“We’re set for Tova,” she said, “but Balam needs us there in twenty days. Nineteen now, when the sun rises.”

A small moment of shock followed by protests of outrage. “It’s too far!” someone shouted. “It’s thirty days, maybe more if the seas are choppy or a storm comes in and we’re forced to wait it out on land.”

“I told him that,” she said.

Loob scratched at his head. “The only way to make it in nineteen days is to sail the open water. And to row double shifts.”

A groan went up.

“We don’t have enough crew to row double,” Baat said. “We already ran double today, and my back is aching.”

“Shoulders, too,” someone added.

“The men would be hard pressed to keep it up for twenty days,” Callo agreed.

“But it can be done,” she said, over them all. “I told Balam that with this crew, these men, it could be done.”

They paused, unsure how to process her words, appreciating the compliment, but not liking what it implied.

“And I’ll be there,” she added. “I’ll be there to calm the waters, to make sure your luck holds.”

Her meaning was obvious, and they sat with it, absorbing what amounted to a promise to keep the seas friendly for them. Which was foolish, a lie, even, although they didn’t know it. She had her Song and her Teek power to calm or agitate the sea, but she wouldn’t be able to do much if a shipkiller hit. But what else could she say to convince them? Anything else, and she’d lose her crew before she’d started.

After a few moments of quiet grumbling, Callo raised his hand.

“Speak,” she said.

“When I speak, I will speak for the crew,” he said.

When no one gainsaid him, Xiala said, “You will.”

He stood and rubbed his chin. Two dozen pairs of eyes moved from her to him, waiting. Xiala held her breath. Callo had seemed genuinely remorseful over Huecha’s treachery, but he’d also admitted he thought she was part fish. She realized now his superstition might work in her favor.

“I’ve sailed the open sea before,” he said, his words slow and measured, “but not this time of year. This time of year, careful men stay in port and grow fat.”

“Poloc’s already fat,” someone said, which earned him a push from the man next to him, likely Poloc.

“But we are better than careful men,” Callo said, ignoring the teasing. “We are brave. I say we do it, not just because Balam has paid us all well, but for the adventure.”

“I want to be alive to enjoy my riches,” a voice called from the far end near the fire. “Can’t do that if a shipkiller gets me and makes me food for the fishes.”

“You heard the captain,” Loob said. “She’ll keep the storms away.”