Fireblood (Frostblood Saga #2)(33)
On the other hand, some hours passed quickly, like in the evening when the weather was fair and the sailors had time to indulge themselves with music played on pipe or fiddle, with the rest of the crew adding lyrics to the tune. Some were jaunty, high-spirited reels that made me want to leap to my feet and dance, and others were mournful ballads that made my eyes fill with tears, even if I couldn’t understand all the words. It was cathartic to cry, and though I tried to be inconspicuous, others were matter-of-fact when they broke down, as if tears were an accepted part of life. Sudesians were clearly more comfortable losing control in front of others.
Normally Kai didn’t participate in these evenings. As captain, he kept himself aloof from his crew. But one night, about two weeks into the journey, he came to sit in the circle of lantern light on deck.
Jaro nodded at him. “A tale for us, Captain?” To me, Jaro added, “He tells a good story.”
“What would you like to hear?” Kai asked with a smile.
After a brief and friendly argument among those present, with Aver weighing in most vocally, they settled on the story of Neb and the birth of her children, the wind gods. Kai wrapped his arms loosely around his bent legs and cleared his throat. Even though my Sudesian vocabulary was limited, I knew the old myths well enough to fill in the gaps.
“In the jagged and untamed youth of the world,” Kai began, his voice as deep and rich as honeyed cakes, “when Neb first opened her eyes, she found a blank land and a vast darkness overhead. Having nothing but herself, she pulled the teeth from her mouth and threw them into the dark one by one. They hovered there, becoming stars, even as new teeth grew.
“The smooth earth didn’t please her, so she pulled out a strand of hair and threw it to the ground. A tree grew in its place. Then she pounded the land with her fists until it splintered into mountains and valleys. She sat in the shadow of a mountain to rest, and her tired sigh became the air that stirs the leaves.” He exhaled and gestured to show the breath turning to air.
“But the spirits of the land that had slept under the surface were angry at being pummeled thus. One rock spirit rose up from the center of the earth, and he threw handfuls of stones at Neb. Though he raged, she saw in his eyes that the rocks covering his skin gave him pain, so she struck him on the shoulders, arms, and back until the stony armor fell from him, littering the world with boulders and pebbles. Neb put a hand to his shoulder… .”
I jumped a little as Kai laid a hand on my shoulder, the tips of his fingers inadvertently tickling the sensitive skin where shoulder meets neck. As he was merely adding actions to the story, I sat placidly instead of shrugging him off.
“She reveled in the feel of vulnerable flesh, like her own,” he continued, not looking at me, though I sensed his attention. “The rock spirit thanked her and said he’d been trapped in the earth for so long, he no longer knew his name. Neb named him Tempus, for he was the beginning and the end of time for her.”
Kai squeezed my shoulder lightly before his hand slid away.
“And for a time, they were happy. Neb’s belly grew round and her child was brighter than the stars. But Sun was an adventurous child, and one day she wandered too close to the edge of the world. She fell into the sky, tumbling out of reach, hovering eternally to shine her light on the land.”
The ship rolled over a swell and the lanterns swung, then righted themselves.
“Sun would not come home no matter how Neb pleaded, and Neb could not fetch her daughter, who had become too bright and hot to touch. So Neb cried for the first time, her tears forming oceans, while Tempus’s tears were molten rock, pouring into the center of the earth and spewing through cracks in the ocean bed to form new lands. In her grief, Neb pulled out her eyelashes, and where they scattered, plants and small animals came to life.
“Neb and Tempus retreated from each other,” Kai continued, “she into the mountains and he below the rocky earth. But Neb was already carrying their second child, and her birthing cries drew her husband from his hiding place. Tempus held his newborn child and named him Eurus, giving him the name of the East, where the babe’s lost sister rose into the sky every morning.
“Neb took leaves and branches and wove them into dolls as toys for her son. But in his boredom, he pulled them apart, and Neb had to keep making new ones. So instead, she gave him a fan made of palm leaves and Eurus used it to create the east wind.”
Eerily, a breeze lifted the lax sails at that moment. Aver gasped and then laughed. Kai grinned at her.
“You see? Eurus himself enjoys our tale.”
Jaro frowned and Kai chuckled. “Or perhaps it is Sud who tickles our sails as she waits for her turn in the story. Tempus and Neb had a third child, and they called her Cirrus. She was gentle and kind, and her laugh made the first music. The proud parents sat for hours pulling fruit from trees to feed her and watching their daughter wander over hills and valleys, delighting in everything she touched. She made the land more fertile wherever she stepped.
“But in their joy, they forgot about their second child. Eurus saw that their love for Cirrus was greater than their love for him. So he set a trap for his younger sister.
“‘Follow me to the top of the northern mountain,’ said Eurus, ‘where our lost sister, Sun, tints the sky pink every night before sleep.’ So Cirrus, eager to see the sister she had never known, followed her brother to the summit. When she reached out to try to touch Sun, Eurus used the palm frond to make a gust of wind. Cirrus lost her footing on the loose rocks and fell toward the ground far, far below.