Read Online Dead Stars - Part Two (The Emaneska Series) by Ben Galley - Free Book Online Page A

madness. By some peculiar quirk of rock and sea, the channel between the Bitch and the cliffs caused a tidal race, one that flowed at a breakneck speed. Farden could see the water streaming between the rocks; frothy, pale, a blur ripped from the depths. It made him feel nauseous to watch it.
    Farden tried to stand as steadfast as the sailors around him. He clutched the railing with one hand, holding the other over his eyes so he could stare up at the lofty, dizzying heights of the cliffs and the Bitch. He couldn’t help but notice they were still heading straight for the face of the Bitch herself. It could have been the shit-painted rocks, it could have been a trick of the light, but it almost seemed to be smiling at them.
    ‘Now, Captain!’ yelled Lerel, jabbing her dagger into the crease of the map. Nuka and Roiks went to the wheel with a frantic will. Waveblade lurched like a stung sabre-cat, twisting almost around her centre to show the Bitch her port flank. Suddenly the surge of the channel snatched at them, and the ship sprang forward like a bolt from a bow, wind howling. Nuka and the rest of the crew let loose a mighty cheer. Roiks even spared a moment to flick two fingers at the Bitch as she flew past, her squawking parapets inches from the tip of the main boom.
    ‘Release!’ yelled Nuka, and the sailors sprang their trap. Clockwork and cogs clattered across the ship as levers were yanked by calloused hands. The sails burst into life, wrenched downwards and outwards by clever ropes and weights. They puffed like the chests of heroes, and the ship lurched again as the wind added its strength to the tidal race.
    Before Farden could even blink, they were skipping across the waves of a tranquil bay, the squall, the cliffs, the Bitch, and her Bodkins already shrinking behind them. ‘So that’s why,’ he muttered to the sudden quiet.
    Lerel teased her dagger from the wood. She winked. ‘That’s why. Now we can all can relax for an hour or two.’
    Roiks sauntered up, wiping a hand across his tanned brow. The bosun was a thickset man with cauliflower ears, younger than his weathered hide might have suggested. He had a mouth that would make a thug’s mother faint and that could goad a dead man from the grave, so it was said by the others. His hair had jumped ship long ago, and his knuckles bore the scars of many a fight. Despite all that, Farden supposed he seemed friendly enough. He had met worse characters in his time.
    ‘Feck me and that was close,’ he chortled, nodding to Lerel. He grinned a grin that was surprisingly full of teeth. ‘And we’ve got eats too, by the looks of it. The gods are just pissing luck down on us!’ The bosun gestured to the deck, where the sailors and soldiers were picking up the fallen birds, some already part-roasted, thanks to the mages.
    ‘Get the pots out lads!’ Roiks clapped his hands as he went down onto the deck. Heimdall was standing by a hatch, looking around at the feathered carnage. Completely unaware what sort of passenger Heimdall truly was, the bosun swaggered up to him, dead bird dangling in one hand. Roiks clapped the god hard on the back, thrust the bird into his hands, and winked. ‘That was bloody close, weren’t it?’ he chuckled, before jauntily strutting to the forecastle.
    Farden couldn’t help but wince.

    Loki was toying with a frayed bit of rope, slowly unwinding its braids. He looked up at Heimdall, who seemed frozen, staring down at the limp and bloody bird draped over his hands. It was a swippet, a bright blue and yellow cliff-bird with a long, curving beak and a crest of soft spines about its little head. Heimdall wrinkled his nose.
    ‘And you wanted to remain anonymous,’ muttered the young god.
    Heimdall let the bird fall to the deck. ‘It would be different, if they knew the truth.’
    Loki looked up at the aftcastle, where Farden stood between Lerel and Nuka. ‘I am not so sure,’ he replied. Heimdall didn’t answer. Loki tossed his