The Rose of Sarifal by Paulina Claiborne Read Free Book Online

an old man’s bearded face had held one sailor by the feet while another with the head of an old woman had seized hold of his neck, like a married couple fighting over a muffin, pulling it apart until the jam flowed out.
    What a pile of shit that turned out to be, Lukas thought, just as Gaspar-shen dived into the water and the foresails burst into flame. Lukas put over the tiller and hauled on the main sheet, but already the boat felt sluggish and unresponsive, and he wondered if she’d been damaged below the waterline.
    “Take the helm,” he told Marikke, and as the boat shuddered and yawed he leaped onto the gunwale, barefoot, his longbow in his hand. The Savage stood beside him with his sword outstretched, the blade glowing with red fire. He was muttering and cursing, and Lukas could feel a prickling in the air, as the sword sucked down energy for a strike.
    Now the boat was well alight, and with his arrow nocked, and with the naga’s grotesque head weaving and turning not forty feet away, he paused. Almostoverwhelming in its intensity, he felt the sudden, harsh joy of losing everything, of letting go the garbage and detritus of his life. For years he had sailed the
Sphinx
over the Trackless Sea. She carried all he owned. Not seven months before he had finally paid her off. Fine—good riddance—with this one shaft he would remake himself clean and new. Below him he could hear Marikke’s prayer, and he let fly. Guided by Chauntea and his own skill, the arrow pierced under the creature’s chin, lodged in the thinnest part of its neck where the scales were weakest. At the same time a crooked branch of fire burst from the golden elf’s sword. The air stunk of lightning.
    The
Sphinx
had turned into the wind, all lines loose, all sails flapping. “Bring up the skiff,” Lukas said. The shifter pulled it close, where it bobbed in the chop.
    Another naga lifted its head above the water. Lukas loosed another arrow and saw it bounce off the creature’s eye ridge. Bad shot—it was difficult to keep his balance with the boat rocking back and forth. He had locked his elbow around one of the main stays and worked his bare toes under a cleat, but even so it was hard to avoid pitching overboard. He saw the creature turn its head, saw its yellow eye brighten as it found the skiff—Kip had pulled it alongside, and Marikke was climbing into it. Above Lukas’s head, the topsails were on fire. Below his feet, the bow had slid into the waves.
    Another shot—this one lodged in the creature’s nose. It turned to look at him. Enraged, it left the skiff alone, and as its jaws opened and its forked tongue slipped out, Lukas imagined that perhaps he could see somethinghuman in its face, not in form so much in its baffled, malign expression. The ridges over its nose were like eyebrows—he could see that now. The nose itself was blobby and big. He sent arrow after arrow into it. While the others climbed into the skiff, Kip stepping lightly, trying at all costs to avoid the spray. The Savage caught Lukas’s eye, then shouted something that was lost in the flapping sails. He clambered aboard, and Marikke pushed down the daggerboard, raised the little lateen sail, and the skiff was away. It was better like this. Lukas himself would swim for it. He slid his last arrow into the creature’s mouth at a range of ten yards, then threw his longbow overboard.
    Burning debris rained down on him. He could feel the heat on his cheeks, and knew the water would be cold. Nevertheless, he stripped out of his green wool jerkin, and when his head was free again he found himself looking into the face of another naga, just risen from the deep, its head hanging as if suspended a few feet above him. From this angle he could see its coarse, flat, wicked features lit with fire, and perhaps a smile. The water sluiced from its neck. One ear dripped with seaweed.
    Mesmerized by fire, even fire of their own making, the nagas would watch the boat until it sank,