13 Nunghal Ship, Position Unknown

Under the beating sun, Asaddan sprawled on the hot deck, inhaling and exhaling fiery air, wondering when it would ever end. He stared blearily at the sagging ropes of the ship's rigging, at the limp gray sheets of the sails. The air rippled with heat, as if the sky itself had become a giant magnifying lens.

Even wandering lost in the Great Desert hadn't been quite so hot as this.

Around him, the Nunghal-Su crewmen lay fanning themselves, dumping buckets of seawater onto their parched skin for a few moments of coolness, although the water itself was murky and warm. Each day when the sun was high overhead, Asaddan expected the water around the ship to boil and cook them like clams in a pot.

Most of the men were drearily silent, some moaned, and a few whispered a mixture of prayers and complaints. Asaddan had discussed the predicament with Ruad in private, acknowledging that the entire crew was afraid; it had been much too long since they'd sighted land. No one knew where they were going, and worse, the ship had come to a standstill in the doldrums.

Fights broke out as the men squabbled over small patches of shade on deck. Some miserable sailors sulked in the dark cargo hold below, although the stifling heat down there was even worse than in the open air. Their water barrels were nearly empty, tainted with greenish scum and wriggling insect larvae.

This was not at all the paradise Asaddan had promised them during the clan gathering many weeks ago.

A shadow fell across Asaddan, who opened his eyes to see a concerned Ruad standing before him. When the shipkhan squatted next to him, Asaddan groaned, “Could you stand up again, cousin? Your shadow was blocking the sun. Make yourself useful.”

Ruad made a rude response and continued to crouch beside the larger man. “The sailors are complaining. They already accuse me of losing another ship and another crew.”

Asaddan shaded his face with his hand. “And what solution do they offer? To turn around? What good would that do? We're not moving anyway.” He let out a fatalistic chuckle. It had been a week and a half since they'd seen clouds, two weeks since the last rainfall, five days since the wind had died completely, leaving them stranded on an ocean as smooth as glass. “I doubt we'll ever catch a breeze again.” Sweat trickled between his squeezed-shut eyelids and stung. “At least I haven't been seasick for days.”

“We Nunghal-Su say that God is holding His breath. But even God has to exhale sometime—and when He does, we'd better be prepared.”

With another groan, Asaddan turned his head away. Thick strands of seaweed floated on the lethargic currents around the ship. With boathooks and ropes, the men had hauled up some of the strands, but the brown seaweed was inedible, despite the cook's best efforts. Even the fish they caught in these waters looked monstrous, spiny, misshapen. And they tasted foul.

Asaddan heaved himself into a sitting position. Ruad went to the side of the ship and hauled up one of the dangling wooden buckets. He doused his companion without warning, and Asaddan spluttered and rubbed the matted hair from his eyes. In the oppressive heat, many of the sailors had shaved off their hair and beards to keep themselves cooler, but he refused to do so, as a matter of pride.

His skin cooled for a few moments, but the evaporating water left a sparkle of salt-dust that itched and burned. When he took a deep breath, he imagined a blacksmith filling bellows with hot air. “If we keep sailing northward, we get closer and closer to the sun. Is there a chance we might sail into the flames?”

Ruad showed little reaction. “How would I know? No one has ever sailed this far before. But since we know the Uraban lands are to the north, it can't be all fire.”

Asaddan gazed around him, fearing that the sails, the ropes, the wood of the deck itself would combust. All of them could roast, and no one would ever know what happened to them. He said, “It's the price, and the excitement, of exploring the unknown. I have to believe there's a way out of this. Sen Sherufa was a wise woman. I knew her well and trusted her. And Saan… ah, that boy was clever!”

“I thought so, too.” Ruad squinted in the bright sunlight. “But now I begin to doubt their idea. Maybe we made a mistake by believing them.”

Asaddan motioned for the shipkhan to lower his voice. “The crew is thinking that already. They should not hear it from us as well.”

Ruad gazed toward the prow, as though he could will the ship forward. “Just how long are we going to wait here?”

“As long as it takes. We don't have much of a choice.”

The two men fell silent, keeping their hopes and fears to themselves.

Then, as they stared and waited, a breeze tickled the fabric of the sails. Asaddan raised his nose and sniffed. The crew began to stir, also sensing the movement. The canvas luffed, then sagged again, but after a few tense movements it bulged outward once more. The breeze was tentative, but better than anything they'd felt in a long time.

Gradually, the wind caught the sails and pushed the ship forward.