Tulon watched the darkened sky and the distant thunder-flash of cannonfire and didn't know how to feel. She was laying on her belly next to her ship, which was drawn up onto the beach on the southern edge of the harbor. They had portaged it by hand and feet over the shore under the cover of night, using the jungle growth and growvine paddies to hide their movement from any Imperial observers on the fleet that blockaded the harbor. Now, the instant they had a clear shot, she, Yetna and the other sailors with them could stand, drag the ship out of cover and into the water, and they could take off with the prefect westward wind.
But...
She squirmed in her position and didn't know if she wanted, more than anything, for this to work. To get away from the pain of the city and into the easy forgetting of the open sea. Far from other men, she could focus on nothing but her duty and her mission to get to the Deadman's Coast and the hope that they might be able to uncover the secret behind the Empress' new technologies.
Another part of her longed, though, for the other half of this plan to go catastrophically wrong.
Another part of her hoped that that bastard Gyre, that clumsy, useless would-be-Goddess, would fly up to the broadsides of the Imperial ships and just get shattered out of the sky. Crash. Wreck. Drown. She clenched her fists as the cannons spoke again -- rumbling and roaring out through the night. The fortress was wreathed in smoke and flashes of light as their incoming shells detonated against the walls. She was being reduced faster than Tulon had ever seen a fortification be taken to pieces -- the chunks of stone flying through the air were visible in the gunflash and she could see the poor soldiers who had been told to man that fort to the end working in the smoke.
She didn't want to imagine how...bad it had to be in there.
"There's Gyre," Yetna said, her hand gripping the pole that she was assigned to for the last mad dash.
"Come on, you can do it," one of the sailors muttered. Glancing back, Tulon saw that they were a bright blue tropical, looking fiercely attentive. Her brow furrowed as she looked at the tropical. Where had she seen her before? Before she could place her, Yetna snarled.
"Now!"
Gyre had reached the line of ships and was hovering in the air before them, lit by his own inner light, making him blaze brightly in the night, like a shining star. It also drew the attention of everyone on those ships. Yetna, the sailors, and Tulon all shoved on the poles that rested against their shoulders. The boat groaned up into the air and they sprinted forward, from the jungle cover to the beach. They didn't have to go far, which was a blessing: Just those steps alone left Tulon's shoulder and back aching with the effort. They let the boat drop into the shallow water, and kept shoving, picking up speed.
Distantly, Gyre's voice boomed across the harbor.
"This is an unlawful attempt to take the national sovereignty of an indigenous culture, who's rights are protected by the Concord Charter. As a member of the Starship Corps, it is my duty to protect their autonomy and the lives of their citizens." His voice was firm and commanding. "You have-"
The broadside that cut him off was considerably more commanding. Smoke and fire bellowed outwards and Gyre's own lights made it possible to see the shells whip past him. Several of the shot struck his body dead on -- a combination of the new rifling on the Imperial guns and the sheer weight of steel each of those broadsides carried. The flash of the explosions distracted her for a moment as the ship she clung too floated into the water. She had to force herself to tear her eyes away from the battle and swung herself into the ship.
"Loose the sail! Get on the rudder!" she shouted. "Get the sky-sail o-"
She shook herself.
Yetna, fortunately, was on the ball -- and more used to running a ship without man. She cuffed a woman away from the sky-sail and instead started to hiss orders for bringing out their studding sails. As cloth and canvas began to unfold, Tulon risked a glance back. Smoke was blowing away from Gyre, revealing that he was completely and utterly unharmed. His white, black and red painted body didn't even look scratched from this distance.
He pointed with his finger.
Tulon felt her throat tightening.
The water behind the Imperial ships exploded with a flash of steam. The steam caused a beam, shimmering purple, to become visible in the air as Gyre flicked his arm as if he was making a dismissive gesture. The explosion of steam screamed upwards as the ocean boiled with the touch of his fury -- carving a long, curving arc. At the furthest from the Imperial ships, it was nearly two miles away. At the nearest, it was within five hundred yards. The more steam was made, the easier it was to see the purple beam as it transcribed its arc through the air.
For just a moment, there was no sound but the pattering of water back into the ocean. Even the guns were silent. Even the fire seemed to be holding its breath.
Then the first mast started to fall. Ropes strained, snapped, and the wood
crashed
as it fell to the deck. There were no splinters at first, because the masts had not been damaged by cannon balls or explosions. They had been
cut
. Sliced through by an invisible, impossibly sharp sword. The splinters only came as block and tackle shattered apart, as the masts smashed into the railing of the ship. Women went screaming into the ocean as they were flung from their perches, and the sails fluttered. Some masts fell forward, some fell backwards, some fell to the sides.
Within a single second, with a single sweep of his arm, Gyre had demasted the entire enemy fleet.
The crews did see them, as they rushed forward to the narrow gap between the lee shore and the aft most of the Imperial ships. An imperial officer, pushing herself out from a shroud that had fallen across her, snarled and screamed to her marines. Several used their bayonets to cut themselves free of some rigging that had entangled them. They rushed to the prow, while the sailors on Tulon's ship focused on the sailing. Tulon, though? She had her spear. They were almost close enough for her to count the buttons on their jackets in the light from their swaying deck lanterns, and so, she threw as hard as she could. Her spear slammed into the wooden hull of the ship, right below the railing, but it caused enough of a thump to force at least three of the marines to jerk their rifles up and away, reflexively dodging what had looked like a spear coming
right at them
.
The other two fired.
A bullet whipped through the rigging above Tulon's head, splitting the rope with a CRACK.
The other slammed into her belly.
Tulon crashed back onto her rump, skidding, her eyes closing as pain exploded through her. She clenched her teeth, then coughed out a loud: "
Fuck
."
Yetna dropped down beside her, grabbing onto her shoulder. She looked at her back, then at her front. "It went clean through-" She tried to sound optimistic, but Tulon felt her vision was already starting to gray out. She panted, whimpering.
Like this? Really?
She thought, clutching at her stomach, feeling the hot blood flowing along her back, puddling under her rump. Everything was getting...very far away...and then she saw something bright dart down, landing before her. A face filled her vision and she could hear, as if from the bottom of the ocean, Gyre's voice.
"No, no, no, no!"
She felt something tingling rush through her. Then searing heat and pain. Her eyes closed and she clenched her jaw, then gasped. The feeling of depth and wandering was gone as she felt a tingling buzzing rush burning through her. She opened her eyes, gasping and whimpering. "Ah...fu...fhu...
fuck
