By Eric Van Lustbader
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Sample text
The residue of the great black tide pushed them onward, almost due south, and was soon joined by a stiff following wind out of the eastern quarter. At first, they had tried to tack away from it but even furling the "'gallants had not slowed their flight and, in the end, Moichi had shrugged and said to Ronin: "We must be patient and ride it out. " And Ronin, who had learned long ago to bend before forces which he could not control or understand, reluctantly agreed. For a time he had stood quite still, with the salt wind whipping his stained sea cloak about his body, calling silently to her.
These craft are from another time," said Moichi with some professional awe. " Already they could discern movement along the enemy's decks. Through the crashing, creaming bow waves, they could make out bright flashes of high helms and short-bladed swords like shining, articulated insects within a teeming hive. And now they saw that those who sailed the obsidian ships were not men at all. These beings were wide-shouldered, without the characteristic human slant. They were waspwaisted with legs distinguished by bulging thighs and virtually no calfs.
Lances of light shot from the moving crests of the waves. The blue was very deep in the wide troughs. Men had begun to play out lines along the starboard side, fishing for breakfast. Scents climbed from the tarred deck as the sun heated the wood: the harsh, bitter stench of fish innards, the tang of caked salt, the aromatic spice of warm pitch and tar, the sour scent of stale sweat. There came a hoarse shout and several men starboard dropped their lines to aid a sailor who was being dragged overboard by the weight at the end of his hook.