In the Nisi Archipelago, a civil war festers. Zealous insurgents burn villages across the islands in an effort to return the Mangaal people to the sea and free themselves of their Lyssan overlords.
Sig of the Midandaal, the son of a diplomat, must combat the growing threat. As he stamps down the rebellion, he quickly finds his talent for bloodshed surpassing his talent for peace.
Idalia Goss is attached to the Lyssan company that has been sent to aid the loyalists. The daughter of a renowned physician and arcane scholar, her task is to learn more about the Mangaal mages, who far outstrip the mainland sorcerers. Her efforts are hindered by the dark reputation of her predecessors.
Back on Lyssa, Bryn Urien, the Inferno of Mochan Pass, has lost his spark. Once, as the foremost mage of the royal army, he slew indiscriminately in the name of his queen. Now, he finds himself enfeebled and on the run.
Witness the beginnings of the storied band of soldiers who came to be known as the Fishgut Guard.
In the Nisi Archipelago, a civil war festers. Zealous insurgents burn villages across the islands in an effort to return the Mangaal people to the sea and free themselves of their Lyssan overlords.
Sig of the Midandaal, the son of a diplomat, must combat the growing threat. As he stamps down the rebellion, he quickly finds his talent for bloodshed surpassing his talent for peace.
Idalia Goss is attached to the Lyssan company that has been sent to aid the loyalists. The daughter of a renowned physician and arcane scholar, her task is to learn more about the Mangaal mages, who far outstrip the mainland sorcerers. Her efforts are hindered by the dark reputation of her predecessors.
Back on Lyssa, Bryn Urien, the Inferno of Mochan Pass, has lost his spark. Once, as the foremost mage of the royal army, he slew indiscriminately in the name of his queen. Now, he finds himself enfeebled and on the run.
Witness the beginnings of the storied band of soldiers who came to be known as the Fishgut Guard.
Always entreat the spirits for peace, but do not let the sharp edges of your arrows dull or your sword arm grow weak.
â Unattributed Putangarit proverb
Jutting from the horizon were the largest boats Sig had ever seen. It was noon when the children with the sharpest eyes first spotted the Lyssan kingdomsâ ships. âTheyâre coming,â they cried.
Soon, even the elders with their weak eyes could see the blots against the sky. Sig thought the ships would arrive soon, but as the sun fell lower and lower in the sky, they only grew in size. So too did the crowd, which had gathered to watch the arrival, grow. The wooden planks of the freshly constructed berth dipped below the waterline as the press of Ko Mangaalâs many families grew tighter and tighter.
The sea-locked city had ground to a standstill as families set aside their dayâs work to attend the historic meeting. For the first time since Sig could remember, Ko Mangaalâs canals were not choked with boats criss-crossing through the city in the bustling fervour of trade. The waters, and the stilt-houses that overlooked them, were eerily quiet as the whole citizenry had migrated to the docks. Some of the nomadic familiesâlike Sigâs ownâwho lived on moored fleets surrounding Ko Mangaal, had moved their houseboats into positions on the open sea that afforded them a view. Everyone else crowded the berth for a chance to see the bayu foreigners close-up.
Fortunately for Sig, he was tall. Standing on his toes, he could still make out the details of the kingdom ships as they came closer. They were unlike any boats Sig had ever seen, larger even than the foreign warships he and his father had treated with in the past. Besides the monumental scale, the ships each had two sailsâboth displaying the Lyssan standard of three rearing horses. The sides of the ships bris- tled with row upon row of oars. The size of these monsters! There must be hundreds and hundreds of people aboard, Sig thought.
Sig saw the truth of this soon enough as the setting sun glinted off the famous metal armour of the bayu.
âMetal men of the sea,â shouted a man of another family.
The crowd around Sig laughed a forced, too-loud laugh. Nerves were fraying.
At last, Sig saw his fatherâs houseboat, a large nera, launch to go meet the ships. Its square sail was hitched to catch the meagre morning breeze and his father manned the tiller at the back of the boat. Sig laughed to himself. The nera large? No. Not compared to the bayu monsters out there. Those ships make our kapak warships look like a childâs bath toy.
As the emissary to the Lyssans, his father, Pulanimakithisigâ chieftain, father of Makithisigâhad been tasked with going out to meet the bayu soldiers. Sig should have been on that boat too, but heâd been given another jobâan important job, though it didnât feel like it.
âWhen their ships arrive,â his father had said. âYou must look for signs of treachery among our people. They will not be able to hide their true feelings when they see those soldiers.â
It had turned out to be an impossible task.
Everywhere Sig looked, he saw rancour writ plain on the faces of the assembled families. Even among Sigâs own familyâthe Midandaal, who were the diplomats that treated with the Lyssan kingdomsâhe saw one grim visage after another. In other families, he saw outright hostility, particularly among the elders. The only ones unaffected, even excited, were the children. They swam out past the wharfâs long fingers to escape the crowds and be the first to spy the kingdom soldiers.
As the sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, Sigâs family boat reached the twin bayu ships. Sig could just make out a few of the bayu clambering down a rope ladder to descend onto the nera. Sigâs father had told him it would be thus. They would receive the Lyssan captain on their boat as a show of good faith and hospitality. Sig still felt as though he should be aboard, meeting their allies side-by-side with his father. He was the Midandaal heir. It was his bloodright to continue the tenuous peace that had existed since the Lyssans had conquered Ko Mangaal almost a century past.
âBayu filth,â an old man hissed nearby. Sig recognized him, but his name wasnât forthcoming. He was from the Putangarit family, the largest family still left in Ko Mangaal since the rebels had fled from the city. His right arm ended at the elbow, a fishing wound that had become infected and required amputation, if Sig remembered correctly.
âWe wouldnât need their help if theyâd never come in the first place,â the man continued. He hawked and spat into the sea.
Many of the old manâs family members edged away from him, as though trying to physically distance themselves from his sentiment. But not all. Some nodded along and added their own non-verbal, grumbling discontent. Sig made a mental note of the malcontents.
Spying on my own while my father is at the most important meeting our people have ever had. It grated on Sig. Every other chieftain was aboard Sigâs family nera. Many had even brought their eldest sons and daughters, their heirs. From the sideways glances of his aunts, uncles, and cousins, it was clear that they were also surprised that Sig was not on the nera with his father. Pula knows best, Sig thought sourly.
âTheyâre coming!â
While Sig had been scanning the faces around him, he had missed the adjourning of the meeting. The two bayu warships and his fatherâs nera were making the final approach to Ko Mangaalâs virgin quayside. All but the bravest of the crowd fled backwards as the giant warships prepared to dock. Sig watched the frantic activity as the sails were furled and armoured warriors gathered at the sides of the two ships to glare down at the assembled crowd and the thatch-roofed houses of Ko Mangaal behind them.
Unafraid, Mangaal children were swimming around and under the ships, inspecting them and kicking off their sides. Some of the bolder among them even waved up at the surly soldiers above.
The Midandaal nera nestled into a small space between the two behemoths, drawing even with the docks. Pulanimakithisig and the other family chieftains led the Lyssan leaders off the boat.
At the edge of the dock, in front of the assembled crowd, Sigâs father spread his arms wide and spoke. âMy people! Lyssa sends four hundred of her best warriors to quell the uprising of the traitorous rebel families.â
The crowd roused itself into a collective furor.
So few. Sigâs father had requested twice that number. Even as he silently wished for more, Sig knew that four hundred bayu soldiers would already cause enough problems. Never in their peoplesâ history had more foreign soldiers been a good omen.
âSettle! We must be grateful. The rebels are a pox on our land. They burn settlements across the islands in a misguided effort to return our people to the sea. They would see Ko Mangaal destroyed and the Mangaal become insular and estranged from the rest of the world. With so many of Lyssaâs warriors, we will drive the rebels from the islands and crush them in battle. We will put this insurgency down with finality.â
As his father went on, Sigâs eyes drifted to the arrayed bayu leaders. They all wore resplendentâthough heavily worn and batteredâmetal armour. The captain was clearly the stocky olive-skinned man with the ragged black beard standing directly by his fatherâs side. He was marked by the golden pauldron over his left arm.
As far as appearances went, the rest of the leaders were an assorted group. The one thing consistent about them was their size. Even though Sig had met bayu in the past, he was always struck by their height. He was considered tall among his people, but even the woman at the captainâs left was near to Sigâs equal in height. As his father continued to speak, the bayu gazed blankly at the crowd. Idly, Sig wondered if any of the pale giants spoke the Mangaal tongue.
As the fear of the warships faded, the families pushed closer to Pulanimakithisig, the other chiefs, and the bayu leaders. Elders were now addressing Sigâs father with their concerns directly. It was the way of their people to bring their problems forward at the outset, lest they fester like an infected wound.
âPula of Midandaal, you know these bayu well, no?â asked an elderly fishwife of a small but respected family.
âI do,â Sigâs father said.
âWhy do they care about our war? Why donât they swoop in like carrion to crush the weakened victor beneath their mail fists? Theyâve done as much before.â The crowd murmured their agreement.
âWise Mother, you are right to be cautious,â Sigâs father said, making a show of nodding and conceding the point. âThe Lyssans value our lands and our waters, which they call in their tongue the Nisi Archipelago. They know us to be loyal and faithful allies of their kingdoms. Ko Mangaal, our home, which the rebels would see destroyed, is a valuable jewel of this province. They need the tithes we pay in exchange for protection against the scourge of coastal raiders. They need our fish and our fruits to supply the warships that patrol these coasts. Understand, Mother, the bayu value order over chaos; they would see this war ended and lawfulness restored.â
The answer rang hollow to Sig, but the fishwife seemed more or less appeased.
Movement in the corner of Sigâs eye caught his attention. The one-armed old manâthe malcontent elder from earlierâwas eagerly pressing forward. And yet, the fisherman didnât look intent on airing his grievances through verbal dribble. His only hand clutched a slender gutting knife at his waist.
Sig felt a roiling in his belly. He turned to one of his cousins. âCousin Jaglo, may I borrow your spear?â
Jaglo quirked an eyebrow. âSure, Sig. Something wrong?â
âI hope not.â
Sig took the proffered spear and began edging forward, towards the front of the crowd.
Pulanimakithisig caught sight of his son, and his eyes brightened.
He turned to the bayu leader and spoke in the Lyssan tongue. âAh here comes my son, Makithisig.â The distress on Sigâs face must have been plain. âWhatâs wrong, Son?â
The one-armed fisherman, who was still a few paces ahead of Sig, surged forward.
âDeath to the bayu!â
With deceptive speed, the old man lunged for the Lyssan captain. Sigâs spear caught the man in his upper thigh. The fisherman fell to the wooden planks, dropping the gutting knife just short of the captain, whose own shortsword was half-drawn from its scabbard.
Sigâs father, caught unawares, was quick to regain his composure. âAllow me, Captain,â Pulanimakithisig said, gesturing for the bayu leader to sheath his sword. He walked forward to where the old man was bleeding and writhing on the planks.
His father paused, turning to address the crowd. âEldest son Makithisigâs throw was guided by Kha Tu. Does anyone speak for this man?â he said, gesturing at the would-be assassin.
He looked at the old manâs Putangarit family, standing clumped together near the front of the crowd. All were silent. He turned behind him to look at the Mula chieftess of Putangarit, whose face was flush with anger.
âThat traitor is no uncle of mine, Pulanimakithisig,â she hissed. âBe done with it.â
Sigâs father bent over the old man to retrieve the gutting knife.
The one-armed man was still twisting in pain, thrashing and raving. âThe bayu will turn on you! Ko Mangaal is an abomination. Our people must return to the water. Death to theââ
With the indifference of cleaning a fish, Pulanimakithisig sunk the gutting knife into the manâs throat. He loosed a final gurgle before going silent.
SIGâS HAND SHOOK. He thought he could still feel the heft of the spear. He replayed in his mind its path as it soared through the air, landing with a muted thud in the assassinâs flesh. He felt anew the rush . . . the thrill, as the one-armed man was brought down.
All his life, Sig had trained with knife, spear, and bowâas was fitting for a Mangaal family heirâbut never had he felt the surge of excitement from taking down an enemy in the heat of combat. He was silently wary of the feelings bubbling up within him, the fervent wish that it had been him and not his father to strike the mortal blow.
âSig,â his father said, bringing him back to the present. âAre you listening?â
Wordlessly, Sig stood and began to pace the width of his familyâs nera, beneath the awning that covered the centre of the boat. âFour hundred marines is more than enough. We couldâve dealt with the rebels on our own. They are Mangaal and that makes them our problem.â
His father sat cross-legged on a multi-coloured woven mat, smoking crushed gamut leaves out of his worn wooden pipe. He was frustratingly impassive, watching Sig through the billowing clouds of smoke.
Sig knew his fatherâs ways and waited in tense silence while the chieftain inhaled deeply. At last, he exhaled and lowered the pipe, âSon Makithisig, what did you see today on the faces of our families?â
Sig sighed. Answering my question with a question. Expected, but still infuriating. âI saw hatred, fear, and mistrust.â
âAnd is that what you feel?â his father asked.
âI feel . . . that we should not have involved the bayu.â
The chieftain shook his head. âYou know of my work, yes?â
Sig nodded. Recently, his father had undertaken a diplomatic
mission that could have sweeping repercussions for the Mangaal people. The Lyssan kingdom of Samacia had once occupied Ko Mangaalâa stretch of years, decades past, from which his people were still recoveringâbut they had long since left them to their own devices, their warlike gaze turned inwards towards the neighbouring kingdoms in their own continent. Now, Sigâs father worked to further sever the connection to the hated bayu. Their only dealings would be a trade agreement, wherein the Mangaal farmers continued to supply rations for the kingdom warships, but in exchange for Lyssan gold ors, not as a tithe from the conquered to the conqueror. The Mangaal people wouldâat least nominallyâhave their independence and the Lyssans would have their provisions without fear of insurrection upsetting their precious supply lines.
The present civil war threatened everything the Midandaal chieftain had worked towards. The brokered agreement was still young, and the only reason the Samacian queen considered letting Ko Mangaal secede from her vast empire was that the city was simply beneath her notice. The queen had never even implanted a governor to oversee her interests, instead relying on the threat of Samaciaâs naval strength and, in the past, hostages to keep the payments flowing.
Sigâs father puffed on his pipe. âIf the rebels disrupt our shipments to Lyssa, they will show that we are not a unified people, risking everything. The kingdom will come crashing down on us as they did a century ago.â His face twisted in remembrance. Sigâs father had lived through the Samacian occupation as a boy. âI have no illusions about our relationship with Lyssa. Even if we become âallies,â we must tread carefully. If the Samacian queen needs to send her soldiers to aid in putting down this . . . internal affair, then we must allow it.â
âEven still,â Sig said. âThis is not their war.â
He sighed, beckoning for Sig to sit down. âYou are strong, Son. You will be a noble leader of our family. Everything I do is to bring honour to your name. But you are young. Our people have known peace for almost a hundred years. You have never seen war. You have never seen the waters turn red as the tigaya gnaw on the corpses of your cousins, slain by rival families. You have never seen the makeros turn their powers on their kinsmen, incinerating their flesh and boiling their blood. We must grasp every advantage we are offered, even if it comes in the form of foreign soldiers. There is no honour in war. Only the victors and the slain.â
âThen why fight at all?â Sig said, bristling slightly. He was a dutiful heir and would normally soak in his fatherâs wisdom, but today, with bayu in his city and war on the horizon, he found himself annoyed at his fatherâs unnatural calm. âWhy not join the rebels and throw off Lyssan rule for good?â
His fatherâs expression darkened. âI will answer, but never ask me that again. I will not tolerate doubt in my own family.â The chieftain took a breath, composing himself. âWe do not fight the rebels simply because we are obedient servants of Samacia. We fight the rebels for our city, for Ko Mangaal, which the rebels would see sunk. They think to return our people to a nomadic life at the expense of our home, which unites our people. But that is a path backwards. They want isolation, when such a thing is no longer possible. Like it or not, our world has grown and the Mangaal can no longer hide from sight.
âAnd, yes, we also fight to avoid the merciless retribution of the Lyssan kingdoms that, for now, fight by our side. Remember, when I was a child this city was filled with Samacian soldiers. Iâve seen what they are capable of. We cannot match them in strength; only in diplomacy can we find lasting peace.â
Sig heard the warning in his fatherâs voice and didnât press the issue further. âI understand, Father.â
Pulanimakithisig unfolded his long legs and stood up, his posture lightening as though he hadnât just issued such grave warnings. âLetâs go eat, Son. Your cousins took down a boar on the island and I think I can smell your motherâs pig stew now.â His father snuffed out his pipe before striding out of the covered interior of the nera.
In truth, for honour or not, Sig wanted nothing more than for the fighting to begin in earnest. He looked down again at the hand that had thrown his cousinâs spear, feeling a buzzing anticipation in his chest. If weâre to fight alongside them, four hundred Lyssans will be plenty. They have to be.
He followed his father out.Â
Sig, the oldest child of his family, is set to become the leader of his diplomatic clan. He feels under-appreciated, used to spy out dissenters within the Mangaal when the Lyssan's are invited to help them flush out the traitors in their midst.
Idalia has been sent away to the Nisi Archipelago by her mother - the chief medic to the Lyssan queen. She's a scholar and a medic, and immediately makes her worth known to the Mangaal people when she saves the leg of a young boy.
By the time I reached the end of the prologue, I was hooked. I actually snorted out loud at the prologues last line; the wry observation delivered with such dry humour had me thirsting for more. I also found it hard to believe that Zucker is a mere 24 years old and that this is his debut offering. His writing is so slick, so well articulated and crafted that it belies his youth. That he wrote this 900+ page epic offering in just four months during the Covid-19 lockdown is completely mind-boggling and nothing less than a terrific accomplishment.
I would most definitely recommend Nomads of the Sea to any reader who loves an epic fantasy, as well as to anyone who has a love pf the sea, boats, fighting and perhaps, some piracy. Even if you're not a fan of the genre, I would still recommend this brilliant novel; it's beautifully written and Zucker has obviously poured his entire heart and soul into it.
Bravo, Mr Zucker. I can't wait for you to expand on the Fishgut Guard.
S. A.