by Katy Winter
CHAPTER ELEVEN
There was now no opportunity for the travellers to stay where they were. Jepaul seemed to have only the haziest memory of Riders but Quon was increasingly edgy. Sapphire was unusually taciturn. After the incident with the Riders, there was brief discussion among the men, but the Doms offered little explanation to the others who remained, in most ways, completely in the dark. All they knew was a renewed sense of urgency to get Jepaul to safety. They accepted this was paramount. All thought ruefully of horses who would have to be left behind for the fisherfolk to care for.
To move on required water transport. Sapphire decided they'd have to steal a boat. They tried, at first, to bargain for it but the owner refused to entertain the idea of a sale and did so by setting a ridiculously high price. It frustrated Quon, amused Sapphire, and both angered and disgusted the Varen and Javen. Saracen remained stoically unmoved. When the boatman made a rude gesture at Quon and turned his boat from the jetty and set back to the quay, Saracen slyly stowed away on board.
Sapphire's explicit instructions were clearly in his mind. He waited until just after dusk, in rather cramped conditions, then, when there was barely enough light left to see what he was doing, he carried out the theft most expeditiously. For one who'd never set foot on a boat, he did very well. He grinned widely at Sapphire's praise when the boat was secured at the jetty. It was a small boat but it had sails, inexpertly and rather haphazardly erected by Saracen, who, being small, had a real struggle with them.
“Luckily the wind blew you to us,” observed Sapphire mirthfully as he studied the wildly flapping sheets above him. He glanced at Jepaul. “Up you go, lad, and do exactly what I tell you.”
Jepaul didn't hesitate. He was up the rope ladder in minutes, Sapphire's orders obeyed with alacrity. Down below, Javen and Knellen also followed instructions, while Saracen was set to work to bring order to loosely hanging sails. Quon stayed by the tiller, his amused gaze going from man to man. He hated boats and felt uncomfortable on water, but he could appreciate Sapphire's skill and control. Saracen, as far as Quon could now see, was busy with endless coils of rope.
It was as they edged to the far side of the water, where they knew to get to the lagoon they had a narrow isthmus to haul the boat across, that a cry went up from the quay. All on board could see outlines of people who held bobbing lanterns and the expletives that floated across the water made Sapphire smile.
Getting the boat up and across the surprisingly narrow isthmus tried them all and took them longer than was comfortable, with pursuers both in boats and moving about the lake close to them. The hue and cry got nearer. Sapphire urged his companions again. Slipping, sliding and cursing breathlessly, the men got the boat through the cutting Knellen and Javen desperately hacked at in an effort to aid progress. Now they were in the lagoon, Sapphire ordered the sails fully unfurled. His orders were crisp and concise. They edged steadily closer to the reef opening. The cries receded. In only a matter of minutes they were out on the open sea, nothing around them except darkness, bright stars and the heaving sea. The wind out beyond the reef was brisk and cool.
Quon shivered. Javen struggled to keep his balance. Saracen threw up, and Knellen, never off land before, swore as he clung to the rigging, his stomach betraying him. Jepaul stood four-square on the small deck, hugely enjoying himself, his eyes very bright in the light of the lanterns.
Quon struggled down below to a cabin he thought bitterly more resembled a box than anything else. He felt the boat lurch and plunge and was unceremoniously flung onto a bunk. With an inarticulate moan he stayed there, a hand to his head.
They sailed for weeks. All got their sea legs though Quon was obviously very ill at ease on the sea. Since Quon got ill if down below for too long Saracen took over the galley and Jepaul was taught to sail by Sapphire. Javen and Knellen were the muscle of the crew, working easily beside the tall Dom. Quon rested most of the time.
Jepaul learned a great deal. His once appalling lack of coordination was a thing of the past. He recognised the stars and could navigate by them, Sapphire even able to leave him at the helm more than once at night. He fished from the boat. He read weather signs with accuracy. He happily scrubbed the deck or stood his watch at the bow, all aspects of life on board enjoyed and responded to. He became tanned too.
All but Quon did so. He was only tanned on his hands and face because he always wore a scruffy hat. Jepaul ran around unselfconsciously naked most of the time, the skinny frame and stick-like limbs becoming sturdier by the day. He was very brown. His hair bleached too until the coppery auburn was tipped with blond. He was happy.
He also continued to spar with Knellen. Their bare feet pattered on the limited deck space as they came to grips again and again. And Jepaul found it enormously funny to be lifted and tossed over the side when he, again, lost to the Varen, his face alight with laughter while he waited for Knellen to good-humouredly throw him a rope and haul him back on board. He learned proper self-defence from both the Varen and Javen. After an exhausting session he'd collapse next to Quon and rest his head against the old man's shoulder. He’d beg Quon to tell him another story from the distant past. Slowly, as the story ended, he'd be sound asleep. Sapphire often looked down at the pair, his expression very pensive.
It was on such a day when Jepaul lay next to Quon, his gaze far away, that Saracen, on the bow, yelled excitedly that he could see land. That was enough to have Jepaul and Quon scramble to their feet. Jepaul, sure-footed among lines and ropes and other assorted equipment, was up beside Saracen in seconds.
Quon, rather more decorously, edged his way forward to be joined by the other men. Sapphire looked searchingly into the distance. Javen and Knellen leaned shoulder to shoulder but could see nothing, while Quon, squinting short-sightedly, could only see light playing on the water like so many sparkling jewels. Today the sea was calm. Quon shuddered when he thought of the two storms and terrifying swells they'd encountered only days before with the small boat tossed about like a toy. Saracen was nearly lost overboard when he lost his footing on the slippery, greasy decking.
“The man's in the right of it,” declared Sapphire, standing with a steadiness Quon could only admire. The man looked a buccaneer. “There's land not far off.”
“There is, Quon,” added Jepaul, delighted anticipation in his boyish voice. “You'll soon feel better.”
“None too soon,” was the old man's rueful rejoinder. He saw a huge grin on the youthful face turned down to look at him, took the extended hand in his and squeezed it hard. “I know how happy you are, Jepaul.”
“But you're a man of the land, Quon.”
“I am that,” acknowledged Quon, “but then again I wasn't raised to be at one with the sea, nor did I see it until I was an adult.” He studied the young face. “Neither were you, Jepaul, but just look at you.”
“I love it,” confessed Jepaul, dropping down beside his mentor. “There's so much space and nothing to restrict you.” He sighed, then added thoughtfully, “I feel as if I somehow belong to water, Quon, as if it is a part of me that I've only just found.”
Quon quirked an eyebrow at him.
“And the land, child?”
“That too, Quon, in the same way. Perhaps I only realise that now because water is new to me whereas I took the land for granted.” Jepaul slumped contentedly.
“You respond to all things elemental on Shalah, don't you?”
As he casually posed the question, Quon deliberately glanced away from that intriguing, mobile face that had such a range of expressions. Emotions flitted across it even as the boy thought. Quon constantly saw new depths of beauty in that face every time he looked at it, but now he was careful to show no expression himself. Jepaul nodded vigorously and those strange eyes danced as much as his salt-caked hair.
“I think so,” came the reply. “Air breathes, Quon, and fire warms, but I know little of them.” He closed his eyes.
“As yet,” murmured Quon under his breath, his gaze
back on the relaxed face.
“What's that?” asked Sapphire curiously, lounging back but holding on to a stanchion.
“Just how Jepaul reacts to things,” answered Quon, in an offhanded way but with an alert warning in the look he cast up at the other Dom. Sapphire caught it. He gave his rather charming and certainly disarming smile, and dissembled with ease.
“Oh, he's a good enough lad,” he agreed blandly, his tone careless. “Come now, Jepaul, - work to do if you wish to get ashore again.”
“Where are we, Quon?' asked Javen, as they carefully waded ashore.
They had their few supplies strapped to their backs and Quon had his trousers rolled up round his knees. He grunted distastefully when his booted feet touched stones and mud and water squelched up and round him. He didn't deign to answer Javen until he was on dry land where he shook himself like a dog, water droplets spraying about him. He glared down at his sodden, mud-caked boots in disgust.
“And what do we do with the boat?” demanded Knellen, stumbling and cursing fluently as he reached dry land.
“It's well anchored,” responded Sapphire placidly. “You never know if we may need it again - it's owner might come this far in search of it and claim it.” He laughed. “You never know.”
“Unlikely,” panted Javen, placing a heavy pack on the pebbles beside him. “We must have sailed miles.”
“Many,” agreed Sapphire with his insouciant air. His lack of concern made Javen laugh. He watched the tall Dom wring out his full-sleeved shirt, eye it, decline to wear it, and tie it round his waist. “We're a very long way north. Not many Shalahs come this distance. It is quite wild and uninhabited mostly.”
“How far north then?”
Javen flapped his jerkin vigorously and helped Jepaul who stumbled breathlessly next to him. The boy went to his knees tiredly. His pack was very heavy.
“We're on another continent entirely,” said Quon. He rolled down his trousers and looked resignedly at them. He shook himself again. “If I have my bearings right, dear companions, then I'd say we're in the south of Dawn-Saith.”
“Where?” gaped Knellen bewildered. “I've never heard of it. Are you telling me that the Varen know nothing of parts of Shalah? I can't believe it!”
Quon stared fixedly at him.
“The Varen being everywhere?” he enquired.
“Well they are,” reasoned Knellen. He rather hopelessly tried to rub himself down. “It's part of their function, isn't it, to know and to be able to track all over Shalah?”
“True,” concurred Quon, with a sudden smile of pure amusement. He exchanged glances with Sapphire, a look that Javen, ever sharp, didn't miss. “Mind you,” went on Quon with deceptive modesty, “I could be entirely wrong. After being junketed about in that abominable bucket you all call a boat,” he signalled at the craft rising and falling just beyond them out of the shallows, “my sense of direction could be lost.”
“No,” said Sapphire with a soft chuckle, “As usual, Dom, your direction is impeccable.”
Javen cast Sapphire a suspicious look.
“You know the Dom well, don't you, Marin?” he demanded in an under-voice Jepaul couldn't hear.
“Now what do you think, my good man?” came the good-natured response.
“I'd like to know exactly who the demons you really are,” said Javen with rueful honesty. He rubbed his eyes. “You may call yourself Marin, but I'm not deceived.”
“Do be,” warned Sapphire amicably. He caught the quick look and shook his head. “Be patient, Javen. All things happen in their time. Hastening them can be most unwise.”
“The Masters tried to teach me that,” sighed Javen, a restless hand ruffled through his wet hair. “They always said I wanted too much too soon. It was a recurrent reprimand.”
“Did you learn and profit by it?” asked Sapphire with a genuinely sympathetic smile.
“See!” exclaimed Javen triumphantly. “You didn't even query me when I spoke of the Masters.”
“How careless of me,” pondered Sapphire calmly. “You must excuse such a lapse. I have other things on my mind.”
“So have I,” agreed Javen grimly. He looked fully at the Dom. “ Quon trusts you. He even seems to know you remarkably well as if your lives have been together over a very long time. And you seem to care for Jepaul. That all makes me less concerned.”
Sapphire nodded at him and turned away.
Javen stepped back to Knellen and Quon who assisted a nearly drowned Saracen to divest himself of all he carried, Jepaul next to the little man in an effort to keep him upright. Saracen was in a fierce temper. His dislike of water was only a degree less than Quon's. He snapped at everyone, then turned a hunched shoulder while he tried to get his breath.
Quon and Knellen argued amiably about what Varen should know. It was clear Quon would conclude the argument and not in the Varen's favour. Knellen's voice swelled with indignation.
“It's all very well for you to laugh, Quon, but such a gap in our knowledge is foolhardy ignorance. It makes us weak and vulnerable. Only fools stay that way. Have Varen ever come so far north?”
“Not that I know of,” answered Quon absently.
“So none will pursue us here?”
“Not unless we've left tracks. There are others here who can prey upon the unwary, if it's a challenge you seek.” He saw Knellen frown. “Knellen, I imagine the Varen, being what they are, will realise we stole a boat and that a sea journey of some sort will take them somewhere. But you must remember they lack Marin's sea expertise and won't easily trace us.”
“Even with the writhling gone, I remember the Cynas' command,” confessed Knellen uncomfortably. “I can't say I regret that my kind will find us extremely difficult to trace.”
“Agreed,” said Javen quietly. “Especially since you have made no effort to return to your Cynas and have made no contact for some time. That'll have set the hybros among the birds, won't it? Master won't be best pleased.” He saw that Knellen was silent and sensed he withdrew into himself. He put a hand on the big man's shoulder. “Knellen, you're among friends. Take comfort from that.”
Knellen's strange eyes rested on Javen's countenance.
“It's one thing that does comfort me,” he answered soberly. “To be constantly aware of how one could potentially betray another, because of what one is or has been made to become, is no easy burden.” The Varen felt the hand briefly tighten on his shoulder and gave a rather sad smile.
“I'll believe betrayal when I see it, not before,” said Javen softly.
The next moment the two were beside Saracen and Jepaul, to help carry supplies.
Quon was right. They were at the base of the northernmost continent of Shalah, a vast area of land that almost encircled their world. In the middle it was densely forested. For most of the syns it was icebound in the far north, but lushly temperate in the southern reaches. It appeared to be uninhabited. Quon, in his element on land again, spoke of the land. He cautioned the listeners.
“It's long since I've been here,” he commented chattily, “and it looks pleasant, doesn't it? But you should know that creatures, considered fables on Shalah, live here. They're dangerous and unpredictable. Spiders are poisonous, there are stinging fish in the rivers and streams and few plants are edible. The running coryx you'll see may look like good eating but they have their defence. Their skin exudes a toxin fatal to Shalahs so leave them well alone. It's why these lands have no people. It's hostile and inhospitable.”
“Did people ever come here?” asked Jepaul curiously.
“Oh yes,” reminisced Quon with a dreamy smile. “Once people lived here but the trials simply became too much and they sought refuge elsewhere. They built boats and left in huge flotillas, nearly all of them. Only a few chose to stay. They died up here. No one returned to seek them. No one cared. They became prey to the native creatures.” Quon fell silent. Jepaul was awed.
“How long ago was that?” h
e asked.
“Long, long ago, my lad,” replied Quon giving his head a shake.
“Can we eat any of the plants?” Saracen queried. Quon shook his head again. “None of them?”
“A few. I’ll show you.”
“When were you here?” asked Jepaul eagerly.
“Oh so long since, Jepaul. I forget.”
Jepaul suddenly looked nervous.
“I'm glad you're with us then,” he said impulsively. His arm got a pat.
“We'll take good care of you,” said Sapphire reassuringly. “Only inner demons stalk up here mostly.”
“Among others,” muttered Quon to himself. He saw Knellen stare at him and turned away.
They headed sharply east. They kept as close to the coast as they could until, after eight weeks, Quon began to move steadily inland in a north-easterly direction. No one argued. All were now used to a diet of roots, shoots and occasional crab-like creatures that Jepaul and Sapphire caught and shelled. Saracen was excellent at finding edibles under the earth, his abilities such that eventually the others just left him to maintain supplies.
And Jepaul kept growing. He was taller than all the men and that included the Varen. The aches that plagued him as his body was stretched never left him and his uncut hair was so long he wore it swept back and tied, a plaited band about his head to hold the curls from his face. He was noticeably stronger.
Javen and Knellen trained him in earnest. He was becoming a formidable opponent. He seldom needed credit for his age or inexperience. He didn't need it. At twelve syns, going on thirteen syns, he was agile, supple and coordinated, and he came close to leaving his boyhood behind. No one who'd known him as the scared child Knellen met, would recognise the striding figure that often broke into a run. Off the boat and where insects abounded, he never went naked.
Jepaul missed his horse. Even Quon, reluctantly, said he'd got used to riding and Knellen morosely muttered about walking, an alien concept for a Varen thrown on a horse before he could walk. Saracen frequently complained at the lack and Javen cursed volubly. Only Marin, as usual, was untroubled and serene as he loped along. However, once they reached the deeply forested part of Dawn-Saith, Quon suggested they might find equines though they might be wild and take time to break. That was good enough for the company. From then on they kept a watch for any horses who might appear.
It was Jepaul who came back to camp one morning, laughing and his eyes bright. He gesticulated to the nearby hill they'd cross after eating.
“Horses, Master!” he yelled to Knellen.
“Where?” asked Knellen, swinging to face him.
“Beyond that small ridge there's a valley,” gasped Jepaul breathlessly. He saw how sceptical the men looked and turned to Javen. “Truly,” he panted. “I don’t think they're wild. I saw four or five stallions. They're greys and dapples, not a dark one among them.”
“Demons!” ejaculated Knellen, the man beside Jepaul in a moment.
“Be careful,” warned Quon amused. “Don't touch them until I've had a chance to sight them.”
“Hurry then!” snorted Javen. He and Knellen were already at a run beside Jepaul who'd loped away.
Sapphire raised an eyebrow at Quon.
“Wild horses, Earth?”
“Could be,” mumbled Quon. “Maybe we should go on down with them. It's the reality of what they might turn out to be that concerns me.”
“Quite,” responded Sapphire laconically. “I'm not a believer in miracles.”
“Me neither,” agreed Quon, grumblingly getting to his feet.
Sapphire looked down at Saracen.
“Maybe life will be easier for you if these horses aren't illusory.”
“I wouldn't believe that in a place like this,” replied Saracen gloomily. “I'll wait here, Marin. Demons! Little to eat, little to see, miles of walking, and now wild horses.”
“Buck up, little man,” advised Sapphire on a laugh. “You never know, you may ride tomorrow.”
Saracen watched the Doms go and slowed his pace to a plod. He had an unpleasant suspicion these horses were too good to be true - why, he reasoned to himself, did they appear just now when all were grumbling at the lack of them? Grohols didn't like coincidences.
When Saracen did arrive at the top of the ridge some time later he had a clear view into the valley. He came to a dead stop and his heart skipped a few beats, then his pulse quickened. The creatures may have looked like horses to Jepaul and the others when they were first sighted, but Saracen knew mimoses when he saw them because he’d read of them and seen images of them. And he saw them now. The illusion to attract was almost gone, only the last shimmer visible. He went to shout. A hand, snaking from behind, clamped hard across his lips and a voice spoke quietly but with enormous authority.
“Don't speak, Groundling, as you value your life!”