The crowd sweeps us forward, the river of humanity carrying us along almost to the bottom of the miles-long ramp. The gradient is so gradual that I’m surprised when I find the masts of ships at eye level. Many of the ships are simple fishing schooners meant for boating to the edge of Solace and no farther; the real waves of the North Sea would swallow them before they sailed for five minutes beyond the shelter of the walls. Only a few ships show the impressive masts of the seafaring. I squint up, trying to read flags as we pass. I need to find a ship that will head to the Republic, because I don’t have the energy to discover the destination of the two dozen mighty ships in the bay.
Almost near the end of one of the largest stone piers, a distinctly recognizable flag stands out from the others: an eye, partially closed, a sunburst rising from above the lid. White on a field of blue. The flag of the Seer’s Isle.
The Seers are an honest folk, more accepting than most, and some of the savviest traders to come out of the Isles. They put in at Sail often and are known hunters of pirates rather than the other way around. Of all the Isles tribes, the Seers are the most respected. I lead Tana over to the adjoining pier, closing my eyes.
“What are we doing here?” Tana hisses in my ear. “We don’t have any money. How can we possibly afford passage on one of these ships?”
“We can’t,” I snap back. “Let me concentrate. If you want to be useful, stand so that my mark won’t be visible.”
Tana moves to stand in front of me, leaning against my leg just as I reach for my power. Her body, strong and soft, presses against my thigh. For a moment I can’t concentrate. Her warmth, her dark hair swaying down her back, the scent of her, even after these long weeks in a hovel, like orange and something I can’t place...
Do you want to die here, idiot?
I shove thoughts of Tana away and dive into my power, carefully avoiding the bright spot of Tana’s mind next to mine. Overwhelming emotion and thought cascade around me, the swirling, seething mass of humanity an impossibly complex kaleidoscope. I grit my teeth and narrow my focus, seeking only the ship, the particular thought patterns of the Seers.
The ship is getting ready to leave, the crew’s thoughts focused on their tasks, their excitement of departure, their respect for the captain… there.
The Mason’s Fall’s crewmen busy themselves with various tasks, but a few gather near the gangplank, speaking with a man whose smugness is just barely eclipsed by his apathy...
“Now,” I say suddenly, limping forward as fast as my trembling legs will take me.
“What do I do?”
“Act as if I’m the Minister himself. You provide me legitimacy. Be that.”
We approach the group. A tall, youthful man with midnight skin stands at the base of the plank, shoulders thrown back and chin raised proudly. His muscled chest contains lungs like a bellows, and he towers over the wiry, whipcord thin woman negotiating with a man in the Governor’s employ. Thin leather straps cross dozens of times across her chest, her skin visible in occasional flashes as she throws up her arms to punctuate her speech. She’s energy incarnate, the muscles of her bare arms gleaming in the cool sun. She wants to be on her way, the vibrant flash of her eyes evidence beyond the agitation in her surface thoughts. The man, by contrast, stands silent, his thoughts ordered and measured, patient as a spider. He will need to be watched.
He notices our approach and tenses, his huge hand going to a blade at his side. The sword looks like a knife in his grasp. I have to force myself to continue, ignoring the pain and turning my limp into a confident stride. The Governor’s man scowls in annoyance when he sees us.
“Move on, you lot!” he shouts, brandishing his tablet as if it were a claymore.
The huge man steps forward, face set and careful, just like his mind. The woman at his side, the captain, lays a hand on his forearm.
“No, Talan,” she says quietly, squinting at me. There’s something like recognition in her eyes.
“Captain Te’ial!” I raise my voice in a friendly greeting, plucking the name from the customs agent’s mind. “This man is trying to swindle you.”
“Of course he is,” she says, completely relaxed, a small smirk forming on her lips. Her accent in the Kingdom tongue is quiet, hardly noticeable. Probably better than mine. She makes a quick hand gesture as if to say such is the way of things.
“I think we can get you a better deal,” I say, grinning, ignoring that face that I probably appear one step above a beggar and two below a decent human being.
“Like hell you can,” the Governor’s man says, stepping into my personal space and lowering his voice. “Bugger off, beggar, or I’ll give you a reason to.”
Once I’m sure his body blocks me from view of the captain and her protector, I reach out a hand and lay it on his shoulder. Physical contact makes it so much easier to work my particular brand of magic. Before he can recoil, I jump behind his eyes.
He is, of all things, a pretty decent fellow. Loyal wife, sick child, some kind of rash and fever spreading across her body. Doctors are struggling to help. He swindles people on the docks not for greed, but so that he can pay for medicine for his child. I shrug inwardly. One more casualty.
I dive into the present moment. He actually holds the Seers in some kind of awe. As a child, he listened to legends of the Seers’ ability to read the dreamworld and come back with knowledge of the future. It’s impossible, of course, unless they have the Shaper of Time reborn. Even so, I implant in him the certainty the Seers actually do have the mystical strength legends claim they have. They can see the future, and, if properly compensated, alter it. I fan those flames of hope in the man’s heart until they shine as a beacon burning bright in his mind. I know I have him when that hope alights in his eyes.
I release his shoulder and step back, having seemed to whisper to him for a few moments, nothing more. He nods at me, a hopeful but brittle smile creeping onto his face. He turns back to the Seers and bows low before them. Captain Te’ial’s eyebrows rise fractionally, her only reaction.
“Honored Seers, if you would accept your docking fee as a contribution to your noble cause, I would consider it a blessing,” he says, never raising himself from his bow. “If you would be so kind as to look on us with mercy in your hearts, that would be thanks enough.”
He stays in the bow as he leaves, shuffling backwards before abruptly swinging about and striding off through the flowing crowd. Te’ial gazes after him, impassive, then her eyes flick back to me.
“How by all the Depths did you manage that?” she asks, the question feeling more like an accusation.
“I’m a man gifted with both knowledge and the means to use it,” I respond, tilting my head in a gentle nod.
“And what do you want for this… extravagant gift?”
“For this paltry display? Nothing.”
“Nothing?” she asks, lips quirking into that same knowing smirk.
“What I seek is passage on your ship. To Sail, if you can be persuaded to head that direction,” I say, knowing full well that Sail is already their destination.
“We do not take on passengers,” she says curtly, spinning on her heel and turning to go.
“Not even personal retainers of Eledar Cortola?” I call, pulling Tana forward. Te’ial’s eyes snap to the slave mark, tracing the whorls and symbols etched in the iron.
“I’ve dined with Minister Cortola,” she answers, switching smoothly into Khalin as if she were born to the language. My respect for her rises another fraction. “And none of his retainers look quite so bedraggled.”
“We’ve obviously fallen on hard times. We were left behind when the Minister’s train moved on three weeks ago. I was presumed dead, this poor slave given the task of finding me. She was ultimately successful, but I was in too dire straits to be moved. I have since healed, and I’m eager to resume my place at the Minister’s side. I’m quite certain that the Minister will reward any who give assistance. As a man of no small means myself, present
situation excluded, I can call on the administrators in Coin to appropriately compensate you for your time.”
Which is true, though whether the money is particularly mine or not is irrelevant. I have often found the truth to be the best honey to spread over bitter words.
Te’ial glances at the man at her side, Talan. His face remains impassive, and they carry on a silent conversation as if they both possess my power, thoughts and opinions passing on a level of understanding only granted by true friendship and love. Finally, Talan sighs, nods, and strides up the gangplank. Te’ial looks back at me, her expression guarded.
“The terms of your contract are simple,” she begins. “I cannot offer you a cabin, nor will you pass the time idly. You will be expected to work as a member of the crew in the rudimentary tasks normally reserved for our children. When we reach Sail, you will be accompanied to the nearest Coin representative, who will then provide us with my weight in gold marks. Afterwards, our contract is ended.”
My eyes bulge practically out of my head. Her weight in gold marks could buy the bloodline contract of a family of trained slaves. Bloodline, as in, the entire family tree and any future progeny. It could buy three ships the size of the Mason’s Fall, though the Isles is the only place with the knowledge and material to build them. I open my mouth to argue when she raises her hand.
“If I find that you are trouble in any way, my price rises to Talan’s weight in starsilver,” she says, pointing her thumb back over her shoulder at the giant man prowling about the deck.
I swallow my arguments back, almost gagging on the taste. Even though I don’t have to worry about money, as people find themselves strangely willing to part with their wealth when I’m around, my pride drives me never to lose on a deal.
“Who’s doing the swindling now, eh?” I ask, shaking my head at her ruefully. She smirks her signature smirk and makes a quick hand gesture as if to say such is the way of things.
***
The ride out is smooth. Aside from some cursing and the occasional scraping of hull to hull with the swarm of fishing schooners, the Mason’s Fall sails easily out to the open ocean. Immediately, the ship begins to rise and fall in a gut-wrenching rhythm. Solace opens north above the Great Sea. The ocean itself is so vast as to be largely incomprehensible. If we sail directly south for thousands of miles, we’ll reach the Broken Isles and perhaps come to the land of the Seers. But no one is foolish enough to attempt to sail across the center of the Great Sea. The waves even far out on the Ways are so rough that none but the people of the Isles try to sail much from the mainland. The waves in the vast open space between the Ways scrape the bottom of the sea.
I manage to avoid work by promptly falling so sick as to be immobile. I vomit until I’m not certain whether bile or pieces of my tattered stomach are slapping into the bucket. In rare moments of lucidity, I catch sight of Tana running around the deck, trying to tie thick rope, laughing with some of the crew at the rail, or climbing the heavy rigging a few yards up before sliding back down. The happy people of the Isles teach her with endless patience.
The entire crew matches Talan’s dark complexion and muscular build, though he is the darkest and most impressive of them all. He’s built like a cross between a bull and a panther, all savage strength and feline grace. He moves with such surety across the massively swaying deck that it seems impossible he could fall. All of the crew fear and love him equally. I don’t understand how he commands such loyalty, but he would own this ship completely if not for Te’ial, whose word is law.
Tana approaches me on the third day, teeth gleaming through the wet hair plastered to the side of her face. She doesn’t even seem to notice, instead throwing her arms up and hugging me.
“Isn’t this glorious?” she exclaims, laughing as I throw up another weak stream of seawater. “I’ve never been so excited in my life!”
“We made—” I cough, my throat raw from bile and salt. “We made a terrible decision coming on this Eternal-cursed piece of shit-ridden death. We should have just stolen horses.”
Tana just rolls her eyes, taking my bucket and heading for the side. A wave slaps over the side and splashes into the bucket just as she readies herself to heave it overboard. She glances down and shrugs.
“The Depths have claimed your offering already,” she says, eyes glinting mischievously.
“On a ship three days and already speaking like the People,” Te’ial calls as she approaches.
“Do you people have a death wish?” I ask miserably, squinting up at her.
“Perhaps we just like to know what living feels like,” she responds, smirking at me. I’m already tired of that damned quirk of her mouth. “It will be smooth sailing from here to the Khalintars. I hope you have not been lying to me, bient’al, because then we’ll have more than words between us.”
I pluck the meaning of the word out of her brain. Bient’al. Honored one. She’s being sarcastic. Of course she is.
Vigor returns to me over the next day as the unceasing roll of the deck settles into a more manageable sway. We’ve sailed north of the Bridge far enough that the titanic waves begin to calm. I manage to keep food down and strength returns to my limbs. My incessant vomiting has aggravated the wounds in my stomach, but the salt water and clean air keep them from infection. The crew begins to practice on the deck, swinging swords about with gleeful abandon. I can’t tell if they’re any good or if they’re just waving around shiny bits of metal, but two are clearly head and shoulders above the rest.
Talan and Te’ial move in a blur of motion, he with his toy of a sword and she with a pair of long knives curved just slightly at the edges. They dance across the deck for minutes at a time, their weapons scraping against one another with brief showers of sparks and dissonant shrieks. Eventually, they settle back, breathing heavily, and seem to agree on an unspoken draw. Te’ial’s chest rises and falls with each of her breaths, the gleam of her skin, the strength in her arms, the shape of her legs… with my strength’s return comes other needs.
I don’t feel comfortable influencing Tana, as she saved me and all that. No, I need someone with no connections, no attachments. There are a few female crew, but only Te’ial draws my eye. Her superior attitude and annoying smirk grate on my nerves, so there will be a certain satisfaction in the conquest. I go to her cabin as night falls on the second week out from Halfway.
She invites me in, the leather straps of her clothing still firmly secured, and offers me a stool at a small desk in the corner and sits.
“So, bient’al, what do I owe the honor of your illustrious presence?”
“Can my intentions not just be to enjoy the company of a beautiful woman?” I respond, smiling.
“If that is your intent, I believe Talan would take exception. And, no offense to you, but you do not seem the type to match up well against an angry Talan,” she says wryly.
“Ah, so the two of you are… involved?”
“In an official sense? No. He is not available to one such as me,” she says, glancing down and away for a quick moment.
“Why is that?”
I place my hand squarely over my mark as I stroll through her surface thoughts. Talan is important to the Seers; Creator, he’s in his final training to be the next Seer himself. Te’ial seems certain he will win, and thereby take over the shamanistic religion the Seers feed their followers. From what Te’ial’s mind dredges up, it’s nothing but strange portents and vague mumbo jumbo. Thoughts of Talan also come with a yearning so powerful it shocks me. Te’ial loves the man beyond words or understanding. I never would have guessed from her swaggering exterior, but the giant man holds the only soft spot in her heart.
“He is important to our People. That is all I am allowed to say,” she says, shrugging one shoulder languidly. Her smooth skin is perfect in the lantern light.
“Tell me about him,” I say, trying to keep the huskiness out of my voice. This woman, so exotic, so clearly unattainable, is driving me to the edge. “Tell
me about Talan.”
She begins to speak, her words meaningless, the emotions behind them all that concerns me. An endless succession of stolen looks, longing, bitterness, lust, tenderness. She catches Talan looking as well, knowing his thoughts are the same, knowing equally they can never act on their love. The bitterness wells up, overwhelming the longing for just a moment. Talan is choosing to stay in the running to be Seer. There.
Our lips part, my fingers digging into the strong muscles of his shoulder. I close my eyes. His breath tickles the hollow of my throat. His hands encircle my waist, his fingers nearly meeting behind. I feel so fragile, so happy, so his.
The touch disappears.
I open my eyes, shocked. He stands in the corner of the small cabin, his eyes watching me, the rest of him disappearing into shadow. Despite the heartbreaking anguish in his gaze, he doesn’t come closer. His breathing is ragged, both from the closeness of our love and from sorrow, I can tell. I sit up from the bed, my clothes still on, my heart still racing.
“Talan? What is wrong?”
“You know that what we do is forbidden,” he says, voice dead despite the look in his eyes.
“Then forfeit your right!” I say, standing suddenly. “We are in love, Talan. I can see it in your gaze, I can feel it in your hands, I know it in your heart! Give up the contest. Be with me. We can sail the world together!”
I try to go to him, but he holds out his hands, keeping me at bay. Those huge, gentle hands are filled with love even as they try to resist. I grab onto them, desperate, feeling him slipping away even as I watch.
The Crux of Eternity: Eternal Dream, Book 1 (The Eternal Dream Saga) Page 19