Meliu

by L. James Rice

  “He did. Please, sit and talk.”

  “Pound your words in the Forges, I don’t have to be here.”

  “You should rest, clear your head before we speak further.”

  Meliu strode for the door but her knees buckled.

  Sedut moved swift as a viper, but instead of a bite she nabbed the goblet from Meliu’s hand as her knees struck the floor. Her thoughts clouded over, her eyelids were anchors, and instead of cursing her mouth surrendered to a yawn. There were dim flutters of light as a dull pain spread from the side of her head; a hollow thud and distant words fading into nothing were the last things she heard: “Slumber would’ve hurt less if you’d sat.”

  9

  The Helping Hand

  Sihodo reigned for a hundred years and fought half as many wars without losing one. There was a monumental secret to his victories which his enemies could never learn: He fought wars he had already won. Learn the truth of this wisdom and you too will stand resolute in the Conqueror Heaven.

  —Codex of Sol

  “You’re awake, good. I’d begun to worry for you.”

  Meliu groaned, her body swaying but her stomach calm. Wrapped in blankets and hanging in a hammock, the image of being a spider’s kill came to mind.

  Sitting relaxed in a high-backed chair, with legs crossed, was the spider.

  Meliu said, “What the hells, how long?”

  “A day and a half, or thereabouts.” Sedut held out a steaming tin cup. “Nothing nefarious, brewed from the tea in your bag. Ample honey.”

  Memories returned, foggy and vague, but she could swear Sedut never prayed to put her to sleep. “I didn’t drink the wine… how?”

  “The scent of wine covered Terem fumes, useful to remember in the future. I do apologize, but it simplified things.”

  Meliu struggled to rise in the hammock, got her bearings, and took the cup. She sniffed, eyeballed the high priestess, then drank. The thick concoction served to ease her hunger pangs as well as rising nausea. “This is the second time I’ve missed a Luxun boat. Where the hells are you taking me? Tomarok?”

  “Where did you come by that name?”

  “Lord Priest Ulrikt’s scroll.”

  “It says ‘flee Kaludor’. Oh, don’t worry, all your possessions are intact, just not your secrets. Oh! And for your peace of mind, that child you drug with you from Kaludor sails with Temeru, though for a different destination.”

  She blushed, embarrassed that she’d forgotten Deelee, but pleased to hear of her fortune. But anger bubbled back to the top. Meliu grunted. “Secrets.” She didn’t have secrets worth keeping no how. Except the bag of coins, maybe. “If read beneath the stars of Skywatch, then the scroll says to sail to Tomarok.”

  The woman’s brow furrowed. She was a plain lady, despite perfect raven hair and ivory teeth, and the look didn’t suit her. “What ink does such a thing?”

  It was a question which had vexed her scholar’s mind, but she’d stumbled on the answer in the library beneath the stars. A variant of Moon’s Glow, fashioned from enchanted, and powdered, amethyst. But she didn’t share her wisdom. “Such lore is rare, but Ulrikt had access to histories I would never see.”

  Sedut waggled a finger at her. “You would’ve. He liked you, by the time High Priestess Demoy would’ve passed on to the stars, you would’ve been her replacement.”

  Those words rattled her brain. Demoy was the Lord Priest’s Keeper of Lore, likely one of a handful of living souls to help translate the Codex of Sol and other forbidden texts. She’d never considered herself achieving such an honor. “You flatter me. If Demoy were here, she might’ve known what he meant.”

  “She doesn’t.” Sedut leaned, a hard stare straight into Meliu’s eyes. “No lies. You’ve never heard the word before?”

  “Never.”

  “I have.”

  The ship creaked and groaned to break the ensuing silence; if not for the fact Sedut could kill her with a word, she might’ve leapt from the hammock to give the woman a good shake. “Where is it then?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Meliu stared at the ceiling, rubbed her forehead, then took a drink of Storm Tea. “You are a useful one, ain’t you?”

  “Ulrikt tolerated your tongue better than I will.”

  “Save me from your threats… When, where did you hear the word?”

  “From Ulrikt. Those privy to the words of prophecy mused on him becoming King Priest. He laughed and proclaimed king priests could only be crowned atop Tomarok.”

  Meliu’s head spun, but she wasn’t sure if from waves or these words. A tome detailing the crowning rituals of king priests? What other secrets might such texts hold? “Ulrikt knew things I don’t.”

  Sedut clucked and rolled her eyes. “He knew more things than all of us. Many more.”

  “Atop Tomarok, a mountain? A hill?”

  “Another time he questioned if it still existed. If maybe, like the gods, it’d been banished from the world.”

  Can a mountain be banished? Destroyed for certain. “Volcano?” A half dozen volcanoes lay scattered along the Estertok Range.

  “I believe he meant more literal.”

  “You mean the Great Forgetting?” She’d seen charts kept by ancient mariners, they held little relation to recent maps. The oldest map she’d seen depicted the world with a single continent stretching around the world. Many claimed it a fantasy.

  “I mean the First Forgetting.”

  Meliu sat up in the hammock, damned near spilling to the floor as it swung. “What the hells do you mean, first?”

  “The histories teach us of the Age of God Wars, the Banishment, the Age of Warlords, and the Great Forgetting. Ulrikt believed the Banishment resulted in a Forgetting. You’ve heard of the Fifth Treatise?”

  “Yes.” A book of some sort, but nobody bothered to explain what it might be. “It mentions a First Forgetting?”

  “Lord Priest Ulrikt often spoke of the maps in the Fifth Treatise when his mind wandered to history. The finest maps he’d ever seen.”

  “You’re saying the treatise may hold Tomarok’s location?”

  “He couldn’t send you to a place banished from the world.”

  Meliu drained the last drops of tea and eased her feet to the floor, her legs wobbly and weak. She plopped into a chair across from Sedut. “A problem for the Forges: Those maps are in the Library of Istinjoln, in a room hidden.”

  “No.”

  “No? You have it?”

  “I spoke with Lore Keeper Demoy at the Fost. She secured the tomes of the hidden chamber before escaping.”

  “I need to find High Priestess Demoy.”

  “No.”

  “No?” This woman’s an itch between my shoulder blades.

  “There were two tomes missing from the library, the Fifth Treatise and the Codex of Sol.”

  “So who do I need to find?”

  “A dozen priests knew the location of the tomes, I will give you a list.”

  Meliu stood, swaying with the roll of the boat, and her Storm Tea stayed down. “That’s a meaty stew you served.” Then she spoke words she never imagined herself saying while on a ship. “I need to take a walk to digest it.”

  Sedut grinned. “You always did pace.”

  Meliu skulked to the door and gave it a shove, then turned to spew some nastiness, but nothing good came to her. “Shit.” She had to be satisfied with storming out the door.

  Three days sailing the Parapet Straits, and her lack of retort still burned her thoughts now and again. Worse, nothing she’d come up with since satisfied her neither. So she paced. A lot. But, it was Ulrikt who brought the fire from her coal with the mystery of Tomarok; Sedut acting like she knew her so well was just an excuse to be angry at someone close. However, knowing this didn’t put out the fire, it pumped the bellow.

  She leaned against the starboard rail gazing at another cog trailing them. The Blue Dolphin was similar in size and design to the Fair Wind. Four smaller ships sai
led with them; Sedut owned the entire fleet under the alias Shae Turvin, a proxy for Istinjoln. The Church owning trading ships was another surprise in a world which had been turned upside down and twisted sideways, recognizable but different. She was out of her depth in all these goings on. Everything was simpler with her nose stuck in a book, reading of people long dead.

  Scuttlebutt among sailors suggested they weren’t far from land, so their eyes cast south often, but as the day wore on, storm clouds to the west drew more attention. They were dark and ominous, but seamen assured her they’d reach land before winds howled. She doubted their certainty, figuring they’d feed her these kind words to ease her fears even if about to be sucked into the depths by a whirlpool or eaten by some sea beast. Flickers of lightning in the distance caught her eye, but the next words she heard were more frightful.

  “Sails to the prow!”

  The cry from the crow’s nest swept her eyes south, but the horizon was clear. She climbed the steps of the forecastle, and in moments Sedut joined her.

  Meliu’s fingers drummed a rail post that some bored sailor once carved into the head of a horse. “Trouble?”

  “We’ll know soon enough.”

  Flares passed, and the captain strode close, stretched a spyglass and stared. “There they are. Just come over the horizon. Tek for certain.”

  Sedut asked, “Heading?”

  “Straight up our noses.”

  Sedut prayed. “I don’t see a flag nor markers, to which of the hundred nations do these belong? Captain’s an ugly, bearded bastard.”

  Meliu prayed, but as expected, her vision didn’t stretch so far. “You’re serious? You can see his beard? Can you hear them?”

  Sedut prayed again. “I can hear when they shout. Tekite, but I can’t understand them.”

  “I might, what the hells are they saying?”

  “Daet. Kouki. Soandol?”

  Meliu knew Hidreng best of the Tekite dialects. “Shittin’ hells, they ain’t Hidreng. Who else would be in these waters?”

  The captain said, “Tek Brotna most like, but too many damned nations to list.”

  Meliu locked eyes on the deck, straining her memory. “Sounds likely, but several nations use the dialect.”

  “Oxindo hetame. A different voice this time.”

  Meliu’s fingers tightened on the carved head. “What? You’re sure? Turn sail now! Get us the hells out of here.”

  The captain turned to her. “Why?”

  “Arrows and axes! I don’t know much of the Tek Thon dialect, but—”

  “A half dozen more sails!” The cry from the crow’s nest set the hairs on her neck straight. “Platformed for war!”

  The captain’s eyes bore a fierce stare. “Thonians? You’re certain.”

  “Those words, damned sure. Thon bears influence over several nations.”

  The captain turned to holler commands, but Sedut grabbed his shoulder. “Not yet.”

  Tek Thon was one of the most powerful of the Hundred Nations, and one of the most brutal. There’d be no mercy from them bastards. Escaping Shadows to run straight into Thonian arms tested her Storm Tea’s efficacy. “What the hells are you doing? Warships! We need to run.”

  “No, you need to run. Captain, I want you to signal the Black Owl, they’ve a passenger coming.”

  Meliu met Sedut’s gaze; the mirthful sparkle in the woman’s eye made her queazy. “Oh, forges be damned, no.”

  It took two sailors to drag her into the rowboat, three to haul her there the second time, but the boat dropped too fast to escape for a third try. Once the hull plummeted and hit water all she could do was float and pray the effects of the Storm Tea didn’t wear off. The bastards didn’t even give her oars.

  Within several flares the Black Owl arrived, a smaller, swifter, and more maneuverable vessel and they lifted her onboard with a hooked pole. They struck hard starboard the moment Meliu sat secure on the deck, sailing east.

  The captain of the Black Owl was a man called Oash. He was young, brash, and full of vigor until he spotted Tek sails swerve to follow them. His vigor turned to vinegar and venom. “Whoresons! You better be important, priestess.”

  Me? For the first time in her life, Meliu figured she must be important, but gods be damned if she knew why. Either way, time to act like it. She straightened and glared. “Aye, I am at that, so you’d best captain this ship instead of flapping that tongue at your betters.”

  She strode straight past him to the aft rail without looking back, and there she stood for candles. Sails grew closer in a world turning premature dark, as the sun dropped behind black clouds flickering with lightning. To the port side she could see the coast of Northern Vandunez for the first time. All her life she’d stared at maps and wondered what the world was like off the frozen rock of Kaludor; she never dreamed of seeing it while fleeing for her life.

  Night fell, and not a lantern nor torch was lit. Not even a pipe was smoked. Captain Oash was sailing blind, trusting the eyes of a priest to avoid land, reef, or another ship.

  “Our enemies know these waters.” He paced, repeating these words as if every hand needed reminded. “Damn, I’d like to be bare poles when that storm hits.”

  Meliu shook her head and walked away, praying for Light to settle her nerves. She sat with her back to a pile of rope and pulled her knees to her chest, convinced she might as well nap. She closed her eyes, and a massive roll of thunder didn’t convince her to open them again. A flash of lightning lit her eyelids and its crack was so immediate she feared the mast struck. She looked up, pleased to see the mast and sail intact.

  The starboard sky lit in a series of flashes, and she caught sight of a ship at full sail. She screamed, “Tek! North! Starboard!”

  “Full sail!”

  Streaks of light lit the sky and it took a flicker to register: flaming arrows. Several struck the deck, but she glanced to the sail, figuring it was the real target; it was whole, thank the gods.

  The Captain belted out, “Hard Port!”

  The man had lost his senses, port would lead them to land. She ran to tell him so. “What the hells are you doing?”

  “Their depth of keel will keep them from the coast.”

  “They know these waters, what if it’s what they want us to do?”

  His glare was hard. “Your prayers will serve us better grounded than boarded, but pray for neither.”

  Flaming arrows streaked a lightning lit sky, but none hit deck this time. Maybe the captain was right.

  “Rocks!” The priest at the fore ran toward them. “Dead ahead!”

  Lightning ignited the sky and Meliu didn’t need a prayer to see what lay ahead. Waves crashed white on jagged stone thrust from the surf, and the ship shook and leaned for a flicker as it clipped a hidden reef.

  Storm winds surged, driving the sails hard.

  The Black Owl shuddered a second time, and Meliu stumbled to keep her feet. She dove for the main mast, eyes wide, staring at an oncoming finger of stone. The boat’s hull ground hard, and she felt the cracking of the planks as the ship lurched to an awkward halt, its mast damned near horizontal; screams came from all around and sailors and commoners alike careened into the surging waves of the surf, disappearing into the black waters like so many bugs tossed into a well of ink.

  The boat leaned hard as winds and waves drove its boards crunching further onto the reef.

  Meliu locked fingers around the mast and hugged with her legs to keep from tumbling toward the edge. A wave broke and washed over her, soaking her cloak into added weight. The night sky was lit by a score of shooting stars; flaming arrows hissed into the waters and thunked the deck, one passed through the remnants of the sail dangling below her.

  She scrambled atop the mast and strained to reach the rail of the listing boat. Her fingers caught the edge and she pulled herself to its crown with a defiant scream. Glancing out to sea showed the faint silhouette of the Tek vessel lit by archers dipping arrows into torches. She leaped for the fin
ger of stone and caught its side, scraping hands, elbows, and knees, but she managed to climb through the pain with clenched teeth.

  She kneeled atop the stone as a second rain of arrows streaked through the sky, striking the Black Owl. They did little but add a glow to the night until one struck and flared into blinding white light. Meliu blinked and covered her face in the crook of her elbow. Heat swelled to warm her face and she lowered her arm to reveal a world of blinking blurs as her eyes adjusted.

  An area the size of a shield blazed with crisp white flames; whatever the arrow carried, she’d never seen its like.

  Shadowy archers in the distance ignited arrows, a couple of their faces already aglow from nocked flames; arrows soared in weighted arcs, and in a flicker she realized the burning boat lit her position on the rock.

  She turned to a field of black, with no way to tell stone from water, and no time for prayer to light her way. She put a hand to her perch to find purchase for a climb, her feet skidding on the edge. Jump, but her body didn’t listen. An arrow sailed over her head and sizzled into water, its blaze before death doing little to reassure she’d survive a leap. It wasn’t with faith in the gods she jumped, it was a faith in odds, splash or crash versus burning arrows.

  She sprung as far as wearied legs could launch her, aiming for the arrow’s splash. She clenched her eyes tight, remembered to take a deep breath, and fell. Anticipated when she might hit. Flexed her knees.

  Waters splashed.

  Stone jarred every joint in her body and she lost her feet in the waves as she crumpled like a nail misstruck by a hammer, folding shoulder first into the surf. Salty water drowned her screams; she choked and gagged as she rose to her right elbow, her left folded against her chest. She tried to stand, but a wave swept her forward, so she crawled.

  Something struck her in the sternum, and she flailed, imagining a poisonous sea snake as she’d seen depicted in old books, but instead she found an arrow with its tip wrapped in rag. She clutched its shaft and dared stand as the force of the waves lightened. She stuffed the arrow beneath the crook of her arm and hobbled forward, hoping she never need use such a desperate weapon.