The Vastness

by Hausladen, Blake;

  The man worked off his gloves and thick hood. “That is the last load you’ll see. The bay will freeze over soon, so you won’t get much more.”

  “Any news of Burhn?” I asked but got no answer. He was exhausted, so I let him go.

  If the bay froze over could the Chaukai make it ashore? Were they coming for me? These thoughts tore at me, but they had no place. I needed to change what was happening or I would not survive their growing anger long enough to see the wood run out or Burhn’s return.

  I stood to ask another man for help with the wood, but bit my tongue. I’d become the woman who asked for things and filled the cave with smoke. They had one Vesteal child. Did they need a second?

  I stole a glance back into Burhn’s yurt. Clea was fast asleep. I left her lay and crossed to the pile of timbers. It was the farthest I’d gone from the entrance since it became my prison cell.

  A hundred pairs of eyes looked up from their quiet work and candlelit reading. The butcher paused to look me up and down. A half-frozen hunk of blood fell from his heavy knife.

  I took a few dried pieces of wood, hurried back to the yurt, and shut the flaps.

  Clea opened her eyes and blinked at me. I turned away. She would not see me cry. She would see others cry, many others, but not me. I sat in the corner until my wet eyes and cheeks caught the chill of the air.

  “What next, you great fool?”

  I needed to be of value to them. Asking for them to retrieve the wood had been a mistake. How could I change their estimation of my value? I looked around the yurt, and smiled at the three candles and bag of radishes Burhn had left me.

  “Sit tight, love. Time to make some friends.”

  I set the wood aside, grabbed the candles, and stepped back out. Every man came to a halt once again. The butcher spat in my direction. His spot was two tiers up, near the entrance. I started around the hot springs toward the stairs. The silence that fell over the vast cave allowed the howl of the autumn wind to reach my ears. When I turned left onto the butcher’s tier the man standing guard seemed relieved I did not continue toward him.

  The silence persisted until I reached the butcher.

  He caught me glancing at his knife. “You came for this? I can cut that baby out of your belly for you, if that’s what you are hoping.”

  “You remind me of a Tracian timberman I met in the Daavum Mountain,” I said.

  “There is no one prettier than me or my knife.”

  I laughed, smiled, and offered him the candles.

  He snatched them, but stood with them in one hand and the knife in the other, uncertain what to do next. “These are the ones Burhn gave you? What do you want in trade?”

  I motioned for him to give me the knife.

  “You came a long way for nothing if you think I’m handing a woman my knife. Fuck off.”

  “Aren’t you curious what I mean to do with it? The candles buy me at least that much.”

  After a long moment he extended it to me. “Dull the edge and you’ll see your baby right quick.”

  It was sticky with caribou blood. I fixed my grip upon it, stepped to the half-skinned mountain of meat, and cut free a slab of fat the size of my leg.

  “Hey,” he said in protest and started toward me.

  I handed him his knife and took a bit of the fat. “You get one candle in five of those I make,” I said, swallowed off the first gust of water from the fat. “We have a deal?”

  This made him smile, but he suppressed it. “One in four.”

  “Agreed. And you can tell everyone that I don’t need any more wood.”

  He shrugged and made like he was getting back to work, but not before he put the precious candles inside a small chest full of books. A well-worn copy of Tales from the Berm sat on top. I retreated to Burhn’s yurt, chewing fat as I went.

  I’d worried I’d not be able to hold down my stomach with a bloody wad of fresh fat in my mouth, but as I sucked the water from the mass, my throat and stomach was strangely soothed. I bit off another piece of the spongy fat, bundled Clea close inside by wrap, and found the tattered remains of my linen shirt. We enjoyed each other’s warmth while I tore the shirt into strips and chewed down the fat. The linen would make fine wicks. I found a vein of meat running through the fat when I took my next bite, and it added great flavor to the radish soup I cooked for the men the next day.

  They did not mind my small fire so much when it meant a hot meal with woman down beside the hot springs, and a bit of bartering for some fantastic candles.

  19

  King Barok Vesteal

  Thirteen Days in Heneur

  The 33rd of Autumn, 1196

  My Dearest Dia,

  We are due to arrive at Lindrig, and I am almost sad for the voyage to end. It has been as calm as it was beautiful. We’d heard reports that an old mountain in Heneur is sending up a cloud of ash, but none of us expected the colors of the sunsets it caused. The Heneurans we met at Moorsmoth said it burps a fresh coat of fertile ash onto the plateau every decade or so. Our good ship Revenge departed us yesterday with Evand’s Hemari refugees toward Bessradi so they get to sail beneath the ash. I envy them—the trip not the ash. Rahan’s fight is one for the ages.

  You’ll laugh to know that I’ve managed to avoid getting seasick this trip, as though the sea decided it did not care to torment me any longer. The calm seas allowed us to shave a day off our schedule, though Pikailia’s mastery must also be credited. Her skill rivals her mother’s now, and you would not recognize her in her yellow coat and captain’s hat. I was surprised to learn today that this is already her tenth trip down the coast. Our growing fleet moves so fast, it put the Yentif roads to shame.

  Did you ever meet Colonel Bohn Kennculli, the greencoat that held Leger’s accord together in the Oreol? He came aboard at Moorsmoth with a company of his greencoats and you would think him a younger version of Leger the way soldiers and sailors alike pay him respect. I’ve still not heard a firsthand account of his adventures with our dearly departed friend, but I hope to add an account of it to my next letter, if this journey affords us time for the telling.

  And this is not the end of the happy news I have to share. The lads in my guard had a gift for me this morning and you would have wept to see it. The thin box contained the portrait of my mother that hung above the mantel. It survived the fire, Dia. The frame must have broken and the sheet flung out by the first blast of fire—

  Sorry, love, I need to stop. I am too angry now, and they all see it. I fear they will lose trust in me. I need you Dia. Come home to us.

  Your foolish and angry man

  I tried to calm myself while the ink dried, and then tried awhile longer. My heart was still pounding when Fana knocked on the half-open door.

  “You made it all the way to Lindrig, and now you are getting seasick?”

  She spotted the letter and moved to help me put it all away. “Angry is better than sick.”

  “Is it? The last time the Mother Yew spoke to me, she did not like my rage.”

  “It was your wallowing in failures she could not abide. She loves the sound of our anger.”

  “You speak to her often?”

  She shrugged, which was becoming her default reply to my questions about her work with our druids.

  “Fana, I cannot have you holding a grudge for my decision to required you train healers for the army.”

  “It was a terrible decision, and yes, I can.”

  “Did I miss a measure passed by the Council of Lords? From where do you draw authority over your king?”

  Her own anger flared and she stood arms akimbo with her ripening belly aimed at me. “Rahan doesn’t treat Evand this way.”

  “I would say not. If Evand were to behave the way you are, Rahan would have to have him executed or exiled.”

  “His own brother? You Yentif are ridiculous.”

  “Are we? Would Kyoden have tolerated your insubordination? I have agreed to come on this trip to help you find and recrui
t Lady Jayme, but you cannot—”

  “Fine. Enough. I’ll play the part.”

  “Is there a time you have in mind to start?”

  Her rage flared again, and I tried to imagine how the Dame held her ground against Fana, but I could not see how I could manage the same without control over what was for dinner.

  “You have news for me?” I asked.

  “Yes. You are requested on deck.” She could not get past her anger to explain why and started back out. I held my ground.

  She turned, composed herself, and added, “The ash has started coming down on us and we are approached by a ship coming out of Lindrig.”

  I withheld comment and hurried up with her. The deck was busy as Captain Pikailia maneuvered us closer to the friendly ship. It was one of a single-masted dhow that Heneur’s fishermen relied upon. It was ranging farther from the coast than what I understood to be safe for such craft, and it did not look like it wanted to slow as we came abreast.

  Its captain was at the rail as we passed but did not look eager to speak with us. “What news?” Pikailia hollered.

  “Magic has fouled Heneur. You’ll turn around if you are smart. You’re ship and you will all burn.”

  “What magic?” Pikailia shouted before I could.

  “Bayen has revenged himself. His priests and Sermod tore the top of Mount Lazez and set fire to the capital. King Aldus and King Barok are both dead. Get yourselves away.”

  He left the rail before Pikailia or I could correct him as his ship hurried along. Every hand on deck was working to keep their speed.

  “Turn and stop them?” she asked.

  “No. They won’t turn, even if I disabused them of my demise.”

  “Such foolishness. One good wave and they’re finished. There is no reason for it. They could stay to the coast.”

  “Fear has hold of them.”

  I waved Colonel Bohn and Fana to join us. She seemed pleased by what she’d heard. “He said Sermod?”

  “You still want them to join us if this is her doing?”

  “We would be fortunate indeed if their magic was the kind that could tear open mountains, but it is not.”

  I considered testing her newfound respect for my crown with more questions, but we would both be fool to speak of such things in the open.

  I said to Pikailia and Bohn instead, “get everyone ready to go ashore. We have no idea what we will find.”

  They got busy but not for long. The Black Cliffs appeared through the ash while the greencoats were still getting kitted, and Pikailia had to order the deck cleared so her sailors could make the hard turn east toward Lindrig. She’d managed to navigate us close to the valley but not as well as she or I’d hoped. The ash was falling faster, and visibility was getting worse.

  Her embarrassment and concern showed and she paid a bit more attention to the readying of a gangway that a captain should. By the time we were found the harbor mouth and were peering through the ash to find a free mooring, her calm was as frayed as the fisherman’s.

  “Steady,” I said as I stepped in beside her along the rail.

  “How did you do it?” she asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your sea sickness. How did you cure it?”

  “Not entirely sure. I decided I didn’t want to be sick, and here I am.”

  “That works?”

  “Try.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You are ready to burst. Your hat is on backwards and you have not stopped moving since you heard about the fires. Try it. Stand still. No one leaves this ship without your leave. Find your feet, and when the moment comes, walk us down and show them all what it means to be a captain. Assess, decide on a set of actions, and see them done properly.”

  She fixed her hat and made fists, but instead of punching something, she managed to plant her feet and take hold of the rail.

  There were many open moorings along the deserted pier, and we put in without incident, despite the ash. A call for the harbormaster got no response. The ash made everything quiet. The gangway dropped into place, and I could feel her vibrate as she paused.

  “What can you see above?” she asked the lookout.

  “Nothing, ma’am. Less than you can, I believe. I can barely see you.”

  She walked down and called Colonel Bohn and his scouts to join her. I was obliged to wait safely aboard, so it was my turn to fidget as they made their way into the town.

  A relay officer came back with word of fires in the town and orders for a half the company to assemble ashore. They went while we waited. Pikailia did not make us suffer the mystery and returned soon after.

  “The same fear we saw in the fisherman has taken root here,” she told us. “The town has locked itself inside believing you and Aldus are dead and that Lady Jayme is setting fire to Heneur. Many have fled like the fishermen. We found a single building on the outskirts of town that had all but burned out, and a second nearby that recently caught. We’ve got both fires under control. The town’s officials are holdup inside an inn. Bohn is talking them out now. I would have you come ashore with the rest of the men and present yourself to the town.”

  I was happy for the motion and happier still when one of the sailors gave me his wide-brimmed hat to keep the gentle cascade of ash out of my eyes. I meet Bohn near the inn. He had coaxed some of the townspeople out into the plaza and the crowd was growing.

  “It is all false,” he said to them. “See, here is King Barok now.”

  An amount of bowing happened, but they were quick to return to their fears. “Lady Jayme didn’t cause the ash and fired?”

  “No. No one is responsible for it. Aldus is alive. Bayen has not set fire to the earth.”

  “What shall we do?”

  “See to your town. We will move up the valley and cure Heneur of these same terrible rumors.”

  They were not convinced, but the world did not start on fire while we brought our horses ashore. Things began to settle and we sent riders up the valley road to hasten the demise of Lady Jayme’s fictions.

  The wind shifted north that afternoon, and a thin rain fell on us as we neared Wilgmuth. The capital was not on fire, and the thin layer of ash vanished like autumn snow into the grass. Mount Lazez was visible to the southwest for a time as the ash pushed further north, and I understood their fears as the sight brought our column to a halt. The top of the mountain was gone, and an angry maw spewed up a torrent of ash. A red glow gouged its south face.

  “Where will the lava go?” someone asked and fixed the map of Heneur in my mind’s eye.

  “If it does not find a channel to the sea, it would pour out onto the plateau our down through Opti Pass.”

  Bohn said, “I would wager the plateau was made by such a flow.”

  “The entire thing. And the black cliffs?”

  He didn’t need to answer. As for where the lava was going, we would not know more until we reached the city. I ordered the column forward.

  We found Wilgmuth in fine form, if a bit scorched, despite all the recent events. Its patchwork of fields was lined with the same vast bands of yellow and blue wildflowers that loved the plateau, and the recent rain had made the dark soil black. A few charred building poked up through the quiet facade, but no smoke rose. The city’s east gate was closed and no one was on the road, but Bohn didn’t find that out of the ordinary, recalling for us that the city’s south and west gates were far more trafficked.

  We continued toward the bleak scene and the calm of our captain and colonel guarded us from ominous pondering.

  The city watch saw us approach and Bohn knew by name the captain and his lieutenant who came out to great us. We were relieved to hear that the volcano emptied west into the sea and that King Aldus had traveled south through the pass to Smargnoid to prepare its defenses should Eril’s lancer or Yarik’s divisions in Alsonvale make a move north before the snows came. He’d left after the mountain had lost its top and none of them feared the ash or lava
flows. Lady Jayme’s attack and the whirlwind of fire and rumors since had swept the countryside but the city has not succumbed. The Lindrig Valley was only one of hundreds so there was much to be done.

  I expressed hope that Exaltier Rahan would have the Hemari 2nd in Alsonvale too busy to make a move on Heneur, and Fana stopped scowling when I turned the topic to their local troubles. The Heneurans cheered when they heard that we’d come for Lady Jayme, and by the time we settled into lodging, the many reports of her had been gathered.

  It was the 35th when we started west toward the fresh word of her near Gorasas, and our course was confirmed by my Chaukai later that day when the distant taps of someone singing in that direction tickled their ears.

  I sent word to Aldus of our hunt and ordered Captain Pikailia back to the Grace to sail west to Pherne and await word of us there.

  The ride west was disconcerting with volcanic plume dead ahead of us. Fana reminded me that it was still two days ride away, but this did not help much.

  The ash layers got thicker as we rode, and in some places the road was transformed into a bog of sucking muck that slowed us considerably. The kind winds kept blowing north for us though, we were saved from being covered in a fresh layer.

  A rider sent ahead to our banking office in Gorasas found the place deserted, but this was to be expected. The man I’d banished to the tiny mountain town to oversee the bank, a thief by the name of Master Herren, was the kind you’d expect to steal a wedding present from an unattended table. He’d not been seen since the troubles began.

  Our careful ride west up into those hills brought the terrified locals out of hiding, and we heard better reports of Lady Jayme each day. It was certain we were close when we met a farmer who’d had a pig and chicken stolen, and a conversation with him and his kin aimed us up a nearby valley beneath the smoking mountain.

  I expected the Chaukai to object or for them to insist that I stay below. They hurried me along instead. They’d always had their secrets, but the mystery of their present motives was as unsettling as Fana’s.

  I was close to protesting their lack of concern for my person, when a flash of flame upon the ridge above drew all eyes to a greencoat whose head and shoulders swirled of embers and smoke.