"Are you always this philosophical?"
"Only on days when I've almost died five times."
"Ah, so now you understand why I'm always so opinionated."
Winden smiled. Smoke blew past them, but it had the welcoming smell of a cook fire, not the acridity of painted planks. "He fought for years for this. Dedicated his life to it. He would have been proud of us."
Dante nodded, gazing out on the gentle waters of the Bay of Peace. He wouldn't say he'd forgiven his father. He wasn't sure he wanted to—or that he needed to. He'd been fine with things for a long time. Much more so than he'd known.
But after seeing the island—its beauties and its horrors—he understood, at last, all the things that had taken the old man away.
~
For as much as Blays tended to sleep, something about a battle had him up early the next day. That morning was no exception. The sun had hardly lifted itself from the eastern sea before Blays ran up to the house the two of them had been granted and knocked stridently on its frame until Dante stirred.
"Latest from the scouts," Blays announced. "The Tauren camped five miles from here. They struck out at first light. Heading south."
Dante absorbed this the best his war- and liquor-addled mind could manage. "Which is toward Deladi."
"With such a keen mind for details, it's no wonder they put you in charge of Narashtovik. Their retreat could be a ruse of some kind, but if they keep it up for another few hours, they won't be able to strike back today, at least."
"I don't think it's a gambit. They've made too many other enemies. If they lose any more of their army, they might not be able to defend their city."
"Probably right. Either way, I thought the news would help you sleep easier." Blays walked away, oblivious to the daggers Dante was staring in his back.
With his command of the shadows renewed, Dante saw to the wounded in the temple, aided by Winden and Dess. They were more skilled at growing plants than mending flesh, but there had been so many injuries that every bit helped. It was somber work. Some of the warriors' limbs were so mangled there was no fixing them. Others had suffered rattled minds Dante couldn't soothe, which he hoped were only temporary.
Despite this, they were able to restore most of the injured to full health, or at least close enough for their bodies to handle the rest. Outside, the mood in Kandak was one of quiet resolve. The storm had hit. Much had been ruined. But it had passed. Now, they would rebuild.
The magma at the temple lay dormant, but after seeing how pressure could grow beneath the ground, Dante spent his remaining strength sealing up subterranean tubes and fortifying the layers of rock. He'd just about finished when Naran padded up to him. The man had a bandage the size of a sail wrapped around his head, but appeared hale. They exchanged greetings.
"Pardon my haste," the captain said. "But when do you expect to be ready to weigh anchor?"
Dante smiled crookedly. "We're still cleaning up the wreckage of the last battle. You're that eager to go feed Gladdic your sword?"
Naran shrugged his narrow, well-appointed shoulders. "I'm in charge of two ships now. Sixty men. I need to set my schedule."
"Assuming the Tauren are gone for good, there's only a few things left for us to do. It shouldn't take more than a few days."
"This cure of yours. You're positive it works?"
"I took it days ago and I still don't see any sign of the sickness." Dante tipped his head toward the bay. "But if you're afraid for your men, I'm sure no one would be offended if you'd rather wait at sea."
"Your word on its effectiveness is all I need. But I have something else in mind. This morning, I was approached by Niles and an old man with curly white hair. For our assistance in the battle, every man in my crew has been granted a station known as 'rixaka.'"
"Foreign family. You can come and go in Kandak as you please."
Naran raised one kempt eyebrow, nodding significantly. "If so, and if we no longer have to fear the sickness, that opens up some rather intriguing possibilities for trade."
Dante chuckled. "Sounds like you and your crew are only a lot of hard work away from being rich men. Would that change your mind about pursuing Gladdic?"
"I'm afraid not. Whatever our future, I could never accept it knowing it was purchased with Captain Twill's death."
"Fair enough. I'd like to build these people a few fortifications. After that, there's someone I need to visit, but maybe you can help with that. Ever heard of Spearpoint Rock?"
While Naran set to work on finding a less strenuous approach to the northern island, Dante hunted down Niles, who was busy arranging a mission to bring the evacuated citizens back to Kandak.
"The Tauren are gone for now," Dante said. "But it only takes one lunatic to drive them back here. I'm thinking it's time this city had a wall."
Niles tugged on his goatee. "Walls aren't much use against a nethermancer, are they?"
"That depends on whether you have any to defend it."
"True enough. Well, we might as well put ourselves in position to succeed, eh? Do as you will."
Enclosing the entire town would have taken a week, if not more. Instead, Dante took a cue from Narashtovik's Ingate, which encircled the city's inner core. Under normal circumstances, it wouldn't have been easy to erect a wall within a built-up city. But the silver lining of the battle was that so many houses had burned down that Dante had plenty of open space to make use of. Foot by foot, he raised a line of purple-black stone, shaping gaps for gates as well as flood paths to accommodate the tropical rainfall.
While he worked on this, Winden and Dess harvested the Star Tree. This remained a slow process, yielding no more than ten fruit per day. With patience, though, all those afflicted by the ronone would be cured. With nothing else to occupy him, Blays made use of the many swords left behind by the dead or fleeing Tauren to set up an informal training ground, showing every warrior who was interested the basics of combat with a blade.
Four days after the battle, as Dante put the finishing touches on his simple wall, an exhausted scout returned from the south. The Tauren had crossed through the Dreaming Peaks, taking their occupying troops with them. Niles sent a group of warriors into the wilds of the mountains to inform the monks and the Dreamers they could go home.
"I have similar thoughts," Dess said to Dante. "I should be back with my people. We live too close to the Tauren. There's always the chance of treachery."
"You certainly don't need my permission," he said.
"But so few of my people are cured."
It would have been plausible to establish an ongoing trade route. The Boat-Growers found it easier than most to reach Kandak—to get there as fast as they had, they'd carried their ultra-light canoes up into the mountains, then followed the rivers to the northeast shores and sailed the Current into the Bay of Peace—but the journey was no trivial matter.
Dante considered her. "Do you have a proposition?"
Dess lowered her eyes. "Kaval's favor was given to the Kandeans, not me. But I have to ask. Will you show me how to grow the Star Tree?"
"You risked everything for us. So I henceforth declare that Kaval favors the Boat-Growers, too."
With Winden's help, he showed Dess the inner workings of a seed. As he filled the innermost chamber with ether, and the pale sprout broke free from the dirt, Dess' eyes filled with tears.
Using her copper trowel, Winden dug up the sapling and potted it in a small wooden box. Finished, she held it out to Dess.
"Without the strength of the Boat-Growers, the Kandeans would be gone," Winden said. "With this plant, the Kandeans hope to make the Boat-Growers even stronger."
Dess accepted the box, holding it in both hands. She glanced at Dante, anxious. "The Star Trees, what if they die again? And we have no one who can use the ether?"
He lifted one shoulder, a half shrug. "Guess you'll have to kidnap a Mallish priest."
Dess nodded thoughtfully.
"Don't actually kidnap a Mallish
priest," Dante said. "I have several monks versed in the ether—and far more skilled with it than I am. Once I'm home, I'll send one of them here to offer training to your Harvesters."
"Thank you. There is no finer gift than freedom." She turned to Winden. "That is why I pledge to help you regrow your Basket. So the Kandeans will always have everything they need."
Winden broke into a smile. "This is how it should always have been."
Dess gathered up her people. With the Boat-Growers' canoes having all been bifurcated to be used as shields, they borrowed Kandean boats, with the promise to replace them with the lighter harvested versions on their next visit. Many of the Kandeans halted their work cleaning up the town to see the Boat-Growers off. As their new allies departed, the Kandeans broke into their farewell song, bone flutes carrying on the wind.
~
With the Boat-Growers gone, the Dreaming Peaks restored to the Dreamers, and Kandak under reconstruction, there was little to require Dante or Blays' assistance. Though a part of Dante yearned to move on and begin his travels home, the thought of leaving the island caused him to consider it anew, as he had the first time: as a paradise. One that rivaled anything he'd seen, be it in the lands of the living or of the dead.
He allowed himself a single day to enjoy it. Swimming in the tranquil turquoise bay. Lying in the sun. Bathing in the hot springs. Hiking out into the jungle, both to check on the Star Tree, and for the simple desire to spend a few final hours in a forest of unsurpassed greenery and vibrancy. When the modest rasp of the surf woke him in the morning, it was the most rested he'd ever felt.
After asking around, he learned Winden was out tending to the Basket. He hadn't seen it since the Tauren had pillaged it, and despite having heard of the damage, when he saw it in person, his heart sank. Trees had been hacked down, piled up, and torched. Flowers lay in great wilting heaps. Fruit had been smashed with mallets and—unless his nose deceived him—defecated on. Winden was among a handful of people raking out the wreckage to clear the circle and start anew.
"We'll be leaving tomorrow," Dante told her. "Before we go, I've got two last tasks. The second is to visit the Dresh, let them know what happened, and grow them a new Star Tree."
"As for the first?"
Dante bit his lower lip. "Do you have any dreamflowers here?"
She motioned to the shredded trunks and moldering leaves. "They ripped up everything. There's nothing left. But there may still be some at the temple above the city."
"Thank you. I'll go take a look."
"Are you going into the Mists? Do you want me to come with you?"
"I'll be fine." He tipped his head at the remains of the Basket. "Your time is better spent here."
Back in town, he located Blays at his fencing grounds, where he waited until they concluded the morning's training.
"I need to go into the Mists," Dante said. "Alone. But I'd like you nearby in case anything goes wrong."
Blays toweled the sweat from his face. "The Mists? Don't tell me there's more we need to know about the Star Trees."
"I'm going to find Larsin."
His eyebrows shot up. "Yes. Of course. Whenever you're ready."
They headed up the main road, which had been stomped down by the passage of a battalion. Dante was afraid the Tauren might have sacked the temple, but it stood unmolested. After a short search, they located a bush of the orange flowers growing in the woods behind the building.
Dante arranged himself on one of the pallets inside the temple and consumed the flower. "Let's hope I know what I'm doing."
Blays snorted. "When has that ever stopped us?"
Dante closed his eyes. Before he knew it, his world faded behind him.
He woke in the bed. As before, it was much too small. As he swept off the sheet, it tore apart in a shower of crusty fragments. The bedroom was festooned with cobwebs and mouse droppings. Outside, the overhang had collapsed onto the porch. The mug he'd taken his smallbeer in was smashed beneath the rotten beams, half buried in the dirt like the shards of pottery he sometimes found in the norren hills.
There was no sign of the monk, living or dead. Dante descended to the basement, prodding his way down the moldy steps. Three of them snapped. At the bottom, he turned around and hiked back up.
He exited the blank white portal into the vaporous land beyond. There, he walked forward, picturing his father's face. Trees began to jut from the all-encompassing clouds. Minute by minute, the mist thinned. He was in a dense deciduous forest that smelled of dew and shade. A path resolved from the dirt. He followed it.
And found himself facing the exact cabin he'd just left. It was much newer, though. Well-maintained. Like the first time he'd come to the Pastlands.
His heart raced. If he was stuck, would he be able to remember the way out? What if his mind faded as it had before, and this time, rather than hours of real time, he lost years here, adrift like the Dreamers on their beds?
Something rasped from the side of the house. He headed for the sound, ready to accept his cup of beer from the waiting monk.
In the side yard, a man straightened, leaning on his broom. He was nearly as young as Dante. Disbelief, shock, and recognition filled the eyes of Larsin Galand.
30
Larsin drifted forward. As he neared, Dante saw the man wasn't quite as young as in his memories. Nor as he'd appeared on horseback in the Pastlands; his dark hair was starting to recede from the temples, and as he smiled in awe, the corners of his eyes crinkled deeply.
But it was, without doubt, him.
"You're here." Larsin's smile collapsed on itself. "Then are you..?"
"Dead?" Dante said. "No, despite everyone else's best efforts. I'm Dreaming."
His father laughed in relief. "But you're there? On the Plagued Islands?"
"And we've defeated the Tauren. Not only that, but we rediscovered the Star Trees. The cure for the ronone."
''Then he was right," Larsin murmured. "Did you come here to tell me this?"
"Preserving your people's freedom was your life's work. I thought you had the right to know it's been fulfilled."
"You're sure the Tauren are gone? We've beaten them back before only for them to return."
"Vordon's dead," Dante said. "Along with at least half of his soldiers. The return of the Star Trees has forged a new alliance between the Kandeans and the Boat-Growers. I wouldn't be surprised if others join them soon."
"Aye, that would do it. Incredible. Once the Mallish started arming the Tauren, I didn't think we had a chance."
"There's more. The Dresh aren't all dead. We found a town of them on Spearpoint Rock. After this, we'll be inviting them back to the main island."
Larsin gawked. "Is there anything more? I'm quickly running out of shock."
Dante tipped his head to the side. "That's everything. Relevant to you, at least."
His father nodded slowly. "I'm sorry. I'm at a loss for words. I long ago got used to the idea that I'd never see you again. I'm sorry. For everything."
"I don't need your apology."
"I can see that. But I need to make it. If you'll allow me."
This sounded familiar. Had Larsin and Niles had become such good friends because of their similarities? Or in order to manipulate Dante, had Niles become exceedingly adept at imitating Larsin's thinking?
Dante nodded. "I know you couldn't have come back. You'd have had to turn around for the islands within days. And me being me—prone to ignoring anything resembling authority—I would have found a way to follow."
Larsin smiled, eyes crinkling again. "So I left you with that much, at least. As for the cleverness, that's all your mother."
Dante gestured around the glade. "Is…she here?"
Larsin's mouth formed a tight, crooked smile. "If so, I haven't found her. Rebuilding the cabin we used to live in is the closest I've got."
"This part of the Mists seems to be reserved for the islands. Even if there was a way to get to her, by now, she's probably cross
ed into the Worldsea."
"Could be. But if she has, she's forgotten me. If I go there, I'll forget her too."
"Even if she's gone," Dante said. "Death can't take away the time you had together."
"Don't be wiser than your father. It's unseemly."
"Does that mean I'm right?"
"Aye, you might be. But I'm in no hurry to decide, am I?" Larsin set his broom against the side of the cabin, tilting his head. "What prompted you to come here in the first place?"
Dante laughed wryly. "Your friend Niles pretended to be you. He sent me a letter."
Something crossed the man's face, but Dante didn't know him well enough to read it. "I never wanted you to come here. I knew you had enough problems of your own. I couldn't ask you to risk your life here for me."
"Niles didn't seem to have any problem with it."
"And all it took was a letter?"
"And its deliverer." Dante rubbed his mouth. "He sent Riddi."
"So you met her!"
"In a sense. She brought me the letter, but she was netherburned. Sick with the ronone. She died. I'm sorry."
Darkness clouded Larsin's eyes. His jaw and neck tightened. He pressed his lips together, as if to prevent himself from vomiting up something vile. He snatched up the broom and smashed it against the cabin.
"I didn't want to tell you this. His voice shook; he was breathing hard. "But his actions have killed your sister, too."
"Whose actions?" Dante said. "And what do you mean, 'too'?"
"Did Niles tell you how I died?"
"Campaigning against the Tauren. You fell down a cliff."
"I didn't fall." Larsin gripped the broken broom handle tight. "I was pushed."
"By Niles?" Dante's voice was now quivering, too. "Why?"
"Because I refused to send for you. He argued with me for weeks. But I wasn't about to put such a burden on you. Even if he'd summoned you here on the sly, he knew I would have sent you right back home. He must have decided the only way to do it was to get rid of me. And pretend to be me."
The Cycle of Galand Box Set Page 41