The Black Coast

by Mike Brooks

  But if she’d stopped to think about actually getting everyone here across the ocean, she’d likely have dismissed that as nonsense as well. Sometimes you just need to steer into the wind, meet the wave head-on, and trust in your ship.

  “Agreed,” she said, and was proud of how steady her voice was. “Daimon of Blackcreek… this man accepts. She will marry you.”

  She held out her hand. Daimon looked at it for a moment, apparently uncomprehendingly, then gave a small start of realisation and handed her the brooch he’d offered her earlier. Saana inspected it, admiring the work. It was beautiful, there was no doubt of that, and had the heft of solid gold.

  “What does this man do with it?”

  “You fasten it to your clothing,” Daimon said, pointing to the pin on the underside. “By tradition, we should each wear our brooch until we are married.”

  Saana slid the sharp metal through her furs, then looked up at him. “And when will that be?”

  Daimon laughed, slightly shamefaced. “In truth, this man had been so focused on whether you would accept, he had not yet considered that. But there is no reason why it could not be soon. We must speak the vows in front of the shrine and ask Nari’s blessing, and be witnessed doing so. This man would declare a holiday so the whole town could witness.” He grimaced. “So soon after the Festival of Life, as well. We must hope the fields will not be neglected. But then,” he added, with a small smile, “perhaps it will be popular with your folk. Your daughter spoke to this man and seemed most disappointed his people do not often celebrate as we did last night.”

  Saana frowned. Where was Zhanna, anyway? She still hadn’t returned, and it was probably too much to hope that she’d left so abruptly simply to give her mother some privacy in a delicate moment. Saana fervently hoped Zhanna hadn’t gone running to tell everyone what she’d just heard. Not that it truly mattered, since now Saana had accepted Daimon’s offer everyone would have to find out anyway, but it would be best for them to hear it from her.

  “This man is sure it will be welcomed,” she said reassuringly. “But as you can imagine, she will need to tell her clan what we have agreed. And she will need to find a witness for our oaths. As will you.”

  Daimon nodded. “This man’s steward, Osred, would be suitable.”

  Saana turned over possibilities in her mind. Tsolga? She’d have respect for tradition, but Saana wasn’t too certain she wouldn’t make coarse interjections. Kerrti? Saana had no idea if the young witch would be prepared to, but it would show her Saana was serious about keeping her oath if she swore it as part of her marriage agreement. She’d have asked Zhanna, but the girl was still Unblooded (and that was another problem that was going to loom, assuming they didn’t have to fight the northern Naridans). Otzudh was out of the question, given how Saana had refused his marriage advances before. Inkeru, perhaps? She was sensible… Her mind flashed unbidden to Tavi, and she just managed to suppress a snort of embarrassed laughter. There was nothing to say the witness had to be a part of her clan, but she’d struggle to keep a straight face.

  She realised Daimon was looking at her expectantly, and she gathered her thoughts. “This man must go and tell her clan. You will do the same?”

  “This man’s people will know what it means when they see him wearing one brooch, and you wearing the other,” Daimon replied with a slightly rueful smile. “And he does not imagine it will take long for news to travel. But yes, he will arrange for a proclamation. Is there any reason we should not marry in, say, two days?”

  Saana thought about it, then shook her head. “No. This man will need to prepare a hand binding, that is all.”

  Daimon nodded. “Then this man will take his leave of you.” He rose to his feet, then paused. “Thank you. This man knows this is not what you would have wanted.”

  “This man did not expect to be able to lead her people across the Great Ocean to begin a new life without some challenges,” Saana replied honestly, getting to her feet as well. “It is not as she would have wanted, it is true. But if you say this is necessary to protect our people, then it shall be done. This man believes you speak truly to her, Daimon of Blackcreek, so she will heed your words.”

  “Perhaps in time, it can come to be more than just ‘necessary’,” Daimon said with a small, slightly wry smile. “But we shall see. This man must go and instruct his steward to make preparations.”

  “And this man should find Zhanna,” Saana replied. “She feels she should tell her daughter of her decision first, no matter who may work it out.”

  “Until later, then,” Daimon said with a respectful nod. Saana snorted and opened the door for him, then watched him descend the steps and stride off into the street, square-shouldered and straight-spined. If she was truly to be married to him, she would have to work out a way to loosen him. Was that even possible with Naridan men? Or was this rigidity a failing unique to their nobles? Nalon certainly seemed to think so, but since he disliked Naridan nobles universally he was perhaps not the best judge. Perhaps Saana needed to talk to Avlja about it.

  First things first, though: she needed to find Zhanna.

  This proved easier said than done. Saana looked out into her garden, but there was no sign of Zhanna there, only the half-tilled earth (and she would need to get that finished soon, since the Naridans said it was nearly time to plant), so Saana pulled on her furs, then set out into the street.

  The dull blanket of cloud overhead hadn’t shifted at all, but more people were abroad now. She saw a Naridan looking curiously at the flash of gold at her breast, as though he couldn’t quite work out what he was seeing. Saana didn’t stop to engage him in conversation about it, but hailed Oll as he hoed his soil.

  “Hai, Oll! Have you seen Zhanna?”

  Oll paused for a moment as though thinking. His face had grown thinner in the days since Brida had died, and Saana made a mental note to get someone to check he and his children were eating enough.

  “Aye, a while back,” he replied. “Looked like she was heading for the river. Seemed in a powerful temper.”

  “When is she not?” Saana muttered. “Thanks, Oll.”

  “No problem, chief.” Oll frowned, his eyes falling to her chest. “That’s fine work, and pretty too. What is it?”

  Saana hid a grimace. “I’ll tell you later.” Even if she hadn’t been intending to tell Zhanna first, she had little desire to discuss her upcoming marriage with a man who’d so recently lost his wife. Oll just nodded and went back to his hoeing, although his heart didn’t seem in it.

  The River Gate was nowhere near the size of the Road Gate, being barely wide enough for three people to walk through abreast. That was by design of course, to prevent it from being an easy target for attackers from the river, although it was upstream of the Black Keep itself, so any foe would have to navigate past the castle’s walls, and any defensive missiles. The gate opened onto a series of wooden jetties out over the water, where the Naridans moored their little fishing skiffs at night. The fishers of the Brown Eagle clan had begun to moor their taughs there too, but the larger vessels remained on the beach: there was no room for a yolgu to tie up here.

  The gate was open, but the fishers had already gone to sea. Even a night of hard drinking wouldn’t be enough to keep them from the waves if the weather was calm like this, although Saana suspected they’d started later than usual. The only people around were the old folk, both Naridan and Tjakorshi, mending nets in exchange for some of the catch when the fishers returned. Saana greeted them as she approached.

  “Ailika,” she said, catching the attention of one of her clan. Ailika was near as old as Father Krayk, or so she claimed, and her snow-white hair was starting to thin and leave her spotted scalp exposed. Her fingers were still nimble, though, and they didn’t cease twisting fibres as she squinted up at Saana.

  “Morning, girl,” Ailika answered. Everyone was ‘girl’ or ‘boy’ to her, even Tsolga. “Looking for that daughter of yours?”

  Saana frown
ed. “Have you seen her?”

  “Seen her? Aye, she stamped through here like she was trying to kill all the worms in the world,” Ailika cackled. “Minded her manners enough to talk to Jelema Eddistutar though, and ask her if she wanted another hand today.” Ailika peered up at Saana, her expression suddenly sharpening. “She’s not still supposed to be behind those walls, is she?”

  “No,” Saana said absently, trying to ignore the sudden sucking feeling in her stomach. Had Zhanna truly been that offended by the notion of a marriage between Naridan and Tjakorshi, that on her first day of freedom she’d run back to Jelema’s fishing crew rather than spend time with her own mother? If so, there was little hope she wouldn’t talk about it to the rest of the crew, and that meant the news would spread like the coughing sickness once the taughs returned. Especially since Jelema, Tsennan Longjaw’s mother, was a sunny-tempered, open-hearted woman completely incapable of keeping any news to herself.

  “What’s that you’ve got there, girl?” Ailika asked, pointing at the Blackcreek brooch.

  “I’ll tell you later,” Saana muttered, turning away.

  TILA

  TILA HAD MAINLY stayed in her cabin since they’d left East Harbour, feigning illness, entirely so she didn’t have to share space with Alazar Blade. She’d come ashore in Emerald Bay, though, and sat in a tavern with Barach’s looming presence discouraging any locals from joining them, while the sailors from the Light of Fortune kept their distance from fear of whatever sickness she’d supposedly been suffering from. And so, as was her usual custom when travelling, Tila listened to local gossip.

  Emerald Bay wasn’t reckoned to be Narida’s most northerly town, but it was its most northerly port. It was a strange place, skulking on the southern edge of the Hudanar, the thick mangrove forests marking the coastal edge of the long, loosely defined border between Narida and Kiburu ce Alaba’s mainland territory. Somewhere in the tangle of trunks, branches, roots, and mud was the main channel of the great Sundai river, the course of which was theoretically the actual border. However, given the Sundai’s propensity for changing its course drastically during a single rainy season, and the difficulty in working out exactly what counted as the main channel, the Hudanar was mostly left to the thin scattering of people who’d lived in it for countless generations, and the swamp dragons.

  Emerald Bay had no emeralds in it, or near it. The name was a sarcastic one, referencing the bright green slime clinging to the wooden posts sunk into the water to support the jetties, spreading across the boards of the more treacherous walkways, collecting in patches on the surface of the more sheltered inlets and generally stinking. The entire place was a gigantic wooden framework, lashed together out of well-placed mistrust in the stability of the alleged land beneath it. Despite that, as the last Naridan port before some two hundred miles of largely uninhabited coastline to the north, it took a fair amount of trade from sailors, and sailors carried gossip far and wide.

  “S’man swears it’s true,” one hoary old man was saying, his chair tilted back on two legs until his back met the wall behind him. “Heard it from some lads up from Bowmar. News is the God-King’s been taken ill.”

  Tila didn’t bother to try to hide her shock; such news would be of concern to anyone. She swallowed her mouthful of sour wine, trying to work out if she could get away with asking for more details.

  “Is it bad?” a young sailor from the Light of Fortune piped up, his narrow face a picture of concern.

  “Bad enough for us folk to hear of it, which means it ain’t nothing,” the old man said; a fair point. “Emerald Bay don’t get to hear of every cough and sneeze from the Divine Court. But they didn’t have no specifics, as you might say. Word is that He’s took to His bed—”

  “Took who to His bed?” someone shouted, and there was a bubble of laughter that made Tila’s fist clench. Her brother’s promiscuity was an open secret in court, but she’d tried her best to prevent word leaking out further. Clearly, she hadn’t been up to the task.

  “—that He’s took to His bed,” the first speaker continued deliberately, shooting a glare in the direction of the interruption, “and He missed the Festival of Life. And you can cease such talk, Hama; who His Majesty beds ain’t our concern!”

  “It is when there’s no heir,” Hama retorted. He was a stocky man with a touch of grey at his temples. “His Majesty might carry the blood of Nari, but that’s no good to us when he don’t pass it on! Can’t he find a woman every now and then?”

  It stung to hear her own words, or at least her own thoughts, coming so disrespectfully from the mouth of this peasant. Tila gripped her wooden cup and fought to keep her face calm. Barach would understand her showing an interest in the health of the God-King: such a thing could be critically important to Livnya. However, the crime lord of Idramar had no reason to be overly concerned with defending the God-King’s honour. Tila wished for a moment she’d been more openly pious as Livnya, so such an action wouldn’t be out of character, but she’d always feared others would make unwelcome connections. Besides, if she got involved in trouble in Emerald Bay as well as in East Harbour then Captain Kemanyel might just decide to cut his losses, leave her here, and take his chances with her deputies in Idramar.

  The tavern door opened again, and Tila’s heart sank farther as she recognised Alazar Blade and Marin. Of all the people she didn’t want to see right now…

  The old man who’d first spoken had settled his chair back on the floor, and was glaring across the tavern. “You need to think on how you’re speaking of His Majesty, Hama! He’s the Light of Heaven, what guides and protects us, and you’d do well to remember that!”

  Hama drained his tankard and set it down on the table with a distinct click.

  “Is he, though?”

  The tavern went very quiet. Tila’s mouth dried, and she surreptitiously reached up her left sleeve to find a knife. Barach was very attentive as well. Much as Tila wanted to put a blade into Hama herself, she was far more concerned by the potential for violence all around them. You didn’t question the divinity of the God-King in the middle of a tavern and expect to walk away with no consequences.

  Over by the bar, Marin’s face had also taken on an expression of alarm. Alazar, in contrast, was attempting to attract the barkeep’s attention, but the barkeep had other concerns.

  “Hama!” he called, raising his voice somewhat unnecessarily, given the sudden drop in noise. “S’man’ll not be having that sort of talk in here!”

  “You’ve heard the talk downriver from the Catseyes, same as s’man has,” Hama snapped back, undeterred.

  “That’s blasphemy!” the old man in the other corner barked, getting to his feet. His drinking companions reached out to grab him, but he shook them off.

  “Blasphemy?” Hama repeated. “Is it blasphemy to speak the truth? The God-King has no heir, and lies abed sick, while Nari Himself has been reborn in the mountains!”

  Uproar.

  Most of the tavern’s customers lurched to their feet, began shouting, or both. Tila expected Hama to be dragged outside but swiftly realised, to her horror, he had many supporters in the room: perhaps not quite as many as those angrily decrying him, but not far off. Claim and counter-claim of heresy flew back and forth. Fists were clenched and metal tankards were gripped, ready to be swung.

  “Goodsar!” the barkeep wailed, turning to Alazar. “Goodsar, will you not defend His Divine Majesty?”

  A scowl crossed Alazar Blade’s face. Then he turned and drew his longblade in one swift, smooth motion, holding it out in front of him across the middle of the room. Everyone went very quiet, because it was one thing to hurl abuse at a neighbour when tensions had clearly been simmering for a while, and quite another to walk into the naked blade of a professional killer. Everyone could see the warrior’s braids in his hair, and there was no mistaking the nature of his weapon.

  Tila’s fingers closed on a knife. Next to Alazar, she saw Marin do the same at his belt.


  Alazar looked from one side of him to the other. Then, slowly and deliberately, he sheathed his longblade once more.

  “The God-King has not been this sar’s concern for many years,” he bit out. “Settle your arguments yourselves. But do it somewhere this sar is not currently drinking.” He turned back to the barkeep and pointed to a cask. The barkeep, somewhat shocked, and trying to hide an expression of disappointment, obliged.

  A sullen near-silence settled over the tavern; the tense, angry quiet of words spoken that would not and could not be taken back, but which no one was willing to act upon right then. Tila drained her remaining wine in one swallow, and tapped Barach on the hand. “Come on.”

  Barach left the rest of his ale—which was testament to its quality, or lack thereof—and followed her across the room. Some patrons were slowly retaking their seats; others had apparently come to the same conclusion as Tila, and were finishing their drinks and moving towards the door, several of the Light of Fortune’s sailors amongst them. Marin made a polite half-bow to Tila, which she pretended not to see. Alazar just took a pull from his tankard and didn’t even look at her. Perhaps he hadn’t noticed her.

  You want a peaceful mug of ale, and so you have the courage to face down an entire tavern of folk charged up with religious fury, she thought angrily at the disgraced sar as she shoved the door open and strode out onto the boardwalk that passed for a street in Emerald Bay. Where was your courage when it mattered? Why was this princess’s father, your lover’s father, the God-King, less important to you than a drink?!

  “High lady,” Barach murmured to her. “The God-King. Do you think it’s true?”

  Tila opened her mouth to reply, then hesitated. “Which part?”

  “Both?” Barach said, although he sounded unsure. “His Majesty being ill, but also… could Nari have really been reborn?”