“No! I will not allow it!” The image of the ghost flickered red and for an instant. He expected it to disappear again, but it did not. After a moment it spoke.
“I can feel your repugnance. Your love for your daughter blinds you too much. So be it. We shall not speak of it again.”
“There is nothing else that can be done for her pain?”
“Give her the juice of the poppy or fill her with wine and keep her as far from the sacrifices as possible. This is all the advice I can give.”
“All right. Thank you,” said Atark. He was both relieved and alarmed. Just the suggestion that what the Ghost proposed was even possible filled him with horror. He shook himself and pushed it from his mind.
“We have other things to discuss…”
* * * * *
Thelena knelt in the dark, outside the small tent, and tried to keep from shaking. She could hear her father’s voice and she could ‘hear’ the Ghost as well. She was quite certain that it was not her ears that were hearing the Ghost. No, it was the same as when she heard the sacrifices’ screams. It was a voice inside her head, not in her ears. She stopped her ears with her fingers. Her father’s voice was muffled, but not the Ghost’s.
She had not been able to keep out the screams of the sacrifices with her fingers either.
Sometimes she thought she could still hear them. It was just an echo, but she would wake up in the night with their cries ringing in her head. The echoes didn’t hurt like the real screams had, but they still frightened her. She had been around death before; only a few weeks ago she had been in the middle of a fort where over a thousand men had died in a quarter hour. Then, there had been some very faint cries in her head, but they had been drowned out by the real screams around her, and they soon faded. They had not hurt and they did not echo. These other ones were different.
No, not entirely different. As she knelt there, she realized she had heard voices like these before. Fainter, infinitely fainter, but she had heard them before. Four years before.
At the mound.
Her father had told her that a great battle had been fought there. Thousands upon thousands of men had died, he had said, and she was hearing the ancient echo of their death cries. She realized now that her father had been wrong. It wasn’t the screams of the warriors she had been hearing. It was the screams of the sacrifices.
Ransurr’s sacrifices.
The name meant nothing to her, but she had heard her father chant it again and again as he summoned the Ghost. It was the name of the Ghost. Ransurr. It sent a chill of fear through her. The Ghost had given her father his powers. It wanted him to fulfill its desires for revenge on the east.
And now it wanted her to fulfill its desires for life.
Her father had refused it, of course, but that did not make her fear it any less. She could feel its hunger. It was an evil hunger. She shuddered. Then she silently rose to her feet. Her father and the Ghost were still talking about plans for the war and she took the opportunity to slip away. Her father would be angry to know she had been spying on him. The Ghost would be angry, too.
She walked quickly back to her own tent and went inside. She was chilled, and not just by the cool, pre-dawn air. She slid gratefully into her blankets and shivered. It was still an hour until the first light and she was tired, but she could not sleep. She was afraid of the Ghost and she was afraid of the influence it seemed to have on her father. It was not right. None of it.
But there was nothing she could do. The war was in motion now. Her father’s powers—wherever they had come from—were critical to the war, and he would go on. Not that she was against the war. She had as many reasons to hate the Easterners as her father did. More. They did need to be punished, and her father would be the one to do it. She was proud of him. But she could still hear the echoes of the sacrifices’ cries. How much could be justified by the needs of the war? It was a difficult question and she had no answer.
She heard a faint moan that was not an echo. Kareen. She looked to the lump of blankets where Kareen lay. The lump moved slightly and there was another moan.
“Are you awake, Kareen?”
“Yes, Qoyen,” came the reply after a short pause.
Thelena frowned. Kareen had not called her by name in weeks. “Are you still hurting?”
“Yes, Qoyen. A little.”
Thelena sat up and her frown deepened. She had done a far more thorough job on Kareen than she had intended. There was still a livid cut across her cheek, and Thelena knew she would bear a scar there for the rest of her days. And her back… Dozens of welts and cuts had crisscrossed her back by the time she was done. She had not really meant to do that, but she had not been able to stop herself. Granted that Kareen had deserved some punishment. Fate had made her into a slave, and a slave had to be punished when she did something wrong. But Thelena had to admit that the punishment had gone far beyond necessary discipline and had turned into… revenge. Revenge. An ugly word. She got up from her blankets and went to sit next to Kareen.
“I’m sorry I beat you, Kareen,” she whispered. “I was angry. Not just with you, but with the whole world. I was angry and I took it out on you. I’m sorry.” Kareen sniffled, but said nothing.
“And I lied to you.” Kareen finally turned over and peered at her from under the blankets.
“I lied to you about Phell. He…he never raped me. I just said that to hurt you more. I’m sorry. I’m sorry he’s dead. And I’m sorry Matt is dead. Your brother was always kind to me. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you, Qoyen,” whispered Kareen.
“Please don’t call me that when we are alone.”
“I’m your slave. You’re my m-qoyen.”
“I won’t try to tell you that you are not a slave. You are. We come from two different worlds, Kareen. The only way we can exist together is as qoyen and slave. First I was your slave, and now you are mine. It’s the only way. But…but that doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends.”
“Friends?”
“You said we were friends before.”
“That was…different.”
“Why? Because I was your slave? We can only be friends when I’m the slave?” A tinge of anger was creeping into her voice and she ruthlessly stamped on it.
“I don’t know. This is so hard for me, Thelena,” said Kareen. “I’m only beginning to realize how hard it must have been for you, too. I’m sorry I was so stupid. I tried to be good to you, but…but…oh, I don’t know what to think now! This is all like a nightmare!”
“I’m sorry. I wish there was some way we could just be friends. Just friends. But there isn’t. You are my slave, but I don’t want to be cruel to you. If you cooperate—like I cooperated with you—I won’t hurt you again. I don’t want to hurt you again.”
“You…you could let me go, Thelena. Just give me a horse and let me go. If I’d understood, I would have done that for you, Thelena. I would have let you go!” Kareen stared up, her face pleading.
“Would you? Really? Before you understood what it means to be a slave?”
“Yes! I would have! If I had understood I would have! And you do understand, Thelena! Oh, please let me go!” The girl was sobbing now.
“I can’t do that, Kareen. If you had let me go, I would not have gotten far. The Varags would have captured me again and I’d be dead now. If I let you go, one of my people would catch you before you could get twenty miles. Then you’d be his slave and not mine. Do you want that?”
“No! No, but your father is important. He could give orders to the warriors to leave me alone. I could get away. Back to my own people. Oh, please, Thelena! I can’t bear this!”
“Yes you can. You must. My father would not let you go even if I asked him. He…he hates the east. He won’t help you. And…and there is nowhere for you to run, Kareen. Even if you did get away for the moment, the Kaifeng are coming. What happened at the fort is only the beginning. Thousands and thousands more warriors are coming. With my father’s mag
ic, the eastern armies will be swept away. The cities will fall. Anywhere you might run to will eventually fall to us. You would end up a slave again in the end.”
Kareen’s eyes had been getting wider and wider. Now she shook her head. “No! No, that can’t be true! You’re… no, that can’t be true!” She pulled the blanket over her and wept.
Thelena reached out and put her hand gently on Kareen’s shoulder. “I’m sorry it has to be that way. The world can be very cruel. But I won’t be cruel to you, Kareen. Accept your role here and we can still be friends. Please.”
The eastern woman was still weeping when the dawn came.
* * * * *
“Land ho!” The cry came from far overhead and Jarren sprang to his feet, nearly knocking his cello case overboard. He grabbed it and then scanned the horizon, looking for the land. He could see nothing except the rolling gray seas. He felt a little better when the captain shouted to the lookout, demanding to know where the land was.
“Two points off the port bow, sir! “
“Good! Well done! Helm come a point to leeward.” The captain came walking near him, rubbing his hands together, and Jarren intercepted him.
“Is it the island, sir?”
“Eh? Yes, yes, a perfect landfall. We should make Orberus before night. A damn good thing, too. A tricky approach that is. Now if you’ll excuse me, sir.” He hurried off to yell at some of the crew. Captain Kostlan yelled a lot, Jarren had noticed, but his ship seemed to be well run. A moment later, Gez came scampering on deck. He climbed halfway up the shrouds and looked around.
“I don’t see any land!” he said accusingly.
“It is quite some distance off. You should be able to see it when we get closer—assuming the fog doesn’t close in again.”
“Blasted fog. Too damn much of it.”
“The captain told me that there is a current of warm water flowing into this area from the southeast,” said Jarren. “The warm water and cold air causes the fog.” Gez did not reply. Jarren had been trying to educate his young servant, but so far the lad had shown no interest at all.
“So why’re we going to this island anyhow?”
“I’m looking for something.”
“Treasure? Buried treasure? My share is one-tenth, remember. More if I gotta carry it.”
Jarren laughed. “You shall get your share of any treasure I may find, Master Gez. But don’t set your hopes too high. The type of treasure I seek won’t be gold or gems.”
“All right. So if we do find any gold or gems I can have it all, right?”
“We shall see. But tell me, Gez, do you ever think of anything besides money?”
“What else is there? Of course if I had more money, perhaps I wouldn’t be thinking about it all the time.”
“And perhaps if you did not play dice with the sailors, you would have more money.”
“Just a run of bad luck,” muttered Gez. “I’ll make it up on the trip back.” Jarren just shook his head. The boy often talked like a man of thirty instead of a ten-year-old.
“We shall be docked by this evening, Gez. Please make sure we are all packed and ready to get off, would you?”
“Sure. I’m getting tired of this tub anyway.” The boy jumped down from the rigging and ran off to their cabin. At least he was willing to work—although he had lied about being able to cook.
Jarren took a deep breath and stared at the point on the horizon where he estimated the island lay. He had found that if he spent most of his time on deck and kept an eye on the far horizon, then he was not troubled with the awful seasickness that had struck him the first day aboard. Sleeping was not bad either. He just had to be careful of the time he spent in his cabin awake—or eating.
Still, he was anxious to get ashore. Three weeks at sea had nearly exhausted every source of amusement the ship had to offer. He had read every book aboard, including several on seamanship and navigation. He had talked to all the crew members who were willing to talk. He had mastered—well, mastered for him—the Flaretti concerto Madame Weibelan had given him. And he had stared at the ever-changing—and changeless—sea and sky for hours on end. He was ready for something new. He hoped that he would find it on the island that lay ahead.
He stared and stared, and eventually he could see the island from the deck. At first it was just a fuzzy spot on the horizon, but it slowly became a mountain peak, then a whole mountain, then a mountain and surrounding hills. By mid afternoon, it was an island, a fairly large island, whose other end was still beyond the horizon. The island was called Gerousi and, according to the maps, it was fairly large with several small villages and towns. It was one of a cluster of islands far to the northeast of Zamerdan and the mainland. The largest island in the group, Bernahi, was farther north. There was something like a city there, ruled by someone like a king. All these islands were nominally his, but from what Captain Kostlan said, they were really independent and rarely thought about their ruler. Many of the islands only had a tiny population and were perpetually shrouded in the fog. To Jarren, it sounded like an ideal place for a wizards school that desired privacy. Or he certainly hoped it was.
The sun was dipping toward the sea by the time the Unicorn was anchored in the small, narrow bay that the town of Orberus nestled alongside. There were dozens of fishing boats coming in for the night, but the newly arrived merchant was the only large ship. There was no dock or wharf to tie up to, so Jarren and Gez would have to get to shore by boat. He looked on nervously as his belongings were lowered into the fragile-looking craft. But the men were experts and nothing was wetted or even bumped very much. He turned to the captain.
“Thank you for the pleasant voyage, sir. I look forward to sailing with you on the return.”
“You had better look forward, Master Carabello,” replied the captain. “I will be touching at a half dozen of these islands over the next month before heading back to Zamerdan. Depending on the weather I meet, I should be back here in between six and eight weeks. Be here! The storm season will be almost on us, and I will not wait. Be here, ready to go, or be prepared to spend the winter!”
“I understand, sir. I’ll be ready.”
“Good luck with your studies, although I still can’t see why anyone would come all the way out here to look at birds!”
The old captain in Zamerdan had forced him to promise not to tell any other captain why he was coming to Orberus. Apparently he was breaking some agreement to tell Jarren and Weibelan about this place. So Jarren’s official reason for travelling here was to study the birds. “Uh, there are a number of local species that are completely unique to these islands, sir. I’m quite excited about getting the chance to see them.”
The captain’s expression told what he thought of the whole idea. He did not offer to shake hands, but he made it clear that it was time for his passengers to leave. Jarren looked down and saw that Gez was already in the boat. He gingerly let himself down the ladder and thumped into the boat beside the boy.
“This is where we are heading?” asked the boy, gesturing to the town. “What a dump! What the blazes do you expect to find here that’s worth anything?”
“We shall see,” said Jarren. He tried to sound confident, but his own spirits had sunk a bit. The town seemed hardly more than a fishing village. It was made of mostly wooden houses of no more than two stories. They clung to the steep hillsides or perched precariously over the water on wood pilings. There were a few larger stone structures which looked to be temples. Still, the place had a prosperous look to it. The buildings were all in good repair with fresh paint, and they all seemed clean and tidy.
“Is there an inn here?” Jarren asked the sailor steering the boat.
“Yup. The big building over there. Not too bad a place. Good food, good ale, and some pretty wenches. Lousy bedding, though, so be warned.”
“Thank you.”
The boat crunched ashore on a gravel beach and the sailors drew it up a bit. Jarren and Gez and their luggage were soon on dry
land. It felt strange not to have a deck moving under them. Unfortunately, the sailors had all headed off before he could think to ask them to help with his belongings. Gez had acquired a small bag for his meager possessions, and they were now one pair of hands short to be able to carry everything at once. After some experimentation, Gez ended up lugging Jarren’s valise and his own bag, while Jarren clutched his cello case under one arm and dragged the trunk over the rocks with the other. Eventually they reached the inn. It was a larger structure than it had seemed from the boat. Well-constructed and decorated with rich carvings in the wood. The sign showed some sort of sea monster, but the text was unintelligible to Jarren. The door was standing open.
Inside, it was crowded with the fishermen returned from their day’s labor. A few people looked at them with curiosity. Then more. The sailors from the Unicorn were known, if infrequent, guests, but Jarren and Gez were true strangers; apparently something they did not get very frequently in Orberus. Before long, almost all the conversation had stopped, and everyone was staring at them.
“Uh…we’d like to get a room,” said Jarren.
“With clean beds,” added Gez.
A man wearing an apron came around from behind the bar. He smiled warmly while eyeing them suspiciously; a rather interesting accomplishment, in Jarren’s opinion. “You wish a room, Master…?” He was speaking in some heavily accented dialect of the language used in Zamerdan. That was the tongue Jarren had spoken in, but he had to concentrate hard to understand what the man had said.
“Carabello, Jarren Carabello. Yes, we would like a room,” he said loudly and slowly.
“With…clean…beds,” said Gez, even louder and slower.
The man frowned at Gez, but nodded to Jarren. “Three coppers a day. Includes hot water and meals.” The man said it almost defiantly, as if he expected Jarren to argue. But the price was half of what he’d have had to pay in Zamerdan—or Sirenza for that matter—and Jarren saw no reason to argue.
“Very well. Can you have someone help us get our luggage up to the room?” The man seemed surprised, and maybe disappointed, that Jarren did not haggle, but he accepted a silver mark for a week’s lodging without quibbles and rousted out a servant to help with the bags. Soon they were in a cozy room on the second floor with a small fireplace burning cheerily and several candles keeping back the coming night. Gez poked at the bedding suspiciously but could not find any unwanted inhabitants at first attempt.
Fires of Memory Page 18