by James Gurley
UP RIVER
HE AWOKE EVIE BEFORE DAWN. SHE STILL LAY WITH HER HEAD on his chest. She looked up at him and smiled.
“Thank you, Tad.”
“No, it is I who should thank you. I was …”
“A gentleman?” she answered for him. “Must you go?” Then she shook her head. “How silly of me. Of course you must. You aren’t safe here and you have a journey ahead of you. Will I see you again?”
“I don’t know. This is the only port on the west coast of Valastaria, but I don’t know where my journey will take me.”
She hugged him before getting out of bed. As he lay looking at her, she noticed the scars on his back. “What happened?”
“Oh, nothing much. An explosion. It’s healed.”
“You lead a dangerous life.”
He hadn’t thought of it that way before. Certainly if the previous night’s escapades were an example of what was to come, it gave him more to consider. She turned away from him, facing the door. “If you do come back, I will be here for you. No demands, just … you know,” she giggled.
Tad smiled. “Yes, I know. Take care of yourself Evie.”
She leaned over and kissed him. “Goodbye, Tad. Journey well.”
“Thank you.”
She glanced back at him and smiled as she closed the door.
After the previous evening’s fiasco, he was eager to leave Mors Point. He went down the hall, poured hot water into a cast-iron tub from a large kettle simmering over a fire, and took a long, hot bath. He was amazed that his cuts and bruises were gone and his muscles no longer ached. His unplanned outburst had triggered some power within him that promoted rapid healing. Only a dull throb remained where before he had expected screaming pain. His body was protecting itself by healing his injuries. Still, he enjoyed luxuriating in the hot water, letting it soothe his muscles.
He had no wish to mingle with the other guests for breakfast. He packed his few belongings and went downstairs early. The kitchen staff was already stirring, preparing breakfast. He took a few sandwiches, cakes and breads to go, paying extra for their silence. He had paid in advance for his rooms, but he left a silver Crown at the desk as a tip. He also left a message for Captain Winset who was staying in the same inn.
“I will meet you across the mountain by the Canes,” it read. “Tad de Silva.”
The captain docked his boat at a small wharf on the far side of the hills on the Canes River, a small tributary of the White River. His flat-bottomed riverboat could not endure the rough seas between the river delta and Mors Point. Passengers normally traveled by wagon across the ridge to his boat, but Tad decided to walk. At a fast pace, he could beat the wagon and avoid the townspeople at the same time. He no longer feared them, though he supposed that a determined man with a rifle could shoot him from a window.
Shouldering his pack, he began the long climb uphill from the port to the crest of the mountain. He avoided the road, which meandered along the face of the mountain, choosing instead a footpath that cut short the distance up the mountain, joining the road at the crest. His sea-strengthened legs carried him halfway to the top before he tired and stopped at a small clear brook for lunch with the two suns at opposite quarters of the sky. Twin shadows of swaying trees romped across the glade in a light breeze from the ocean that blew in a few wispy, pony mane clouds but offered little chance of rain for many hours, though the smell of rain was in the air. He hoped that it would hold off until nightfall.
Squirrels of a reddish-brown color he had never seen before chortled at him from the trees and tiny, multi-hued birds peeked at him nervously through the foliage, cocking their heads to one side and dancing on the branches. A small burrowing mammal, fulvous in color like winter grass, snorted its unease at him as he passed and withdrew into its hole in the ground. Looking seaward, Mors Point was a barely visible collection of buildings by the water’s edge, half obscured by trees. Farther out, the calm waters were a patchwork of scintillating light and dark patches. As he sat and enjoyed his roast pork sandwich with sheep’s cheese, peach cobbler and a drink of cold mountain water, he wanted to linger and enjoy the beauty, but knew he must continue.
Once he had crested the ridge, he saw that it was merely one of a series of low foothills for a range of mountains marching steadily northwards, many days away. Somewhere among the hills to the north lay Eastenlors, capital of Valastaria. Between him and Fridan lay vast, open grasslands dotted with small groves of trees, dozens of lakes, and a maze of narrow, meandering streams. In the distance, to the south, he could just make out the sparkling waters of the White River. Directly below him, on the far slope of the hill, lay the Canes River, a narrow, shallow stream that skirted the foot of the mountain before joining the White a day away.
He intersected the road in a small dale just below the crest. The hard-packed earth and gravel thoroughfare followed a gently sloping ridge. The land fell away on both sides of the ridge toward groves of cedar and white pine, patches of holly and laurel, and thickets of smaller native bushes. A stream cascading down the valley on the southern side of the ridge in a succession of falls and rapids filled the air with its melodic rumble. The fragrance of autumn flowers scented the air.
With Cleodora set and Corycia behind the hill, the air grew still and cool and the clouds began to build slowly overhead. Tad quickened his pace, breaking into a trot that winded him by the time he reached the small nameless village on the Canes. Three buildings—a tavern, a warehouse and a blacksmith shop—stood in a row along the bank.
His first stop, the tavern, proved fruitless. The doors were open, but the building was empty. Equally empty were the warehouse and smithy. Mystified by the lack of population, he sat on the bank of the Canes to rest. Soon, he heard voices downstream. Following the bank of the river, he found four people, two men, an old woman and a child, sitting on the bank fishing. They looked up in surprise to see him approach.
“Didn’t hear the wagon,” one man said.
“I walked,” Tad answered. “The wagon is behind me.”
The man cocked his head and squinted. “Walked, you say? I daresay it was a more comfortable trip than riding in Winset’s wagon.” He laughed and spat in the river.
Tad pointed back toward the collection of buildings. “There’s no one there.”
“Wouldn’t be,” the woman said. “We’re all here.”
“But the doors are open.”
“Ah, who would steal from us? No one comes through here but travelers more likely to stay the night than not.”
Tad nodded at her convoluted logic.
“Have a seat, lad,” the man said. “Rest your bones. The riverboat won’t leave until Winset gets here and then it’s likely he’ll be late.”
Tad sat down and looked upstream through a patch of river reeds at the wooden wharf jutting into the river, barely half a meter above the water line. Tied up to it was a steam-powered riverboat. He was pleased to see that it was not a sailboat. He imagined the steam ship could make faster time than a wind-propelled craft in the narrow confines of a river. Its white paint and blood-red trim looked out of place amid the squalor of the old buildings. A small pilothouse sat aft and a canvas awning perched on a wooden frame over the stern. Hammocks and benches lined the fantail and stern side rails.
“At least it’s clean,” he commented.
“Ha!” the old man snorted. “It’s the captain’s child. He constantly scrubs and paints to the point of wearing out the wood. I’m Jakob. I run the warehouse when there’s freight and work iron when there’s a need. Seth, here,” he pointed to the second younger man, “runs the bar and Ma does the cooking and cleaning. My nephew, young Elin, helps out sometimes, but mostly keeps us supplied with fish.”
True to the man’s word, young Elin held up a stringer of a dozen large fish and smiled. Tad relaxed with these carefree people and spent the late afternoon hours trying his hand at fishing but without the luck of Elin. He did get one nibble, his cork float bobbing underwate
r, but when he jerked the cane pole to set the hook, the fish escaped. Seth made a fire on the banks of the river and Elin and Ma cleaned the fish while Jakob and Tad talked. He had revealed his destination to them and Jakob showed curiosity.
“Fridan? What’s at Fridan that we ain’t got?” Jakob said while frowning at the idea of cities. “It’s full of cutthroats and thieves.”
“It’s a jumping-off point. I’m headed further east.”
Jakob looked aghast. “Into the Waste? Don’t do it, lad,” he pleaded. “The Waste’s a demon land full of ghost walkers and goblins.”
“I’m searching for something.”
“Many go, few return. It’s just a matter of math.”
“Still I must,” Tad insisted.
His determination won the old man over reluctantly. “Each man has his quest in life, I suppose. Mine was simple: a quiet place to live and raise a family.”
Tad smiled. “You found it.”
Jakob nodded. “My son, Ezra, and his wife didn’t think so. They left Elin with us when he was two and went east in search of a better life. They died on the river with the fever. They lie buried on the banks of the White. You’ll see them if you get farther than they did.”
Jakob’s sad story brought back some of the harsh realities of the journey. Tad knew that it would be difficult and challenging, but he had not considered death as a possibility, not even in Mors Point or during the storm at sea. People died every day from fevers, accidents, murder or wars, but he was young and had imagined himself immune. He had survived two assassination attempts in Delphi and an almost deadly encounter with henchmen of the Blood Cabal in the Sanctuary beneath the Black Tower with just a few scars to show for it.
They sat in silence and watched the fish roast on the spit, the aroma making his mouth water. Seth had sprinkled salt, crushed pods of a peppery spice, and a pinch of fresh picked herbs over the fish before hanging them over the fire. Ma left and returned later with a basket containing plates, silverware, bread, a jug of wine, and a bowl of mixed greens with fresh tomato, peppers, cucumber and radishes from her garden. They dined stretched out on the banks of the Canes, as lazy as the river itself.
Just at sunset, they heard the creaking wheels of a wagon lumbering down the road.
“Winset,” Jakob announced.
They reluctantly left the comfort of the river and met the wagon in front of the tavern. It was a large wagon drawn by four shaggy skoths, a native herbivore of Valastaria resembling a large sheep, but with long horns and padded feet. They were docile creatures when domesticated, but wild skoths from the grasslands were vicious when provoked or while protecting their young. They were strong creatures; this was the reason the captain used them to haul freight up the mountain. A canopy covered the wagon, shielding the passengers and freight from the light drizzle that began just as they arrived. A young boy rode up front with the captain, according to Jakob, the captain’s stoker, feeding wood to the boilers to keep the ship operating.
“Captain Winset,” Tad said as the captain stepped down from the wagon.
The captain smiled broadly. “Glad to see you here. I heard of the ruckus at the dance. Don’t blame you for leaving early.”
Tad shrugged. “The walk cleared my head.” He looked at the passengers: three Saddir but different from others he had seen. “Fellow travelers?”
Captain Winset rolled his eyes. “Arrived at noon on a schooner. Dropped them off and headed back to sea pronto. Really strange. The two men are from the Outer Islands, prospectors, I think. The woman is one of their daughters. A looker, eh.” He winked and jabbed Tad in the stomach with his elbow. “They are a quiet lot, I must say. Don’t expect much conversation from them on the journey.”
Tad examined the three, trying not to be obvious. The men, like the Saddir sailor aboard the Holden’s Spur, had short hair and wore Terran-style pants and shirts. The girl had the usual ponytail, but wore a simple one-piece smock. The right arms of both men bore tattoos like most Outer Islanders, looking out of place on their pale white skin. They stood beside the wagon until directed into the tavern by Jakob. Tad followed while the captain, the two boys and Seth loaded the freight onto a wheeled cart to transport it to the boat.
Inside, the three sat at a table, requesting only hot tassir tea to drink, a beverage most Terrans found too bitter to palate. Tassir was a medicinal plant used to staunch bleeding and heal wounds, but the Saddir found its bitter taste pleasing.
Tad walked over to them.
“Hello. My name is Tad de Silva from Delphi. It seems we will be fellow passengers.” One man nodded curtly, but did not make eye contact. Stumbling for words to try to carry the non-existent conversation, Tad said, “I thought most Saddir were fighters.”
The other man smirked and said, “We do not fight in the Outer Islands. Perhaps we are more civilized than our Churum-bred kin.”
“I … I didn’t mean to offend. It’s just that I’ve only met soldiers.”
“No offense. It is a common fallacy. Some choose different paths, as have we.”
“You journey to Fridan?”
The two men exchanged glances. One nodded and the other answered. “Beyond. We seek palladium, as well as other minerals.”
Tad nodded. “I as well, beyond Fridan, I mean.” He turned to the girl. “Are you a prospector, too?”
She smiled briefly. “I am Ket’s daughter.” She nodded to the man seated beside her. “I cook, keep books and follow my father.”
Conversation died. He scuffed his feet on the floor at a loss for words. “Well, I hope it is a pleasant journey,” he said and walked away.
He met the captain at the boat. “These Saddir are a taciturn lot.”
“Quiet as field mice the entire journey. Nearly drove me insane.”
Tad looked at the crates and barrels as Seth loaded them into the hold of the riverboat. “What is this?”
“Mostly steel bars for the smith at Fridan and some food staples, things they can’t grow readily there. A few crates belong to your fellow passengers. Mining equipment, I’m told.”
Tad walked to the rear of the boat. “Do we sleep here?” he asked, swinging the hammock with his hand.
“I would. It’s less stuffy than the cabins below.” He pointed to a roll of material at the top of the awning. “There’s netting against insects and critters.”
“How far to the White River?”
“Oh, eight hours if there aren’t any snags. Water’s low, so I must run slower at night than in spring. Once on the White, it’s full steam for Fridan, two days.” He smiled. “It’s a boring trip. Not much to look at and usually not much in the way of conversation, but I make it four times a month, rain or snow. Do you play chess?”
Tad smiled. “Yes, a, er, friend taught me,” he said delicately. He thought of the games with Saxtos when the Regent Councilman had been sizing him up, spying on him and preparing him for the trap they had sprung on him by exiling him from Delphi.
The captain clapped his hands in satisfaction. “Good! We’ll pass the time playing.” He turned back to attend to the loading. “Lash them barrels tight, you hear?” he called to someone below decks.
It grew darker and electric lights burst into life below decks and in the wheelhouse.
“I didn’t know you used electricity here,” Tad remarked.
“I have a small generator below decks that runs off the steam engine. It provides lights for the cabins and deck and powers my spotlight. Have to send all the way to Eastenlors for them, but without lights, night passage would be too dangerous.”
“Why don’t more people use electricity? It’s cleaner than oil.”
“Well, electricity is fickle here. Sometimes the air gets thick with electricity and gets attracted to power lines and such. It makes quite a blast when it discharges. I can sort of feel these things like a tickle on the back of my neck and shut down my generator in time.”
He saw Tad’s lack of understanding. “It’s got to do wit
h the land, some mineral or something in the soil. The scar of the Veil runs deep here. It does some peculiar things.”
“Like voices?”
The captain raised his eyebrows at this. “Aye, voices, visions, saints and sinners, I’ve been told. Never seen any myself, but then I stick with the rivers.”
Tad wondered if a Veil-stricken land could hold the key to defeating the Veil. He might ask the Saddir prospectors if they had any ideas on the subject, but was reluctant to broach the subject with them. The pair were unusual. He had seen Saddir military, mercenaries, Medicos and a few merchants, but most Saddir did not delve deeply in the sciences. They felt it beneath their station and left it to the other races to make new discoveries, picking and choosing what bits and pieces of new technology fit with their very narrowly defined code of ethics.
Tad decided to check out his cabin. At least on this voyage no one expected him to help the crew, as he had on the Spur. A door in the wheelhouse led down steps to a narrow corridor. The captain’s cabin was at one end of the corridor, aft in the bow below the wheelhouse. A door at the other end opened into the cargo hold. At the hold door, the corridor made a sharp left and then a right and followed the port side of the boat, opening up onto four cabins and a common room and kitchen.
Tad chose the last cabin, the one directly beneath the fantail. It was a small room with a single porthole sealed by countless layers of paint, a narrow bunk built into the bulkhead, and a metal fold-down shelf with a washbasin. A drawer under the bunk provided minimum storage space. The shared bathroom was at the end of the corridor. He assumed that the other cabins were identical in their accommodations and lack of space, designed to be serviceable but not luxurious since passengers usually were aboard no more than three days. The room was stuffy with no moving air. He could understand why sleeping on the fantail might be a better choice.
Back on deck, the other passengers had arrived. Without fanfare, they went directly to their cabins, the men sharing one cabin, the girl another, and did not come out again. With a shout and a loud blast from a steam whistle, the captain yelled, “Cast off!”