"Tell me of it," Mena said, sitting cross-legged before the chieftain and the few elder councillors still living. She had marched in a few minutes ago, but she came with a purpose and wished the Halaly to know it. Around them, others of all ages rimmed the semiopen shelter; and beyond that, standing in the late-day sun, still others-women and children and the many of Mena's own hunting party-craned forward to hear.
Oubadal let others tell the tale through a chorus of voices. At first, they said, the thing had been but a rumor. Two years ago fishermen on the western edge of the lake had started telling tales of large aquatic creatures that would appear to eat the fish they already had on their lines, sometimes shredding their kive nets to get at the small, silvery fish. There had been many of them, they said, but as they grew larger and easier to spot-their back fins cresting the water when they attacked-their numbers began to drop.
Once they found a carcass washed ashore, a hideous thing longer than a man was tall, like a fish but none that they had seen before. It had been bitten nearly in half, something no fish naturally in the lake could have done. They concluded that the monsters had begun to battle one another. That war went unseen by human eyes, except that still other corpses, bits and pieces of malformed piscine body parts, washed ashore as testament to the contest beneath the surface.
Eventually, only one of the creatures remained, but this one fed unchallenged by competitors. It became a massive lump of a monster, all bulbous protrusions on the outside, with one massive, circular mouth at its center. It sucked the life out of their shallow lake. Fishermen could stay on shore and watch it pushing through the shallows, ravenous, too large to be denied.
The tiny fish that had schooled in the warm waters by the millions had dwindled in one area of the lake and then another. It was a collapse of unimagined proportions. Gone were the tiny kive fish, such an important source of protein fried or dried or ground into paste. Gone were the waterfowl that hunted them. Fading was the Halaly vigor-which had been so based on their reliable food sources-and dwindling were the tribute and trade that had made them the beating heart of the continent. If all that wasn't bad enough, the air swarmed with the mosquitoes and biting flies that now gestated in the lake untroubled by the kive fish that had once thrived on their eggs; one of these spread disease, while the other left welts on the skin that easily grew infected.
The dark-skinned men telling all this spoke with voices both angry and incredulous. They seemed to doubt the tale they told even as they spoke it. Mighty Halaly so weakened by a single fish thing? So enfeebled that the bites of an insect laid men low and feverish. They barely seemed able to believe their own words. And yet here they were.
"Has the creature taken any human lives?" Melio asked.
"It has," one of the councillors answered. "It does not hunt us for food, but many men have died trying to kill it."
Another added, "The Halaly have not rolled over and accepted defeat. No."
They had tried time and again to trap the creature, to poison it, to spear it or hook it or something. Thus far, though, they had only smashed boats and seen men broken and drowned. For the last few months they had put their energies into building a fleet of sailing skimmers, light vessels with large sails and compact hulls that could run even through the shallows. With nearly a hundred of such craft now, they had hemmed the beast in to the inlets of the eastern corner of the lake. It had grown so large that it was trapped in the deeper areas, and these they had limited by opening the dams to drain the lake more than usual. It was an extreme measure, but because of it the beast-fat and bloated as it was-had never been more vulnerable. They were ready, he said, to end it.
"Good," Mena said, trying to sound confident and yet respectful of the somber mood of the meeting. "I am glad we will be here to help you do so. I regret it took us so long to aid you, but there were many foulthings. Now, thankfully, there are only two more. One of those we'll kill tomorrow, yes?"
The councilmen answered her with nods, a few grunts-not exactly enthusiasm to match her own. Unsure whether the response was fatalistic or whether it was a comment on her delay in arriving, Mena said, "My family has not forgotten that the Halaly joined us in the fight against Hanish Mein. Truly, you are honored friends in our eyes. All of Talay is so."
Oubadal cleared his throat, the first sound he had yet added to the meeting. He looked quite different from when Mena had first seen him, years before when Aliver had summoned the might of all Talay to his banner. Then he had been in his regal years, slow moving and powerful, heavy and rich and sure of his ownership of his world. He had been insolent to the point of insult in his initial response to Aliver. Mena knew that. Back then, younger men had bowed to his authority, and behind him a chorus of the aged had praised his wisdom. Now the younger men did the talking; the aged were nowhere to be seen. Except, of course, Oubadal himself. His flesh hung limp around him, overripe and flaccid. The skin on his face was still rich and dark, but the eyes that looked out were fatigued, small.
"Your words are kind, Princess," Oubadal said. "You remind me of the Snow King, may he rest forever." He bowed his head at this and then righted. He set his bloodshot gaze on the princess and studied her, as if verifying for himself that he did see the resemblance he had just claimed. "When I first met your brother, I was not as respectful as I should have been. He was a cub in my eyes, a prince without a people to lead. And what is that but delusion? I thought him weak. And then when he died, I thought him unfortunate. Unlucky. I thought he had failed and I felt bad for him."
Though the council shelter was open to the air on all sides, it had grown very quiet within and without. A few crickets held long-distance conversations, but mostly it seemed the night had hushed to listen to the chieftain.
"I know now that I was mistaken on all counts," Oubadal continued. "He left this life in a swirl of noble battle. He left it a man in his prime, lean and strong, a lion whose jaws would yet have grown stronger. He left this life with the fight still in his breast. Many say so. That is how he will be remembered, as a lion. You hear me? Tongues will never tire of his name. Now, Princess Mena, I envy him. Heroes always die young. I should have realized that much earlier."
Mena, understanding the old man better now, rose from her cross-legged position and moved closer to him. She placed a hand on his. "Heroes always die, yes, but they need not be young. I don't believe that. Oubadal, you are a king among your people. You will be remembered as such forever. When I walk from here, I will remind the world how you steered your people through tumultuous times. I will tell them that your people had prepared everything to defeat this monster. You have already killed it. We are fortunate to be able to help complete what you have already all but accomplished. In a few days, we will hoist it from the water and end it. After that the fish will come back. Prosperity will return to your people."
Oubadal pulled his hand out from under hers and patted her with his fingertips. He smiled, sadly. "Dear girl, you don't understand. Yes, the fish will come back. Halaly will come back. My people may thrive again. But I–I won't see it all. Unlike your brother, I've had many, many days to come to understand this. I've had too many days. It is not easy." He paused, seeming choked by emotion, but he forced the moment to pass quickly. He coughed and then said, "Please, Princess, go with my men and see our new fleet. It is all we have left to fight the beast with."
Mena did as requested. Part of her wanted to stay with the old chieftain, wanted to let the others move away so that she could sit with him in solitude for a time. Here was a man who knew her brother and had sparred with her father when he was a young man. She wanted to comfort him, like a grown daughter might an ailing father. And, perhaps, she wanted to let him comfort her as well. Surely, tales of the past would help her make sense of the present. Wasn't that the way it was supposed to be? Couldn't she talk him through his melancholy and find within his long span of life greater meaning that would be a balm to them both? She believed so, but that was not the tenor of the momen
t. Instead, she bade him farewell for the time being and followed the younger men out to inspect the new fleet.
It was a sad tour. The Halaly tried hard to demonstrate their resolve, but the toll of the months of suffering and food shortages was palpable in every pause in the conversation, written in the haggard lines of women's faces and in the hunger contained within the ovals of children's eyes. The skimmer ships were interesting, but they looked like vessels meant for youthful recreation, not for battling a monster. Mena went to her tent aware that there was still much to be prepared physically and much to be repaired in the tribe's morale.
CHAPTER SEVEN
On the eve of his departure for the Other Lands, once all the preparations that could be made had been made, Dariel carved out a few afternoon hours to spend with his nephew, Aaden. He buried any appearance of worry about the coming trip under a string of fanciful tales. He was going to sail the Gray Slopes around the curve of the world and right into the great maelstrom through which the Giver had escaped! Yes, that's exactly what he would do. He was going to track the wandering god down and talk his ear off until he changed his mind and came back. And if he could find Elenet along the way, he would give the young man a piece of his mind. Stealing from a god like that? Mucking about with the Giver's tongue? The cheek of it! To do all this, he would have to be slipperier than a snake, smoother of tongue than a floating merchant, more cunning than a Sea Isle brigand.
"Oh, wait," Dariel said, a sly grin growing with his realization. "I am a Sea Isle brigand! That's lucky. Elenet doesn't have a chance!"
Together, uncle and nephew ran through the hallways and up and down the stairs that fed out onto the main courtyard of the upper palace. They sparred with light wooden swords, alternately laughing and threatening. At times like this, Dariel's mind was as nimble and fanciful as a child's. There was nothing linear about their play, no thematic cohesion to it. One minute they were shipmates aboard the Ballan, the next they were Edifus and Tinhadin unifying the Known World, and just as quickly they were two laryx fighting for leadership of their pack, or an architect conferring with his worker on a great project. They were, for a few hours, two boys dashing through a palace full of servants who jumped out of their way. Some tutted and scowled. Most of them smiled, for the sight of them was a rare and welcome lightness in a court that Corinn tended with a solemn air.
For his part, Aaden listened to his uncle with an expression that at times said he was humoring the old fellow and at others betrayed rapt interest. He was just a boy, Dariel knew. Though his life had shown him no hardship, he already had a tendency toward seriousness. Corinn's work. There was no doubt that she loved her son deeply, but she had begun molding him some time ago. She would likely do so with greater and greater pressure as he turned toward adolescence. Dariel did not envy the boy.
Dariel tried to lead Aaden down into the subterranean world he had explored as a boy, but the palace walls and passageways defied his memory. He was sure that there was a route from his old nursery into these hidden realms, but he could not find it. He peeked behind wardrobes and reached under wall hangings. He kicked at corners and even got on his hands and knees as if close study of the walls' intersection with the floor would provide some clue. But he found nothing. Before long Aaden grew bored, not to mention skeptical. Another of his uncle's jokes, no doubt, just not an amusing one.
"When I get back we'll have a proper search," Dariel said. The two of them sat munching cheese from a plate on the floor of Aaden's room. "I swear there's a passage to be found here. Your mother knows about it. She had the Numrek use it in the last war."
"So what are you really going to do on this voyage?" Aaden asked, returning to a line of questioning Dariel had fended off earlier. "Does it have to do with the quota?"
Drawing back, Dariel asked, "What do you know of that?"
Aaden held his gaze a moment. "I know enough. Mother said that since I am older than the quota children now, I am old enough to know about them. If they're brave enough to go into the unknown, I should be capable of at least knowing about it."
"Corinn told you that?"
"Yes, but don't tell her I told you," Aaden said. "Sometimes she acts as if I'm too young to know certain things. And at other times you're not supposed to know things that I know. Does that make sense?"
Rising and stepping away from the boy, Dariel picked up his wooden sword and fenced the air with it. The motion was just an excuse for a few moments to think. Of course Corinn had told him some things. She knew as well as he that royal children should not be raised in ignorance of the unpleasant workings of the nation, as he and his siblings had largely been. But he also knew that Corinn considered this aspect of her son's education to be her province. He needed to be careful what he revealed.
"Yes, my trip does have something to do with that," he said. "I mean, it has to do with the Lothan Aklun and our dealings with them. I should not talk about it, though. Ask your mother if you wish to know more."
"Are you so afraid of her? You can't even stand still."
Dariel stopped his nervous sparring dance. "Corinn is my sister," he said. "Why should I be afraid of my sister? Don't be silly, and don't try to trick me. She's my sister, but she's your mother. If she wishes you to know affairs of state, it's up to her to tell you about them."
Aaden pierced a grape with the cheese knife. He lifted it and studied it as if he had not even heard his uncle. "It's just not right. I don't see any way that it's right. Children should not-"
"Wait, Aaden-"
"Be sent off into slavery. Mother told me she knows it's not right, and yet she allows it. Children, Dariel, younger than me. They get taken from their parents! I know you understand what that means. You were sent alone into the world when just a boy, right?"
Dariel lowered himself to his knees, setting the wooden sword to one side. "Yes, I was."
"And it was bad, yes, to be alone like that? On your own, with the whole world around you."
Dariel remembered the aching fear he had felt when alone in that dilapidated hut at the edge of the abandoned village in the Senivalian mountains. A chill, black night, the world like a mouth about to clamp shut and devour him whole. He only said, "Yes, that was not easy."
"So will you stop it? Go and see what it's about, but if it's bad, promise me you'll stop it. Even if mother gets mad at you for it. I would do it myself, but I'm not old enough yet. Promise me you'll do what's right, and when I'm king I'll remember it." Aaden, still holding the grape on the tip of the knife, slanted his gaze up toward his uncle and waited for an answer.
The response he gave still rang in his ears the next morning, as he made his way through a dock thronging with workers and guards and animals, sailors and Ishtat Inspectorate officers. He had heard of the Rayfin, the league clipper that would transport him on the first leg of his journey, but he had seen it only from a distance. On reaching it, he stood a moment, gazing at it, unmoving among the commotion around him.
The ship was a marvel to look at, built for speed with the skill the league had been refining for generations. The body of it was sleek and dangerous looking, covered all over with the shiny, brilliantly white coating that all league vessels wore. He knew it was made with sap from certain trees in Aushenia, but the exact formula they used was a carefully guarded secret. For that matter, just what its function was remained something of a mystery, too. It covered every beam of the hull, the railing, and the deck. It was as if the craft had been dipped in a vat of the stuff and lifted out shiny, slick. Once the ship was at sea, the rows of wide-armed masts would unfurl sail. He had seen that from a distance, and imagined they could set several jibs as well. The ship was likely the fastest Dariel had ever laid eyes on.
Rialus was there to meet him on deck, looking paler than usual. The councillor had proposed that they journey by land across the Tabith Way, reaching the port of Tabith and sailing from there onto the Gray Slopes. The proposal had made Dariel grin. Though it was a reasonable enough suggesti
on, it was clear from the manner in which Rialus proposed it that he was not comfortable with the idea of being so completely in league hands. Dariel was not either, but they were going to have to get used to that. Sire Neen himself would be traveling by sea, so it would look awkward if they did not as well. Plus Dariel loved the sea. He had loved it when he was hunting league vessels; he was sure he would still love it now, despite the strangeness of being a guest of his old enemies.
"Is that Rialus Neptos?" Dariel asked, grinning. "Or is it his ghost come in his place?"
Rialus did not catch or acknowledge the prince's humor. "The captain says we should leave within the hour to have advantage of the tide. Have you come ready to sail?"
"Yes, yes. All my things were loaded yesterday." He looked down at his new clothing, at the Marah sword at his side, and at the supple leather boots he now wore, as if to say he carried all his possessions on his person. "I'm as ready as I'll manage."
And just like that he was thinking of his last moments with Wren. He knew it would not be the last time. He would smell of her still, and each morning he would awake thinking of her. That was how it had been during his work in Aushenia. He would wonder if he had at last planted a child in her. They had certainly been hoping for one, for years now, it seemed. Perhaps he would return to find her rubbing a small bump in her belly. He hoped so, but he had decided the trip was worth its perils. The promise he had made Aaden-for he had agreed to the boy's request-convinced him of that. Perhaps he would accomplish greater things than Corinn had planned. He would achieve more on this mission than had been asked of him, and she would later come to thank him for it. That was what happened with his rebuilding projects. It could happen with this, too.
"You said your farewells to the queen-"
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