Voyage of the Elawn

by Ted Neill

  “He says there are ruins in a bay a few hours northward,” Adamantus said, translating further. “For the Elawn, it should take a short time to reach.”

  Gabriella felt feathers flutter in her stomach. A woman with thick black braids and jingling anklets, and smelling delightfully of sandalwood, handed her a cup of tea. The liquid was red and tart. Gabriella’s mouth puckered at first, but she immediately became aware that she wanted more. She took another sip and smiled. The Vasani laughed and cheered. She turned to Dameon.

  “Dameon, please go get our tea roots. We will trade them some of our tea for theirs. Invite Mr. Creedly to join us if he is interested.”

  Dameon rushed off. Chas’ map had given her an idea. She reached into her shirt and removed the map from Nicomedes’ workshop. She spread it out on the table and asked Chas if he could decipher any meaning in it. Chas studied it intently then after a long while shook his head. Undeterred, he called other men and women over to examine it. Gabriella noticed the deference they all showed Chas and wondered if he was the town’s chief. Chas explained to Gabriella the professions of the people as they looked at the map: teachers, scribes, priests, and priestesses. One of them would know what it meant, he assured her.

  But no one did. Next he called upon the poets and the artists. When the poets and artists said they had never seen the symbols before, Chas called upon the potters and weavers. When they gave up, he called the bakers, and coopers, and then the smithies. No one had any idea, but the crowd around them was soon noisy as the Vasani discussed and argued about the marks.

  While they debated, Gabriella asked Chas about the pink bow on his beard.

  “My granddaughter,” the old man said, smiling. He called over the woman who had served Gabriella tea and introduced her as his daughter, Jambi.

  Gabriella stood up and curtseyed. Jambi, in turn, beckoned to a young girl of around four years old. Chas introduced her as Naema. Naema had sandy hair twisted into long braids that swung when she walked. Indigo and yellow flowers bobbed in her hair. Her eyes were granite gray like her grandfather’s.

  Dameon returned with the bitter-root tea, which Gabriella presented to Naema and asked her to give to her mother. Gabriella explained as best she could with signs and gestures that it was a bitter tea. She added that she and her mother liked it strong, but that her father and most others enjoyed it with cream and honey.

  Mortimer left the ship and joined them, but he refused to sit down, declining the offer of tea. He had relented and allowed women to carry loads onto the Elawn—they could control their children better than he, but he frequently glared at them. Gabriella was embarrassed for his rudeness, but she tried to be understanding. After all, he was an outcast on Harkness. Few in the town ever showed him much kindness. Now that she knew the story of how he had lost his family, she wondered if that was why.

  Hard to show kindness when you have been shown little yourself.

  Gabriella was about to fold up the map and put it away when she noticed three men enter the square. They were dark from working under the sun and their trousers were cut off at the calves. Their bodies were thin but sinewy, as if they were used to hauling heavy loads but had to remain agile to do so. She knew fishermen when she saw them.

  “Everyone else has had a look at the map,” she said. “We should let them.”

  Chas beckoned to them and showed them the parchment map. They passed it between one another and nodded. They had seen these symbols many times.

  Gabriella almost jumped out of her seat. “Where? What do they mean?”

  Adamantus translated her question, and one of the men answered.

  “He has seen these symbols on the ruins of the walled city, the ruined city to the north.” Adamantus spoke to them a little longer, turning back to Gabriella. “They describe ruins that mostly match what Dis would look like. But I remember from lore that Dis did not have a wall. They describe this place as ‘the walled city.’ This is the only inconsistency. They are certain that this is the same city Chas has given us directions to. Perhaps it is not Dis, but Dis can’t be far.”

  “Do any of them know what the symbols mean?” she asked.

  Adamantus shook his head. “No, only that they have seen them there on the wall, ‘the wall that the water touches,’ they say. They also call this place ‘the flooded city.’”

  “Could Dis be underwater?”

  “Perhaps. The earth and sea change with time.”

  “Does this mean our treasure is underwater?” Mortimer asked, coming forward, his knees knocking the tea table so that the cups rattled.

  Adamantus rolled his shoulders. “We shall have to see.”

  Mortimer kicked the dirt at his foot and grumbled. In the center of the town square was a narrow pillar of stones a little over a dozen feet high. At its base was a ring of white stones surrounded by a white fence. On top of the column was a round disc, and in the center of the disc was an object that glittered so brightly in the sun’s light that Gabriella could not make out its shape. Mortimer’s studied the structure with an appraising eye.

  “What’s its significance?” Mortimer asked. Adamantus translated the question for Chas, who became solemn as he answered.

  “Chas says that the spirits of their ancestors pass through that column on their journey to the afterlife,” Adamantus reported.

  “Indeed,” Mortimer said, his voice full of sarcasm. Gabriella felt a thrill of recognition. She moved to the edge of her seat, ready to explain that on her home island, they also had such a tower. She wanted to ask if the Vasani also had dances where the spirits of the dead spoke through the living, but Mortimer was not finished. He interrupted, “What is that object on the top of the column?”

  Chas eagerly explained, Adamantus breathlessly translating for him. “It is the skull of a small dragon. It is encrusted with jewels so that it can be seen from miles off. Inside lives a spirit that protects the village. The sight of the relic keeps dragons away.”

  Gabriella looked up at the sky. Indeed, the mother wyvern was lost from sight. She asked Adamantus if he had explained to Chas how they had passed through the Narrows themselves, but before she could ask, she was distracted by a young man that had been pushed through the crowd to their table.

  He was older than Gabriella, but his clothes were tattered and unkempt, as if he were unable to tend to himself. His head was angled to the side as if his muscles were locked. His arms too, were stuck in a position that thrust his hands out before his body. His eyes were not even with one another, and when they fell on Adamantus, he made an excited but inarticulate scream. Most of the Vasani regarded him with benign expressions; one nearby patted his shoulder as if to calm him.

  Adamantus translated as Chas spoke, “You see, we have our own sipahanne as well. We try to tend to them as you do to yours.” Chas was gesturing towards Dameon, who was rocking and mumbling softly to himself.

  “Sipahanne is their word for cursed?” Gabriella asked.

  “It does not seem to have the same connotation,” the elk said. “But I’m not sure how to translate it in your tongue except to say it suggests an obligation to give attention and care.”

  Gabriella looked at the young man, older than she, and yet he would always be like a child. In some ways it made her feel more generous towards her brother, who she described to Chas as, “Also sipahanne, but in a different way.”

  Chas gestured towards Mortimer, who had finally taken a seat but was tapping his knees impatiently, and asked through Adamantus, “And him too?”

  Some of the gathered people laughed, but Gabriella did not think Chas meant any harm. Mortimer, with his ragged appearance, matted hair, tattered clothes, and weathered skin did share some features of a madman. He certainly had not helped by refusing any tea.

  “No, no,” Gabriella said quickly, but Mortimer had already stood up, his chair tumbling over. He tripped over it as he tried to turn. Some more Vasani laughed but quieted when he leveled a kick at it.

 
“Mr. Creedly, he meant no offense!” Gabriella called after him. He ignored her and walked back toward the center of the square.

  Gabriella began to apologize for him and explain Mortimer’s behavior. She wanted to share the story of his loss, to show them the Mortimer Creedly she had learned about, who had tried to break through the hull of a capsized ship to free his family, who had saved Dameon from drowning, who had faced a dragon without armor, shield, or spells, who had shared water with her when there was not enough for the four of them. The crowd about them had grown noisy though, and it was hard for Chas to hear Adamantus speak. Finally, raising and lowering his hands, Chas quieted the conversations around them, and Gabriella was able to speak again.

  But the opportunity vanished when a woman’s scream pierced the air. Children were running out of the square, pale with fright, while women and men were lifting their skirts to run into it, their faces set with concern. Mortimer shouted over the din. Gabriella leapt up and pushed through the crowd. Mortimer was dragging a child, a girl, by the collar of her shirt. His unsheathed sword was at her throat.

  It was Naema.

  “Mr. Creedly!” she screamed. She and Adamantus both started forward.

  Mortimer turned to Adamantus and raised the length of his sword. “Tell the people to get away from me or I kill the girl.”

  “Mr. Creedly, what are you doing?!” Gabriella cried.

  “Shut up. Shut up, you righteous little brat. I am tired of listening to you. I’m tired of people looking down on me. I did not come here to be a made fool of, and I will not return to Harkness a poor man. Listen to me, elk. Tell everyone to back off. Translate!”

  Adamantus did, but his translation took a long while. Any desire to defend Mortimer had left Gabriella. She hoped that he was explaining that Mortimer was indeed mad. Chas’ face was completely white. His hands were clenched. He stepped forward to plead, but Mortimer cut him off. “Tell him if he does not shut his mouth I will chop off the little one’s hand.”

  Adamantus rapidly translated. Gabriella could hear the controlled anger in the elk’s voice. Mortimer called to Dameon and told him to get on the Elawn. Gabriella grabbed him and told him not to. Mortimer put his blade to Naema’s wrist and pressed it. Naema shrieked as a rivulet of blood ran across the blade and dripped down its tip.

  Gabriella let go of Dameon and urged him onto the ship. Then she walked towards Mortimer, her anger overcoming her fear. “Mr. Creedly, why are you doing this?”

  “You heard them. The entire city might be underwater. I don’t know the last time you checked, but none of us has any gills.” He backed up towards the stone column. “Now, I’ve been laughed at for far too long. I’ve been on the outside too long. I’m returning to Harkness with riches. And this might be the only treasure we find.” He passed the ring of white stones around the base of the column.

  “Mr. Creedly, you can’t take it,” she said.

  “Gabriella,” he said, his voice softening a fraction. “You need to learn that our cooperation is based on give and take. You’ve been taking . . . now it’s time to give.”

  Chas was speaking quickly. Adamantus translated. “Mortimer, Chas says that if anyone touches the skull and removes it from the island, not only will the person who touches it die, but so will all the people of the island.”

  Gabriella turned to Adamantus. “Is it true?”

  “I do not know. Magical relics can be very powerful. However, half of the relics in this world are not magic at all. What is important is that Chas believes it. As do all these people.”

  Gabriella ran forward to the ring of stones. “Mr. Creedly, if you take the skull, all these people will die.”

  “Wives’ tales! Don’t tell me you believe all that.”

  “Mr. Creedly, you might die!”

  He locked his gaze with hers for a moment, then smiled and laughed. The crowd watched Mortimer climb the pillar in stunned, terrified silence. A few people covered their heads. Mortimer’s arms and legs flexed and rippled with effort as he climbed. He grabbed the horn of the relic and leapt down to the ground. He held the glittering skull in his hands. Thunder did not rend the sky. The earth did not open up.

  “It is nothing but a goat’s head. But these jewels are real,” Mortimer said, turning the skull in his hands.

  He dragged Naema to the Elawn. It was unnecessary though. All the Vasani were collapsing on the ground. This was not the gentle, restrained prostrations from when they arrived. Women fell in full faints. Men knelt down and beat their chests, wailing. Chas stretched himself out face down, tears running off his cheeks into the dust.

  Mortimer released Naema and climbed the gangway to the Elawn, now pulling Dameon along behind him.

  “See how honest your new friends are? They lied to you. They look upset, but they surely are not dead. Me neither.” He spoke in an affable tone, like two friends between which a disagreement has just passed. “You can still come with me, Gabriella, the elk too. You just need to remember who is in charge now.”

  She looked at Adamantus. She did not know how she could make herself get on the Elawn again. Except that Dameon was there.

  “I could trade Mr. Creedly the map for Dameon,” she said to Adamantus.

  “No, we board.”

  “Why?”

  “It is our fault that this has befallen these people. Our only opportunity to set things right is bound to the Elawn.”

  “But the relic is not real. It did not kill Mr. Creedly. We just need to convince them they don’t need it. I don’t think Mr. Creedly will give it up.”

  “You won’t convince them,” Adamantus said. “This is their belief. They will lie here until they expire. It is the heart of their way of life.”

  Gabriella refused to believe the elk. She fell to Chas’ side and tried to rouse him, pulling at his arms, but he would not move. He wept, but he refused to budge.

  “Gabriella, come,” Adamantus said, his voice hard as steel.

  Gabriella climbed the gangway. She sat down at the bow of the Elawn with her brother and Adamantus, like prisoners. Mortimer, living and breathing, set the sails, which caught a breeze as he took the wheel.

  Chapter 13

  Dis

  The Elawn banked northward. Gabriella regretted ever showing Mortimer how to fly the airship as he steered them out over the channel and then over the bay. The cold breeze made Gabriella shiver—it had been warmer on the ground. She stared at the glittering skull sitting on the mid-deck. So did Dameon. Indeed, it was a goat’s head.

  Gabriella saw that they were in the role of buccaneers once again. She looked off the stern and wondered if it were not the skull, but something else about the island that kept the dragons away. Despite the skull on the Elawn, the mother wyvern was following once more and had even closed some distance.

  The sun still shone. Mortimer remained alive. The oceans had not turned to fire. Mortimer set the wheel in place then inspected the fresh vegetables, bread, tea, oats, and other provisions the Vasani had given them. He pulled out a loaf of bread and tore it in half, stuffing his mouth.

  “We have more than enough to reach home,” he said, settling down on a crate of water jugs.

  “If the curse does not kill us . . .” Gabriella said.

  “You disappoint me, Gabriella. You’ve shown a lot of bravery and smarts these last weeks. I would not have expected you to be a believer in superstitious nonsense about curses and the dead.”

  “The dead are the ones who sent me on this journey. They spoke to me. I am here because of them!”

  At first Mortimer laughed, then he shook his head in what appeared to be genuine sympathy.

  “You know what lies inside the tower of the dead, Gabriella Carlyle? Nothing. It is empty. Not because spirits take up no space, but because they do not exist. The dead are dead. The worms eat their bodies in the earth, and the crabs at sea. Their voices are only in our heads.”

  “You don’t know what you are talking about! How else would the da
ncers know the things they do when they are mounted by a spirit?”

  Mortimer laughed again. “There are no secrets in Harkness. Women gossip in the afternoons, and then spirits seem wise at night.”

  “But what about the predictions, the prophecies?”

  “Like ‘the rains will come after a mare gives birth to a filly?’ Gabriella, when have the rains not come? When have colts not been born? Of course such prophecies will always come true.” He knelt down beside her, broke off a piece of bread, still warm from the ovens of Vasan, and handed it to her.

  She didn’t want it, or anything from Mortimer, and handed it to her brother.

  “I’d offer you a piece, elk, but you are looking daggers at me.”

  Adamantus huffed and looked away.

  “The dead told us through me that if a Harkenite went in search of Nicomedes’ treasure and returned with it, the Servior would never trouble Harkness again,” Gabriella said.

  Mortimer shrugged, unmoved by the specificity of the prophecy. “You heard what you wanted to hear, said what you wanted to say, Gabriella. I think a lot of those with belief do. They see what they want to see, as long as it bolsters what they already believe, as long as it confirms their own sense of self-importance.”

  “But you believed you were ‘supposed’ to be here when the Tantallon brought you. You had faith in Ghede and Brigitte.”

  “I believe what I see. And I saw floating ships. Even one flying itself. That’s something. That’s proof. Not faith.”

  “How can you be so sure about the dead?”

  “Because I asked them, Gabriella. Because I asked the dead, and they said nothing back. After my family died, I went to the tower. I wanted to be with my parents. I knelt beside it, calling to them, praying to them, and when I did not hear them, I could not bear the thought of living without them, so I decided to join them. I opened the door and stepped inside. I stepped inside the most hallowed space in all of Harkness, the core of the tower, the eye of the gods, the heart of the dead, the forbidden place. And nothing. Nothing. I should have died. I was one of the uninitiated. The gods, the dead, whoever, should have struck me down. But I was still there. Then I realized. It was all lies. Just like those people below. Everything they believe is a lie.”