The Liveship Traders Series

by Robin Hobb

  ‘Maulkin of Maulkin’s Tangle greets you, She Who Remembers.’

  His great copper eyes travelled over her crooked body. His eyes spun once in what might have been dismay or sympathy, and then were stilled. He displayed his fangs to her. She clashed her teeth lightly against his. His mane stiffened in reflexive response. His tangle, attuned to his poisons by their long association, would be most vulnerable to hers in conjunction with the release of Maulkin’s toxins. He was essential to this awakening. She expelled a faint wash of her venom towards his open jaws, saw him gulp it in, and watched it affect him. His eyes spun slowly, and colours washed through his mane, violets and pinks engorging his spines. She gave his body time to adjust itself. Then, almost languorously, she wrapped his long body with hers. As was fitting, he submitted to her.

  She matched her body to his, feeling the slime of his skin mingle with her own. She paused, lidding her eyes as her body adjusted its acids. Then, in an ecstasy of remembering, she tangled her mane with his, stimulating both of them to release a mingled cloud of venoms. The shock of tasting a toxin not of her own secretion near stunned her.

  Then the night world sharpened. She knew every serpent in his tangle as he did. She took to herself his confused memories of many migratory pilgrimages, and sorted them for him. She shared, suddenly, a lost generation’s wandering. Pity sliced her soul. So few females left, and all their bodies so aged. Their souls had been trapped for decades in bodies meant for transitory use. Yet even as her hearts rang with pity, pride’s triumphant trumpeting drowned it. Despite all, her race had survived. Against all obstacles, they had prevailed. Somehow, they would complete their migration, they would cast their cocoons and they would emerge as dragons. The Lords of the Three Realms would once more fill the sky.

  She felt Maulkin’s spirit intertwine with her own. ‘Yes!’ His trumpet of affirmation was her signal. She breathed her toxins into his face. He did not struggle. Rather, he plunged willingly into unconsciousness, surrendering his mind to become the repository of the memories of his kind. Her twisted tail lashed as she kept her grip upon his body. Slowly, with great effort, she began to turn them both, spinning them in a streaming circle of toxins that spread slowly to the waiting multitude. Dimly she saw the toxins reach them. The poised serpents stiffened in the grip of her spell, and then began the reflexive finning that held them in place as their minds opened to the trove of memories. She was small and crippled and tiring far too rapidly. She hoped her poison sacs held enough for them all. She stretched her jaws wide and worked the muscles that pumped the toxins from her mane. She strained, convulsively working the muscles long past the complete emptying of her sacs. Depleted she toiled on, turning herself and Maulkin, using their bodies to disperse their mingled toxins to the entranced serpents. On she laboured, and on, past instinct, consciously pushing her body to its limits.

  She became aware of Maulkin speaking to her. He held her now. She was exhausted. He moved with her, forcing water over her gills.

  ‘Enough,’ he told her, his voice gentle. ‘It is enough. Rest. She Who Remembers, Maulkin’s tangle is now We Who Remember. Your duty is fulfilled.’

  She longed to rest, but she managed to warn them. ‘I have awakened another one as well. The silver one claims our kinship. I am wary of her. Yet she alone may know the way home.’

  The water boiled with serpents. In all his years at sea, Kennit had never seen such a sight. Before dawn, their trumpeting chorus awoke him. They swarmed around his liveship. They lifted immense maned heads to regard the ship curiously. Their long bodies sliced the water, cutting across Vivacia’s bow and streaming in her wake. Their astonishing colours gleamed in the morning light. Their great eyes spun like pinwheels.

  Kennit felt himself the target of those unblinking stares. As he stood on the foredeck and watched, Vivacia held court to these odd suitors. They rose from the water, some lifting near as tall as the figurehead to regard her. Some considered her in silence, but others trumpeted or whistled. When Vivacia sang an answer to them, the immense heads inevitably turned towards Kennit and stared. For a man who had already lost one leg to a serpent, those avaricious stares were unnerving. Nevertheless, he held his post and his smile.

  Behind him, the men worked the deck and the rigging with greater than usual caution. Below them gaped the double death of water and fangs. It did not matter that the serpents were not showing any aggression towards the ship. Their roaring and cavorting were enough to intimidate anyone. Only Etta seemed to have shed her fear of the creatures. She clung to the railing, eyes wide and cheeks flushed, as she took in the spectacle of their flashing escort.

  Wintrow stood behind them, arms crossed tightly on his chest. He addressed the ship. ‘What do they say to you, and what do you reply?’

  She glanced archly back at him. Then, as Kennit watched, the boy flinched as if jabbed. He paled suddenly, his knees folding, and staggered away from the railing. Walking uncertainly, his eyes unfocused, Wintrow left the foredeck without another word. Kennit briefly considered demanding an explanation, but decided to let it pass. He did not yet have Bolt’s full measure. He would not risk offending her. The expression on the figurehead’s face had never varied from pleasant. Bolt spoke, directing her words to Kennit. ‘What they say does not concern humans. They speak of serpent dreams, and I assure them that I share the same. That is all. They will follow me, now, and do as I tell them. Select your prey, Captain Kennit. They will cut it out and run it down for you like a pack of wolves culling a bull from a herd. Say where we shall go, and all we encounter between here and there will fall like ripe fruit into your hands.’

  She flung him the offer carelessly. Kennit tried to accept it with equanimity, but he perceived instantly what it meant. Not just ships, but towns, even cities were his to plunder. He looked at his rainbow escort, and imagined them boiling in Bingtown Bay or cavorting before the docks of Jamaillia itself. They could weave a blockade that would stop all trade. With a flotilla of serpents at his command, he could control all traffic through the Inside Passage. She was handing him mastery of the entire coast.

  He saw her watching him from the corner of her eye. She knew very well what she was offering him. He stepped closer, and spoke only for her ears. ‘And what does it cost me? Only “what you ask for, when you ask for it”?’

  Her red lips curved in a sweet smile. ‘Exactly.’ The time for hesitation was past. ‘You have it,’ he assured her quietly.

  ‘I know,’ she replied.

  ‘What ails you?’ Etta demanded crossly.

  Wintrow looked up at her in surprise. ‘Your pardon?’

  ‘Pardon my ass!’ She gestured impatiently at the gameboard on the low table between them. ‘It’s your move. It has been your move for as long as it has taken me to finish this buttonhole. But when I look up, there you sit, staring into the lantern. So what ails you? You cannot keep your mind on anything of late.’

  That was because the whole of his mind was given over to one thing only. He could have said that, but chose to shrug. ‘I suppose I feel a bit useless of late.’

  She grinned wickedly. ‘Of late? You were always useless, priest-boy. Why does it suddenly bother you?’

  Now there was a question. Why did it bother him? Since Kennit had taken over the ship, he had had no official status. He was not the ship’s boy, he was not the captain’s valet, and no one had ever seriously respected his claim to own the ship. But he had had a function. Kennit had thrown him odd chores and honed his wits against him, but that had merely filled his time. Vivacia had filled his heart. A bit late to realize that, he thought sourly. A bit late to admit that his bond with the ship had defined his life and his days aboard her. She had needed him, and Kennit had used him as the bridge between them. Now neither of them required him any more. At least, the creature that wore Vivacia’s body no longer needed him. Indeed, she scarcely tolerated him. His head still throbbed from her latest rebuff.

  He could dimly recall his healing. Days of c
onvalescence had followed it. He had lain in his bunk and watched the play of light on the wall of his stateroom and thought of nothing. The rapid repair of his body had drained all his physical reserves. Etta had brought him food, drink, and books he never opened. She had brought him a mirror, thinking to cheer him. He saw that the outside of his body had reconstructed itself at Kennit’s command. The skin of his face purged itself of the tattoo’s ink. Each day the sprawling mark his father had placed on him grew fainter, until Vivacia’s image vanished from his face as if it had never been.

  It was the ship’s doing. He knew that. Kennit had only been her tool, so that Kennit might reap the benefit of performing yet another miracle. The message to Wintrow was that she did not need his compliance to work her will upon him. Bolt had struck him with his healing. She had not restored his missing finger. He had stopped pondering whether that task was beyond both his body and her ministration, or if she had withheld it from him. She had expunged Vivacia’s image from his face, and the meaning of that was obvious.

  Etta slapped the table and he jumped.

  ‘You’re doing it again,’ she accused him. ‘And you haven’t even answered my question.’

  ‘I don’t know what to do with myself any more,’ he confessed. ‘The ship no longer needs me. Kennit no longer needs me. The only use he ever had for me was to act as a go-between for them. Now they are together and I am –’

  ‘Jealous,’ Etta filled in. ‘And fair green with it. I hope that I was more subtle when I was in your place. For a long time, I stood where you stand now, wondering what my place was, wondering why or if Kennit needed me, hating the ship for fascinating him so.’ She gave him a twisted smile of sympathy. ‘You have my pity, but it won’t do you any good.’

  ‘What will?’ he demanded.

  ‘Keeping busy. Getting over it. Learning something new.’ She tied a knot. ‘Find something else to occupy your mind.’

  ‘Such as?’ he asked bitterly.

  She bit off her thread and tugged to see if the bone button was secure. With her chin, she gestured at the neglected gameboard. ‘Amusing me.’

  Her smile made it a jest. The movement of her chin made the lamplight run over her sleek hair and glance off the strong bones of her cheeks. She glanced at him from under lowered lashes as she threaded her needle. Mirth glinted in her dark eyes. The corner of her mouth curved slightly. Yes, he could find something else to occupy his mind, something likely to lead to disaster. He forced his eyes back to the gameboard and made a move. ‘Learn something new. Such as?’

  She snorted her contempt. Her hand darted out, and with a single move demolished his defences. ‘Something useful. Something you will actually put your mind to, rather than making motions while you dream elsewhere.’

  He swept his playing pieces from the board. ‘What can I learn aboard this ship that I have not already learned?’

  ‘Navigation,’ she suggested. ‘It confounds me, but you have the numbers learned already. You could master it.’ This time her eyes were serious. ‘But I think you should learn what you have put off far too long. Fill the gap that you wear like an open wound. Go where your heart has always led you. You have denied yourself long enough.’

  He sat very still. ‘And that is?’ he prompted her quietly.

  ‘Learn yourself. Your priesthood,’ she said.

  His keen disappointment shocked him. He would not even consider what he had hoped she might suggest. He shook his head, and his voice was bitter as he said, ‘I have left that too far behind. Sa is strong in my life, but my devotion is not what it once was. A priest must be willing to live his life for others. At one time, I thought that would be my delight. Now…’ he let his eyes meet hers honestly. ‘I have learned to want things for myself,’ he said quietly.

  She laughed. ‘Ah, at teaching you that, Kennit would excel, I think. Yet I believe you misjudge yourself. Perhaps you have lost the intensity of your focus, Wintrow, but examine your heart. If you could have one thing, right now, what would you choose?’

  He bit back the words that sprang to his lips. Etta had changed, and he had been part of her changing. The way she spoke, the way she thought, reflected the books they had shared. It was not that she had become wiser; wisdom had shone in her from the start. Now she had the words for her thoughts. She had been like a lantern flame burning behind a sooty glass. Now the glass was clear and her light shone forth. She pursed her lips in annoyance: he had taken too long to reply. He avoided her question. ‘Do you remember the night when you told me that I should discover where I was in my life and go on from there? Accept the shape of my life and do my best with it?’

  She lifted one eyebrow as if to deny it. His heart sank. Could something so important to him have left no mark upon her? Then she shook her head ruefully. ‘You were so serious, I wanted to kick you. Such a lad. It does not seem possible you were so young such a short time ago.’

  ‘Such a short time ago?’ He laughed. ‘It seems like years. I’ve been through so many changes since then.’ He met her eyes. ‘I taught you to read, and you said it changed your life. Do you know how much you have changed my life as well?’

  ‘Well.’ She leaned back and considered. ‘If I hadn’t taught you to use a knife, you’d be dead now. So I suppose I’ve changed the course of your life at least once.’

  ‘I try to imagine going back to my monastery now. I would have to bid farewell to my ship, to Kennit, to you, to my shipmates, to all my life has become. I don’t know if I could go back and sit with Berandol and meditate, or pore over my books.’ He smiled regretfully. ‘Or work the stained glass I once took such pride in. I would be denying all I had learned out here. I am like a little fish that ventured too far from its placid pool and has been swept into the river. I’ve learned to survive out here, now. I don’t know if I could be content with a contemplative life any more.’

  She looked at him oddly. ‘I didn’t mean you should return to your monastery. Only that you should start being a priest again.’

  ‘Here? On the ship? Why?’

  ‘Why not? You once told me that if a man is meant to be a priest, nothing can divert him from that. It will happen to him, no matter where he is. That perhaps Sa had put you here because there was something you were meant to do here. Destiny, and all that.’

  She spoke his words flippantly, but beneath her tone he heard a desperate hope.

  ‘But why?’ he repeated. ‘Why do you urge me to do this now?’

  She turned aside from him. ‘Perhaps I miss the way you used to talk. How you used to argue that there was meaning and structure to all that happened, even if we could not immediately perceive it. There was a comfort to hearing you say that, even if I couldn’t completely believe it. About destiny and all.’

  Her hand strayed to her breast, then pulled away. He knew what she flinched from touching. In a small bag about her neck she wore the charm from Others’ Island, the figurine of a baby. She had shown it to him while he was still recovering from his ‘miracle cure’. He had sensed how important it was to Etta but had not given it any serious thought since then. Obviously, she had. She considered the odd charm as an omen of some kind. Perhaps if Wintrow believed that the Others were truly soothsayers and prophets, he would share her opinion, but he didn’t. Likely a trick of winds and tides carried all manner of debris to the beach, and her charm among it. As for the Others themselves, the serpent he had freed had imprinted her opinion of them on him. Abominations. Her precise meaning had not been clear, but her horror and loathing were plain. They should never have been. They were thieves of a past not their own, with no power to foretell the future. The charm Etta had found in her boot was a mere coincidence, of no more portent than the sand that had been with it.

  He could not share his opinion with Etta without affronting her. Affronting her could be painful. He began carefully, ‘I still believe that every creature has a unique and significant destiny.’

  She leapt to it before he could approach it gently.
‘It could be my destiny to bear Kennit’s child; to bring into being a prince for the King of the Pirate Isles.’

  ‘It might also be your destiny not to,’ he pointed out.

  Displeasure flashed across her face, replaced by impassivity. He had hurt her. ‘That is what you believe, then.’

  He shook his head. ‘No, Etta. I have no beliefs, either way. I am simply saying that you should not lock your dreams onto a child or a man. Who loves you or who you love is not as significant as who you are. Too many folk, women and men, love the person they wish to be, as if by loving that person, or being loved by that person, they could attain the importance they long for.

  ‘I am not Sa. I lack his almighty wisdom. But I think you are more likely to find Etta’s destiny in Etta, rather than hoping Kennit will impregnate you with it.’

  Anger writhed over her face. Then she sat still, anger still glinting in her eyes, but with it a careful consideration of his words. Finally, she observed gruffly, ‘It’s hard to take offence at your saying that I might be important for myself.’ Her eyes met his squarely. ‘I might consider it a compliment. Except that it’s hard to believe you are sincere, when you obviously don’t believe the same is true of yourself.’

  She continued into his stunned silence, ‘You haven’t lost your belief in Sa. You’ve lost your belief in yourself. You speak to me of measuring myself by my significance to Kennit. But you do the same. You evaluate your purpose in terms of Vivacia or Kennit. Pick up your own life, Wintrow, and be responsible for it. Then, perhaps, you may be significant to them.’

  Like a key turning in a rusty lock. That was the sensation inside him. Or perhaps like a wound that bleeds anew past a closed crust, he thought wryly. He sifted her words, searching for a flaw in her logic, for a trick in her wording. There was none. She was right. Somehow, sometime, he had abdicated responsibility for his life. His hard-won meditations, the fruit of another lifetime of studying and Berandol’s guidance, had become platitudes he mouthed without applying them to himself. He suddenly recalled a callow boy telling his tutor that he dreaded the sea voyage home, because he would have to be among common men rather than thoughtful acolytes like himself. What had he said to Berandol? ‘Good enough men, but not like us.’ Then, he had despised the sort of life where simply getting from day to day prevented a man from ever taking stock of himself. Berandol had hinted to him then that a time out in the world might change his image of folk who laboured every day for their bread. Had it? Or had it changed his image of acolytes who spent so much time in self-examination that they never truly experienced life?