“Wasn’ just fear of punishment, y’ understand,” she went on when she had quieted herself. “Collectors, an’ above all th’ Chamber, rule th’ Lands because they’ve power no one else has. They protect us. All of us. You, too. Protect everyone w’ their power. Rule everyone w’ their power. Even the Lords bow t’ the Chamber.”
Her story was gaining momentum now. She had grasped it all, half-consciously, but as she told it, it became real. She hadn’t made a mistake, turning on Drast. The truth began more transparent with every word she uttered. “Llory—the Chamber Seat who sent us after y’—told m’ that I could resist Welgray’s power if’n I needed to. That Collectors no longer had hold on me. And I begin t’ wonder—does th’ Chamber still have power over me? Llory told m’ they did, but I can’ help but wonder.
“Now I understand. They don’ have it.” She shook her head. “None of them. Llory didn’ . . . protect m’ from it somehow; it never existed. They never had th’ power t’ control us. It’s all one, huge . . . twist. Oh, maybe th’ had it, long ago, in th’ time of this Repository. But somehow, they lost it.”
She spun on Sayri then; the girl was startled. Wissa smiled softly at her innocence. “You have it Sayri. I don’ know how, but you have th’ power. And they want it. They want it s’ very badly, Sayri. They will do anything t’ take it from y’.”
She took three steps, stopping in front of the Lower Valley girl. They weren’t too different in age, but Wissa was taller and more broad; she felt a million years older. “They won’ have you’ Sayri. I won’ let them. Not the Collectors, not the Chamber, or the Proselytes if’n they want y’ too. I will stop them,” she said, aware that her lip had curled in fury, and her voice had degenerated into a growl. “If they try t’ take y’, I will destroy them all.”
Welgray had sworn an oath to protect this girl, to protect what she represented. Wissa hadn’t known what that meant at the time, but now she did. She dropped to a knee before Sayri, and looked up at her wide-eyed, innocent face. “I swear t’ protect y’ from now on, Sayri. I will stand before y’, between you and whatever threatens y’. I will protect y’. Until I am dead. I am yours,” she said, repeating the words she had said to Welgray shortly before he died. Tears fountained up, and she wrapped her arms around the girl’s legs.
“Oh, Wissa,” Sayri said finally, her voice a whisper. “Who will protect you?”
40 JODHRIK
The sun was low and directly ahead. Jodhrik had tried to maintain a course directly west; he wasn’t sure what lay that way, but he knew there was nothing south of Benn’s Harbour, at least nothing shown on maps he had seen. Considering how long they had been sailing before being capsized, he felt confident that they must had ended up on one of the eastern-most southern islands, far southwest of the Lords’ Lands. That meant their best chance was to reach one of the other islands in the southern group or, failing that, the coast of Somria. He wasn’t holding on to any delusions about their chances; if they didn’t come upon an island, Somria was so far off as to be essentially impossible to reach. The craft was holding up well enough, despite requiring the expected regular bailing, but their pace was just too slow. If they had covered the width of the Heartlands—along its narrowest point, from Benn’s Harbour to the western coast—he would have been surprised. The oars he had made were inadequate, and the boat more ploughed through the water than cutting it.
Bauma was a good oarsman; better than Jodhrik. He had been nervous as the island faded farther and farther into the distance, and when it disappeared entirely, he barked at Jodhrik, and pointed back in its direction. Jodhrik shook his head and gestured forward; Bauma frowned, but accepted it. He spent as much time fishing as paddling, and Jodhrik was thankful for that; the meagre supplies he had foraged prior to departure were gone within a few days. After that, they were totally reliant upon fish. The beast-man was a capable fisherman, but the open sea was less than compliant, and they were lucky to have enough to eat during the day to sleep through the night, though their stomachs complained endlessly. If continuous paddling had not exhausted him, Jodhrik was certain he would have spent the night awake clutching at his swollen belly. They had to find land soon, or they would starve.
Water was a problem as well, but less of one than Jodhrik expected. The first few days, after the water supply ran out—he had hollowed out some hard gourds and filled them with water, but much of it spilled out or dried up—had been very uncomfortable. Fish provided some liquid, but they were also salty and made his mouth water.
The third night it rained heavily, and their problems were over. Jodhrik filled all the gourds, but they didn’t need them; it rained at least half of the nights thereafter, and they spent their evenings sprawled out across the rails of the boat with their mouths open, allowing the rain to wash their bodies clean.
One thing Jodhrik was enormously glad for was not having to worry about being eaten. The beast-man had not looked at him hungrily once, and his behaviour had greatly improved. Apparently he was sufficiently impressed with the boat Jodhrik had built that he forgot his vendetta against him, and their relationship had improved greatly.
There was a brief concern one morning when several sea creatures investigated their craft. They were each wider than a cart and several times as long, with flat, muscular backs and four massive flippers. As they circled the boat, Jodhrik was certain he recognized wide, toothy maws opening and closing under the water, as if the beasts were attempting to ascertain the most effective method for getting these strange prey inside. Finally, after several hundred very rapid heartbeats, the gigantic creatures appeared to give up and disappeared into the blue-green depths. Other than in the presence of humans, Jodhrik had never before seen Bauma look nervous, but when the sea monsters departed he let out a massive sigh of relief. Jodhrik smiled at him, and the beast-man replied with a toothy grin of his own.
After a tenday, Jodhrik was starting to get worried. He felt they should have seen at least one of the other islands by now. If he had been wrong, and they had actually ended up on a western island—or if they had simply been unlucky enough to have missed the other islands entirely—then it would be a long way to Somria, probably long enough that they would arrive as corpses.
Bauma, oddly enough, seemed unconcerned; once the island had vanished behind them, he became fully focused on paddling and fishing, happily adapting to their new lifestyle. Jodhrik wondered if the beast-man had decided to trust him completely or was just too simple-minded to realize the depth of their plight. Regardless, Bauma’s enthusiasm was somewhat infectious, and Jodhrik managed to let go of his worries. They would either make it or not; there was no sense dwelling on it.
The nights were filled with wonder. When it wasn’t raining, the Swirl emerged, filling the entire sky from horizon to horizon with countless piercing lights. It seemed, on those deep, clear nights when Bauma was sprawled and snoring gently, that the Swirl was spinning overhead, ever so slowly, and they were trapped in its embrace. Jodhrik felt closer than he ever had to the Great Link; he was certain that he could feel it wrapped around and through him. At such times he did not reach out to the Link so much as surrender himself to it, and he was not disappointed by its failure to speak to him—he was astonished that it did not. He imagined that perhaps it was speaking to him, had been all along; he simply wasn’t listening. In a way, he realized that it didn’t matter. He simply hung his hands and feet in the water, his head draped over the bow of the boat, and let it take him. He did not understand where it took him, but he certainly was drawn away by it. When he woke in the morning light he was often surprised to discover that he was still on the world, having expected to have flown up into the Swirl.
One evening as the sun crept into its rosy bed among the waves, a dark cloud snuck up behind them. Jodhrik didn’t notice it until the rain came; this time it fell with much more force, the wind throwing it at them. The sea swelled up quickly and the boat began to twist and bend violently in its grasp. The stars van
ished abruptly, and all became black; Jodhrik imagined waves towering high above them when the boat angled back and they clung to it, then were plummeted down after a brief glimpse of rows of thrashing white crests.
How long the storm lasted, he couldn’t have known. He and the beast-man clung tightly to their makeshift craft as it slowly broke apart, Bauma’s shaggy hair and beard plastered to his head; for a brief moment, Jodhrik imagined he almost looked civilized, with his hair slicked back neatly. His eyes were far from civilized though, as was his voice when he howled into the fury of the storm like a wolf challenging bouts of thunder.
Finally the waves stopped hammering the boat, and they slept.
・
When Jodhrik awoke, the sun was already up. The clouds were gone and the sea was calm, broken only by ripples that raced over it beneath a warm wind, the last remnants of the previous night’s storm.
The boat was in shambles. Jodhrik was lying across the bow, which had splayed open. His upper torso was out of the water, but his legs were in the sea, barely held afloat by remnants of the boat’s shattered hull, which floated in pieces underwater. Bauma’s end was worse; Jodhrik wasn’t sure how he was still sleeping. Though the southern sea was warm, the beast-man was practically immersed into it, only his head and shoulders dry. The hull was sunk so deep below him that it was barely visible under the rippling water.
Jodhrik twisted around to look west, away from the morning sun.
There was an island.
He spun about suddenly, rocking the boat violently, and Bauma yelled at him. Jodhrik pointed, half-submerged as he was, and the beast-man let out happy cry. He looked around, probably for his paddle, but couldn’t find it and began paddling with his hands.
It was nearly pointless to do so, with the island a fair distance off and the boat nearly underwater, but Jodhrik didn’t see what else to do. It was much too far to swim, and the sea was calm; it might have taken days, but if the weather held they would eventually get there. He started paddling as well.
The island was large; much more so than the one they had left behind. It was covered in grassy fields and had a row of mountains along the north side covered in jungle. Most importantly, there was no sign of a volcano—he would be relieved not to have it hanging ominously above him.
They paddled all morning. When the sun was high, Bauma stopped to fish. He quickly caught several—no doubt due the proximity of the island—and they had lunch, then started paddling again. When the sun set behind the island, they paddled more.
At some point they fell asleep. Jodhrik hadn’t wanted to, being worried that a wind might come up and blow them irrecoverably off course, but hand-paddling all day had exhausted them both to the point of collapse, and they finally succumbed.
Jodhrik never saw the stars that night, but when he woke, Bauma was laughing and pounding him congratulatorily; he had to blink his eyes twice to convince himself that he was actually seeing what he thought he was.
The island was close enough to see leaves on the trees, and a boat was sailing out to meet them.
41 ARAD
The storm struck at mid-night. The enemy had fallen into Josel’s trap, sort of. As Arad and Josel led the main body of infantry across the grassy plain, scouts returned from the forest. They reported that the enemy had been on the move when the Somrian cavalry tried to bait them; they took it, but did so from a very different position than expected. Instead of ending up with Josel’s skirmishers behind them on the mountain, they had their backs to it themselves. This meant that Arad’s army would fight from one direction only, unless they could take the hill from the forest to the north.
Josel had just sent out the order for his skirmishers to advance up the ridge—fully expecting to meet enemy skirmishers with orders to specifically prevent that—when word came that the rebels had retreated.
If Josel’s plan had gone precisely according to plan, the enemy would have had the option to pull back to the east; Arad didn’t have another company of cavalry, so there was no chance to cut them off. Outnumbered and with the mountains out of their reach, however, the Lordslanders were not likely to last long in the open forest, retreating or not. Night fell as Arad reached the edge of the woods with the army; they decided to camp for the night, since the rebels had nowhere to go. As a precaution against their quarry sneaking back into the hills, Josel sent a company along the ridge with orders to dig in if attacked—if need be, they could hold until dawn.
Arad decided to opt against having the command tent raised; he wanted to be ready to move quickly if need be, and ordered the entire army to remain on standby just outside the forest in the flat grasslands. The decision proved prophetic.
The rain didn’t wake him at first. If often rained on the island, and most of the time the Somrian soldiers wrapped themselves in small hooded tarps and let it fall; without his command tent, he followed suit. It started raining before he fell asleep, the drops pattering a gentle lullaby above his face, which remained dry.
He awoke when someone yelled. The rain had ceased, but the wind was howling and whipping his tarp fiercely. He was about to rise, fearing an attack, when someone shook him; he pulled off his hood and saw a shape standing over him, barely visible in near complete blackness.
“Master Arad! It’s a squall! We need to take cover in the trees!” Captain Elsano yelled over the wind. He pointed in the direction of the forest, where other shapes were already headed to a shadowy treeline that Arad could just make out. Grass was already whipping past them, and the way the treetops were thrashing, he wondered if it truly would be safer, but there was no time to debate. He grabbed his pack—seeing dark forms that were likely porters already fetching most of his belongings—and made from the trees.
He stumbled through several bushes and a couple of soldiers on the way, but it was calmer in the forest once he was sufficiently far in. He could also see; someone had already gone around tying torches to tree trunks and had managed to light them. The wind tore at the treetops, and the army had the look of a disorganized ragtag outfit, but they were safe. The jungle had withstood many thousands of years of such storms, and would no doubt do so for thousands more; Arad dropped his pack in relief, and he saw many of the men doing the same.
Elsano was with him; Josel approached the two.
“Is there a chance they might use this storm to their advantage?” Arad asked, to either of them.
Elsano shook his head. “Don’t think so, Master Arad. If anything they’ll be hit harder, being closer to the water.”
Josel nodded agreement. His long moustache danced in the breeze as he spoke. “Our scouts will keep an eye on them through the storms, in any case.”
Arad showed his assent, but he couldn’t help suspicion creeping inside him. The commander of the rebel force had showed ingenuity and unexpected behaviour. Josel, whom he suspected was among the finest strategic minds he had encountered, had been partially surprised by the enemy’s maneuvers. Whoever was leading them had talent and insight, and he wasn’t prepared to discount another decisive move.
“Captain-General Josel,” he said carefully, “what if they decided to attack us during the storm?”
“That would foolishness, Master Arad,” Josel replied quickly. “They are outnumbered and just suffered losses. We are fresh. Even considering the element of surprise, it would be a slaughter.”
“Yes, but how much damage could they cause?”
Josel pondered, stroking his moustache on both sides of his mouth with one hand. Elsano looked over at him in the dim, flickering torchlight, and raised an eyebrow, shrugging.
“If they were suicidal, they could cause serious damage,” Josel admitted. “It’s a strategy worth taking into account. I’ll double up scouts during the storm, so we can be sure they don’t try to sneak through our lines, and have our eastern front dig in, just in case.”
“Good idea,” Arad agreed. Josel bowed to him briefly, they moved off. Elsano was smiling at Arad.
“T
hat was a good thought, Master Arad,” Elsano said. “If anyone was to catch Captain-General Josel off guard, that would be a way to do it,” he observed.
“I don’t imagine it happens often,” Arad suggested.
“Not that I’ve seen. But who would expect a suicidal charge? Except you,” Elsano added, chuckling.
“My lack of officer’s training may yet prove to have advantages,” Arad said, and the two laughed together.
Despite Arad’s morbid suggestion, the enemy did not attack. The wind continued to tear at the trees overhead; rain fell in spatters, often at angles, and in the occasional downpour which would stop suddenly.
The night stretched on. The men hunkered down under their torches, some managing to get small fires started, others managing to sleep. Arad napped lightly resting against a tree trunk, with Elsano on the opposite side. Eventually a nap turned into sleep, and he woke on the wet ground.
The sun had come up, and the rain had ended; he could see blue sky through the canopy overhead. A light breeze still rustled the foliage, but the force had blown out of it.
Arad stood up and surveyed the scene; men were sleeping all around him, though he didn’t see Elsano anywhere. Branches and leaves were scattered haphazardly, covering sleeping soldiers, remnants of the tempest that had torn through the place. In the distance he could hear men’s voices, though they didn’t sound urgent; after a moment he located them out on the grassy plain, and he made for it.
Elsano was there, as well as Josel. They were speaking with a group of about a dozen men—scouts, by the look of them. He approached, and Josel spotted him.
“Good morning, Master Arad,” Josel said, affecting a short bow.
Sayri's Whisper: The Great Link Book 1 Page 50