by Sonia Lyris
“I am Marisel al Perripur,” she said. “Maris will do. Who are you?”
“You know my name,” Amarta snapped. Poor grace in return for this warm cabin and good drink, but she could not seem to summon more polite words.
“But I don’t,” the woman said, seeming more entertained than upset. “I never thought to ask.” Seeing it was empty, she refilled Amarta’s cup. “A year in Yarpin searching for you and I find you on board, going south.” She chuckled. “Innel would be livid.”
Despite the calming effect of the drink, Amarta felt sudden alarm. “Searching for me? Why were you . . .” She trailed off.
The seashell. The Lord Commander. Searching.
A weight settled on her.
Someone will find a way around your magic.
“I think,” she said softly, “you are a mage.”
The woman considered her for a moment. “Yes.”
Now Amarta understood why her visions had been silent. He had been right, her hunter who now had a name: someone would find a way around her visions. Someone had. This someone.
Oddly, Amarta felt relief more than anything else. All of this was finally over. Nowhere else to run to. No more hard choices to make.
But Dirina and Pas.
“I travel alone,” Amarta said quickly. “So, now, stop the ship”—could a mage could do such a thing? She had no idea—“and take me to Yarpin. I won’t resist. But—we must go right now, right this moment. Or something bad will happen. My foresight tells me so.” She licked her lips, wondering if she were at all convincing.
At this Maris sat back, mouth slightly open, looking surprised. “Your foresight. I see. I think you misunderstand. I am not searching for you anymore.”
It took Amarta a moment to make sense of the words, and then she was not at all sure she believed them. It must have shown on her face, because Maris added, “I have no further obligation to that contract, and no interest at all in delivering you to the Lord Commander. Certainly I don’t care for him very much. Perhaps you are reassured?”
If that was true, then she was not caught after all. Still running from the hunter.
She hunched over the drink, looking down into the red that sloshed with every rock of the ship. A bone-weary exhaustion came over her.
“Here,” the woman said, holding out a square of nut chew, dark and gooey.
Amarta took it, bit a little off. It was sweet, nuts and seeds and dates and spices all wound together in a delicious whole. She ate the rest hungrily, all other thought gone. So used to ignoring hunger, she had not realized how empty she was.
“I—” she began, struggling to find an apology for her earlier unpleasantness. Maris handed her a second square. She took another bite, then thought of Dirina and Pas, guiltily tucking the rest in her pocket. Seeing Maris’s look, she felt a shot of uncertainty go through her. Had she given something away?
“Saving it for later,” she muttered. Could she do anything right tonight? “My name is Amarta.”
“Amarta al . . . ?”
Munasee? Kusan? Botaros? The town of her birth, whose name she no longer remembered?
“I come from too many places,” she said softly. “And none of them home.”
“Where are you going to, then?”
Amarta started to answer, thought that perhaps that was unwise, then realized that she was too tired to reason. “Away. Far away. From . . .” She shook her head. “From the hound on my trail. From the man who sent him. Anywhere. Somewhere safe.”
Maris tilted her head. “That will be hard to find, this safe place, given who pursues you.”
She thought of the years she had been running. A tightness came to her throat, a pressure behind her eyes. “There must be somewhere.”
“Some think safety is found in knowing what will happen tomorrow.”
Amarta snorted derisively, shook her head, took another sip. “They are ignorant fools. The future is . . .” She waved a hand. “Always changing. Like the ocean. It might seem a flat place if you look far away, but up close it is so much more complicated, with waves and gullies and splashes. You might as well ask what the sea will be tomorrow as to ask what the future will be.”
“Tomorrow,” Maris said, “the sea will be wet.”
Despite everything, Amarta laughed.
“And other people,” Maris said, now smiling, too, “think safety is had at the front of an empire’s army.”
Amarta felt all the weight return. “He is surely safe,” she said.
“You might be surprised at the threats he faces.”
She was tired of being surprised, tired of everything. “I hurt,” she confessed.
“That is to be expected with your first blood. The pain, the short temper, the ill-ease.”
Amarta’s mouth fell open. “How did you know?”
“Here. This one is for you and only you.” She handed Amarta another square of nut chew, which Amarta put in her mouth, feeling sheepish as she chewed, but also feeling comforted.
“And . . .” Maris opened a small bag, rummaged through and brought out a small, cylindrical metal container from which she took a pinch of powder, which she sprinkled into Amarta’s drink. “This will help ease your ills.”
Amarta gave the powdered drink a look.
“You think I might try to poison you? Truly?” She seemed amused.
Half-ashamed and half-angry, Amarta scowled. “Some have tried.”
“You say you can see the future. Can you not simply look and know that it is safe to drink?”
“There is nothing simple about it,” Amarta said, not much liking the resentment in her voice. She was tired of foreseeing. She wanted nothing more than to rest.
Vision, she decided, if it really cared, would tell her. She put the cup to her lips and drained it.
A storm came in the night, tossing the ship, soaking the decks, sending streams of saltwater down the walls of steerage where the three of them huddled, trying to stay dry.
The next morning, when Maris found them and suggested they move into her cabin with her, none of them had raised a word in objection.
Despite the food and drink—the powder that, as promised, made her menses far more bearable—Amarta did not quite trust this woman. She had, after all, admitted to being hired to find Amarta. Perhaps Maris had claimed to be quit of the contract only to gain their trust, intending to return them to the Lord Commander when they made landfall.
Words, after all, were easy.
Pas, naturally, befriended the Perripin woman instantly, climbing into her lap as if he owned it. Maris seemed happy with the arrangement.
Perhaps too happy, if Amarta let her suspicions guide her. Trying to gain their trust through Pas, to make them do something they otherwise might not.
And yet, day after day of the journey, when Maris offered them food and shelter in her warm, dry cabin, gave her drink and powders that eased the pain, Amarta did not object.
No surprise that Dirina and Pas were both so trusting with strangers; they had always had Amarta to be suspicious for them.
When the storm was over and the sun out again, the four of them stood at the railing, watching the land go by. Villages and towns, small harbors and great cliffs.
“What is that?” Pas asked of a long, high stone wall that followed the shoreline, rooftops showing beyond.
“Garaya,” Maris answered. “One of the last walled cities to fall to the Grandmother’s fourth expansion, some eighty years ago.”
“Were they Perripin before that?” Dirina asked.
“No. They ruled themselves, answerable to no one, proud, independent, and more than a bit arrogant. When Nials brought her armies south, no one stood by them. After a very long and brutal siege, they fell.”
“Fell?” Amarta asked.
“Half the people dead, the city broken, most of it burned to ash. They have been building back ever since. A risky business, self-sovereignty. Now they answer to Arun, like everyone north of Kelerre.”
Kelerre. Where they were headed.
The hunter had found them in Kusan and Munasee. Would he find them in Kelerre, another country altogether?
Pas tugged on Maris’s clothes, held up his arms. She picked him up, propped him on her hip.
“What is Perripur like?” Dirina asked.
“Warm. The air rich with life. Fruit everywhere. North of the Mundaran Sea is green and lush. Inland are sugar flats, the Shentarat Plains. Beyond that the mountains—tangles of thick forests, bright with birds. That’s my destination.”
“I want to see the birds,” said Pas.
Amarta would need to find another Magrit in Kelerre, another trader she could convince to give her work.
“You’ll stand out like falcons in bright sun,” Maris said, as if tracking her reasoning.
“We will find a way,” Amarta said, not wanting to confide in this woman, who might yet send her back to her pursuers.
But Maris was right; even vision could not make her invisible.
As they approached Kelerre, Amarta waited for vision to warn her. Nothing came. She watched Maris to see if she could tell if the mage were doing something to block her visions. But what might that look like? She had no idea.
As Kelerre came into view, Pas dashed from side to side, poking between the legs of those standing at the crowded railing, somehow making them laugh rather than be annoyed. The next time he ran by, Dirina grabbed for him, but he slipped from her grasp. Maris reached out a hand, took hold of his shirt, and swung him up into her arms, where he wrapped his arms around her, bouncing with energy.
Pas was not the only one excited. Perripin passengers also bounced where they stood, waving and yelling toward the shore, where answering calls came from those on the nearing dock. Seagulls cried overhead. Amarta followed one with her eyes, envying it its freedom.
She looked at Maris, holding Pas. It made her uneasy, how close the two of them had become.
“Mama, look!” Pas pointed to the shore, where tall silver towers stretched to the sky.
“What color, sweet one?” Dirina asked him.
“Metal,” he said, rubbing his head against his mother’s face as she tried to kiss his forehead.
Dirina did not seem worried. Counting on Amarta to make everything right, she thought sourly. She would not confide her uncertainties in her sister, either.
“It looks less crowded than Munasee,” Amarta said, thinking of what they would do after they disembarked.
“Kelerre and Free Port are two ends of a stretched city. Though you’re right: not as many people as your packed Arun cities. We would say this is because we are more clever than Arunkin and live better, not so tight together. A Perripin saying holds that the farther south you go, the smarter people are. Think of how far north Yarpin is, yes?” She chuckled.
Amarta remembered the Emendi and their pale hair and skin and eyes.
Darad. An ache went through her, too fast to prevent.
“Is it true?” she asked.
“No,” Maris said. “People everywhere, in every possible color of skin and hair, are fools.”
“Then you are not so smart?” Pas asked with a grin.
“Smart enough, little one,” she said, bouncing him, smiling.
Sailors called back and forth to dock hands, ropes were thrown, pulled, knotted on shore. Passengers loaded up knapsacks and lifted belongings.
“We are grateful for all you’ve given us, Maris,” Dirina said politely.
Amarta held out her arms for Pas, but both the boy and Maris frowned at this, if anything clutching each other more tightly. Amarta did not lower her arms, silently insisting. Finally Maris let him down, and Amarta took his hand firmly.
“Come with me,” Maris said suddenly.
Amarta shook her head. “We have business in Kelerre.”
“Can’t we do it in Shenter—the name?” Pas asked her. “With Maris?”
Maris made a low sound in her throat. “While I’m tempted to stay in Kelerre to see how it is you make coin, Amarta, I think you will attract far more attention than you realize. Let me help you get farther away. I’ll buy your passage to Shentarat.”
A good offer. Surely too good. Her sister gave her a familiar questioning look. But could she trust vision, with this mage so close? She closed her eyes and sought the future beyond this docking.
Nothing and more nothing. She glared at Maris, who returned a confused, not-quite annoyed look.
Again, she tried.
Pas’s small hand tugging on Maris’s larger, darker one, demanding she come. A many-colored frog, he said. It would not wait.
She opened her eyes, shaken by this sweet moment, this flash without threat. Dropping her head in a silent, furious sob, she shook her head. No. They would not again be drawn to people and places that seemed so welcoming, only to be forced to leave again. They had each other. They would rely on no one else.
Seeing her expression, her sister said, “Thank you, but no.”
“Yes.” Amarta found herself saying.
Maris looked between them.
“Ah—” Dirina said uncertainly. “Then—yes?”
If Maris intended to take them captive and send them back to Yarpin as soon as they left the ship, surely she could do so, whatever they said now. This might all be pretense with betrayal soon to come, but there was no reason not to agree.
“Yes,” she said again.
“So be it,” Maris said, taking Pas’s hand again.
As the ramp to shore was lowered with a bang, she considered that with all Maris had done for them, she might be sincere.
As if that mattered; Amarta had sincerely cared for Nidem, yet put her own cloak on the girl. Betrayal had many mothers.
“We’ll walk to Free Port,” Maris said, gesturing at the city. “From there get a boat to Dasae Port.”
“Is there no way from the ocean to the Mundaran Sea?” Dirina asked.
“Oh, there is. Around the reef, right there.” She pointed with her free hand. “But it’s littered with the corpses of boats that have tried, no thanks to your selfish, short-sighted, half-witted Arun monarchs.”
Amarta drew in breath sharply, glancing to see if anyone had heard this dangerous talk.
“We need a canal, you see. Right there.” Maris gestured sharply, as if she could almost make one with her hand. “Kelerre and all the Perripin states want it. They’ve been ready to start on it for forty years.”
“Then—why?” Dirina asked.
“Your king demanded an obscene share of the tolls, claiming a transport tax so high that no one could afford to build the damned thing. So the canal remains undug and we must walk to Free Port. Perfectly senseless. Perfectly Arunkel.”
Again Amarta looked around to see who might be listening. If anyone was, they didn’t show it.
As they walked down the ramp onto solid ground, Amarta watched those around them, wondering who might be in the Lord Commander’s employ, half expecting them to be somehow captured at this very moment. She watched Maris, wondering what the mage would do with her magic.
But all that happened next was that they walked for a couple of hours to get to the other side of the reef and Free Port, which did not seem much different than Kelerre.
This was a strange land, from the bright green trees that dripped with thick vines to the birds trilling and squawking and flapping across the road. Buildings were bright in bewildering splashes that clearly had nothing to do with the Great Houses’ dual tones. Flowing clothes, wide-brimmed hats, foreign words, and curious tones.
Long stares at the four of them.
When they arrived at the docks, Maris had them wait as she walked the piers, stopping people who seemed to know her to clasp hands, to laugh, gesture, and talk. Arranging their passage, supposedly. Or perhaps instead arranging to send them back north to the Lord Commander.
Surely if Maris meant to betray them, she would have done it by now? Still Amarta moved close to Dirina, took Pas’s hand ti
ghtly in her own.
They were beyond poor now: they had nothing. No money, no food. No words in this strange place. They were good and truly lost.
If they were so lost, might they also be hard to find?
Maris motioned them over to a boat far smaller than the ship before. Not large enough to travel back all the way to the capital, surely.
Or maybe she was taking them elsewhere for the Lord Commander.
Then again, maybe she only meant them well. Still vision refused to even hint at danger.
But that meant nothing, only that someone had indeed found a way around her visions.
Despite her suspicion of Maris, a day on the boat began to relax Amarta. The Perripin sailors were friendly and warm, eager to answer Pas’s questions, happy to tell him the Perripin words for anything at which he pointed.
She could almost forget that they were running, that Maris might yet betray them. Here on the warm Mundaran Sea, with water all around them and the hunter so far away, she could almost imagine that they were free in the world, going where winds and whimsy might take them. She felt her spirits lift, played with Pas, listened to the Perripin sailors tell tales at night, understanding little of the words but somehow gleaning the stories themselves.
When, on the fourth day, they came to the Shentarat coast and Dasae Port, she sobered. In the distance a line of blue-gray mountains overlapped a paler range. Distant clouds seemed made of the same blue-gray stuff as the mountains, as if they had been formed from sky itself.
Dasae was a small town with flat-roofed buildings and a harbor full of fishing boats. Thick bushes and vines threatened to engulf everything from walkways to piers.
So much green everywhere. Perhaps they could simply hide in the underbrush. Flee into rabbit warrens.
“Surely he will not come this far to find me,” she said to Maris as they watched at the railing, looking sidelong at the other woman for any hint of duplicity.
“Why not? I think you can assume Innel sev Cern esse Arunkel will continue to commit his queen’s extensive resources to finding you.”