The Bird of the River

by Kage Baker

  Eliss averted her eyes. She looked straight into Krelan’s blood-covered face. He had been pulling himself across the mud toward her. She reached out to him and they gripped each other, shutting their eyes tight, as the noise grew deafening and, yes, Encilian still screamed. Even under the elemental tumult they could hear him screaming.

  At some point it all stopped. The world had narrowed to the smell of river mud, the rank fragrance of low tide. It was all around, overpowering. Gradually hearing came back: the sound of dirty water dripping from every leaf in the hedge, streaming and hissing down the walls. Cautiously Eliss opened her eyes, just in time to see Encilian’s body come hurtling down out of the clouds and smack into the mud by Shellback’s corpse a few feet away, boneless as a dead mackerel.

  Krelan was trying to get to his feet. She helped him stand. The deluge had washed some of the blood from his face but it still trickled from a gash on his scalp. Eliss pressed two fingers to it, to try to stop the bleeding. Krelan winced absently, staring at Encilian’s body. She didn’t want to look, but turned and looked anyway.

  Encilian’s clothes had been sucked away by the storm water. Fat and pale, blotched with green and black mold, he looked as though he’d lain in the bottom of the river for months.

  She helped Krelan to the wrought-iron chair. He sat, pressing his sleeve to the gash but unable to take his eyes off Encilian, as she looked for his hat. What do you do, she thought numbly, what do you do when the gods actually answer your prayers? If it was the gods. I don’t know what it was, do I? Finding Krelan’s hat, she shook out the mud and water and brought it back. Krelan cut a few inches off his sleeve and wadded it up for a compress, and with the hat jammed on his head to hold it in place the bleeding finally stopped.

  “We need to go,” said Eliss, startled at how loud her voice sounded. “Those servants will be coming back.”

  Krelan got to his feet unsteadily. He staggered over to Shellback’s body and, after a moment’s searching, found a long knife concealed under his clothing.

  “Where’s that box?” Krelan said, turning away from the dead man. “Encilian still owes his head.”

  They filled up the box with salt when they got back to the Bird of the River, and hid it away in the cargo deck under the bows. So many of the crew had gone ashore that no one saw them hiding it. Then it was time to go present themselves to Mr. Riveter, who clutched his own head when he saw the gash on Krelan’s scalp.

  “What did I tell you! Didn’t I tell you to stay on board? Didn’t I tell you?”

  “I didn’t do anything,” Wolkin protested from where he was seated on one of the forward capstans, fishing. Then he realized the tirade was not directed at him, and ran close with ears wide to listen.

  “I deeply apologize, Mr. Riveter,” said Krelan. “This time I can assure you it will never happen again. I swear by all the gods.”

  “Look at that! Look at that, you’re going to need stitches! What’ll your lord father say, assuming you ever get back to him alive?” Mr. Riveter swept his gaze around the deck and saw only Wolkin. “Wolkin! Fetch Daddy his medicine kit.”

  “Aye, sir!” Wolkin took off like a shot.

  So Krelan had to sit on a barrel and endure having his gash sewn shut by Mr. Riveter, being scolded all the while. Eliss wandered across the deck and stood looking down the companionway. The smell of river mud was overpowering. The walls were damp. Water trickled from under the great cabin’s door. Eliss contemplated knocking. She decided against it.

  Because the windmill tower was vacant that night, with all the musicians ashore, they slept together there, quite chastely. Krelan got a bunk to himself and Eliss slept on a thick pile of borrowed blankets on the floor. But for long hours before sleep would come they lay side by side in the bunk, staring into the darkness and listening to the occasional gentle thump as the wind vanes caught an errant gust and turned.

  “At least it’s over now,” said Eliss, watching the shadowy outline of Krelan’s profile. He sighed and nodded.

  “It’s done. But so am I. I broke my vow.”

  “But you didn’t kill him. That was the—”

  “Don’t,” said Krelan, shivering. “Don’t let’s talk about that. One of my tutors used to say, ‘Pray to the holy gods, but never loud enough for them to actually hear you.’ ”

  “You had tutors?”

  “Of course I had. Any shadow of the Family must be well-educated. Polished. Schooled in subtlety. I was poured into a certain mold to become a certain man. And now . . . it’s all gone for nothing. My entire life. Everything I was raised for, centuries of tradition, everything I’d planned to be.”

  “Life is like that sometimes,” said Eliss. “One day everything is going along the way it always has, and you think it will never change, and then—you lose everything you ever knew. I never thought my mother would die.”

  Krelan was silent a moment. “That’s true,” he said. “Childish of me, to imagine I’m the only one in the world with my sorrows. That’s something, anyway; your mother’s death is avenged.”

  “It doesn’t bring her back, though.”

  “I know. But I wish I’d had the honor of killing Encilian, for your mother’s sake. Ye gods, what blasphemy I talk! If he hadn’t hit me with that table I’d have driven my knife into his heart for bringing dishonor on the Family. And then . . . a good Family retainer would use the blade on himself next. I would have been dead anyway, as soon as I got home. What a brood of monsters we must seem like, to you.”

  “They do,” said Eliss. “You don’t. I finally saw one of the great big Diamondcuts and he was nothing special. I knew men like that my whole life growing up. Nothing like a god! Just a bully with a knife. You knew that was all he was too. You know it’s all lies and made-up glory, really. Why should you go back and die for those people?”

  “But what else is there to do with my life?”

  “You could stay on the Bird,” said Eliss quietly. Krelan groped in the darkness and found her hand.

  “You know, I think I’d like that,” he said.

  Eliss shifted the box from one hip to the other, trying not to think about what was inside. It was an ordinary-looking crate, perhaps twice the size of the ironbound box she and Krelan had brought back down the hill with them.

  “Is that too heavy for you, Mama?” asked Wolkin with a broad wink. “You want me to carry it, Mama?”

  “No, dear, but thank you all the same,” she told him, in Pentra’s most silver-plated accents.

  “I can carry it anytime, you know, Mama.” Wolkin did his best to clip his words the same way. Another person moved into the Runners’ parcel depot, and everyone else moved a step farther along in the queue. “Oh, good! It’s almost us next.”

  Eliss merely nodded. One of the objects inside the crate was a letter she had written, dictated by Krelan. She ran over its text in her mind, hoping it was convincing.

  Dear my lord,

  I am fulfilling a vow sending you this. I am a poor man and it is better you do not know my name but I swear I was not mixed up in this. Me and a friend were camping on the creek trying to find some emeralds and this boy came walking along the trail with a box in his arms and when he tripped and fell we saw somebody had knifed him. So we took him into our camp and bandaged up his wounds but he been in a bad fight and we could tell he was not going to live long. He could tell it too. He made us swear by all the gods to help him or a curse would get us. We were supposed to take all his things he carried and the box too with the thing that is in it and post them to you with a letter explaining what happened. After he died I mean.

  He said to tell you he did his duty and you will know it by what is in the box. There is gold too but we did not touch any of it for fear of the curse and we also put in his things, we did not keep them after he died, his knives and that picture. That should show you we did what we were supposed to. We do not want any trouble from anybody and would not ever be disrespectful my lord.

  And he sai
d to tell you to go to Krolerett where there is this girl working at a place called Golden Hospitality House and she is going to have a baby and it will be your grandson or granddaughter which you will want to know.

  And he said also that he saluted you with his dying breath and done his duty. And a little while after that he died. We carried his body into town and had it burnt proper. Now we are going to post this and find someone to take it to the Runners for us.

  Post Script, all this happened at Karkateen.

  “Look! It’s our turn!” cried Wolkin, and added, “Mama.”

  “So it is,” said Eliss. They went inside and set the box on the counter. The clerk inspected the box and paused, sniffing the air suspiciously.

  “Would there be . . . something dead in this box?”

  Eliss shrugged and pointed to the destination label. The clerk read it.

  “Oh, Mount Flame. Say no more. You’ll want this expedited, I expect.”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Just a moment.” The clerk set the package on the scales. “Do you want a reply?”

  “No, thank you. Just delivery.”

  “Five gold crowns, then. For the hazard.”

  Below the counter level, Wolkin clutched at his heart and rolled his eyes. Eliss paid without comment.

  “Mama, I have to talk to you!”

  “In a minute, Praxas, dear.”

  Wolkin clutched her hand as they walked out together, and the minute they were clear of the door he yelled, “Five gold crowns! Do you know what you could buy with five whole crowns? Gold ones?”

  “A life without trouble,” said Eliss serenely, swinging his hand as they walked back toward the Bird of the River.

  “Well, do we still have enough for my bribe?”

  “Of course.”

  They stopped at a sweets stall where Wolkin selected a bag of rock-candy emeralds, and after some grudging deliberation added a little box of flower creams for Tulu.

  “Except I don’t see why she has to be bribed too,” he said. “I’m the one keeping a deadly secret which I’ll never tell even if I’m tortured. What was in the box, anyway?”

  “Just some things.”

  “Maybe instead of a bribe it could just be a present for Tulu.”

  “Why not?”

  “That would be better. Are you going to marry Krelan?” Wolkin inquired, somewhat indistinctly around a lump of candy.

  Eliss looked down at him in surprise. “Maybe. Someday. Probably. Why?”

  “Because you shouldn’t rush into anything. That’s what Daddy says. And he turned out not to be an assassin after all, and it was pretty dumb to trip in the street and bust his head open like that, and he’s so weasely-looking. You could get someone a lot more handsome.” Wolkin threw her a slightly anxious glance.

  “Why would I want to marry an assassin?”

  “Well, it would . . . it would just have been better. And if his daddy has disowned him now and he won’t even be rich and all . . . don’t you want to marry someone rich?”

  “I don’t know. At least a spitboy can cook.”

  “He can cook,” Wolkin admitted. They came level with the Bird of the River’s dock and spotted Krelan on the aft deck, dumping out a bucket of cooking grease. He looked up and gave them a wry smile. Eliss met his eyes and nodded, just once. Wolkin wrinkled his nose. “But, see? He’s just . . . with his head all bandaged and all . . . and . . .”

  Across the street the same fiddler from a week ago struck up The Ballad of Falena, as his vocalist passed the hat. Wolkin turned and flung out his arm to point at them. “Because there! You’re Beautiful Falena’s daughter, and you could marry anybody in the world, because you’re even more beautiful, so you should marry a prince or something.”

  “Princes come in all sizes,” said Eliss. “Even spitboy size.”

  And it’s all right to be Beautiful Falena’s daughter, she thought, as long as I don’t make her mistakes. And only Alder and I will even remember what they were, and when we forget she’ll still be a beautiful song.

  Mr. Riveter was running to and fro on deck shouting orders, as the crew prepared to warp the Bird of the River out of the docking area. His eye ranged across the wharf and he spotted Wolkin.

  “What are you doing ashore?” he said. “You’re supposed to be grounded!”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” said Eliss, taking Wolkin’s hand and starting down the gangplank. “I asked him to go ashore as my escort.”

  “And you have to go with a lady when she asks you for help. You said,” said Wolkin smugly, and took off like a shot the moment his feet touched the deck. “Tulu! I found some real emeralds! Want to see?”

  Eliss walked over to Krelan, who was scraping the last of the grease into the slush barrel, and kissed his cheek. “Isn’t this romantic?” he said.

  “I’m swooooning,” she replied. They heard a heavy tread coming up the companionway, and turned. Captain Glass stepped on deck. He fixed them in his dull gaze a moment. Eliss thought she saw something flash in his eyes, brief as a fish leaping.

  “Cast off, Mr. Riveter! Time to get aloft, Vigilance,” he said.

  “Yes, Captain, sir.” Eliss turned and scrambled into the rigging. As she climbed she saw the musicians assembling on the aft deck, handing around a pipe of pinkweed amongst themselves with all the solemnity of priests. Salpin, however, grinned and held it out to her, with an inquiring lift of his eyebrow. Laughing, she shook her head and kept climbing.

  Eliss found her high place and settled in there, watching as the Bird of the River backed out and made her gigantic turn for the journey downriver. Slowly the world rotated around the Bird’s mast. A gust of wind filled the sail, and they were away.

  Epilogue

  Four years Later, at Moonport

  They walked ashore with Pentra. Krelan carried one big market basket and Eliss carried the other.

  “I wonder if I can get nuts at a good price,” mused Krelan. “It would be nice to dress up the porridge a little, don’t you think?”

  “You see, that’s just one of the reasons people like it better when you cook instead of Mr. Pitspike,” said Eliss. “You have ideas.”

  “How very kind,” drawled Krelan, peering at his shopping list. He had let his beard grow, and it had the same sickly penciled-in look as his mustache, but the combination made him look a little less ridiculous than with the mustache alone. He glanced up from the list and added, “There’s your brother. I’ll just go price melons, shall I?”

  “Oh, you know he doesn’t hate you anymore.”

  “Of course. Still . . .” Krelan took both baskets and sidled off to a market stall.

  “Caiwyr! Denuseth!” cried Pentra, running forward. Three Yendri walked toward them along the riverbank. Two wore white robes. Pentra embraced them each in turn, and then drew a little apart with her lover and son. They chatted together happily.

  Eliss followed more slowly, gazing at Alder in amazement. “You’ve grown again,” she said.

  “You always say that,” he replied. They embraced a little awkwardly, for he had to lean down to put his arms around her.

  “It’s always true. How are you?”

  “Very well.” Alder looked warily across the market at Krelan. “Have you married him yet?”

  “No! We both agreed to wait until we’re twenty. He says he wants to be sure nobody’s going to show up to kill him first.”

  Alder sighed and shook his head. “And are you well?”

  “Yes. And Salpin’s girlfriend wanted you to know the ointment cured the baby’s rash. Are you coming aboard for the party tonight?”

  “Of course!”

  “Good! She can thank you herself.” Eliss stepped back and looked Alder up and down. “Wolkin will be jealous. He’s as tall as I am now, and thought he was all grown-up. Wait until he sees you.”

  For the first time Alder grinned. “I can go show him my disciple moves.”

  “What, meditation? He could use some tranquil
ity. The boys have started noticing Tulu. He’s becoming overprotective,” said Eliss, somewhat pointedly. Alder looked down, sheepish. He had been holding a small package under his arm, and now he held it out to her.

  “I got you something.”

  “Oh! Thank you.”

  “The Lady says—you know, she worries about your people. Our people. She says it would be awful if you all killed one another off. She’s having us collect a library of your books, to copy and study, so we understand you better. I mean, of course I understand you, but the others—”

  “I know.” Eliss fumbled with the package’s string. “Go on.”

  “Anyway, Caiwyr and I, that’s our mission. Going to cities and buying books for her library. And I found this. And I remembered you always talking about it, and I asked the Lady and she said you could have it, because you needed to know how it ended.”

  Eliss unwrapped the cloth slowly and saw the title, faded but still legible, on the book’s spine: The Silvergilts of Delairia.

  “Oh.” Tears stung her eyes.

  “Is that it? Is it the right one?”

  “Yes.” She threw her arms around him and hugged him hard. “Thank you! After all these years—”

  “I found something else too,” Alder said, a little hesitantly. “After all these years.”

  “What?” Eliss drew back. She touched the book’s cover gently, as though it might vanish.

  “My father.” He watched her face to see her reaction, and when she smiled and took his hand he looked relieved. “His name is Alder too. He’s a good man. He has an orchard and he makes brandy. He remembers you and he says he’s sorry about Mama. He never knew about me. But he didn’t mind me finding him, Eliss! It was the most wonderful day of my life!”

  “Does he look like you?”

  Alder nodded, his eyes alight with happiness. “I wish Mama could see.”