KATE CONSTABLE was born in Victoria but spent much of her childhood in Papua New Guinea, without television but within reach of a library. She studied Arts/Law at Melbourne University before working part-time for a record company. The Chanters of Tremaris series has been published in the USA, Japan, Denmark and Slovenia. Kate now lives in Melbourne, Australia with her husband and two daughters.
The Chanters of Tremaris
BOOK 1 The Singer of All Songs
BOOK 2 The Waterless Sea
BOOK 3 The Tenth Power
Praise for the Chanters of Tremaris series
‘I have just finished reading the first two books in the Chanters of Tremaris series. I think they are superb! They are most definitely my favourite books and I have already read them twice.’
MADELEINE, AUSTRALIA
‘I love the Tremaris series. I can hardly put the books down. I am looking forward to finishing the series so in a couple of months I can read them again.’
MELISSA, USA
Praise for The Singer of All Songs
‘A terrific book, beautifully written, with wonderfully rich imagery and fascinating magic. I’ m very much looking forward to Kate Constable’s next book.’
GARTH NIX
KATE
CONSTABLE
First published in 2003
This edition published in 2005
Copyright © Text, Kate Constable 2003
Copyright © Illustrations, Beth Norling 2003
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or ten per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.
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National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication entry:
Constable, Kate, 1966– .
The waterless sea.
New [cover] ed.
For children.
ISBN 1 74114 533 3.
1. Quests (Expeditions) – Juvenile fiction. I. Title.
(Series: Constable, Kate, Chanters of Tremaris; bk 2).
A823.4
Cover and text design by Sandra Nobes
Cover images: Desert (ArtWolfe)/Getty Images; Sandcastle (Peter Gridley)/Getty Images
Set in 12 pt Centaur by Tou-Can Design
Printed in Australia by McPherson’s Printing Group
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
for Hilary
Contents
The Serpent-headed Ship
Darrow 1
The Deadly Sands
Darrow 2
The Palace of Cobwebs
Darrow 3
The Captive Children
Darrow 4
The Madness of the Sands
The Black Palace
The Ruby Ring
From the River, the Sea
one
The Serpent-headed Ship
DAWN HAD NOT yet broken over the Straits of Firthana. The sky was a pearly grey, and the three moons gleamed faint and silvery above the western horizon. The sea lapped on all sides, and the fading moonlight picked out tiny silver flecks at the peak of every wave. The boat Fledgewing rocked on the water; the dark bulk of the island of Istia lolled beside it, silent as a sleeping cat.
Already it seemed to Calwyn that they’ d been waiting half the night. Her fingers twitched, for the hundredth time, toward the thick dark plait that hung over her shoulder. She forced herself not to fidget. Though it was the beginning of summer, there was a chill over the sea that wouldn’ t disappear until the sun had risen. The air was so crisp, it seemed it might shatter. Calwyn shivered, and drew her cloak around her shoulders.
The wheel creaked behind her as Tonno and Mica brought up the nets, heavy and slithering with fish.
‘No point sitting about, wasting time, when we can set the nets,’ Tonno had said in his practical way. ‘Dawn’ s the best time for silver-finned jacks.’ If their adventure this morning came to nothing, they would at least have a hold filled with fish to take home to Ravamey.
‘Steady, steady,’ growled Tonno. ‘Don’ t spill em all over the side, lass.’
Mica snorted, and tossed her wild mop of tawny hair as she hauled at the nets. The two of them worked skilfully together; the burly fisherman and the young windworker, both born to the sea and at home on the water.
Not like Trout, Calwyn thought with a smile. The boy sat hunched uncomfortably in the bow, squinting out across the water, though it was still too dark to see much. And besides, he’ d taken off the lenses he wore on his nose, and was polishing them on the tail of his grubby shirt. Without the lenses, Trout could barely see an arm’ s-length in front of him. Calwyn started as Halasaa’ s warm hand fell on her shoulder, and his voice sounded in her mind. Not long now.
Calwyn nodded to the east, where a line of light glowed at the horizon. ‘The sun is rising,’ she said in a low voice. ‘We should lower the dinghies.’ Halasaa smiled, and she could see the gleam of his teeth in his dark face. The ship is coming.
Calwyn raised her head, all her senses alert. Yes, she could feel it now, the mixed flicker of lives, jumbled up together, like a buzzing murmur of indistinguishable voices. The ship was still some distance off, but it drew nearer at every moment. She stood up.
‘ Tonno!’ she called softly. ‘It’ s time.’
Heben knew that he was dreaming. He curled himself deeper into sleep, to make the dream last.
He was at home, on the lands of the Cledsec, in the north of Merithuros. The glorious curve of the sands swept out before him, sculpted by the wind, the same wind that whipped across his face as he spurred the hegesu into a gallop. The twins whooped with glee, crouched on their own beast: Gada in front, with Shada clinging on behind, her eyes shining.
They were racing to the top of the dune. Heben heard the soft splat, splat as the hegesu’ s feet thudded into the sand, and the huffing protest of its breath as he urged it on, and he felt the matted woolly coat under his hands.
At the crest of the dune, Heben saw the whole of his father’ s lands spread out below: the swell of bronze and golden sands, and the silver flashes of the water pools. Far off, a low cluster of tents and flags marked his family’ s homestead, where they lived in the old way, under canvas. Flocks of hegesi, brown and milky dots, shifted slowly across the sands, and above it all spread the taut canopy of the silken blue sky.
The twins were just behind him. Gada stumbled up the dune, dragging the reluctant hegesu on its tether, and Shada ran up to tease him – ‘Out of the way, you stinking desert dog!’
A sharp kick in the ribs woke Heben. He cried out and tried to roll over, hunched against the pain. Except that he couldn’ t roll over. He was roped to the prisoners on each side, and none of them could move. His neighbour, a heavy Gellanese whose red face dripped sweat, eyed Heben with displeasure.
‘Keep still, can’ t you,’ he growled between clenched teeth. ‘You’ ll have us all thrown overboard!’
Heben blinked, and struggled to sit up.
‘I beg your pardon,’ he said, from force of habit, but good manners were equally
unwelcome. The Gellanese curled his lip contemptuously and turned his head away. Heben tried not to grimace at the stench of his companion. After five days without washing, he probably didn’ t smell very sweet himself.
The pirate’ s ship was a long galley, with a snake’ s head for a prow, like all Gellanese vessels. But the pirates, rather than feed the hundred slaves they’ d need to haul at the oars, preferred to move under sail, and the benches below the deck were packed with treasure and prisoners, not slaves. About a dozen captives were tied with Heben up on deck, roped at the ankles and wrists, and crammed into a space barely large enough to hold four men.
It was five days since the ship on which Heben had been a passenger was captured and sunk, and he had almost given up wondering what would happen to him. At first he’ d thought he might be held hostage for a ransom from his rich father, the head of the Clan. The pirates weren’ t to know that his father had disowned him, and forbidden him ever to return to the lands of the Cledsec. But the pirates had shown no interest in his parentage. Nor did they ever ask why a wealthy young Merithuran lordling might have gone to sea, when it was well known that highly born Merithurans loathed everything to do with the ocean, and never went near it except from dire necessity.
The pirates had taken Heben’ s pouch of gold coins, and stripped him of his fine clothes, his curved sword with the gilded handle and leather scabbard, and his golden earrings. The small medallion, the size of his thumbnail, that identified him as a member of the Clan of the Cledsec, had disappeared with the coins. Then the pirates had bundled him into a corner with the rest of the captives on deck, and paid him no more attention.
‘They’ ll sell us for slaves in Doryus Town,’ muttered one of the prisoners, but instead of turning to sail south, toward Doryus, the stronghold of all piracy in the Great Sea, the serpent-headed ship kept its course to the north. The mutterings grew darker. ‘Taking us to the tallow pits of Firthana. . .no doubt about it. . .’
‘What are the tallow pits?’ Heben asked.
The prisoner on his other side, a bald and bony sailor who had been the cook aboard Heben’ s ship before it was scuttled, gave an ominous cackle.
‘Don’ t they talk of the tallow pits in them deserts of yours? The tallow pits is where the pirates take them they don’ t need, and them they wants to be rid of.’ He drew his finger across his throat. ‘Spit em, blood em, skin em, melt the fat down for candles. You never heard of a dead man’ s candle? They can burn for a whole turn of the moons without losing the flame.’
‘They won’ t get much fat off you,’ sneered the fleshy Gellanese.
The cook leaned over, dragging Heben’ s arm across as he poked his fellow prisoner in the ribs.
‘They’ ll be getting plenty off you though, won’ t they! And plenty of hide, too, what’ s more!’
‘Hide?’ Heben’ s stomach turned.
‘They’ ll tan your skin and make it into boots,’ growled the Gellanese. ‘Pirates all wear man-skin boots.’
‘They’ ll make enough boots out of you to shoe the whole ship!’ cackled the cook. But the rest of the prisoners sank into despondency, and Heben too was sick at heart to think that his quest might end in such a horrible way.
The cook gave Heben a nudge and nodded over the side of the boat. ‘Looks like we might be nearly there.’
Heben strained to see. Sure enough, the ship was drawing close to one of the little islands that dotted the straits. It was a strangely beautiful sight to someone who’ d never known anything but the desert. The sheer rock of the cliffs reared out of the sea, and the deep green of trees fringed the shore. A gull soared overhead, a white flash against the blue. It had rained in the night, and the morning was washed fresh, with a tang of salt that could be tasted on the tongue. The sky shone blue and unblemished, like a glazed bowl filled with clear light.
If this was truly to be the last day of his life, thought Heben, at least he would die in a place of beauty. He hoped he could face death as a Merithuran warrior should: unblinking, straight-backed, so that the ancestors who waited on the other side of the curtain to greet him need not be ashamed.
The other prisoners had fallen silent, their incessant grumbles and curses hushed at last. The brash voices of the Doryan pirates rang out through the clean morning air.
‘Boat ho!’
Heben saw a little dinghy bobbing on the water. A scruffy-looking boy was at the oars, and sunlight flashed on the two round glass lenses that he wore perched on his nose. A strange device, thought Heben.
There were two others in the little boat. One was a tall, thin young man who looked about seventeen, Heben’ s age. He had dark burnished skin, and tattoos spiralled across his face and chest. And there was a young woman about the same age, with a long dark plait over one shoulder. The man with the tattoos was half naked, but the boy and the woman wore sturdy, plain-coloured shirts and trousers, the clothes of people who worked hard with their hands.
Fisher folk, thought Heben. This must not be the place after all; death would be postponed. He gulped in the cold air with relief. His ancestors would have to wait for him a little longer. To be honest, he was not looking forward to meeting them. They would probably disapprove of him, just as his father did, and the thought of an eternity spent with ancestors pursing their lips and shaking their heads was not a prospect he relished.
‘Hello!’ muttered the Gellanese, yanking Heben sideways as he craned to see what was happening in front of the ship. ‘Pirates won’ t like this! Can’ t they see where they’ re goin?’
The boy with the strange lenses was rowing directly into the path of the much larger pirate ship. Sailors leaned over the rail, and shouted through cupped hands. ‘Out of the way! Hey, boy! Out of the way! ’
‘That boy’ d better look to his oars,’ observed the Gellanese. ‘This ship won’ t turn aside for him.’
‘We’ ll smash em like a twig!’ The cook rubbed his hands together in glee.
Heben stared. What were the three in the little boat thinking? Still the boy pulled steadily at his oars, without ever looking over his shoulder. He might have been alone on the whole wide ocean, from here to the coast of Gellan. The other two seemed equally oblivious.
The tattooed man sat quietly in the prow, and gazed off toward the horizon. Suddenly he lifted his head and stared up at the serpent-headed ship, up at the row of curious faces that peered over the edge, straight into the eyes of Heben. Startled, Heben stared back. For as long as three breaths, their gaze was locked. The stranger’ s eyes were dark and serious, and he stared intently as if he were trying to find something he had lost.
Then, just as suddenly, he smiled. He tossed back his long dark hair, and looked over his shoulder at the young woman who sat behind him in the dinghy.
The dinghy was right under the serpent’ s head now, in the ship’ s black shadow. Heben braced for the collision. The pirates raced up and down, waving and cursing, for even though their vessel was so much larger, the little rowing boat might still damage it.
Then the woman with the dark plait did something that made Heben sit up with a jolt, and draw in a breath so sharp he almost choked. Slowly, she stood up in the centre of the little boat, balanced despite the dip and sway of the dinghy. She raised her hands, and opened her mouth. And she sang.
Heben felt her song before he heard it. A blast of icy wind hit the galley, so fierce and unexpected that the whole row of roped prisoners was thrown back sprawling. The ship lurched and tilted, and prisoners and pirates alike slid helplessly across the deck. Then another blast of wind roared from the opposite side of the ship, and tilted it back the other way. From where he was caught in a tangle of ropes and flailing feet, Heben saw two of the pirates topple overboard and splash into the sea.
The huge vessel plunged back and forth like a toy in a bathtub, gripped by a childish hand. The sky was still a cloudless blue, the sea unruffled by any hint of storm. The gulls still shrieked and swooped, riding the currents of the air on their
own errands, untouched by the mayhem below.
The serpent-headed ship was in chaos. Some of the pirates struggled to furl the sails, to reduce the amount of canvas the winds could catch, but the rigging swung about so violently that the task was impossible. The string of prisoners came to rest in a corner beside the wheelhouse. Heben was stuck fast in a pile of heavy bodies, but his head was free so he could see what was going on.
The boy at the top of the rigging, who’ d managed to cling on until now, lost his toehold. A blast of wind was directed straight at him. It caught him in the midriff; for a heartbeat, he managed to clutch the ropes while the wind blew him out like a flag. And then he lost his grip. Heben was pleased to hear the painful crack as he hit the water far below. Of all the nasty crew on this brutal ship, he especially disliked that boy. He’ d seen him set fire to the tails of the ducks that the pirates kept in a coop on the deck; above all else, Heben hated to see anything defenceless suffer.
‘Sorcery!’ shouted one of the other prisoners, too close to Heben’ s ear. ‘This is bleeding sorcery, that’ s what this is!’
The ship gave another mighty lurch, and Heben could see that there were two little boats besieging the galley, one on each side. He caught a glimpse of a burly dark-haired man at the oars of the second dinghy, and another girl, golden-eyed, a year or two younger than the first, with a wild mop of sun-bleached hair. Like the other girl, she was standing, with her mouth open and her hands raised. Then the ship rolled back, and Heben lost sight of them.
‘Windwitches!’ howled the prisoner who had cried sorcery. But the rolling was less violent now, the pitching of the ship less extreme. Individual pirates were being picked off and the whole crew was in a state of utter, gibbering panic, running this way and that in a vain effort to escape the ruthless winds.
The pirate captain had enough presence of mind to lash himself to the foremast with a length of halyard. Now, over the terrified shouts of the crew and the clatter of rolling water barrels, above the whip and crack of ropes and canvas, he shouted, ‘Stop! A parley, a parley! Witches, hold your song!’
The Waterless Sea Page 1