The Waterless Sea

by Kate Constable

  Heben pressed his lips together and gave another of his stiff bows. ‘Very well, my lady,’ he said, but he was not pleased. He shepherded his small band of foreigners around the marketplace, relieved that they attracted less attention than he expected. The market was a shabby, depressing place, buzzing with flies, and inhabited by skinny dogs who slunk along the streets, tongues lolling. It was very hot. The stallholders were slumped beneath their drab awnings, and their goods were shoddy. There were beggars on every corner; one old man looked up pleadingly at Calwyn, and shook the stumps where his hands had been. Calwyn was horrified. ‘Heben! Look!’

  Heben threw the old man a swift glance. ‘He must have been injured in the mines.’

  ‘Can we give him something?’

  ‘You give to one, they’ ll all be crowding round us for the rest of the day. Leave him. They’ re all thieves. Some of them cut off their hands on purpose, so they can have a lazy life as beggars.’ And he hurried on.

  Calwyn was sorry she’ d asked to come. Even Mica was uncharacteristically subdued, and trailed behind while Heben doled out coins from his diminishing store to buy food, tents, waterskins and cooking pans, and long dust-coloured robes.

  ‘But what are these?’ Calwyn said when Heben loaded a new bundle of cloth into her arms. She fingered the bright swathes of embroidered cloth, in every colour of the rainbow.

  ‘Court clothes, for you,’ said Heben.

  Calwyn slid the silken lengths between her hands. The cloths were beautiful, without a doubt, but she was not looking forward to wrapping herself in these heavy sheets.

  There was one last thing to buy. Heben led them to a silversmith’ s, and had the man make a copy of his Clan medallion.

  ‘When we come to the Palace, you must wear it all the time,’ he explained to Calwyn. ‘Otherwise no one will believe that you are one of the Cledsec.’ They had agreed that Calwyn should pose as an obscure cousin of the Cledsec Clan, come to the Palace to acquire some polish.

  Calwyn held the small medallion to her forehead. The cool metal scratched uncomfortably between her brows. She sighed; it was one more thing she would have to get used to.

  They were all laden down with packages and ready to return to the boat, when Mica’ s head swivelled around. ‘What’ s that? Sounds like a parade!’

  There was a commotion in the far corner of the marketplace; they could hear shouts and yells, the beating of a drum, and the blaring of horns, and the noise was drawing nearer. ‘I can see banners!’ cried Calwyn, who had a better view than the others.

  Heben looked worried. ‘Are the banners yellow and red?’

  ‘Yes! Is it a festival?’

  ‘No,’ said Heben. ‘Not a festival.’

  Mica’ s eyes lit up. Laden as she was, she scrambled up onto the rim of a fountain. ‘I can hear what they’ re yellin! Somethin bout bread. . .’

  ‘It’ s a protest march, to complain to the governor of the province.’ Heben frowned. ‘These sea-towners are always whining about something. The rebels stir them up.’ Without thinking, he echoed what he’ d heard his father say. ‘What they need is a good stint in the desert. That would toughen them up. All these towners are the same. They’ re soft. They have no honour.’

  ‘They say they have no bread,’ said Tonno grimly.

  ‘They don’ t look soft,’ said Calwyn. ‘They look hungry.’

  The marchers were almost upon them now; the crowd that pressed around Calwyn and the others was so dense, they could scarcely breathe in the crush. ‘We should get back to the boat!’ Heben shouted, but any kind of movement was impossible. Calwyn could see the faces of the protesters clearly: men and women, children and old people. The force of their emotion crashed over her like a wave in the surf, even more violent than the crush of their bodies. Hunger, fear, anger and desperation churned all around her. The tattered banners of red and yellow, the rebel colours, fluttered in the hot dusty wind. The dull, hopeless chant, ‘Bread, bread,’ swelled out in time with the beating drum, and deep in the middle of the throng, invisible, someone shouted, ‘Death to the Emperor!’

  ‘Ought to be locked up,’ muttered Heben. Someone knocked the parcel of embroidered cloths from Calwyn’ s arms and, as she bent to pick it up, she was shoved sideways, lost her footing and was swept into the thick of the mob. ‘ Tonno! Mica!’ she called in panic, unable to see her companions.

  ‘I’ ve got you, lass,’ grunted Tonno, gripping her sleeve.

  Mica was still perched on the edge of the fountain, scanning the crowd. ‘Somethin’ s happenin!’ she yelled. ‘More marchers comin!’

  Incredulous, Heben hauled himself up beside her. ‘That’ s not more marchers,’ he said, and relief showed on his face. ‘It’ s the Army. This will sort them out.’

  But even he was shocked by what happened next. All at once a mass of soldiers burst into the square in a storm of flashing dagger-blades. The well-trained troops thrust at the unarmed protesters with squar e metal shields. Screams rang out as people were trampled underfoot, slashed by the soldiers’ daggers, struck down by the heavy shields. Without a word, Tonno lunged toward Mica, plucked her off the fountain and swung her to the ground. Snarling ferociously and with the force of his broad shoulders, he burrowed his way out of the crowd, clearing a space for Calwyn and Mica to follow. Somehow Heben managed to keep up with them, and soon they were clear of the marketplace, running down a side street, bruised, but safe.

  ‘I dropped that cookin pan!’ wailed Mica, as soon as she had breath to spare.

  ‘Never mind,’ said Heben shakily. ‘I’ ll buy another.’

  Calwyn halted, staring back toward the square. ‘We should go back. Perhaps we can help –’ ‘Keep out of it, lass,’ said Tonno. ‘I’ m not going to scrape you off the street after those soldiers have cut you down.’

  Mica said scornfully, ‘You still plannin to join the Army, Heben?’

  ‘They wouldn’ t take me without my father’ s blessing,’ replied Heben mechanically, but he seemed hardly to have heard her. He was as shaken as the rest of them by the casual violence of the Army.

  ‘There were children in that crowd,’ said Calwyn.

  ‘The Army has to keep order.’ But Heben sounded less certain than before.

  ‘They was only marchin, and chantin, they wasn’ t doin no harm!’ cried Mica.

  ‘They did look hungry,’ said Heben, almost to himself. ‘But it has been a harsh year everywhere. Even my father said grain was more expensive than usual.’

  ‘Some of them kids had legs like sticks. Didn’ t you see em?’ said Mica.

  ‘Mica, leave it,’ said Calwyn quietly. ‘Let’ s go back to the boat.’ Tonno hoisted the sack that contained their brand new tents onto his shoulder, and put his arm around Mica, and in silence they walked after Heben.

  Calwyn followed, deep in thought. The words of the evil sorcerer Samis came back to her: Merithuros trembles on the brink of chaos . . .when the Empire falls, all of Tremaris will shudder. . . She was beginning to realise how little she knew about this place, how ill-prepared she was for this adventure. If only Darrow – She made an impatient gesture with her hand, cutting off the thought before she could complete it. Couldn’ t she take ten breaths without thinking about Darrow? Gathering her parcels, she hurried after the others.

  The next morning, Heben set off early for the livestock market and came back with half a dozen sturdy hegesi. The backs of the woolly animals stood as high as Calwyn’ s chest, and their long necks gave them an imperious look.

  ‘By the gods!’ exclaimed Tonno when he saw the six expressionless animals lined up on the dock, all staring at him from beneath their long, dark lashes. ‘What are you going to do with them?’

  ‘We’ ll ride them,’ said Heben. ‘And they will carry the packs. We’ ll milk them. And use their dung for fuel.’

  ‘Do they lay eggs, too? And pack up the tents when you’ re done with them?’

  ‘The hegesi can travel over sand faster than any ma
n can walk,’ said Heben, in his polite tone, ignoring Tonno’ s sarcasm. ‘We need them.’

  Mica came out on deck, clad in the garments that would protect her from sun and sandburn, her new turban and the long robes of a desert-dweller. She squealed at the sight of the hegesi. ‘Halasaa won’ t never be able to ride one of them big goats! His feet’ ll be scrapin on the ground!’

  ‘He and the beast can take it turn and turn about,’ said Tonno. ‘It can carry him a while, then he can carry it!’

  Heben was adjusting a saddle strap, but it was his shoulders that were tight, with disapproval.

  They set out at midday; Heben was anxious not to lose any more time. He was taken aback that Tonno was to wait behind with Fledgewing.

  ‘But you are the captain!’ he said.

  ‘The captain doesn’ t leave his ship unprotected.’ Tonno’ s bushy eyebrows beetled down with a warning look.

  ‘So you would rather abandon your crew?’

  Halasaa’ s dark eyes gleamed with laughter. On land, Calwyn is our captain.

  Heben made no reply; he was sure that Halasaa was making fun of him. Calwyn did not hear this exchange and in private, she told Tonno to wait for them until the end of summer, but no longer.

  ‘Don’ t be daft. I’ ll be here until you get back,’ he said gruffly, and gave her a rough hug.

  ‘What’ ll you do without us, Tonno?’ asked Mica cheekily.

  ‘What I did before I got mixed up with chanters and magic tricks. I’ ll be fishing.’ He tweaked Calwyn’ s turban. ‘Take care you don’ t melt away to nothing, eh?’

  Already Calwyn could feel an uncomfortable prickle of sweat on her brow. ‘Mica and I can sing up a breeze to cool us all,’ she said, with a cheerfulness she didn’ t feel. ‘That’ s the advantage of travelling with chanters.’

  ‘Not until we’ re out of the town, I beg you!’ said Heben, in a low, anxious voice.

  Mica gave Tonno one final farewell squeeze, and Halasaa gripped his hands, and then it was time to go.

  In silence, they trooped through the streets of Teril. The noonday sun blazed down, white-hot, on the grimy buildings, and the marketplace was deserted. There were one or two dark, dried bloodstains on the stones, and a crumpled scrap of red and yellow cloth had been trodden into the dust, but otherwise there was no sign of yesterday’ s troubles. Calwyn thought she saw someone peering out at them through a narrow window, but when she turned to look, they vanished.

  Heben set such a fast pace that the hegesi bleated in protest, and before long they were at the outskirts of the town. A scattering of dilapidated huts petered out beside the dusty track. A landscape of rolling dunes confronted them, unmarked by any sign of human habitation. The waves of sand rose and fell, each one sculpted with small ridges, on and on, as far as the eye could see. It was like a sea, thought Calwyn, a waterless sea.

  They stopped, and Heben helped them to clamber onto the hegesi. Calwyn said to Mica, ‘Here’ s a place where Trout’ s direction finder would be useful.’

  ‘You think he knows where to go?’ Mica hissed, nodding to Heben.

  ‘Of course he does,’ said Calwyn. ‘This is his country, remember.’

  As if he had heard them, Heben said, ‘There is much traffic between Teril and the Palace, but we don’ t wish to be seen. I will take us a different way.’ Urging on his hegesu with a dig of his heels, he trotted off over the first rise, leading the pack animal by a strap in one hand. Mica, keen as ever, followed as close behind as she could. Calwyn and Halasaa came after, swaying precariously on the woolly backs of the hegesi. Even before Teril had dwindled to a series of black dots behind them, Calwyn’ s legs ached from the effort of gripping. Halasaa’ s feet didn’ t quite scrape the ground, as Mica had predicted, but he was uncomfortable, and his long limbs were hunched and tense.

  All too soon, the town behind them had vanished. The shining blue line of the ocean disappeared, and the hegesi trudged up and down the baked, shimmering surf of golden-white sand. The sun burned down, a white spot of light high in the sky. Halasaa kept one hand up to shield his eyes from the glare.

  At first Calwyn was as good as her word, and sang a lilting chantment that blew a soft breeze across their faces. Mica joined in eagerly. But it was difficult, with the jolting of the hegesi, to find the breath to sing and, after a time, Mica’ s chantment faltered. Presently Calwyn too began to pause as she sang and, as the day wore on, the pauses grew longer.

  Halasaa didn’ t remain on his hegesu for long. Soon after they lost sight of the town, he slipped out of the saddle and began to walk, lifting his feet laboriously. Calwyn watched as he tugged his headcloth over his lean bronzed face. It was strange to see him completely swathed in cloth. Like a corpse in its shroud, thought Calwyn, and shivered.

  Following Heben, they moved across the dunes. Each fold of the desert was striped with dizzying ripples of shadow. To gaze at the harsh lines of light and dark hurt Calwyn’ s eyes, but the blue glare of the sky made her head swim, too. So she stared down at the hypnotic rise and fall of the muscles on the hegesu’ s back.

  Mica took up her chantment again, and the dry air blew stray tendrils of hair across Calwyn’ s nose and mouth. Her clumsy headdress, so different from Heben’ s neat turban, began to fall down, and impatiently she wound it up. She would have to ask Heben to show her how to hold it in place. The jolting of the hegesu made her stomach churn. She slid off its back, like Halasaa, and began to walk. The shifting sand dragged at her feet like glue. Heben was right; the padded feet of the animals were better suited to the terrain. But if she didn’ t walk, she’ d go mad.

  She kicked out against the long robe that hung down to her ankles. It was impossible to walk when a curtain of heavy cloth struck against your knees with every step! She struggled on for a time, but at last she could bear it no more, and returned to the queasy sway of the hegesu.

  She looked ahead at the tall silent figure of Heben, upright and easy on his mount, as he moved steadily onward, a little way in front. Since they left Teril, he had barely spoken a word. Did he regret bringing them here, to this dry bright place where they did not belong? Perhaps because she sensed that his gallant manners concealed a lack of respect, she did not feel at ease with Heben. But then, she had never known any young men before, except for Darrow, and that was different. And Halasaa, of course, and that was different again. But if anything happened to Heben, how would they survive? Already they had walked so far that she could no longer tell which direction led back to the sea. This would be an easy place to die, she thought, and despite the heat and the sweat that made her clothes stick to her back, a chill ran through her.

  It was late in the afternoon when Heben came to the crest of a dune, and stopped. He slid off his hegesu, his robes billowing about him, though he stood as still and stern as a pillar of stone. In that moment he reminded Calwyn of Darrow, and she felt the familiar pain that stabbed her every time she thought of him.

  ‘Heben’ s sorry he brought us here,’ Calwyn murmured to Halasaa.

  He sees how helpless we are here. Halasaa’ s face was grim. He knows that our lives rest in his hands.

  ‘Then we must show him that we’ re not helpless after all!’ said Calwyn.

  Behind them, Mica shouted, ‘Cal! Cal! Race you to the bottom!’ The younger girl hurtled by with a gleeful shriek, running full tilt and dragging her reluctant hegesu, which let out a high-pitched squeal of disapproval. She flew past Heben, tripped over her cumbersome robes, and rolled to the foot of the dune in a laughing, breathless heap.

  Heben followed more sedately, a frown creasing his face. ‘If you please, it isn’ t wise to run. You will make yourself too thirsty.’

  Calwyn trotted down the slope and helped Mica to her feet. ‘He’ s right, Mica. We must be careful.’

  But Mica let out a furious cry. ‘Oh no! My waterskin!’

  She had worn the bag, fat with fresh water, slung across her back, and she’ d landed on it with all her weight. The sk
in hung limp; the precious water seeped away, a gleaming puddle absorbed by the sand. Then it was gone, and only a patch of damp showed where it had been. Calwyn shot a look at Heben; he had an expression of horror on his face.

  ‘I’ ll sing up some ice,’ she said quickly. ‘Don’ t worry, Heben, we can replace it with chantment.’

  His face recomposed itself into its customary polite, distant look. Clearly he didn’ t believe her.

  ‘If Darrow was here, he could mend it,’ lamented Mica, turning the empty waterskin over in her hands. ‘See, it’ s the seam what’ s split. The skin ain’ t torn at all.’

  Heben examined the bag and tossed it back to Mica. ‘I can stitch it,’ he said dismissively, and despite herself, Calwyn had to smile.

  ‘You’ re right. We chanters are too quick to think we should use magic for every little task. I could sew it up myself, I daresay, though the sisters in Antaris never thought much of my skills with a needle –’ Heben interrupted. ‘Forgive me, my lady, but there is no time to mend it now. There is a sandstorm ahead. We must go on, before it catches us.’

  The little band set off once more, in grimmer silence than before. Calwyn sensed dismay rising in Heben now, stronger with every step, though he urged on his hegesu more and more swiftly, as if he could outpace his own misgivings as well as the sandstorm. The wind had changed; at the crest of each dune, Calwyn could see a smudge on the horizon, a dirty smear that grew larger and larger. She dug her heels into her hegesu until she had caught up with Heben. ‘Should we take shelter?’

  Already the wind was whipping at their ankles, stirring up the golden sand around the hems of their robes. Calwyn saw Halasaa, a long way behind, cough noiselessly, and pull a fold of cloth across his mouth.

  ‘There’ s nowhere to take shelter, my lady,’ said Heben. He looked to the horizon. ‘I’ m afraid we’ ll have to sit it out as best we can.’

  Mica ran up to them. ‘Cal! Why don’ t you and me sing up a wind to hold it back?’