by Tim Stead
“You should not reproach yourself, Captain. You acted to protect her. Nobody could have known what was to happen. Those were wild times.”
“Yes, I know that you are right, but every time I see her eyes I remember.” He straightened his back and turned his head to the sun, shaking off the past. “Anyway,” he went on, “you must stop calling me captain. It’s proper on the Swift, but here you may call me Jem.”
She nodded, and searched for something to say that would not add to the melancholy of the moment, but Helena saved them, pushing through the door with a tray piled high with food. The smell of it filled the room, and Felice realised just how hungry she was.
Pelorus excused himself and took Helena with him, leaving her to eat in private. There was too much food, of course, and she was soon full, her starved stomach resisting her desire to clear the tray. She leaned back and looked out of the window at the strip of blue sea and the green trees. Perhaps it was the place, or the weakness that she felt, or even the passing of the fever, but now the fire of hatred was gone.
Had she been insane on the ship? She remembered howling at the wind and the sea, cursing the sun itself. The fever, perhaps, she thought. Her mind was already tortured by grief, and with the fever on top of that, reason had deserted her. She wished that she had not come. She should have gone back to East Scar with Kendric and the drovers.
She felt tears on her cheek, and she wept again for Todric.
I will do what I set out to do. I will see justice done, but no more than that. She remembered something from a dream about the price of vengeance, and it was a sharp, clear memory.
I will have justice, just that. No more. No less.
* * * *
During her time in the captain’s house she grew fond of Jem Pelorus and his blind daughter. The girl lacked all bitterness. She knew that she lacked sight, but having been blind from birth she did not know what it was. She did not seem to miss it.
Jem enforced a strict rule in the house that no piece of furniture, no rug or ornament was to be relocated, and this gave Helena a substitute for sight. She ran through the rooms guided by memory, swerved around chairs, raced though doors, confident and happy in her stationary world. The gardens, too, were unchanging.
Felice was astonished, when she was eventually able to make her way around the house, by its size. It was on two storeys, arranged in a square around a central courtyard that boasted a pool of clear water that was home to many large golden fish and broad leaved plants with white, waxy flowers. More plants stood like sentries at all the entrances to the courtyard, two to a door, and their blooms filled the space with a pleasing scent. She enjoyed sitting by the pool, watching the smooth creatures in the water glide about their business without seeming to expend any effort at all.
The girl made a habit of coming to her while she sat in the courtyard, reading. Felice had discovered Jem’s library, which spoke to her of a great urge to collect. There were dozens of volumes, and she became accustomed to picking one out and sitting in the sun while she read. Helena would come to her and ask her to read aloud, and so she did. The child did not ask questions, but sat quietly, leaning her body against Felice, listening to the words.
She did not neglect the need for exercise. There was an orchard next to the house, and each day she would walk around it. At first one circuit of the small space would tire her, but she persevered, and soon could walk round it many times. Her strength was returning. She walked many times each day.
In Yasu she had thought of Pelorus as a sea captain, a trader, but now she saw him as a merchant prince, if there was such a thing in this new world. As well as the Sea Swift he owned his older, smaller boat, the Free Spirit. He had two warehouses – one by the dock and the other on the landward side of Pek. Numerous wagons, which he owned, were driven constantly on trading trips by the dozens of men that he employed. She thought that he must be the richest man in the city.
When she was strong enough she walked to the docks. They were not distant from the house, just down a shallow hill, a hill adorned with houses on the same scale as Jem’s, and through a park filled with green trees and lush open spaces. Pek, of course, was a lot bigger than Yasu, and the docks were bigger, too. In all she counted seventeen ships moored along the piers, and there was room for many more.
She was aware that people looked at her. Sometimes they stared, but mostly they glanced, once in passing, and then again to be sure that they had seen what they thought they had seen. It did not bother her much.
When she entered the dock area she sensed a difference. It was as though she was known. People, even the roughest of sailors, stepped out of her path, and she found herself walking in a respectful clearing through the busy crowds. She approached a ship that caught her eye. It was as tidy as the Sea Swift, neat and clean, if a little smaller.
A large man hurried down the gangplank to meet her. He was young and looked massively strong. He had clear eyes and an intelligent look.
“Karana, how may I serve you?” he asked.
“Where do you sail?” she asked.
“To Samara,” he replied. “In three days time if all goes well.”
“And what would you charge for passage to Samara?”
The man’s face broke into s huge grin. He seemed delighted. “For yourself, Karana, there would be no charge. We would be honoured to carry you.”
She was puzzled, suspicious. “Then what would you expect of me?” she asked. Her frown seemed to cow the man. His smile vanished and he looked away.
“Nothing, I assure you. Your presence on my ship would be a great honour, Karana.”
“I wish you’d stop calling me that.”
“Then what should I call you?” the man seemed puzzled, but desperate not to offend.
“You may call by my name. I am Felice Caledon.”
“As you wish.” She was astonished to see him execute a small bow.
“And what is your name? You are the captain?”
“Yes. I am called Grayal Brand, owner and captain of the Bright Star.”
“I shall remember you and your ship, Captain Brand. Three days, you say?”
“Quite so, Ima Caledon, but if you wish us to delay a day, it can be done.”
She left the dock and walked back towards Jem’s house. She rested in the park, feeling the effort of so long a walk, and sat on a seat looking at the sea, feeling the cool breezes that it breathed on the land. This was a beautiful spot, and other people were here, courting, walking, there was even a family preparing to have their midday meal on the grass nearby. She watched them for a while, for theirs was an elaborate affair with cloths, plates of good porcelain, glasses, and several baskets of food, wine, and even fine cutlery.
Some time passed before they noticed her watching, and she thought that they grew uncomfortable with her stare, so she rose and walked on, taking the hill up to the house as slowly as she could, feeling each step as tiredness in the legs.
When she arrived she made the additional effort to seek out Jem. He was talking with one of the men he employed, explaining a task, taking time to make sure that it was clearly in the man’s head, but when he saw Felice he quickly wound up the conversation.
“You wanted something?” he asked when the man was gone.
“I walked down to the docks,” she said.
“A long way. You must be tired.”
“There’s something very odd going on down there. Everybody seems to know who I am, and they treat me like the queen of Pek.”
“We have no king or queen,” Jem said, but she could tell by his eyes that he was avoiding the implied question.
“What is it?” she insisted. Jem pulled a face, but gave up.
“What happened on the Sea Swift. The men have spread the story around town, and now they think you are a mataga – a weather witch.”
“That’s ridiculous,” she laughed, thought he was joking, but he just looked embarrassed. “You’re serious? But nothing happened on the boat…
”
“Ship…”
“On the ship. Nothing happened. I collapsed from a fever. One of your men saved me.”
“You cursed the wind and the sea – a whip and a dog I believe you said. You told the storm to go away. It did.”
“Coincidence!”
“So I believe, but I am in a minority, and it’s not just that the storm went away. A storm like that should veer round to a southerly when it dies. The wind backed to the north, drove us down the coast. If it had gone southerly we would have taken another two days to make port. You would probably have died.”
“But it’s not true…”
“That you’re a weather witch? Perhaps, but all the facts are correct as I tell them, and sailors are a credulous lot. They believe it.”
“I’ll tell them it’s not true.”
“They won’t believe you. It’s more likely you’ll make them suspicious. Just accept it. I’ve never met a weather witch, if they exist, but it would be a damned useful skill for a captain to have on board. Any captain will take you to Samara and be glad of it.”
“It’s dishonest.”
Jem shrugged. “Don’t confirm it. Do you always tell everyone who’s wrong that they are? You’d be a poor trader if you did.”
She changed tack.
“Do you know the Bright Star – a captain called Brand?”
“Yes. He’s a good man and a fine navigator. You spoke to him?”
“He offered to take me to Samara for nothing, sailing in three days. He even offered to delay sailing for a day if that was more convenient.”
“Well, it’s a fair offer, and you’d be safe on board.”
“Unless there’s a storm.”
Jem laughed. “You’ll be in the southern sea. No storms at this time of year. Do you still want to go?”
“To Samara? Of course.” She thought she had heard an anxious tone in Jem’s voice, and she studied the man more closely. He seemed nervous, tucked one hand into his belt and rubbed the side of his face with the other.
“If you want to stay, you can,” he said. “For as long as you like.”
She resisted a sudden urge to step closer to him, to take his hand.
“I have to go. I promised Todric. I have to go back to the Scar.”
“Helena likes you,” he said, then looked her in the eye. “I like you.”
Her hand went to the scar on her face. It was an involuntary movement, but she was immediately aware of it.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said.
“I have to go,” she repeated, though a part of her longed to stay here, with Jem, with Helena, in the big white house that overlooked the sea, every comfort imaginable at hand, and where people thought her something special. “I have to.” She knew that it was true. If she stayed here the wound would never heal, and she would always think that she had betrayed her brother, abandoned her father.
“I know,” he said. “Will you come back?”
“Perhaps. I don’t know.”
“I understand. Do you want me to speak to Brand for you?”
“If you think it would be best.”
He nodded. “We speak the same language, and it may save you… explanations.”
And so it was settled. Jem arranged with Brand that she should ship out with him for Samara on the third day. The three days passed more quickly than she could have believed, but they were not easy days.
Helena was not happy that Felice was leaving. The blind girl avoided her for a day, and then seemed to seek her out every moment with demands for attention. Jem was less demanding, but she felt that he was trying to make it easier for her, because he knew that she wanted to stay, and he knew that she could not.
On the morning of the last complete day he joined her for breakfast, which was unusual. He was normally gone two hours and about his tasks by the time she rose. On this day, however, he was at table and eating.
“I have a gift for you,” he said.
“Oh?” She was surprised. Both to see him and at the idea of a gift.
“You have forgotten,” he said.
“What?” She felt a twinge of guilt. What had she done now?
He looked at her and shook his head. “What is the date?” he asked.
“The date?” She tried to remember. It had been the thirty-first day of spring when they had left the Scar. She added days: the journey, the time in Yasu, the voyage, the illness here, the recovery.
“Oh. How did you know?”
“That this was your birth day? I was told.”
Todric. Of course, Todric. He was always free with information, even secrets. She was eighteen on this day. It was a day that she had expected to spend with her father, her brothers, an important day in a person’s life. She was an adult in all senses now, and she felt the pain of loss. In truth she had forgotten that the day of her birth was at hand. There had been so much else, and even now it seemed a trivial matter. There was no way in which she was a grown woman today that she was not yesterday. In spite of that she felt the loss. It should have been a happy day. There should have been a fine meal, a house full of aunts, uncles and cousins, a table full of gifts.
She looked at the small, cloth wrapped bundle that Jem had placed on the table. The cloth alone was worth good money. It was silk, and drifted away in her hand, gliding across the smooth metal surface of his gift to her. The gift itself was a dagger, but she had never seen a weapon like it. The sheath in which is rested was the finest thing she had ever seen. It was a dark metal, inlaid with gold and silver in a most intricate pattern of flowers and leaves that swirled up from the tip, eventually to form a wreath around the top where the dagger’s guard rested. The handle matched it so that the pattern repeated up to a smooth steel pommel.
She drew the blade. It shone with a silky lustre. The blade was shaped almost like a bird’s wing, and an artist of great skill had etched the feathers into the metal with incredible detail. She didn’t know much about blades, but she knew enough to know that this was special.
“How old is it?” she asked. Her voice was hushed, almost a whisper.
“I have no idea, but certainly more than four hundred years. It was made in the time before the Faer Karan.”
“I can’t accept this. It must be worth a hundred gold.”
“If anyone had the money to buy it, perhaps. I have several such weapons, but this one is a lady’s knife, and Helena will never use it. You will need something to defend yourself if you must go adventuring through the world.”
She stroked the feathers. The knife was very light, but must be strong to have survived so long. The grip fitted her hand perfectly.
“It is a magnificent gift,” she said. “Very fine.” There was nothing else to say. It was the most valuable thing she had ever seen. It would be worth more than her father’s house, and perhaps as much as the Sea Swift. She could not give Jem what he wanted in return. She felt that acceptance of his gift was her own present to him.
The knife was the last thing between them. She did not see him again, and boarded the Bright Star before dawn the next day, looking back at the shore, searching the faces of the people along the pier until the ropes were cast off and the ship was towed out by oarsmen into the light morning air that blew up from the south. She watched the shore retreat until the faces were indistinguishable from each other, and then she went below to eat a fine breakfast with captain Brand.
The weather behaved all the way to Samara, and it was on the morning of the third day that she was awoken by someone rapping on her cabin door. She acknowledged that she was awake.
“Captain’s regards, my lady,” a voice said from beyond the door. “We have the coast in sight and he thought you might like to see the city from the sea as we approach.”
7. Samara
She made her way up onto the deck of the Bright Star, bracing herself easily against the ship’s gentle roll, almost a comforting motion after so many days at sea in the Sea Swift. She climbed to the stern where the
captain and his mate stood, looking to the starboard bow. She looked in the same direction. It was still mostly dark. The sun was below the horizon, but enough light had taken to the sky for her to see the shore as an irregular grey line in the distance, defined only by the darkest blue sky and the black sea, and adorning that grey line were the lights of Samara.
She had never seen a city from the sea at night, and it took her breath away. It was as though a thousand stars had fallen from the sky and now lay flickering across the land, calling their ship in from the night.
“I never tire of it,” the captain said. He was smiling, enjoying her enjoyment of the spectacle.
She nodded, but did not speak. From here the city seemed to spill from the mountains on the east side, down to a great river, and further, spreading out on the plains that stretched away to the west, a glittering pool. As the light brightened and they drew closer she began to see how large it was; bigger even than Pek. This was the heart of the world, Samara, the great city itself.
It was three times the size of Pek; four, even. It just grew and grew as the lights that defined it faded in the rising sun and she stood transfixed by the sight. There were buildings to the east of the river mouth that compared with the fortress at East Scar for size, and exceeded it in beauty. The captain named them for her. The citadel, the Great House – the residence of the King that was still being rebuilt, but was already an imposing landmark – and the temple, which had once been a ruin, but now stood equal to anything in its magnificence.
The mate ran forwards to the bow and cast the boat buoys into the sea as they approached the piers. She saw the scramble as boats crashed into the low surf, heard the oarsmen call out in steady rhythms as the boats pulled out to gain their prizes, and in no time at all they were drawn in to the piers among a host of other vessels and a thousand people who thronged the waterfront.
“It’s so big,” she said.
“It is that,” Brand replied, half his mind was on the pier and the men with the ropes. He waved to someone on the shore. Bags stuffed with cloth and sacking were thrown over the side of the ship as it drew close to the dock, and they hung down on short ropes to protect the hull from the stone pier. It was all so complicated, and the city was so huge. How would she ever find anything here?