by DAVID B. COE
The white-hair still had his eyes closed, but he smiled and nodded. "My pleasure. It was getting a bit rough below."
"No doubt. How long can ye hold this wind?"
"That depends on the storm. If it strengthens further, probably not very long. I'd suggest you get your men on their oars and steer us clear."
Rois nodded. He might not have liked Qirsi, but this man at least spoke plainly.
His was a seasoned crew, and they soon had the sweeps out and were rowing toward shore. This took them into the teeth of the storm, at least for a short while, but with the darkest clouds almost upon them, it made no sense to race this monster farther out to sea. Best to steer them to waters that had already seen the worst of the storm. The seas were high, and it was slow going, but the Qirsi held to his wind. Rois no longer feared for his ship. Those men who remained on deck stared at the Qirsi as they stepped past him, but they said nothing to him, and the captain made certain that they didn't disturb the man in any way.
For nearly an hour now, they had been on sweeps, and at last it seemed that the storm was passing. The waters ahead appeared calmer, and just above the line of shore in front of them, Rois could see faint hints of blue sky in among the clouds. He descended the steps from his wheel and walked to the Qirsi. The man looked terribly pale, and he seemed to be trembling, as if chilled to the bone.
"I think ye can stop now," Rois said.
The white-hair opened his eyes and staggered. He would have fallen had the captain not put a steadying arm around him.
"Thank you, Captain," he said hoarsely.
Rois helped him to a barrel, holding on to him until the man was seated.
"Can I get ye somethin'?" the captain asked. "Water? Somethin' stronger?"
The Qirsi shook his head and glanced up at the sky.
"Aye, it's passing. Ye saved us all, and th' ship." He nodded once. "Again, ye have my thanks."
"Perhaps there are advantages to having Qirsi aboard."
Rois grinned. "Could be." He started to walk away, then stopped and turned to look at the man again. "In th' excitement an' all, I's forgotten yer name," he said.
"Grinsa."
"And th' woman?"
"Cresenne. Our daughter is Bryntelle."
"And a beauty she is."
Grinsa smiled. "Thank you."
"Maybe th' three of ye would do me th' honor of supping with me tonight."
"Last I saw of Cresenne she was vowing never to eat again," the Qirsi said. "But I imagine that with the storm passing, she might reconsider. Thank you, Captain. It's a kind invitation, and I accept on their behalf."
"Good. At eight bells then."
"Eight bells." The man climbed to his feet and made his way below, moving stiffly, as if he had just come through a great battle.
Rois watched him go before turning his attention back to his ship. She had come through the storm with relatively little damage, but she looked a mess and he set the crew to cleaning her up.
By eight bells, the skies had cleared and the sun shone from just above the mountains, bathing the sea and ship in hues of gold. The winds had died down as well, and the water's surface reflected the few soft clouds that glided overhead as if it were a looking glass. Looking west, a man might never guess that the Sea of Stars had been roiled by a storm only a few hours before. The sky to the east remained dark, however, and occasionally it flickered with the glow of distant lightning.
The white-hairs arrived for supper just as the peal of the bells faded away. The man looked rested and none the worse for his struggle with the storm. The woman, on the other hand, seemed pale, leading the captain to wonder if she still felt sickened by the motion of the boat.
She smiled, though, as Rois extended a hand to her.
"Thank you for inviting us, Captain," she said. "It's very generous of you."
"It's th' least I can do, ma'am. What with this kind gentleman saving my ship and all."
She smiled, glancing briefly at Grinsa.
"Sit, please," the captain said, stepping back out of the doorway and waving them into the cabin. "There's not a lot o' room, but I daresay it'll do.,,
They took seats at the table on either side of Rois's chair. She held the babe, who was looking about with wide eyes, her gaze finally coming to rest on the oil lamp burning brightly above the table.
"Cook will be in with th' meal soon enough. I hope bluefish is all right."
"Yes, of course," Grinsa said.
Cresenne smiled, but the captain could see that it was forced. He didn't expect that she'd eat much.
"In th' meantime," he said, "how's about a bit o' wine?"
As Rois filled three glasses with some of the pale golden wine he had traded for during his last visit to Qosantia, his first mate, Pelton Fent, arrived, taking the fourth seat at the table. Usually Pelton ate with the crew, but the captain had asked him to join them. True, Grinsa had saved the ship, but still Rois didn't relish the notion of passing the evening alone with a family of Qirsi.
He introduced Pelton to the white-hairs and poured the man some wine. Then he raised his own glass, and with a glance at Cresenne, offered a toast. "To smooth waters th' rest o' th' way."
The woman smiled. She really was a beauty. "To smooth waters," she repeated.
They all sipped their wine.
"That's very good, Captain," Grinsa said. "Can I ask where it's from?"
"Th' lowlands," Rois said. Seeing the puzzled look on the Qirsi's face, he added, "Qosantia. One o' th' Eandi sovereignties of th' eastern Southlands."
The man and woman exchanged a look before Grinsa faced the captain again.
"Am I to understand, then, that there are separate Qirsi and Eandi sovereignties in the Southlands?"
"Ya didn't know?" Pelton asked in his heavy lowlands accent, eyeing the man.
Grinsa glanced at Cresenne again and shook his head. "No. We were… eager to leave the Forelands, and in our haste I'm afraid we didn't learn as much about our new home as we might have otherwise."
"More's a pity," the first mate said. "Ya woulda been better off taking th' otha route down."
The white-hair frowned and looked at Rois.
"What he means is the Qirsi clans hold th' west, th' Eandi th' east. Ye'll have little choice now but t' cross through th' Eandi sovereignties if ye're t' reach Qirsi lands."
"Do no Qirsi live among the Eandi?" the woman asked, her brow creased.
Whatever his feelings about Qirsi, Rois would have liked to find some way to smooth that pale forehead once more. But he wasn't going to lie to them.
"Very few, ma'am. And them that does have a hard time of it, if ye follow me."
"If you knew this when we first-"
The man laid a hand on her arm, silencing her. She continued to glare at Rois for another moment, though, before finally looking away and raking a hand through her long hair. The baby let out a small squeal, but no one else made a sound.
After some time, there was a knock at the door and Cook and his assistant came in bearing the fish and two loaves of bread. The old man had a smile on his face when he opened the door, but seeing the captain's expression and the frowns of his guests, Cook's face fell. He and the boy served everyone quickly and without a word, before fleeing the cabin.
"I swear t' ye, ma'am," Rois said when they were gone, "we thought ye knew."
She stared at her wine, her lips pressed thin, but after a moment she nodded.
"Ye've paid t' go as far as Yorl, in Aelea-"
"And how much farther is that?" Grinsa asked.
"We're about to Redcliff now," Rois said. "With a bit o' luck and a bit o' wind, we'll reach Yorl in the morning. But what I was going t' say is this. Ye having saved my ship and all, and me taking a shine to th' baby there-Bryntelle, isn't it?"
The man smiled. "Yes. Bryntelle."
"With all o' that, I could see clear to take ye south to Shevden, in Tordjanne. Or better still, Ferenham. That's in Qosantia. No charge, o' course."
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br /> Grinsa glanced at the woman, who gave a quick shake of her head. He held her gaze, though, and after a moment she shrugged, looking unhappy. "That's a generous offer, Captain," the man went on, facing Rois again. "What would we gain by going farther?"
"Well, some o' th' sovereignties are better fer yer kind than others. Stopping in Aelea, ye'll have t' go through that one and Stelpana before ye reach Qirsi land. Them's two o' th' worst."
"Why are they so bad?" Cresenne asked.
The captain shrugged. "They bore th' brunt o' th' Blood Wars when they was fought. Folks don't forget, even after more than a century." He wasn't sure that either of them knew anything about the Blood Wars, but they didn't ask, and he didn't see any reason to go into it lest it lead to more ugliness. "In any case," he said instead, "once ye're in Qosantia, ye can cross t' th' Ofirean Sea and get passage across t' whichever o' th' clan lands ye want."
Again Grinsa and the woman shared a look. After a few moments, Grinsa actually smiled and reached to take Cresenne's hand.
"Actually," he said, "I'm not certain that we want to spend that much more time aboard any ship, even one as fine as yours, Captain."
Rois nodded. "I think I understand. In that case, let me offer ye this. I know a farrier in Yorl who's always got a few beasts he's tryin' t' sell. I expect I can get ye a pair o' horses at a fair price. Yorl's the farthest point inland on th' Aelean shore. Ye can make for Eagle's Pass and head due west across th' center o' Stelpana. They're no kinder t' Qirsi there, but there's fewer o' them. There's more people in th' north, near the Companion Lakes, and in th' south near th' seacoast. Steer clear o' those areas."
"All right, we will. Thank you."
"How well do ye know th' lay o' th' land?" Rois asked.
The white-hair shook his head. "I'm afraid we don't know it at all. If you have a map we can look at, I'd be most grateful."
"I don't," the captain said. "But I can describe it for ye some." He looked at Cresenne. "Go ahead and eat a bit, ma'am. It'll do ye good t' have a bit in ye."
She gave a tight smile and nodded. And as they all finally tucked into Cook's fish, Rois began to tell Grinsa and the woman about a few of the more important features of the land south of the Border Range. Pelton put in a word or two along the way, and both Qirsi asked questions now and again. Describing a land so large to strangers without the aid of a map was a bit like guiding a blindfolded man through a rocky shoal, but by the end of the meal, both of them seemed to have a better sense of the Southlands.
The woman's anger faded during the course of the supper, but only slowly, and even as the evening was ending, Rois could see that she remained withdrawn.
"Is there anything else you can tell us about these Blood Wars you mentioned earlier?" Grinsa finally asked, as they lingered over one last cup of wine.
Rois shifted in his chair. He felt the first mate staring at him, but he ignored him for the moment. "There's not a lot t' tell," he said. "There've been Blood Wars in th' Southlands for hundreds o' years."
"Some say there were only th' one," Pelton put in.
"But they've been over for a hundred years," Grinsa said, looking from mate to captain.
Pelton nodded. "They 'ave."
"And still it's not safe for us in Eandi lands."
The first mate looked away. "Joost 'cuz th' wars ended doesn't mean folks like white-hairs any more 'an they did."
"Are you from the Southlands, Pelton?"
The first mate pushed out his cheek with his tongue and nodded, his eyes trained on the table. "Naqbae," he said.
Grinsa frowned.
"Th' southernmost sovereignty," Rois told him. "Th' Horsemen, they're called."
"And yet our Horseman is a sailor," Grinsa said.
Pelton looked up at that, a grin on his round face. "I can ride, too. All us Horsemen can."
"But you don't like our people very much, do you?" Cresenne asked him, a guarded look in those ghostly pale eyes.
"Fighting white-hairs is what my kind are famous fer," he said, not shying from her glare. "No other sovereignty has held back th' Qirsi armies th' way th' Naqbae did. When th' Stelpana were bein' pushed back across th' K'Sand and th' Thraedes and finally th' Silverwater, an' th Qosantians an' Tordjannis were countin' their gold, we were forcin' th' T'Saan back int' th' hills. T' this day, we hold both banks of th' Grand Salt."
"That doesn't answer my question," she said.
"It's as much o' 'n answer as I got," he told her.
The baby had long since fallen asleep, but she stirred now, perhaps sensing her mother's anger, and she began to fuss.
"Perhaps it's time we were getting back to our quarters," Grinsa said, a smile fixed on his lips. "Thank you for a fine meal, Captain, and as well for all you've offered to do on our behalf."
Rois held out a hand, which Grinsa took in a powerful grip. "It's th' least I owed ye." He stood, stepped to the door, and held it open for them. As the woman walked past him, he inclined his head slightly, and said, "Ma'am."
A small smile touched her lips, but she said nothing.
"We'll put int' Yorl by midmornin'," he told Grinsa, as the Qirsi stepped past him. "Once we're in Eagles Inlet, th' waters should be calmer. Th' lady shouldn't have any more troubles, on this trip at least."
"Thank you, Captain. You've been very kind to us." He turned to look at Pelton. "Mister Fent."
The first mate gave a curt nod.
When they'd gone, Rois closed the door and exhaled heavily.
"I'm sorry, Captain," the mate said. "I'd 'ave done better t' keep my mouth shut."
He returned to his seat and poured the rest of the wine into his cup. "Ye did fine." He felt weary. The storm, this supper with the Qirsithey'd worn him out.
"It could be dangerous for 'em in Aelea," Pelton said. "An' Stelpana's even worse. They should sail farther south."
"I know that," Rois said. "But it seems they've made up their minds." He sipped his wine. "I have th' feeling they can take care o' themselves. Seems they came through all tha' trouble in th' Forelands all right. And I'd wager there's more t' both o' them than meets th' eye."
"Maybe," the first mate said. "But th' Eandi sovereignties are no place for a Qirsi family, 'specially one what doesn' know th' ways o' th' land."
They walked back to their cramped quarters without saying a word, except for Bryntelle, who fussed and cried and would have given
both Cresenne and Grinsa an earful had she been able. Once they were alone, a candle lit and the door closed, Cresenne pulled off her shirt, sat on the small bed, and began to nurse the child. Grinsa stood in the center of the chamber, his eyes trained on the floor. After a moment, he looked up at Cresenne and smiled.
"The captain was right. It's calmer."
"You were nicer to them than I would have been," she said.
"It's really not their fault that we know so little about where we're going. It's mine. Entirely."
He was always doing this: finding reasons to forgive people for their failings, be they friends or utter strangers. It was one of the reasons she loved him, and yet she often found it annoying. She did now.
"I'm not so sure I agree with you. I think they were so eager to take our gold that they gave no thought at all to anything else."
"And they should have?"
She frowned. "Yes! Of course they should have! We have a child with us. It should have been clear to them that we were strangers to the Southlands. Our accents alone mark us as being from the Forelands."
"Yes, they do. But I doubt many people embark on a voyage like this one without learning a bit more about their destination. I certainly wouldn't have had we been given the choice."
Cresenne could hardly argue with that. They'd been forced by circumstance to leave the Forelands. She had once been party to a Qirsi conspiracy that very nearly succeeded in toppling the Forelands' Eandi courts. Grinsa was a Weaver, a sorcerer who could bind together the powers of many Qirsi into a single tool. Or a single weapon. Since t
he Qirsi invasion of the Forelands nine centuries ago, Weavers had been feared, persecuted, and, when captured, put to death, along with their families. Yes, the two of them had allied themselves with the courts, risking their lives to fight the conspiracy, but the law of the land was clear. Eibithar's king had shielded Cresenne from punishment for her earlier crimes against the courts, and he had refused to treat Grinsa as anything other than the hero he was, but his land was riven by conflict and he could not risk civil war by summarily doing away with nine centuries of legal tradition.
They might have made a life for themselves in another realm of the Forelands, but the other Eandi courts were every bit as fearful of Weavers as was Eibithar. And so they chose the Southlands.
There was something romantic in the notion, something mysterious and wonderful. The Southlands. Home of the first Qirsi to come to the Forelands. True, they had come as would-be conquerors, but that did nothing to diminish the allure of the place, at least not as far as Cresenne was concerned. Perhaps here, Grinsa wouldn't have to hide the fact that he was a Weaver, as he had done in the Forelands, making his way through Eibithar with Bohdan's Revel, pretending to be nothing more than a festival gleaner, a Qirsi who used his power to offer others glimpses of their futures. Perhaps here, if Bryntelle grew up to be a Weaver like her father, she could wield her powers with pride rather than fear. Perhaps here, Cresenne could forget the shame of having been labeled a traitor by Eandi and Qirsi alike, of having joined the movement to overthrow the courts only to realize that the man who led it would prove to be a worse despot than any Eandi monarch in the history of the Forelands. She had such great hopes for this journey, all of which made what they had learned tonight from the captain and his first mate that much more disturbing.
"I'm still angry with them," she said at last. "And I still think you're being too…" She trailed off, shaking her head.
Clearly Grinsa knew what she was going to say, because he smiled, looking away.
Too forgiving. That was another of his faults. Cresenne shuddered to think what her life would be like if it wasn't. For he had forgiven her.
Their love had begun as a seduction, an elaborate deception on her part so that she might learn from this man what he knew of the courts and the gleaned fate of one particular noble. Twice, while still a part of the conspiracy, she had sent assassins to kill him, and even after Bryntelle's birth, when she should have been doing all she could to reconcile with Grinsa, she had instead railed at him, calling him a traitor to his people and worse. Yet still he loved her, and she him. She had finally found the strength to admit as much both to him and herself. She had loved him from the start, and-gods be praised-he had forgiven her for all that she had done to deny and destroy that love, which she had once mistaken for a weakness.