So Brone crawled back into the boat, her bones throbbing. "I must sleep Brone, my eyes will close of their own accord." But his flesh was cold as frost and she feared he would fall into death. But Brone still burned as an oven, as a horse who has overrun itself. She unwrapped him, unclothed him. With the soaking wrappings she made a roof to keep out the hungry wind and laid herself next to Ganit, her flesh warming his, her breath against his heart. Exhausted, they slept thus until the day became warm and the roar of the thaw overtook them.
Ceaselessly on the copper horse flew, never stumbling, needing only the chill of the air, the lateness of the hour to push her on. She reached the farther shore and sought the Messenger's scent. Enik already flamed across the land unchecked by man. He was bound for farther lands, for the cradle of man. Many, many days would he run and great would be the conflagration that his hoof prints left. They could never be quenched except at the uttermost end of life. Ethon worried not for Enik, her best, her strongest son. All her will she now bent on Brone, watching and waiting for signs of the message, for the holy champion of man to rise. Wandering from the northern shore, she wended her way southwards, slow and listening, many, many days, feeding her growing hunger as she went. For her next son grew enormous, it craved all his mother devoured. Unless Ethon fed it almost constantly, it began to bite her belly, devouring her inside out.
Chapter 7
Ganit woke as the thaw lifted his boat from the ice, bearing it farther to sea. Still the blankets, damp and heavy blocked his sight. Stiff with frost they had kept the warmth of their skin, their breath and hair hovering about them, a weightless shroud that kept out the killing ice. A moment he waited, in the twilight, watching Brone's dreams, warming her skin. For just a moment he thought of falling asleep again, of not waking her out of the peace she had found, just flinging the blankets into the ocean and lying naked under the sun, a last lonely bier in the evening of men. But his better self won through and taking heart in the day, he woke her, cooling her wind chapped face with his breath.
"Are we moving?" she said, unclear, half dreaming still.
"I want to see. We must get dressed before I uncover the boat, though our clothes are still damp and cold."
So they clothed themselves, chilling their skin. Ganit pulled the blankets into the bottom of the boat. Around them a channel of water cut through the ice, swift and thundering, carrying them on toward the farther shore. Ganit laughed as he watched the water streaming from the ice, adding ever to the power of the flood. "We've hit a current. It speeds along as a demon wave," he said.
"How long then, until we reach the farther shore?"
"I had thought ten days from the foundered ships with the sail. Already we have come five. The current runs faster than it ought because the ice presses it so, but still I cannot think it less than another five."
Brone's heart plunged into the icy sea. "We've lost our food, Ganit and have not the means for fire or warmth. How will we survive so long?"
Ganit, who had nearly fallen into despair that day, laughed and said, "I know not. Yet we have survived thus far. We overcame the endless gray ice and the deadly breath of giants, the madness of the silver horse and the rending of the earth. And yet I knew not how we would meet each day. Something will arrive to aid us." He was at ease and laughed at the morning, spreading the icy blankets to dry and stretching himself in the sun. "At least," he said, "We haven't got anywhere to walk, no burdens to bear, no mast to straighten."
At last Brone smiled, though her heart was troubled still. Nothing came to aid them except the sun that day. It grew bleak with no labor to do, so Brone and Ganit left the world to itself and spoke to each other of homes that they missed, of dreams they had once held when the earth was younger. They imagined pictures in the ice and in the sky as children do and loved each other as only men and women do. As the horizon swallowed the light, they wrapped each other in cool, dry blankets and told the tally of the stars above their boat.
The morning brought them the Albatross, perched on their boat devouring a sliver of squid. Ganit moved slow to catch it, his hand darting and missing as it started and flew up and off. He cursed the world and Brone woke and rose in the boat. Ganit looked still to the sky, watching for the ocean bird, so Brone saw the silver flash of the crowded sea first and cried aloud. Ganit looked to her and then into the water channel, the swift moving waters of the world. The sea flashed with silver skin, as if all the fish of the world congregated there. Swimming with the boat, their numbers stretched as far as Ganit's eye could reach. He laughed, triumphant. "What have I said? I knew we would be saved."
"But how will we catch them Ganit? we have no line, nor net, I think they will not jump into the boat."
Ganit thought a moment. "We must make the blankets into nets. We will scoop them up quick as we can. The blankets can dry in the sun."
"We must go on either side Ganit, or the boat will be over thrown." And they moved to opposite sides, each a blanket in both hands.
"It won't be as a real net, we must go quickly or the blankets will be too heavy."
Three times Brone reached and caught only the icy sea. At last, as a shallow bowl she slipped the blanket under two shining beasts and caught them up. Ganit waited and pounced as wild cats do. Many times they pulled in their fish. After twelve they came away dripping and cold and laid the blankets to dry in the sun. They had fish for many days. With teeth and fingers they had to pull apart the flesh, to drink the sweet water there. Many days before would each have thought this distasteful, but now it was as a feast day. Full with clean water and warm fats, they watched the swimming flocks fly by them in the water, each mass a different color, flashing as gems, as brilliant flames in the dark of the sea. They passed that day in peace, and the next as well, speaking of things that lovers do, but after that the glow of the flaming sky met them on the horizon. The ice channel opened, slowly at first and then in great patches, ice sliding and bouncing off the boat in chunks. The current slowed and it would take them three more days to reach the farther shore. The glow in the east was rose and gold, perpetual dawn and it quickened the ocean, already warming it so far away. "What do you think it is?" asked Ganit
"It must be land. A great burning place."
"The very earth itself would barely flame so bright."
"What else can it be?" asked Brone, "We have seen no land birds, no green debris, we cannot be close to shore and no lights of man could ever shine so far. At least we will be out of the cursed cold."
"Perhaps a star has fallen."
"We should have seen it then. We have not taken our eyes from the sky these past days Ganit."
Both hearts heavy, they could do naught but wait and wonder. The morning brought them tidings of shore, a flowering staff blown free of the land, sent to greet them. They craved clean water and to stretch their feet upon the earth, to root as trees do into the land. As elk in spring, their hearts leapt as the shore like a low fog appeared, even glowing, even though the sky was bloodshot above. They spoke of bathing, of sleeping on the moveless shore of smelling the deep green of the forest instead of the cold salt sea. As evening came, they saw the peaks of the land aflame, separate rubies glittering over water. And at the darkest tide of night, the wide waters spilled them forth upon a silent shore, a land between the forge and oven, cool and sweet with meadow winds. Pulling the magic boat into the shadow of a sleeping mountain, Ganit and Brone abandoned it to the wind and sand, there to rest forever. All the night pulsed with red-gold flame, the horizon rimmed with burning stone and sky lowering, weeping ash. But the land where Brone and Ganit slept was dark and clean yet, the ground did not tremble and burst. The great conflagration had begun, though it touched them not.
The morning found sweet water and green meadows around them, springing deer and rabbit. They washed and drank themselves clean of the long weary winter and prepared to face the fire. Hungry, they wished to hunt the game and birds, but had no bow nor knife. So they began walking hoping the worl
d would offer them aid again. Happy to be free of their tiny boat, comforted by the solid stone and the summer smell of grass, they worried little about the next footsteps, the next breath. Almost at once they struck a path, well worn and wide as though many villages passed there. Careful and slow they followed it, both fearing and hoping what they would find, as a wild dog may. A little way only, they found a village of fishermen, their homes all crowded, on long legs above the sea. Brone thought to find it empty, abandoned, shrouded with fear and ash from the burning mountains. But hardier yet, was this tribe of men, than any Brone had yet met. Children and dogs came to watch them and the mothers stopped there work to stare. But Ganit was the only young man among them, all the rest gone to speak to the mountain, gone to sift the sea. A grandfather of the people came to speak to Brone and Ganit, came to welcome them. He invited them to his home and fed them deep, rich broth, full of land grown things and full of fish and good oils. "How did you get here?" he asked, "Why have you come now?"
"We came across the wide waters. Many days it was frozen, many days we walked and many days we rode the wind, hungry and cold," answered Ganit.
"We must reach the end of the world. Is it here?" Brone asked.
"This is not the end of the world," the grandfather shook his head, "but I think if you wait here, the end will find you before long."
"No," said Brone, "We must keep moving. The wild horses hunt us and all the evil of the world seems set against us."
"If you had come to this place only a little time ago, the men would push you from our doors. But now it seems the evil of the world is set against us all. The mountains bleed red fire and the skies press down upon us, heavy with smoke. The fish swim ever deeper than our nets. I think you will find yourself in company now, wherever your path takes you."
"Your people should leave this place," said Ganit, "Flee from the savage breath of the mountains."
The grandfather thought a moment. "You have been alone these many days, lost in the wild sea. But we have many brothers, many messengers. Word has reached us that the end is everywhere drawing near. Some by madness, some by flame, others still by the cold fires of winter storms. You young ones maybe, can outrun death. But it has surrounded many. And it would find me wherever I may flee."
"Your children might yet survive," said Ganit, saddened by the gloom.
"A few days perhaps," said Brone, "But a terrible, violent few days only Ganit. It clasps around us, this fate, it has already swallowed us. We have only to wait until the sky claps down forever." Her throat filled with sadness and she fell silent.
"You must understand, this morning is no different than all the hundreds of my life. We always were meant to end, nothing endures so long as we would wish. This morning is only different because I see my death has come over the horizon, into plain sight. He draws near enough to greet now. We can wave, we can welcome him as an old friend we have long awaited or we can spend our last few moments frightened by a stranger. Nevertheless, he comes as the tide. His ferry does not wait on us." The grandfather smiled at Ganit. He held Brone's hand warm in his. "These are days of rejoicing in the village. Old conflicts that festered long between friends are now forgotten and families that have long been strangers now are found together always. Our men fish farther than they ever have, seeking those trophies they feared to pursue before. Our mothers make every day as a feast day, dressing in their finest even in their wedding clothes, as beautiful as they ever have been. They cook their favorite foods and sing their most precious songs. And our dear children are petted and fattened on treats, made to play and laugh more than they ever have before. What better way to meet the end? Shall we send our children away only to die in the strangest dark, unloved, unmourned? No that is not our way."
He left them to their rest then, promising them a home as long as they chose, but went to find supplies, to gather the villages gifts if they should choose to journey on. The travelers wept, not for the village, though it drew its last breath, its final days. They mourned the terrible deaths they had seen and those that had yet to come. They wept for those that closed their eyes in grief and horror in shadows and lands unknown. At last, in dream they mourned themselves and wondered where their death would meet them, if the end would find them together or each apart in some lonely, empty dusk. They rose to a gray and acrid morning. The time was short for the island village, Brone and Ganit knew they could find rest there no longer. The grandfather came to them, clothed and ornamented with care. The morning rang with the children's shouts and play. The old man begged them to pardon him, for he would ask them a favor. "We should be thanking you, you have heaped such good upon us," cried Brone, "ask what you will. Except that it be for us to stay, for I have promised to see my journey through. Excepting this only, we shall do what you will."
The grandfather smiled. "Truly, you have been my favorite guests in all these long days of mine. My grandson is a young man. Too young to understand the peace that is coming. Too old to be protected by the truth. He fears the end and would go with you. I have charged him as ferryman to the great continents for you. His choice will then be before him. To flee across the land and find some enduring shelter or return to home and family knowing the end that comes here."
"We will aid him as long as we are able," said Ganit, "I will not say we can protect him, for all around us has perished. But we will try to see him safe to whatever path he chooses."
The grandfather laughed, deep as wind on the buoy bells. "Even on the best of days you could promise no more than that. Here then is Resak, I will leave him to show you to the boat. The village has given you many gifts to help on this last journey. I cannot wish you a successful return, but I wish the end may find you among friends at last." The grandfather bowed and turned to his grandson, a slim, solemn man whose frame knew the wind and the waves, rough and cracked, a map of his ocean world. Younger than his face, Resak tried not to weep, and his frame shook between fear and sorrow as he faced the grandfather.
The grandfather shook his head and smiled. "No, Resak, don't worry, I will not try now to bind you with more words. We are beyond that, you and I. You are a man, and men have no need of old advice that sits by the fire and nods itself to sleep. I am proud of you, my grandson. You will face the fire and the night when those around you cannot. You were always a good boy. Whatever test may come, whatever monster rises out of the deep sea or rides on the wind of the land, be it man or beast, stay a good man until the end. I will not say follow our ways, for maybe they will not live in the world you will find now. I say only, remember our courage and our love. Wherever you go, whatever end may find you, these things you will never lose. I love you Resak."
"And I love you grandfather. Until the last tide." They clasped each other, as drowning men do, and Resak wept, his heart already leaving the shore.
The boat was deep laden with flameless lanterns, traveling clothes and shoes, carrying sacks of food, blankets, sharp knives for each, everything the village could send to aid their favored son along his way. As Resak pulled them away from the island, the village waved its farewell. The men and women, the children and the aged, all together in that morning, sending them off with colored cloth and shouts of blessing. In silence he let the tide take them, farther and farther out. At last when the village dwindled until its metal roofs were only a blinking flash, Resak opened the broad white sail and turned to face the farthest shore. They were none of them anxious to tell their thoughts and so for a time, only the wind spoke.
"My grandfather says that when you crossed the ocean it froze, the waves, the tide, even the deep running fish froze. I have never seen this. How did it happen? Is it very cold on your side of the wide waters?" Rezak's face was still, a wind-worn statue facing the sun.
"It was a strange thing, but then we are seeing many strange things so quickly. A ship rose from deep, foul water and carried the winter behind it," said Brone and her face was weary, a pretty, faded thing as a felled leaf in autumn. Ganit saw and it twisted his
heart with a sharp pang, and he closed her hand in his.
"We are through now," he said, "We have crossed the wide waters and we still breathe, we still walk together."
Brone smiled softly. Resak was quiet, deep in his thoughts. "Have you ever crossed the ocean Resak?" asked Brone to break the dreary psalm of the wind.
"Never as far as you. Only a little farther than we will go. A day's journey, maybe two, where the fish will still leap into our nets. But I cannot wait as grandfather for death to swoop upon me as a shard of clam in a gull's beak. Someone must survive, even though I travel to far lands and walk only among strangers." Resak's gray face grew still homelier as his doubts began to overcome him. A carven beast of the winter wind and the summer heat, he had never known a wife yet he was the favored son of his village. Foremost among fishermen, daring farther and farther feats and ever ready to help his neighbor with nets or home, food or medicine. He was truly beloved, this ugly son of the sea. Resak thought these things as the boat sailed on. He watched Brone and Ganit and though they touched seldom, talked less, he saw that neither would meet their end without the other.
The Jade Seed Page 5