by Don McQuinn
Another man rose, older than Domel. His gray hair was braided in the traditional eight tentacles of Sosolassa. “The Skan have never shared their loot. Skan take. Skan keep.” He sat back down.
Soberly, Lorso nodded agreement. “The Skan also use small fish as bait for larger fish. Once the Three Territories are defeated, we’ve no more need of Rivers or Windband. No one suggests we not attack them.”
Cheers replaced the earlier disapproval.
At the doorway, as Lorso was hanging his sandals on the accustomed peg and putting on his ordinary boots, Domel joined him, saying, “The survivors of the sharker destroyed by the lightning weapons say you did well to avoid landing at the Sweetmeadow. I’ve never seen Skan men more shaken.”
“The man escorting Gan Moondark to my vessel carried a lightning weapon. I recognized it from descriptions. But for that, I’d have taken the so-called Murdat. Did the survivors of the Mother River attack tell you this man Moonpriest controls the lightning, just as the strangers who serve Gan Moondark? The Skan must have that power.”
“Such a thing will never be given. How do we steal it?”
Lorso smiled tightly. “They say you were the greatest Slavetaker the Skan ever had. I believe it. You’ll be the next ancestor.”
Domel made a face. “I’m in no hurry to be anyone’s ancestor. But your answer: How do you mean to get us the lightning power?”
“We send a sharker to help coordinate the Rivers and Windband. They’ll learn about Moonpriest’s weapon, how he uses it. As soon as the Three Territories are beaten, they’ll steal it.”
Domel strode along, head bent in thought. They were exiting the fort by then, passing through the gates. As always, Lorso admired the work there. The horizontal planks were hewn square, thick as the span between a man’s fingertips and elbow. The vertical boards were a third as deep, but equally wide. Iron drift pins as big around as a wrist secured the opposing timbers. The gates themselves were tall enough for a man on horseback, with plenty of overhead to spare. Above them rose a squat, six-sided tower, its wooden sides fireproofed with copper sheathing.
The tower, and designated points on the wall, were always manned. Surprise was a favored Skan tactic. They had no intention of being its victims.
Lorso’s gaze went to Jaleeta’s home. He stared at the window. The translucent sheepskin covering mocked him, a blind white eye that refused to reveal any of the secrets hidden behind it.
They were nearing the market. Wind from the sea caught the scent of cedar chests, of new wool, of herbs, oiled leather, furs. All swirled in his mind, all dragged his consciousness to the maddening, soaring delights of Jaleeta. The cedar and wool scents conjured the rough textured blankets from the chest by her window. Among the herbs were those she used to scent her body. He imagined the indistinct whiteness of her, a spiritlike vision of temptation sprawled on dark furs, the leather straps of her bed sighing as she turned to him…
“What’s wrong with you?”
Lorso jerked back to reality so sharply his neck literally cracked. Domel looked at him with genuine arm. “Have you heard anything I said?” Suspicion touched his features. He stepped back. “Are you ill?”
Lorso massaged the back of his neck. “I was thinking how to provision for the trip to the Mother River.”
“What?” Domel fumed. “Just ask the man who sent the last one. Are you sure you’re all right? This isn’t the first time your mind’s caught the out tide.”
Feigning indignation, fighting free of Jaleeta’s presence within him, Lorso said, “I’ve got many things to think about.”
“Think about me talking to you. I said Gan has six people with lightning weapons. We could send a spy among them. Create some dissension. Steal a weapon.”
“Even if we could approach those people, which isn’t likely, there’s something about Moonpriest we have to consider. If he controls lightning as Gan’s people do, why is there no religion around Gan’s six? It must be because Moonpriest is more powerful. No one worships Gan or his lightning people. Everyone says the Rivers are abandoning Church for Moondance. Moonpriest already commands Windband. All fear him.”
“Including you?”
For several steps Domel tried to pretend he wasn’t aware that Lorso was no longer beside him. When he turned, Lorso was waiting, pale but composed. Several bystanders took one look at the two men and left hurriedly. A vegetable seller slowly sank out of sight behind his stacked merchandise. Lorso said, “A name, Domel. Who says I fear any man? I’ll bring you his head.”
An infinitesimal smile moved the corners of Domel’s mouth. “Come, walk with me again. Can you find a crew as bold as yourself? How many—even among the Skan—can live beside one who controls lightning and not be afraid?”
“They needn’t be unafraid. They only have to be patient and daring. All Skan are those things.”
Domel remained mild and considerate. “I’m sure we can find the men we need. But you know the For are building sharkers? That seagoing landscum, Wal, has several. And good crews, I hear.”
“If they try to interfere with us, we’ll sweep them off the sea. We have the best men, and greater numbers.”
Domel grinned widely. “I’m sure you can do it.”
They talked a while longer, desultory conversation. Lorso thought he detected impatience growing in Domel. He almost smiled, acknowledging that if impatience existed, it was his own. The sun was already far to the west. Soon Jaleeta would be in his arms again.
Domel made a small joke. Lorso forced a polite laugh. At the same time, he stretched luxuriously, relaxing tension, savoring the smooth pull of eager muscles.
* * *
Tears of Jade, leaning on her walking stick, eased open her cabin door. The light of the single candle by the fireplace fell far short of the waiting darkness outside. With words dripping the hurtful sympathy of sarcasm, she said, “Is the hour too late, poor Domel? Are we unable to find our way in the dark?”
“Mind your mouth.” Domel’s utterly silent approach brought his answer shockingly close. Tears of Jade stepped back too hurriedly, almost lost her balance. Domel smiled, crossing her threshold. He said, “It goes well? They’re together?”
Tears of Jade made a noise in her throat. “The girl enjoys her work entirely too much.”
Domel chuckled. “If you could remember as far back as your own youth, old woman, you’d be envious, not worried. We have the mother; the daughter will do whatever she must.”
“Jaleeta’s a strange child. Sometimes I wonder if I really know what she’s thinking.”
“Doubts? The harpoon is thrown, the whale struck. It’s too late for questions. What have you done?”
“Don’t raise your voice.” Tears of Jade was calm, almost dismissive. “The plan will work.”
“The future of the Skan depends on it.” Domel lowered his face until his nose was practically touching Tears of Jade’s. “If he learns what we’ve done to him, he’ll watch the gulls strip our bones clean.”
“Yours. Not mine. I’m his mother.”
“You’re no mother. You claimed him when your sister died to make him your hand. He’s your will, your muscle.”
“As Jaleeta is my will.”
“But you wonder.”
“Not about what she’ll do. I only wonder what she’s thinking when she’s not carrying out my orders. She does everything almost too well.”
Domel visibly relaxed. “You, nervous. I never thought I’d see it. Well.” He lowered himself into one of the cabin’s chairs. A yellow mask with impossibly long, black fangs and black hair jutted out from the wall directly above him. Empty, red-rimmed eyes searched the distance. Domel ignored it. “Stormtime comes. If I’m to convince the Navigators that Lorso should head the crew that goes to negotiate with Windband and the Rivers, I must begin soon.”
“Has Lorso mentioned sending a sharker to the Mother River?” Tears of Jade took a chair close to Domel.
“Today.”
Tears
of Jade stroked her chin. Domel looked at the bent, bone-thin finger, the talon nail. He turned his attention to the candle. The woman said, “He’ll do what the Navigators require. See to them. What about the Nion? You trust him?”
“Of course not. I’m sure I’ve identified his price. He’s leaving his son as hostage. It seems safe.”
“You told this Nion what will happen to his son if he betrays us?”
Domel rose, smiling. “I said I’d give the boy to you.”
Tears of Jade bobbed rhythmically, making a strange, coughing sound. Domel’s eyes widened before he caught himself. He’d forgotten what it was like when Tears of Jade laughed. He judiciously composed a conspirator’s smile. Tears of Jade waved him out. The ancient woman’s sounds of amusement followed Domel into the darkness, played cold games across the flesh of his back.
Chapter 18
Lorso paled. “Captain the sharker? Leave here?” The phrases were pleas, rather than questions.
Domel carefully kept a sympathetic, yet firm, expression. “The Three Territories landscum are still cautious about settling near the coast.”
“I can’t go to the Mother River. Not now. Not when…”
“Not now? What makes this time different?”
The secret nearly escaped. Jaleeta’s name rose in Lorso’s throat. He choked, stammered, “Stormtime comes.”
“You are Slavetaker. What the Navigators decide, you do. It’s not like you to argue.”
“Slavetaker. Yes. And the child of Tears of Jade. We’ll see what my mother thinks of your plan.” Lorso’s head was down, chin tucked in. He looked through his brows.
Domel noted that the ugly red spots on Lorso’s cheekbones were gone now. More, the wounded look was replaced by an analytical squint. Domel saw death in that enclosed, retreated face. He felt his own age, a heaviness in his blood. His groin pulled tight. “Not my plan, Lorso. The plan of all the Navigators. It was thoroughly discussed.”
“Not by me. Slavetaker sits in all councils.”
“There was no council. It was agreed on in general conversations.”
Lorso straightened. His look at Domel was speculative. “Naming me to both these tasks was someone’s idea. I’ll find out whose. For now, we talk to my mother.”
Domel tried to make conversation as they walked. Lorso refused to speak.
Pushing open the door to Tears of Jade’s cabin, Lorso walked in. Bearskins covered the windows, closing out all light from the sunny day. The old woman sat before a brazier, the four iron legs cast to resemble fanciful dragonlike creatures. In their clenched jaws, they held a fire pan glowing with coals. A swinging arm suspended a small pot directly over the heat. Syrup-thick fumes boiled upward from its depths to pool against the rough slabs overhead. Ropy tendrils extending from the pulsing mass sinuously explored the ceiling.
Without looking up from the crimson glow of her fire, Tears of Jade said, “Close the door. Quickly, before you ruin what you’ve already disturbed. Sit on the floor by the bed, both of you.” She reached into a bag woven of dried grasses lying at her feet. Falling on its side, the bag spilled out wrinkled, nasty stuff. Tears of Jade poked through it with a crooked finger, selecting for the little pot. Lorso noticed how, with the door closed, the smoke now sought escape through the window immediately behind himself and Domel.
Just at the edge of hearing, Tears of Jade talked to herself. “Sosolassa, help your slave. Help me combine the things you’ve shown me, shown my mother, shown my grandmother. I pray to you, father of storms, stalker from the Deep Calm.”
In the darkness of the cabin, the polished masks on the wall glowed softly. Stuffed animals, some in natural poses, watched the proceedings with polished agate eyes turned rubious by the coals.
Lorso sucked in his cheeks, bit down hard on the folds of flesh. This was the stuff of the god, and he knew from experience that Tears of Jade had limited control over such things. Strange potions and powders came of her dealings with the Sosolassa. Never a word was said of how those things were used. Still, Lorso grew up watching Tears of Jade’s enemies become her allies. Except for those who wasted and died.
There was something evil in those fumes. Lorso felt it, fought it.
Beside him, Domel wobbled noticeably. “The smell,” he said. The words dragged. “I don’t like it. It’s in my head. Not uncomfortable. It frightens. But I feel good. Friendly. You understand? I want to talk to you, Tears of Jade. You’re a good person. Much nicer than everyone says. I like you. When your son and I were talking—”
Tears of Jade reached out to rap his shins with her walking stick. Domel yelped, then said, “You did that because you like me too, don’t you?” He turned to Lorso. “Isn’t it wonderful how we all like—”
“Shut your mouth.” Tears of Jade struck again, harder. To Lorso, she said, “Take the pot outside. Quickly. Don’t breathe near it.”
When Lorso came back in, Domel was shakily taking down the bearskins. Sunlight bursting through the window’s translucent covering formed a rectangular pillar of light in the residual smoke. Lorso watched it coil, rise and fall, infinitely changing and fascinating. He reached into the beam, stirred it with his hand, laughed happily.
He remembered something irritating. Angry. He was very angry.
No he wasn’t. Everything was fine.
How entertaining the smoke was! He paddled the drifting nothingness gently. His hand was a fish. It grew a mouth.
The crack of the walking stick on his forehead was like a whip. He sat down hard outside Tears of Jade’s door, both hands trying to restrain a growing knot at his hairline. Tears of Jade was standing over him, holding Domel by the ear like a naughty child. She held a bowl in the other hand. Crumbled leaves smoldered in it. Releasing Domel, who promptly sprawled on the grass, grinning foolishly, she sniffed deeply of the new smoke, then thrust it at Lorso. “Breathe. Deeply. Quickly.”
Lorso obeyed. The stuff tingled, tasted bitter. He thought of the precious powder that sometimes made its way up from Kos, the stuff called dried orange skin. Then Domel was inhaling the smoke. For a moment, Lorso wanted to laugh at the older man; his shaven head wobbled on his neck like a shiny squash on a vine.
Then Lorso’s anger came back. Jaleeta appeared in his imagination, her face maddening with her mocking, challenging smile. As he watched, she diminished, drawing away.
Tears of Jade handed Lorso the bowl, indicating he should dispose of it. He started into the cabin, thought better of it and set it on the bench by the door. When he turned and straightened, she was waiting. Her hand went to the knot on his head, her practiced touch gentle. “Pain sharpens the mind. I saw you joining the smoke. It frightened me. Nothing must touch you. Nothing. My son.”
He looked into the sere, shriveled face. In those ancient, worn features he saw what no one else had ever seen. Love. For him.
He knew the malice, the enmity, the avaricious need for power that lived there. All the Skan knew that face as well as they knew the taste of the sea. Only Lorso knew of her love.
Normally, that face of love nullified fear, soothed frustration. In it, Lorso felt enfolded, protected.
Not this time. Sweat ran down his face. “Something bad has happened.” The words came lamely. He longed to take her hand, hold it to his cheek.
Tears of Jade said, “Tell me what’s wrong. We’ve always solved your problems. Let me help you again, my son.”
Lorso faced Domel. It was easier to maintain a proper attitude with another male as the target of his emotions. “The Navigators had a secret meeting, excluding me.” He summarized the decision, ending with, “Leave the alliance talk to someone better suited. Please, Mother; let me stay here.”
Domel, impassive, shifted his attention to Tears of Jade. She spoke to him. “Why was my son not allowed to participate?”
“It wasn’t a meeting. Men met informally, discussed the matter. All agreed. They came to me, asked me to instruct Lorso. There was no conspiracy. What was done was done from r
espect. It was done to assure the glory and survival of the Skan.”
Tears of Jade was quiet a long while. Lorso grew more anxious at every heartbeat. Then the woman said, “The decision of the Navigators is the mind of the Skan. The first ancestor said it. My son, Slavetaker, knows this.”
Lorso appeared to shrink. Tears of Jade went on, lecturing gently. “Slavetaker is ordered. Slavetaker may resign. There is precedent, and there is no shame.”
“Then I’ll resign. The Navigators cheated me. Slavetaker fights. Others talk. Thank you, Mother. You show me the way. Thank you.” Lorso’s voice caught.
Tears of Jade said, “No hurried decisions.” She took him by the arm, turned him toward the harbor where the graceful sharkers rocked in the sun like hook billed bird of prey. “Take a small boat out where the Skan find their thoughts. Listen to sea and sky. Fast. Two days. Then we talk, then you decide.”
Lorso opened his mouth to speak. Tears of Jade’s look stopped him. She pushed him toward the harbor. Head down, he shambled off.
Domel waited until Lorso was well out of earshot. “This is very tenuous. We’re trying to land a whale with a trout hook. I know the smoke softens the mind, makes us hear your thoughts as our own, but I always worry that one time it won’t work.”
Tears of Jade carefully emptied the pot. She ground the residue into the earth with one tiny foot. “You should worry more that someone may find out how we work together. The tribe would be angry to learn how we influence them. As for this plan, it’s sound. It has risks. For the glory of the Skan, no risk is too great. Lorso will do exactly as I wish.”
“You control us all, don’t you, old woman? Have you ever heard of the Bear Cult among the northern Kwa? They line the walls of their ceremonial house with bear skulls. Some men even keep bears as spirit guides. Like pets, they are, live in the man’s cabin and everything. Great silverbacks. I knew one such man. His bear never left his side, did everything the man told him. One day the bear killed the man. Ate the man’s head. Gone. Kwa take bear heads, the bear took a Kwa head. Frightened everyone so much they moved the village. We caught them before they got their defenses organized. Forty slaves, that raid was worth. We left no one alive.”