Ocean of Dust

by Graeme Ing

  What if they had gone in the other direction, or circled around? They could have stepped into any building. The cool breeze washed over her and seemed to push the hot Hossiw from her body. Deciding they would head for the ship, she headed down the lane, peering into every black alley she passed.

  "It's got to be high quality sweet-crystals."

  She stopped. Lyndon's whiny voice was unmistakable, coming from the second open door on the right. She tiptoed into the opposite alley and slipped into the shadows, pressing close to the wall.

  "Are yoor suggesting my crop is boord?" a man inside said.

  "No," Farq replied, "I'm sure your wares are of excellent quality. Do we have a deal?"

  "That's a loorge amoont of sweet-crystals. I'd prefoor to negotiate this sale at the market tomorrow, but yes, deal."

  "We'll need one sack tomorrow," Farq said. "I'll send someone for the remainder in two days."

  "Very good."

  Farq stepped out of the shop with Lyndon at his heels, and she held her breath and tried to sink further into the plastered wall.

  He turned to Lyndon. "Your demonstration tomorrow better impress me. No tricks, boy."

  "No, sir. It's everything I promised, sir."

  Farq grunted, flicked his thumb into his belt and started up the stairs. Lyndon turned and seemed to stare right at her. Her heart pounded and her hands became slick with sweat.

  "Come along," Farq growled, sounding like he was already halfway to the top.

  Lyndon narrowed his eyes, still staring into her alley, and then turned away. She waited until she could no longer hear feet on the steps, and then exhaled and rubbed her forehead. She found herself alone on the streets, and suddenly missed the safety of the crowd that earlier she had been so eager to leave. Watching her feet, she climbed the winding stairs.

  An arm snaked from the shadows, grabbed her roughly and yanked her into a side alley. Lyndon's face snarled inches from her own. His pudgy nose flared and she noticed a pink spot along its side. She tried to pull away and scanned the darkness for Farq. Lyndon was alone. Thank the Gods.

  "I knew it was you." He spat, and gloopy, warm saliva dribbled down her cheek. "Why are you spying on us? What did you hear?"

  She rubbed the ikky spit from her face, and then gave a sharp tug, pulling him against the opposite wall. He kept his grip on her arm and brought her in so that her body came up against his. She cried out and squirmed.

  "I... I was just taking a walk," she said. "Let go. I heard Farq and hid, that's all. I'm trying to stay out of his way."

  "You were spying, admit it."

  He tugged her into the street, twisting her arm so that it hurt every time she struggled to break free.

  "Someone, help," she called out, and the image of the two of them in the street at home popped into her head. There was no one in sight.

  "Farq will want to hear about this."

  A cruel grin appeared on his face, and he dragged her up the stairs. She dug in her heels, waited until he was halfway between steps and then yanked backward with all her might. He stumbled into her. She slapped him in the face and pushed him down. He let go of her arm to stop himself from falling, and she slipped by him and charged down the stairs. He growled and stomped on the wooden boards as he bounded after her.

  At the next intersection, she skidded left and hurtled, blind along a black alley. A bowl light illuminated a crossroads, and she turned left, ran a short way and then crouched in the shadows. A moment later, he arrived at the junction. He glanced each way, looked directly at her, and continued the chase.

  She stifled a scream, picked up her dress and sprinted, glad that she had flat-heeled shoes, the wooden boards creaking under her. She turned right and right again, hoping to loop back and lose him. She erupted from the alley into a brightly lit walkway crowded with people browsing the stores.

  A pair of the tall creatures passed her, conversing in their high-pitched language. They moved with graceful, loping strides. She pushed into the middle of the crowd and followed its drifting pace, trying to mute her panting. At the end lay a wide street leading back up toward the arena, but just as she reached it, Lyndon turned the corner. Their eyes met just six feet apart.

  "Ha," he said and grinned.

  Squealing, she spun about and raced into a side alley. The hair on her neck prickled, anticipating him grabbing her at any moment. He panted behind her. She leaned forward and increased her pace, the boards bouncing and kicking up dust as she thundered past a surprised Imyan woman with her child.

  An oglon cart had crashed at the next intersection, and split sacks of grain sprawled everywhere. A dozen locals fussed around it. Right before the obstacle, she put her hands on a window ledge and spun herself ninety degrees onto a ridiculously narrow stairway. She looked ahead and groaned. A daunting array of steps climbed the hill with no exits before the top, every door closed. Panting hard, she urged her aching legs on. Behind her, Lyndon cried out with equal dismay as he followed.

  Halfway up, her legs sagged like jelly, and she gasped for breath. Using the wall for support she forced herself up one more step, one more step, her face contorted. She didn't dare pause, knowing that she'd lose the will to continue, but she did peer over her shoulder. Lyndon stood a long way behind, doubled over, wheezing and panting.

  "I'll... get you... later," he spluttered and then collapsed.

  Sweaty, tottering and clasping her hand to a persistent stitch in her size, she reached the top and sank to the ground. She sucked in the chill air and wiped the sweat from her hands on the wooden boards. A stranger handed her a mug. She didn't even smell it before guzzling its contents, sighing at the wonderful taste of cool water. The local man helped her to her feet. She touched the mug to her hot brow and returned it. He flashed perfect white teeth. Finally, she hurried back into the arena and fell onto the cushion next to Branda.

  "Where you been?" Branda asked.

  "I went for a walk," Lissa said, "which turned into a run when Lyndon chased me across town." She poured and drank another mug of water.

  "Why? What happen-? Oh, echpla."

  Lissa followed Branda's gaze and saw Farq pushing his way along the terrace toward her. Behind him stood Lyndon, red-faced with sweat-soaked hair.

  "Oh no," she murmured. She stood, legs shaking. What now? She couldn't run forever. Maybe she could deny everything. Lyndon had no proof of her spying, or did he?

  A local man came up the steps toward her. "Yoon woman, are you volunteering to perform foor us?"

  "What?" She stepped away.

  "All oor welcome to entertain, now the official festivities have coom to an end. Would you like to represent yoor ship?"

  Farq was ten feet away. His face was puckered and red.

  "Yes," she squeaked, and then louder, "Yes. I would be proud to represent The Fair Maiden and entertain everyone."

  "Wonderful," the man said.

  She slipped her arm into his, grateful for his support on the steps. If only I could never see a set of stairs ever again. She glanced back. Farq had stopped, hand on his hips. He turned back toward his seat.

  The sandy area at the bottom of the arena seemed huge as she stood at its center, alone, yet she was trapped. Hundreds of faces leered down at her. They jeered and made remarks about her 'purty' dress. What had she let herself in for? She rotated slowly, fumbling with her braid, pulling it this way and that. What now? What was she supposed to do? She couldn't dance or sing in key.

  The female announcer coughed loudly. "We have a young woman from the Fair Maiden of Yamin."

  She stared at Lissa expectantly. Beside her, Lissa noticed a chalk scoreboard upon which had been drawn several numbers.

  An idea popped into her head.

  She walked across to the men in the first terrace. The amphitheater fell silent. She approached a man with a drooping mustache, who smelled of meat and stale beer.

  "Give me a number," she squeaked.

  "Wha'?" He scratched his head. Laughte
r rippled through the crowd.

  "Wha'd she say?" another man shouted.

  "Call out a number," she said louder, raising her head. "Any number you like,"

  "Five."

  She stepped to the next man and repeated her question.

  "Nine."

  Ignoring cries of "What's she up to?" and "What sort o' game is this?" she obtained numbers from ten different people. Then, in a random order, she pointed to each man and recited his number aloud.

  "That's easy," someone shouted.

  "Stupid, more like."

  "Make it harder."

  She sucked in a breath and straightened her shoulders. A sly smile formed in one corner of her mouth.

  "Right. Keep up if you can," she said.

  She walked around the entire lowest terrace, asking every single person for a number.

  Voices cried out, "Me," "Over here," "I've got one."

  She acknowledged each person with a silent nod, and moved on to the second terrace.

  "Stop," she said shortly. "That's two hundred numbers."

  The noise of the crowd subsided to a few coughs and whispered conversations.

  "Knock 'em dead, Liss. For The Maiden!" Pete’s shout was heard by all.

  Laughter followed, and a handful of cheers and whistles.

  She walked back to the center of the arena, tidied her dress and stood with her hands in her lap.

  "Those of you with numbers, raise your hand one by one. Any order you like."

  Three hands shot up immediately.

  "Seventeen. Five. Three," she said, whirling on the spot as she searched for more hands.

  As fast as hands went up, she fired off numbers, one after the other, in all directions. Several people raised their hands twice, or used their left one time and their right another. Breathless, she called out their number.

  "Oy," shouted a man with one ear and a burned face. "You got my number wrong."

  "Six," she repeated.

  "No it ain't."

  His friend slapped him over the head. "Yes, it is, you dummy. You just forgot. Drunken fool."

  The audience exploded with laughter.

  The second man addressed Lissa. "You're right, it were six."

  Then the candidates moved back and forth along the terraces, swapping places and raising their hands, ducking and weaving, trying to catch her out. They grinned from ear to ear like children. At times she hesitated, but she always called their number.

  After a long flurry of numbers, she had whirled around so fast that the arena blurred and she crashed to the sandy floor.

  "Enough," the local woman cried, standing.

  Applause erupted. Lissa stood and brushed the dirt from her dress, listening to the audience discussing her performance excitedly.

  "A most unusual but intriguing demonstration," the woman said to her. "We thank you."

  A man appeared at Lissa's side and assisted her back to her cushion, where she endured back slaps and shoulder-shaking by the ship's crew. She glanced sideways at Farq. He nodded once and turned away.

  "Where's Branda?" she asked the physiker.

  He gestured toward the stage, where Branda shuffled, like a speck of dust in the ocean. Lissa shivered, remembering how she had felt so alone among so many people.

  Branda held an instrument that resembled the wooden sakdras that the musicians had played all evening. Hers seemed cut from a single shard of crystal that shimmered green and blue under the arena lights. Branda held one end to her lips, yet its tip dragged in the sand at her feet. How could the tiny Valinese girl possess enough breath to play such a thing?

  Branda spread her fingers carefully along its length, took a breath, and blew into the mouthpiece. The deep, melodious note seemed to vibrate against Lissa's body, making her gasp at the unusual feeling. Branda paused to breathe, but the note continued, deep and long, until it drifted away on the breeze. She played a higher note, and it too took on a life of its own. All conversation in the arena faltered. People returned to their cushions.

  A series of chords followed, so precise and clear that Lissa could easily distinguish five separate notes. That wasn't Branda's only trick. While her next chord played, she sucked on the mouthpiece and moved her fingers. A second chord joined the first, each distinct yet harmonizing perfectly.

  Branda continued weaving an ever more complex melody, its melancholy pace so haunting that Lissa felt it tearing through her soul. She closed her eyes and let the music flow over and through her, until she lost track of the real world and imagined herself floating in a gently undulating ocean of sound. Time had no meaning. Had she been adrift in the melodic void for moments or days?

  Eventually, the tune ended on a single, perfect note that wafted away like a final sigh. Lissa scanned the audience. Even the rowdiest of the drunken crews sat silent and mesmerized, shaking their heads as if awakening.

  Without the music, Lissa felt a deep loss stab her heart. Tears streamed down her face. Perhaps others felt the same, because a long moment passed before a ripple of applause began. The clapping rose to a crescendo until everyone was on their feet, pounding their hands together, whistling and cheering.

  Lissa gave Branda a huge hug upon her return. The physiker's eyes were tear-filled as he expressed his thanks for "one of the most memorable renditions in my humdrum life." He poured Branda a mug of juice, which she guzzled gratefully.

  "That was amazing," Lissa cried. "I didn't know you played an instrument."

  "All female from Valin are taught sakdra," Branda replied, not at all out of breath after her performance. "People say no one play like we do."

  Her fair skin blushed scarlet.

  "I can believe that. Why didn't you tell me you could play like that? Why have you never played on the ship?"

  "Farq took my sakdra when I come aboard."

  "Why?"

  Branda sighed and stared at her feet. "He said it too valuable for a girl, that it belong to him now."

  "We'll get your sakdra back." Lissa winked. "You played your heart out, and look how much everyone enjoyed it. You did your race proud."

  Branda smiled. "Thank you. You my best friend. I so pleased you like."

  A pounding of drums started up. Two of the tall, graceful creatures stood side by side in the arena. They lifted their sleek heads to the sky, pushed their long ears tall, and sang a duet.

  "It beautiful," Branda whispered.

  Lissa nodded. "What race are they? I met one earlier."

  "They called yee sel... seleech."

  "Y'seliche, yes," the physiker added. "An educated and thoughtful people from deserts far to the west. Here, in the eastern lands, they are successful traders and trusted royal advisors."

  "I'd love to see their homeland," Lissa murmured, staring into the distance.

  He chuckled. "Your curiosity about the world is limitless, Lissa. It's like you belong on a trading ship, though I'd recommend a better choice than galley girl next time.”

  Chapter 14 - Blue Fire

  The next morning, the tiniest sound seemed to pound in Lissa's head. Her throat was parched. Every muscle in her body ached. She made a promise never to drink Hossiw again. Branda was full of news that Alice had been locked up all night, and would go before Farq today. Lissa winced. She hadn't wanted it to go that far.

  "Let’s hurry into town. I don't want to be around here in case he wants to see me too." She wanted to avoid Lyndon too but kept that to herself.

  The day was bright and mild. Wearing the green dress had been fun, but her regular clothes were more comfortable. As they departed the ship, Branda pummeled her with questions: Why had Alice stolen the jewelry? Why had she blamed Lissa? What had the y'seliche said to convince the crew chief?

  Lissa told Branda the full story, and by the time she was through, they found themselves deep in the town. She gave Branda a handful of coins, and explained that she wanted to be alone to people-watch for a while. Branda hurried off toward a store displaying an array of bright fabri
cs.

  A couple of streets away, Lissa emerged into a small plaza nestled between the buildings, with an incredible view overlooking the town and ships. A gnarled, stick tree grew from a hole in the center. No leaves hung on its branches, though a green vine climbed the trunk, topped with a purple bud as large as her fist.

  "Come rest a while, missy."

  She jumped before noticing the crew chief sitting on a semi-circular bench. Sheets hung from the surrounding buildings, providing shade and giving the plaza an indoor feeling. Pete sat beside him, and a skin-pocked sailor named Nax, who sprayed crumbs from the pie he was devouring. The creepy ship's navigator sat opposite them, dressed in his heavy robe.

  "Hey," Pete said. "Come sit with us. Sam was just telling me more about the ship." He offered her his drink.

  "Sam?" Her glance flicked to the crew chief.

  "Everyone calls him Sam off-duty," he said. "Sam's promised to show me the power room later. It's in the hold."

  "What's in there?" she said.

  "The equipment that makes the ship move. Remember I told you about the flux vanes? They power these big axles connected to metal screws, that turn round and round to move the ship. See?" He made spinning gestures with his hands. How she’d missed chatting with Pete.

  "I guess," she said, and turned to Sam. "Sir, on the lakes near my home, all the boats have sails. Why doesn't your ship use them? This flux stuff sounds complicated."

  Sam gave a short laugh. "Wind’s too unreliable most o’ the time, especially out on the dust. When it do blow, it sends dust everywhere, and then we're coughing for days."

  A plump four-winged bug buzzed into the plaza and hovered about the tree. Lissa sniffed, smelling something resembling piz-nuts. The vine bud split apart and ejected a spindly tendril that wrapped about the bug and yanked it inside. She gasped.

  Nax laughed. "Watch they don't gobble you up."

  "The flux is really neat," Pete continued. "I've been learning about it."

  Sam nodded his head toward the navigator sitting on the other side of the tiny plaza. "'Course, the real cleverness is what 'e does. Oban's damn good too. Flux might as well be stinkin' turds without him. Oh, pardon me words, missy."