One of the most important lessons Dhal had learned in the Deep had dealt with courage in outfacing a superior enemy, such as an adult draak or a hungry gensvolf. To run was to be chased. To stand quietly was to instill wariness in your opponent or, if you were lucky, to cause it to lose interest in you completely.
Praying that he was not making a mistake, Dhal let his head fall forward and relaxed, going limp. For a moment or two there was no change in the crushing force that held him, then he felt a shift in the derkat’s arms as Ssaal-lr took all of his weight.
The growling ceased abruptly. A moment later Dhal’s arm was released and he was being lifted. Keeping his eyes closed, his body relaxed, he became aware of the derkat’s breathing as it lowered him to the floor.
As much as he wanted to open his eyes he somehow managed to keep them closed, even when soft, padded fingers brushed across his cheek and mouth. The minutes passed. Twice he felt a warm breath on his face. The derkat was definitely curious and not about to lose interest quickly.
Dhal felt the derkat’s hands move up and down his body, from shoulder to legs, patting at him as if trying to nudge him back to consciousness. Then the creature was breathing in his face again. Go away, he thought. Forget me and go back to your meal.
Suddenly he heard a knock, then the squeak of unoiled hinges. “Ssaal-lr! What—what are you doing to him? What happened here?”
Dhal almost turned over at the sound of Poco’s voice, but the derkat was still leaning over him and he dared not move.
“What in the name of—”
Recognizing Haradan’s voice, Dhal cautiously opened one eye. The derkat was rising. Dhal looked past Poco to Haradan and Efan. Poco brushed by the derkat and quickly knelt beside Dhal. She saw that his eyes were open.
“Dhal are you all right?”
“Yes,” he assured her, “now that you’re here. When your friend tried to stop me from leaving I decided it was easier to play dead than to fight with him.”
The worried look slowly faded from her eyes. “You’re sure you’re all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” Dhal looked past her shoulder. “But I think Haradan is going to be in trouble unless you speak to your friend.”
Poco turned and saw the derkat facing Haradan, his claws unsheathed, his eyes on the sword Haradan held in his hand, point up. The growling noise in the derkat’s throat had risen. With one effortless bound Poco placed herself between the two, her face to the derkat.
“Glad I am that my friend Ssaal-lr has returned,” she said quickly. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to greet you and explain the presence of a stranger in your home.”
Sitting up slowly, Dhal looked to Haradan and Efan. The boy shot him a worried glance. Haradan’s eyes stayed on the derkat.
Reaching out, Poco touched the derkat’s right arm. “Ssaal-lr, look at me.”
The long, furred tail of the derkat twitched nervously back and forth, a sign of his agitation. But at the sound of the woman’s voice, his ears had pricked forward and Dhal knew he was listening to her. When she repeated her request, the derkat’s eyes dropped from Haradan to Poco, who stood a full head shorter. His growling died. After a moment of silence, he made a soft coughing sound, which Poco quickly imitated.
Poco spoke again, using hand signs to reinforce her words. “These men are friends, Screech. They need our help. The Guard look for them, just as years ago they looked for you.”
The derkat brought his hands up. Though familiar with the rudiments of sign language, Dhal was not able to follow the intricate weaving of hands and clawed fingers that followed.
Poco began translating out loud. “Ssaal-lr says that he meant the Green One no harm.” Poco shot him a side glance, then resumed speaking. “You are the first of the water folk he has seen in a long time. He saw that you were afraid of him and didn’t want to frighten you away. He was very upset when you collapsed.
“We understand, Screech,” Poco reassured him. “It was all a misunderstanding. Wasn’t it, Dhal?”
“Yes,” he agreed, rising.
The derkat’s hands moved, signing. Again Poco translated. “The Green One is not ill, he asks.”
“No, Ssaal-lr. I am fine. I only feigned illness to ensure continued health.”
Ssaal-lr looked at Dhal a moment, then those big eyes closed and he made a strange “humphing” noise that Poco explained was derkat amusement.
Dhal turned to Haradan. “Good to see you again.”
Haradan returned his smile and carefully put the sword away. “The same goes for us. If not for the young lady we would still be searching for you. When we found out that—”
Poco interrupted. “Ssaal-lr, I think your nida is burning. Come on, everyone, let’s sit down. We can talk while we eat. I know Dhal is hungry and I’m sure the rest of us can find room for a few bites.”
“Sounds good,” Dhal agreed. “Wait, I forgot! Did any of you get a chance to go back to the boat? I left Gi there.”
“Easy, Dhal,” Haradan said. “Your little friend is all right. Gi?” Turning, Haradan looked back toward the still-open doorway. A small furred head poked out from behind the large door.
A whistle click of greeting was followed by a run through the tangle of long legs. Leaning down, Dhal offered his hand to Gi. A moment later the olvaar sat perched on his shoulder.
“We didn’t find him,” Haradan explained. “He found us. He must have stayed in the boat until dark, then started looking. How he was able to separate our scents from all the fishy smells near the docks is really remarkable. We were about ready to set out looking for you next when Poco found us and explained that you were safe. We would’ve come right then but Donar sar Frenzel recommended we wait and finish gathering the supplies we would need.”
Dhal saw Poco smile at the olvaar. Her eyes caught his. “It seems that we both have unusual friends, Dhal. I’ve heard of the olvaar but had never seen one before yesterday. Do you understand his singing?”
“As easily as you understand Ssaal-lr.”
Suddenly Ssaal-lr was standing beside Dhal, his hands moving in speech once more. “What did he say?” Dhal asked, noticing that Ssaal-lr’s eyes were fixed on Gi, who at that moment was using Dhal’s hair as a shield.
“I’m not sure,” Poco answered. “But I think he wants to know if the little-fur will be joining us for dinner.” Poco grinned. “Either that or—can he cook him for dinner?”
Dhal smiled as Gi-arobi whistle-clicked his indignation. “I think you have your answer,” he said. “Gi says that friends do not eat friends.”
Chapter 15
THEY MADE A STRANGE COMPANY. TWO SARISSA, TWO NI-LACH, one olvaar, and one derkat. For five days they sheltered together in Ssaal-lr’s cellar home, talking, sleeping, planning. Early each morning Poco would leave them and climb to the upper levels to ply her trade as a chalk artist. By listening to the daily gossip, she was able to keep them abreast of the Port Guard. It was their hope that the Guard would eventually tire of the search, but by the end of the sixth day, Dhal realized that it was a false hope. Each day the search drew closer.
The cellar steps were dark in shadow. Night was fast approaching. Leaving Haradan, Efan, Ssaal-lr, and Gi in the room below, Dhal went to look for Poco, who had excused herself from their company several hours before, complaining of a need for fresh air.
Poco had not gone to work that day but had stayed and helped the others plan. Because they had little chance of retrieving their boat, they had talked about going overland through the Mountains of the Lost to Janchee, a small port town farther north, where they hoped to find a ship to Port Sulta.
Poco’s failure to return made Dhal uneasy. Poco herself was an enigma. One moment she was friend and fellow conspirator, the next moment she was a stranger and as mysterious as any Deepland flower growing in the shade of the pepperbole trees. Dhal delighted in her laughter, which was deep and throaty, and marveled at her wisdom and her outlook on life. Orphaned at a young age, living by her wits
and her skill at drawing, Pocalina-fel-Jamba was a survivor and a dreamer. It was not in her to surrender to anything or anyone—too long had she stood alone. Yet there were moments when Dhal had felt her eyes on him and, turning, had seen a warm and happy look that promised fulfillment to anyone who could win past her spirit guard.
Love? Was he in love with Poco? In truth, he did not know. So he remained silent, keeping his thoughts to himself.
Walking down the long-abandoned street, he climbed a partially destroyed stairway and paused on a stone landing that had once been part of the street pointing east. From there he could overlook Lower Bhalvar. Beyond the third-tier bridge, lights had begun to appear along the waterfront. All looked peaceful and quiet.
Deciding Poco had gone another way, he turned around and followed a different street heading north. When he reached the end of the street, unsure which way to try next, he heard a voice. It was soft and seemed far away. He stood quietly a moment, listening. It was Poco. He could never mistake her voice for another, its hollow, haunting sound weaving pictures of indescribable wonder, of heights and depths, of lands lost in shadow, of people long ago and those yet to be born. There was a sadness in her singing, a longing that touched the heart and made it feel empty yet full at the same time.
Dhalvad followed the brooding melody. Moving down the dirt lane then up around the corner of a still-standing wall, he climbed another stairway and moments later found himself confronted by an old tower. The singing came from above.
It took a moment to find the door to the tower. Inside, the shadows were growing darker by the second and he could just make out the winding stairway. Drawn by Poco’s singing, he wound his way upward, carefully keeping to the outside wall where the steps were more likely to be secure. Up and up he went. He lost count of the stairs. Twice he passed small windows, both open to the air. The stone wall was rough and cool against his hand, the warmth of the sun’s heat slipping away as night closed in.
He saw the end of the stairway above and an open portal to the sky. Poco’s song was clear now, her words building mind pictures only dreamers might understand.
Silently he climbed those last few steps, then moved out onto the small, round roof. To his left the wall that had once encircled the roof was gone. Poco sat before the opening, her face turned to the north. He followed the direction of her gaze and for the first time saw the green-black chain of mountains called the Mountains of the Lost, named for the many men who had tried to tame the wilderness and who had never been seen again.
Suddenly Dhal became aware of the silence of the night. He looked at Poco, wondering if she was finished with her singing. The moments passed. Finally he closed the distance between them, speaking her name softly so as not to startle her.
He saw her shoulders twitch at the sound of his voice but she did not turn. He stopped, thinking his presence might not be wanted. “Poco, may I join you?”
Still without turning, she lifted her hand and held it out. “Be welcome, Dhalvad sar Haradan.”
He clasped her hand and lowered himself to the roof. “You were gone a long time. It was getting dark and I grew worried.”
Poco squeezed his hand gently. “How did you find me?”
“Your singing.”
Profiled against the darkening sky, Poco’s face was statuesque, serene, patient, all emotions in balance. “Did you like it?” she asked.
As her lips moved, he felt a flutter of excitement course through his body. That the statue should live and choose to speak to him… “Yes,” he said softly. “I liked it, but I thought it sad.”
Gently Poco withdrew her hand. Still facing the mountains, she said, “Not sad, Dhal, only searching.”
“Searching for what?”
“You know. I’ve seen how my songs touch you. Some hear but do not see. Others see but will not listen. Only a few are so made that they both see and hear. You are one. The others are lost in the past. One was my father. Another, an old man who used to sit and beg in the marketplace near the wharf. There were several more, but they are all gone now. It has been seven years since I last “touched” anyone with my singing. There were times when I wondered if it was all my imagination. Then you came and sat down in front of me and you saw the picture live.”
Poco turned. “For a long time now I’ve dreamed strange dreams. I sing to free them, to make them live, if only for a few moments. You’ve seen my world. I ask you, is it real? And if real, where does it lie? I sing because there is a longing within me to be one with that world. It is my hope that some day I will meet someone who can tell me where my world is and how I may reach it.”
“Have you ever thought of going to look for this world yourself,” he asked, “rather than wait here for someone to come and tell you where it is?”
“Yes. But which way do I go? North? South? East or west? The world is large and my knowledge of it very small. If I left Port Bhalvar in search of my dreams, it would be my luck to be going away from rather than toward. So I stay and wait and talk to tradesmen and sailors, hoping that one day one of them will be able to tell me what I want to hear.”
“This world, what if it’s only in your own mind?”
Poco shook her head. “No, it’s real. It must be real! I won’t think otherwise. I’ve lived with it too long now to deny it. My mother often told me that my father sang of strange lands. Had he lived he might have understood my dreams and helped me with some answers.”
“You said he was Ni.”
“Yes. We lived in a small settlement south of Port Bhalvar. I don’t remember it. I was young when my father was killed. They were killing all of the Ni. They called it a war but it was nothing but a slaughter of the innocent. Afraid that the Sarissa might do something to me because of my half-blood, my mother brought me to Port Bhalvar for safety, but her family wouldn’t take us in. So we lived up here, in the old sector of the city, because it was all mother could afford. Every day we would walk to the sixth tier where my mother worked in one of the inns. I was ten when she died in the mudslides that hit this part of the city. It seems a long time ago. There are moments when I can’t even remember what she looked like.”
“Do you remember your father at all?”
“No. He was part of the Draak Watch and was gone much of the time.”
“Draak Watch?”
“You’ve never heard of the Draak Watch, and you a Ni?”
“My home was in the Deep for twenty-four years, Poco. I didn’t even know I was Ni until just recently. I know very little about my—about our people. I would like to know more.”
Poco nodded. “Very well, a history lesson then. Long ago the Sarissa learned that the Ni had a strong empathy with the draak, that they could control the great reptiles with song. Such of the Green Ones who had this power were quickly hired to help secure farmlands and villages against attack. These Ni were known as the Draak Watch. Perhaps you yourself might have been a part of it if the war hadn’t destroyed us as a people. Do you sing?”
“To draak, no,” he answered, smiling. “I usually run.”
“As do most people with a brain in their head. Still, if you knew the right songs, perhaps even you could control a draak.”
“I think not. But tell me, after the war and the killing, what was done to replace the Draak Watch?”
“Nothing. That’s why so many villages have been abandoned down through the years. In some of the more populated areas watchfires have served to keep the draak away, but only at night. The rest of the time people run.”
“Tell me more about the Ni.”
“I wish I could, Dhal, but there’s little more that I know. I was young when the war came, a year or two older than you were, perhaps, but still too young to remember much. There are a few things I can pass on, things I’ve heard from others, but whether they are true or false is something that only the legend makers would know.”
“Such as?” he prompted.
“Such as how our world was named. Did you know that Ver-
draak is man’s name for our world?”
“What did the Ni call it?”
“Our people called it Lach and we are the Ni, the People. Ni-lach, People of Lach. It’s said that the Ni had three home sites, Jjaan-bi, Hrod-hur, and Tre-ayjeel. Few have ever heard of them. In fact, I doubt anyone today could even tell you where one is located. They seem to be as lost as our people.”
“Do you think one of them might be the place of your dreams?”
“It’s possible, I suppose,” Poco admitted.
“Tell me more about the Ni.”
“Well, from all I’ve gathered, the Ni were originally a wandering people, curious about their world and always on the move, at least until the finding of the Tamorlee.”
“Tamorlee?” he echoed, a chill skittering down his back.
“Yes. You’ve heard of it?”
“Just recently. Tell me, do you know what it is?”
Poco shook her head. “No, not really. All I can tell you about the Tamorlee is that when it came into existence, our people changed somehow. When I first heard about the Tamorlee, I thought it had something to do with the coming of man to Lach, but Varcal said that the Tamorlee was before the coming of man. He spoke of it as a gift from the gods.”
“Like a treasure of some kind?” Dhal suggested.
“I don’t know what he meant. He never explained. All he would ever say was that the Tamorlee was gift to the Ni-lach and the Ni-lach gift to the Tamorlee. I think he repeated something he had heard others say rather than something he knew for a fact.”
“Who is this Varcal?”
“A half-blood like myself. He was an old man when I knew him and not always aware of what was going on around him. He lived in his own world most of the time. He died while I was still living with my mother.”
“You spoke about the coming of man to Lach. Do you believe then the legends that say the Sarissa came from the stars?”
Where The Ni-Lach Page 14