* * *
The captain of the small vessel proudly led the group all over his little ship, from stem to stern, crow’s nest to hull, and despite its small size, the boat itself was magnificent: sleek and fast in blue and gold, with masts and rigging that intersected every which way. The captain himself a jovial man with a square face and bulging eyes; his nose was flat and wide, and he had a habit of stretching it out further when he was thinking. The ladies he put in his own quarters and the men he bunked in the underbelly; it was all rather cramped, but the captain assured them that for a short journey such as theirs, it would not be oppressive.
That evening, when the moon was high in its crescent shape and the clouds were wisps against the star-scattered sky, the young Viol traversed the deck. Only Sailor Armand, as helmsman, was to be met with at this late hour, and the break of waves against one another in their endless give and take was the only sighing sound. The shore, in the darkness, was invisible on either side, and the princess might have imagined that she was alone in the midst of emptiness, floating on a sea of silent, sleeping air.
But soon, Viol heard Lavendier’s laughter slash against the quiet as the eldest princess emerged from below on the arm of Dascerice. They feigned quiet, but in reality their whispers were louder than plain speech.
“What, little sister!” cried Lavendier in a gusty voice, “still up at this hour?”
“As are you.”
Lavendier laughed. “On the contrary, our circumstances seem quite out of comparison. Corporal Dascerice, would not you say so? After all, I am not unaccompanied.”
Dascerice beamed. “Certainly not.”
“No,” said Viol, slipping below, no longer caring to remain above, “certainly not.”
Lavendier sighed and leaned prettily against the railing of the ship, her long, chestnut curls bouncing and blowing in the wind as the sea air caught them and the silver moon melted into her deep auburn streaks. Her vixen green eyes sparkled beneath black brows, and her red lips, always seeming puckered as if ready for a kiss, extended into a pout.
“How dare they uproot us like this?” she complained to her companion, her silky voice in discord with the sigh of the river. “My brother has no right to send us away from Drian, on a journey so dull and tiresome. What does he expect us to do in Kelta?” Lavendier liked to portray herself as a helpless victim: she had learned young how ready men were to play the role of hero. They had fawned over her ever since she had discovered her sensuous beauty, and with all that natural charm lending itself to ready flirtation, it had seemed imperative on her that she employ her gifts.
Now Dascerice bought her bait and rose to comfort her. “Your brother only wants what is best for you,” he said with chivalrous promptitude. “After all, if you had stayed in Drian, you would have been in the midst of another battle. He wants to protect you.”
“Protect me!” she scoffed. “As if this little boat would be any protection if we were attacked.”
“Well I will be, anyway. Nothing will harm you so long as I am here.”
She cried out in aggravation, “Oh, must everyone always be talking about life and death! As if it’s the only important thing!”
“Well, what else then?”
“What about comfort, and a hot meal, and laughter? How can I enjoy those things if everyone’s running around like frightened chickens?”
“Oh, I see! Then I promise you, no matter what happens, I will keep you entertained. How’s that? And besides, in no time at all, the fighting will be over, and you’ll be home again. I promise.”
She fell into his words, and was about to fall into his arms when the deck door banged and Merciec and Armand joined them. Lavendier flirted for a little while, but then said she was exhausted and must retire to bed. The three men watched as she gracefully swayed across the deck to the stairs and disappeared below like a fairy, barely seeming to touch the deck or notice the roll of the waves.
“Have you ever been to any of her parties?” asked Dascerice when she was gone.
“I have heard about them. Rowdy, late nights and all manner of crazy activities,” said sailor Armand, learning forward and hoping for more.
“That’s just the tip of it. I went one night and she was dressed like a goddess and sat on a couch of red linen and purple silk. The whole room was hung with deep colored draperies and scented with spicy perfumes, and the servants themselves were dressed better than most courtiers, but in costumes that only added to the Princess’s splendor. It was the most marvelous experience! She served delicacies the likes of which you cannot imagine, and in the center of the chamber sparkled a literal fountain of wine, from which people simply drank, like horses to a trough. Ah, what I wouldn’t give to go back to that night!”
“Was there entertainment?” asked Armand.
“Who needs entertainment when you’re surrounded with beautiful girls and wine?”
Dascerice and Armand laughed, but Merciec frowned. “Sounds excessive,” he said quietly and retired to bed, uninterested in the sailor’s bawdy jokes.
32
But the God of the River Intercepts Their Journey
When the sun rose the next morning, the river sparkled with little rainbows that tossed the sun beams from one wave to another. Cila was leaning over the railing, watching the buoyant activity, when she suddenly caught sight of a woman, clothed with naught but her hair, with innocent, wondering eyes that glowed an intense, fiery orange, who was staring up at the princess from the water. Her face was suffused with a dismayed expression, and a tail whipped about behind her. Immediately, Cila disappeared, only to return a moment later with her sister Viol. Silently, she pointed to the figure in the water, then stepped back to let them speak. Cila knew through legend and instinct that as a wife, the creature, a daughter of the river, would not communicate with her. It would speak only to her innocent sister.
Viol met the gaze of the sweet creature without a hint of fear, though much wonder. The innocence of the sea girl was not ignorance, but purity; the nakedness not brazenness, but virginity. And she was greatly distressed. So Viol questioned her gently, urging her against fear.
“Beware,” the maiden declared suddenly, and her voice was like a playful, powerful current. As she continued, her words were the lightness of foam and the power of a raging river. “My father has sent me to you, so you will know your danger. Cease your journey, be on your guard, for evil awaits you in Kelta. The king there was been deposed by a man under him, Captain Farsooth, who is in the pay of the god of Karaka. He lies in wait for you now, and you are journeying to your deaths. Turn aside; do not return to Drian. Do not continue to Kelta.”
“But then, where should we go?”
“My father knows. He will come to you. Wait for him along the eastern bank of the river and he will come.” Then the strange creature dived deep underwater, and as she went, her brilliant tale flashed in the sunlight before following her down to her watery home.
The captain was not eager to moor along the bank: they had a schedule to keep, and mermaids of the river were, to him, nothing to heed. “Playful sirens,” he called them, “who tease men away from their journeys.” But he had to listen when Prince Asbult insisted. They moored the ship on the opposite shore, and waited to see if the god of the river would keep his appointment.
They had not long to wait before a gigantic wave blew up from the river in a mighty heave, drenching all on deck. When the spray cleared, they saw a giant pillar of blue/green water was mounted high above their heads, surmounted by a regal, handsome god, with hair that rippled down his bare chest, enfolding his frame as if he was still submerged. In his hand, he held a giant, knotted tree like a staff. His image was so frightful that all on deck fell to their knees, overawed in his presence. Garrity alone stood upon his own strength, but after a second, he too bent his knee in reverence.
The god spoke, and when he did, it was like the rolling, inexorable tide. “My daughter has warned you of the danger.”
&n
bsp; Garrity responded, “Yes. She told us not to journey to Kelta.”
“That is correct. They are no longer your allies.”
“Then where should we go?”
“Mankind is not your ally now,” Rordan declared. “Man is corrupted and confused by the growing evil in the east. But we who are of the elements, we know of secret havens which the enemy cannot reach. I will tell you of a land where all is at peace, where all is of its natural order, where you need not fear the extending arm of evil. Travel from here due east across the many miles of the Mestraff wood, until you reach the brown plains of Karaka. Traverse them, and you will encounter the Great Desert. Across the desert, and over the mountain range – the mountain range which you believe conceals naught but ocean – there lies a land of paradise, of untainted beauty. I have heard of it from streams and rivers and rains that have washed the tidings to me, and it is a beautiful refuge. There you will find sanctuary.”
With a flourish, the great pillar upon which he sat vanished, leaving him in midair. His tail whipped above him, and he sliced into the water, seeming to disperse as he met it, become it. Or, rather, it became him.
They knelt in stunned silence.
“That’s that then,” said Asbult at last. “Captain, take us ashore.”
The captain rose incredulously. “You can’t be serious, my prince! Taking these girls on a pointless goose chase to a place you, above all people, know cannot exist!”
“I cannot take them to Kelta. And who’s to say it does not exist? I have never been over those mountains. No one has.”
“Yes, and because there’s nothing there. You’ve stood at the top of the yellow mountain in Kelta. You know. It’s as clear as the sun in sunlight. Besides, you’d have to walk right past the enemy’s doorstep – this river god could be working for the enemy for all you know. It’s mad. Mad, I tell you!”
“Then I’m mad. Take us ashore.”
The captain, with gritted teeth, glared at him uselessly. He was a kind-hearted man, faithful to Drian and sympathetic to the royal women’s safety; and the thought that he might be playing accomplice to their downfall plagued him bitterly. Personal opinion notwithstanding, however, it was not his decision; he had to obey Asbult. So he gave orders with curt, angry precision, intermittently shooting pleading glances at Garrity. But Garrity kept his own counsel, and followed Asbult.
33
And They Land on the Opposite Bank
Mooring the small land boat, laden with Adlena, Merciec, Sailor Armand, and Jacian, along the western bank, Garrity looked over to where Dascerice did the same with the second craft, which held Cila, Asbult, and Viol. “We’ll be on foot from here,” he called over. “You and Armand will return the boats to the ship and journey back to Drian with the captain and the other sailors.”
“Oh, no, not Dascerice!” cried Lavendier. “He has to come with us!”
“Yes, Dascerice,” he answered her shortly, then said to the men. “Men?”
“Yes, sir,” they declared, and Dascerice could only cast a sympathetic parting glance toward the sensuous princess, who watched him go with pouting lips and helpless beauty.
“They will return to Drian to inform King Trinian of our intentions,” he said as the two boats pushed off, “vague though they may be. The rest of us will continue on to –”
But he was cut off, for Armand, without a cry, suddenly toppled out of the boat and into the water.
“Get down!” called Asbult as more arrows whizzed through the trees over their heads like a swarm of angry wasps. Dascerice pulled for all he was worth back to the ship.
“Who is it?” asked Merciec, his bow already strung as his piercing eyes looked deep into the trees, searching for the attackers.
“Gorgans. They patrol these shores,” said Asbult, shooting his crossbow and piercing a beast through the forehead. “Guard the women!” Merciec lifted his shield high as the women huddled behind him. Garrity was kneeling beside Asbult, using his shield to protect the archer. “They cannot know who we are,” said the prince, “but trust me, more are coming. They feed on anything that moves.”
Garrity grunted in reply. “We’re too exposed here,” he said. “We need to get to higher ground.”
Asbult nodded. “Lead their highnesses. We’ll lay down cover fire.” He signaled to Merciec, and Garrity, picking up Jacian, beckoned the women into the trees. Running low to the ground, swift and silent through the forest, Garrity went a long way until he came on a watercourse that led to the river. They followed the rivulet upstream until they were walking along the edge of a cliff rising high above the water; there they paused, the soldiers breathing quietly, and the ladies panting, listening for the sounds of pursuit.
Lavendier had dragged behind everyone, daintily holding up her skirts with two fingers of each hand, and tripping over it all the same, plagued with the thought that it was very rude of Garrity to insist on maintaining such a rapid pace. Now she crouched beside Viol, whose skirt only came to her mid calf, and who had not had to hold any of it up. “Why are we running like this?” she demanded gustily.
Viol looked at her with wide eyes. “Because they want to catch us, kill us, and eat us.”
“Hush,” growled Garrity, and although Lavendier glared the full extent of her ire at him, she said nothing after that.
Presently, they heard footsteps, and everyone tensed. Garrity pulled back his arm, preparing to throw his spear, but lowered it when Asbult’s red head appeared.
“More are coming,” he told them. “There are at least thirty now.”
“Come on,” said Garrity. “We have to keep moving.”
“No!” cried Lavendier. “You should stay and fight them! You were hired to protect us.”
As Garrity looked at her, his face white and his nostrils flared as if he would explode, Asbult gripped his arm. “Ignore her. We’re moving.” He took the lead, Adlena docilely following him, then Cila and Viol, gripping Jacian’s hands between them, and Merciec behind them. Lavendier seethed; she wanted Dascerice – everyone else was ignoring her. Garrity did not move – he crouched, watching her, until finally, she followed the others, and he took up the rear.
They moved quickly and quietly, but snarls, growls, and roars followed them, growing louder each moment. Soon they would be upon them, and they were too few to stand an assault.
“We have to mount a defense,” Asbult told Queen Adlena.
“Can we survive that?” she asked with her heart in her throat. She was terrified and tired, and trying to think straight.
“If we find high ground, we can make a decent stand. Let’s make our way up this bank.”
The bank was on the other side of the stream, and they waded across. It was shallow there, and they got their feet wet. The bank was somewhat steep, but not so much that anyone had to use their hands – except Lavendier, whose gown impeded her every move. At the top of the bank, the women took Jacian and shuffled backward, and the men spread out along the ridge. There was nowhere to go from here. There was an un-scalable cliff behind them and to the right, and on the left, a steep drop toward the river.
But though they readied themselves for the attack, it did not come. They waited, crouching, a long time, wondering at the delay. Finally, campfires flickered and dotted the distance.
Asbult dropped his bow. “They mean to wait out the night. It’s almost dark now.” So he set Merciec to keep watch and pulled Garrity aside.
“We need to fight our way through. We’ll attack first thing in the morning, and then make our way toward the yellow mountains.”
Garrity sighed. “This is a fool’s errand!” he said, releasing his opinion at last. “I said nothing before, but it’s true. Maybe we’ll make it through tomorrow, and I stress maybe, but even if we do survive, we’ll die on this journey. All of us, one by one. So what if Kelta is overrun? So is Mestraff. More so even. There’s nowhere that’s safe.”
Garrity’s sobriety did not faze Asbult. There was still a spark of
bright hope in his adventurous blue eyes. “Then why didn’t you overrule me on the ship?”
“Because we could not go to Kelta. Because there was no other option.”
“And there still isn’t. Don’t you agree?”
“It does not matter. We will all die tomorrow anyway.” Staring at the ground, lost in his brooding, he was shocked to feel a quick and heavy clap on his shoulder.
“Take heart!” cried Asbult. “This is no way to face life – or death!” Incredibly, there was a smile on his lips. “Face both with a brave heart, and maybe, fate will surprise you.”
Her footsteps light on the ground, the men were startled to see that the queen had approached them and stood near, calm and tall.
“We will die?”
Asbult shook his head firmly, still unshaken. “Not if we have anything to say about it.”
She sighed, and said, “But that just means you will die first.” She shivered, and Asbult put his arm around her shoulder. “I dreamt on the ship, last night,” she continued, “that we journeyed on foot, and now my dream is coming true. I dreamt that we traveled until we came to a beautiful country, after crossing the wilderness and climbing mountains, just like the river-god said. We climbed high – so high we could touch the heavens. But we were exhausted. We had been through so much rain and desert, fire and snow, hunger and thirst, death and pain.”
Asbult smiled. “Perhaps you have seen our future.”
“In my dream there was a tunnel in the rocks. A tunnel that led to a small settlement, untouched by the enemy. They gave us shelter.”
Asbult looked around, as if expecting to find an outlet. “There’s no tunnel here,” he said.
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