Tsua and Chio stare at Osshi with offended incredulity on their faces. “Lo’a is hanaeuu we’la maninaio, isn’t she?” Tsua asks. “That’s why you didn’t want to tell us about her before.”
“The prejudice against them is ridiculous!” Osshi protests. “There are more lies than truths in what Ryogans know about the hanaeuu we’la maninaio, and historians have proven that more than once.”
“Ridiculous?” Chio’s eyes harden. “They attack unprovoked! When I was a boy, they raided Tirodo and burned the Kaisubeh tower to the ground.”
“That was far from unprovoked. One of Tirodo’s Kaiboshi gave them a gift. Of poisoned meat. It was a supposed peace offering that killed half their family.” Osshi’s voice grows strident. “The truth about the poisoning was buried. No one wanted to admit we could be the ones in the wrong.”
Chio nor Tsua hold their tongues, and their expressions slowly shift from angry to pensive. Osshi takes a long breath and starts again.
“When I was ten, I saved a hanaeuu we’la maninaio boy from drowning.” He runs his fingers through his hair, pushing the long black locks aside. “My father never believed the stories about them, and their people believe a life saved creates a heavy debt, so every time they visited Kanaga’ako, they’d bring me a gift. They swore they’d try to grant any favor I asked, but this—” He shakes his head. “If they get us to Uraita, it’ll more than clear that debt.”
“Will it be any safer or faster than on our own?” Tsua asks cautiously. “They used to be under severe travel restrictions. They were always watched.”
“They’re warily ignored now,” Osshi admits. “I hate it—the way they’re treated is unfounded and unfair—but it’s useful for us; those beliefs keep everyone else away. Even the tyatsu ignore the hanaeuu we’la maninaio unless they’re forced to interact with them.”
He never shortens the name of the group. It’s an odd habit considering how long the name is. Our city was called Sagen sy Itagami, but we rarely used more than just Itagami. For some reason, Osshi doesn’t do that with the hanaeuu we’la maninaio.
Chio finally nods. “You’ve gotten us this far. If you trust them, it’s enough for me. For now.”
“That only matters if Lo’a’s family agrees to help us,” I add. “She didn’t sound sure they would.”
But when Osshi’s garakyu swirls with color again less than an hour later, Lo’a proves as reliable as Osshi had hoped. She gives us a destination. Osshi heads off to tell Kazu with relief lightening his steps.
Once he’s gone, Tyrroh faces the andofume. “How worried do we need to be about his friends?”
“I honestly don’t know.” Chio rubs his hand over his once-bald head, brushing over the short, newly grown gray-streaked black strands. “My experiences with the hanaeuu are ancient. Anything could’ve happened in the interim.”
“And yet it all feels the same when we hear their name.” Tsua looks at Chio with gentle mockery in her half-moon eyes. “So much for age bringing wisdom and patience.”
“If they’re still treated with caution,” Chio says after a moment, “then they’ll have little loyalty to Ryogo. That could be good for us.”
But Tsua looks worried. “Unless they remember the stories about us as well as Osshi does.”
“Don’t tell them unless we have to, then.” My words draw everyone’s eyes. Since they’re waiting instead of hushing me, I keep talking. “If they’re doing this favor for Osshi, maybe they won’t need to know who any of us are beyond his friends. I’m not saying we lie, but we can’t regret something that’s never been said. And we can always give them the whole story later.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Zonna admits. “But there’s a risk to keeping the secret, too—hiding something like this won’t make us look very trustworthy, so we’d better hope we don’t need their help once we reach Uraita. Omitting this for too long might make them decide we’re not worth the risk.”
Tsua turns toward the room’s small window, then she nods. “We’ll wait and see what happens when we meet them. Maybe they’ll change their minds about helping and this whole discussion will be irrelevant.”
“Guess we’ll find out soon,” Zonna says as he walks out of the room.
And he’s right. The meeting place Lo’a gave Osshi is only an hour from where we are. Of course, once I see the place, I start to wonder if Tsua and Chio had been right about the trustworthiness of the hanaeuu we’la maninaio.
“If you weren’t with us, would you be able to find a way to climb this?” I ask Osshi as we stand on the beach and look up at the daunting wall of rough, dark stone. The cove has a small beach, but beyond that are sheer cliffs. At least a hundred feet high. Completely encircling the only safe place to anchor the ship and row the smaller boats to shore. Telling Osshi to land here seems like setting him up to fail. Or fall.
Osshi shakes his head. “Even with you, it’s hard to believe I can survive this.”
“It won’t be that bad. Look.” Tessen points to the south edge of the beach, but until we get closer, I can’t see what he spotted—an incredibly narrow footpath carved into the rock.
It makes the climb easier, but by no means easy. The path nearly disappears at times, barely wide enough for the balls of our feet. My fingers collect scrapes and cuts from how hard I grip the sharp stone. The wind tugs insistently at my clothing as I climb higher.
We can count on Tsua’s and Etaro’s magic to catch us if we fall—both are powerful enough rikinhisus for that—but they can’t fly us all up the cliff. It’s too much even for Tsua, especially since she’s already mentally hauling up all our bags and weapons. Miari going first does help, though; since she’s an ishiji, she can shape the rock as she climbs, leaving us better handholds and footholds in the stone wall. It helps, but not enough to make the climb painless.
Halfway up, my hands ache. Three quarters of the way up, my arms and shoulders burn. By the time we reach the top, Etaro has caught Osshi twice to keep him from tumbling down to the rocky beach a hundred feet below us, and my hands are seconds away from giving out.
I’ve been on Ryogo for less than an hour, and I already want to go home.
This isn’t the smooth, sand-blasted stone of Shiara’s desert. This rock hurts, even after Miari manipulates the stone. And I thought that the breeze would warm once we landed, but if anything, it’s gotten colder.
Zonna stops by each of us, healing whatever injuries we collected. I smile when he approaches me last, hands held out in front of himself with his palms up. I place my hands on his. Instantly, the soothing energy of his magic sinks into my skin, easing the ache in my shoulders and feet and legs and arms, and healing the cuts on my hands. It felt cool on Shiara, like water from a deep spring rushing over sun-burned skin, but now it seems wonderfully warm to me.
“We need you in one piece for what’s coming,” he says.
I flex my newly healed hands and try not to let his words sting. He didn’t mean them to hurt, but they do. Because he’s wrong. Before, that might’ve been true—it was just me, Sanii, and Tessen against the bobasu. Now, I’ve been knocked back down to youngest in the squad. “The only thing we need me for is wards when something else goes wrong.”
Zonna smiles, but says nothing. In part because Tessen has gone stone-still nearby, his narrowed gaze locked west of us.
“They’re coming,” Tessen warns.
Tyrroh silently signals us to spread out, weaponless, but magic ready. I stand at the center, just behind Osshi, and I reach for the desosa in the air, testing it and getting myself ready in case whoever’s coming brings danger with them. The rest of the squad spreads out in a line to either side.
“Khya, do you feel that?” Tessen moves closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Focus on the desosa. Do you sense anything different?”
“No.” I’m already focusing on it; it seems normal. “But you obviously do. What is it?”
“I have no idea.” He looks up at the impossibly ta
ll plants that grow here. They’re densely packed, growing close enough to each other to easily hide an army behind them. “Whatever it is, it’s almost here.”
Moments later, even I can see the shapes of more than a dozen people in the shadows cast by the tall plants. They’re dressed brightly, as colorful as the ships’ sails we passed in Po’umi’s harbor, but the cut of the clothing worn by some of them vaguely resembles Itagami’s.
Our pants bind tight from calf to ankle, theirs fall straight from their hips. Our tunics are long-sleeved and reach just above our knees, split on the sides. Their sleeveless tunics only fall to their hips, and the split is down the front instead of the side, exposing their bare chests even though it’s so cold I wish I had several more tunics to put on.
Those not wearing the loose pants are wrapped in voluminous folds of cloth that hang from their hips to the ground. The fabric is bright, multicolored, and patterned with tiny, intricate designs. Breastbands, just as colorful, are wrapped around their chests. The few with anything over the wide band are wearing a shorter version of the open-fronted tunic.
In skin and size and shape, they vary as widely as my clan in Itagami, from warm beige to rich brown, and from as short as Sanii to one who looks taller than Tyrroh. Including all members of the group, it’s more revealed skin than I’ve seen since the last time I bathed in the pool under Itagami. But what keeps my eyes locked on them is the colorful patterns and designs drawn over almost every inch of exposed flesh. Even their faces bear symbols and marks, though mostly surrounding their eyes.
The closer they get, the more I feel what Tessen must have. The desosa flows in lines and ordered swirls around these people, eddying in certain areas but always moving in what seems like an ordained path. When I reach out to pull some to me, it comes, but only when I insist. What have these people done to the desosa? It almost feels trained. Like the energy likes obeying them.
Who are these people that they have such power? Osshi didn’t mention magic at all, so they must be able to use it without the Ryogans noticing. Somehow, they’re working powerful magic under the Ryogans’ noses. I look at the cord on my wrist, and I can’t help wondering if they might have an answer the Ryogan books haven’t given me yet.
“Alima’hi, Lo’a.” Osshi inclines his head to the woman at the head of the group. Lo’a. “Ou’a ka lea’i imloa ka’i ia okopo’ono aloshaki ana’anahou.”
“Aloshaki naho olea’o wa’heekohu shahala’kai. O’kaoo malohakama ka lea’i le’anohu.” She smiles, and her voice is exactly as rich as I remember. It’s a relief when she switches to Ryogan. “Osshi Shagakusa, my cousin is going to be extremely upset to have missed you.”
“And I’m sad he’s not here, but it’s a relief to see you,” Osshi says.
“I can see that. And that you have had hard times recently.” She tilts her head in our direction. The others arrayed beside her follow her gaze; none of their faces are nearly as open or warm as hers. “You trust these people?”
“Yes.” His answer is unequivocal. “And if you help us, it will wipe out the family debt.”
“More than, I think.” Her smile fades. “I am worried about what this favor might cost us, honestly. There are rumors that the Ryogan’s coastal guard is searching for a traitor.”
Osshi stiffens. “I’m no traitor.”
No, he’s not. He very well might be a savior if we can get what we need in time, but I don’t think his people will ever know what he’s risking for them. He’s putting his standing with his people in jeopardy to protect them, I realize suddenly. Just like we are.
For a long moment, Lo’a and the others with her watch us. The ordered swirls of energy surrounding them reach out, brushing over us like questing fingers, and it takes all my willpower not to snap my wards into place to stop the intrusion. It’s worse than bugs skittering across bare skin, but the touch never digs, pulls, or burns, never grows edges, so I let it be.
When it retreats at last, it’s a relief.
Lo’a looks toward two of the older members of her group—both with gray and silver-white streaks through their dark hair. The three of them seem to communicate in small gestures and facial quirks, and then Lo’a turns back to us.
“We should go.” Lo’a sweeps her arm the way they came. “There are patrols nearby, and the last thing we want is for them to think you anchored here for something more sinister than evading the port tax.”
Osshi mumbles his thanks, quickly picking up his bag and following Lo’a, as though he wants to be sure she doesn’t have time to press for more details. The rest of us move a few seconds slower, and as I step closer to the towering plants, I look back at the ocean.
Dangerous as that watery expanse was, at least it was familiar. Ahead, I’ll be shocked to find even one small thing that reminds me of home. We’re putting our lives in the hands of strangers, and all I can do as I follow them into the shadowy growth is hope Osshi’s trust isn’t misplaced.
It had better not be. Yorri doesn’t have time for me to make mistakes.
And neither does Ryogo.
Chapter
Three
“This feels like a horrible idea,” Rai mutters in Itagamin as we follow Lo’a and her people through the plants. Then she raps her knuckles against one. “And what the bellows are these things?”
“Trees,” Tsua responds.
“There are enough of them to hide an army.” Etaro peers around as though ey expects one to attack out of the shadows. “How do you know when someone’s coming?”
Tsua takes a long, deep breath. “You learn the scents on the wind, and how to listen.”
No way it’ll be as easy as that, but I’m more worried about Rai’s first comment than what the trees may be hiding. “Is this a horrible idea, Tsua?”
“Possibly, but not the worst one I’ve ever heard.” Tsua shrugs and steps over a gnarled root. “Chio and I haven’t been here in centuries, Zonna hasn’t been here ever, and Osshi is a scholar. He doesn’t know these forests like the hanaeuu. If we’re going to get to Uraita, we need the help of someone who knows this land. The hanaeuu are the only ones offering.”
Hanaeuu we’la maninaio, I correct silently.
Tessen raises his hand and signals—motion ahead. Wherever Lo’a is leading us, we’re almost there.
The trees thin. There’s a clear space ahead. Clear of trees, at least. Large boxes on wheels sit at the edge of the open space. They’re each a different color—all of them incredibly bright—and they’re covered with intricate designs. Other symbols made of metal and crystal hang from the eaves of the domed roofs, and more marks are etched around the windows and doors.
In the center of the ring of the colorful boxes are people. There are a bunch of odd animals, too. The ones closest to us are horned beasts, their hide tough-looking and mottled gray. Although they snort and toss their heads, they’re otherwise placid, not even trying to free themselves from their loose tethers as they chew on leaves pulled from low-hanging branches. They’re bigger than the teegras on Shiara, but those vicious scaled cats would tear us to pieces for even thinking about trapping them like this.
“Is that little, brownish-green thing an animal?” Etaro asks.
I don’t spot the creature until one of the children scoops it into their arms. Stranger still, the animal doesn’t seem to mind; it curls its lithe body into a smaller ball as though it’s trying to make it easier for the child to hold it.
“So weird,” Rai mutters. “We would eat something like that. They’re playing with it.”
There are several of the small animals scampering around the camp. One, a white one with golden paws and subtle stripes, falls in by Lo’a’s side as soon as it sees her. The two people who Lo’a conferred with earlier, smile at the creature, bending down to brush their fingers over its fur as they say something to Lo’a in their flowing language. Once Lo’a responds, they split off toward the main section of the camp.
“You’ve painted the wagons since t
he last time I saw you,” Osshi comments as we sit near one of the fires.
Wagons. At least I have a name for the boxes now. The designs covering them seemed random at first, but they’re definitely not. Certain marks and patterns repeat on almost every surface, though not always in the same order or configuration. The replicated symbols seem almost buried within the swirling, patterned chaos of the larger design. Deciphering it all reminds me of the puzzles Yorri used to make, one shaped piece of metal intertwining with so many others that it’s hard to tell one from the rest.
Yorri would love these wagons. He should be here to see them, and it hurts that he’s not.
I clear my throat and gesture to the camp. “The colors are beautiful.”
“Thank you,” Lo’a says. “It is almost due to be repainted.”
The way her fingers trace a mark on her arm sparks a realization—the main designs on the wagons are also repeated on their skin.
Lo’a notices my scrutiny. Voice dry, she says, “You are staring, limahi. Are you not used to seeing skin where you come from?”
“I’m used to seeing a lot more than you’re showing, actually. But usually the only thing decorating that skin is battle scars.”
She raises her hands, looking down at the patterns as though she’s seeing them for the first time.
“They’re beautiful,” I say before she can take what I said the wrong way. “There’s just nothing like it on Shiara.”
Lo’a watches me, her golden-brown eyes wary. “I do not know of Shiara.”
“And Shiara knows nothing of you.” I hold my breath, hoping she’ll let the subject drop.
Lo’a’s eyebrows rise, but she thankfully says nothing. Instead, she turns to Osshi. “We should go. I do not know what your secrets are or where your friends are from, but I think it will be better for all of us if we get to Uraita as soon as possible.”
“That’s all we ask,” Osshi insists. “Safe passage. And help getting some books from the Zunoato library. Once we reach Uraita, you can leave us behind with a debt wiped clean.”
Sea of Strangers Page 4