Sea of Strangers

by Erica Cameron

  “Can you feel the buzz?” Tessen says in Itagamin as I crouch to get a better look at the lock.

  I nod. “There’s something altering the desosa, I just can’t tell if it’s built into the door or if it’s something behind it.”

  “Where are you from?” It’s the first thing Osota has said since we walked in, so I glance back at her. Before, she was watching all of us closely. Now, her attention is fixed solely on Chio. “Your language isn’t one I’ve heard before.”

  “If I told you, you still wouldn’t know.” Chio raises his chin toward the guarded door. “Tonight, all that matters is what you have in that room.”

  “Really? What is it that’s turned you into a thief, Chio Heinansuto?”

  Natani rubs the bridge of his broad nose. “Of all the problems I thought we’d have, Chio being this recognizable wasn’t one of them.”

  I huff and look at Tessen. “You prayed, didn’t you?”

  “After what you said, I didn’t dare.” He shakes his head. “Maybe I should’ve.”

  Chio keeps his face impassive. “Why would you call me that?”

  “Because you look so much like the pictures and statues that the artists could have used you as their model,” Osota says dryly.

  “And you spend enough time studying the bobasu to know their faces that well?” Chio’s trying to sound skeptical. I’d believe it if I hadn’t spent so many weeks with him.

  Osota doesn’t seem to believe him, either. “I think you’re the legend we’ve been warned about, but you tied us to chairs instead of slitting our throats.”

  I should be working on breaking through the door, because nothing Osota says can change that we need what’s hidden behind it, but it’s so hard to tear my eyes away from this conversation.

  “Do you remember the Dowakomo family?” Osota asks.

  Chio shakes his head, his eyes never leaving her face. “I don’t.”

  “Then you likely won’t remember Kesori.” The woman’s thin lips roll between her teeth. “Kesori was a Dowakomo by marriage, and she was widowed young. She lost her son and husband in a terrible accident. For years, she lived in seclusion. Then she learned what had happened to the family she left behind and the trouble a woman named Suzu had been causing.”

  “Her sister,” Tsua whispers in Denhitran, putting her hand on Chio’s arm as though for balance. “Kesori was Suzu’s older sister.”

  “The Chonochi ordered the bobasu bloodlines wiped out, but Kesori’s seclusion protected her. It was easy for the Dowakomo elders to claim she’d died with her husband and son—no one outside their family had seen her since then.” Osota takes a breath. “It worked, but it wasn’t safe for Kesori to stay in the Kyo’ne Province after that, so her husband’s younger brother and his family packed up to move west. They intended to head for Ejinosei.”

  Chio looks around the small space. “Clearly they didn’t get that far.”

  Tsua leans in, expression intent. “What changed their plans, Osota-tan?”

  The woman smiles. “They got to Atokoredo at the same time as a heavily guarded ship. Rumor said it was carrying massive slabs of night-black stone.”

  I hold my breath, and Chio’s thin eyes widen. “The Kaijuko stone? Do you know where they took it?”

  Sadly, Osota shakes her head. “Stories had already spread about the Kaisubeh-sent rock that had helped us defeat the bobasu, so Kesori knew what she was looking at. She tried to follow it, but the ship sailed north from here and there wasn’t a way for Kesori to keep up without giving herself away. Instead, she and the Dowakomo settled here, and they began a search for the stone. Unfortunately, they never found it.”

  Tsua and Chio share a look, clearly frustrated.

  Then Osota says, “My family has, however, been watching these rivers for hundreds of years, and I can tell you the stone never came south again.”

  “Osota? Obyoto?” A name and an endearment is all Shideso says. There are somehow so many questions layered in those words.

  Osota meets his eyes; he sighs, shaking his head, but not otherwise arguing with whatever she’s decided. She asks Chio, “Will you tell me why ghosts from my family’s past have become flesh and blood again?”

  “My brother is chasing revenge, and he’s aiming for Ryogo,” Chio answers. “We’re searching for ways to stop him from obliterating your people.”

  “What you told us about the Kaijuko rock will help.” Tsua steps closer to Osota. “What you have behind that door might help even more.”

  The old woman raises one straight eyebrow. “And what do you think is behind that door?”

  “Hopefully? Mura’ina oil, rianjuko plants, ojoken root, and majiasu ash.” Chio gives us another glance.

  Osota purses her lips. “Apart from—so far—not killing us, why should we believe it’s not you who’s looking for revenge?”

  “If you believed that, why’d you tell us about the Kaijuko stone?” Chio counters.

  “To give you more of a reason not to kill us,” she answers sardonically. “You don’t get to be as old as we are in this line of work without learning to see when you’re outmatched. The magic I’m capable of would’ve knocked anyone else unconscious for hours. It bounces off you all as if I’d thrown flower petals.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, the sting to those balls was impressive,” I add. “Nothing I can’t protect against, but still impressive.”

  “You?” For the first time, I see surprise on her face. “Kaisubeh bless it. I’m even more outmatched than I realized if children can deflect me now.”

  “Children of the bobasu, Osota,” Shideso reminds her.

  “We are not their children.” Natani’s protest shoots through the room. He glares down at the Ryogans. “Varan and Suzu are legends to you, stories most of you have forgotten, but they’re more than you can imagine to us.”

  His words echo through me with a force that robs me of my breath.

  Natani is off, words spilling out. “We lived with your bobasu, served them our whole lives. They lied to us about everything. Shiara is an island lost in the middle of an ocean we thought was endless. They let us believe Shiara was all there was to the world, that we were alone. And Ryogo?” He laughs grimly, throwing his arms wide. “They call themselves the gatekeepers of this place, tell us this is where we’ll go when we die—if we serve them well.”

  The pain in Natani’s voice intensifies until I feel dizzy with it. I extend my hand; Tessen grips it, his hold almost as shaky as mine is. I’ve tried so hard to brush this aside, and I knew I wasn’t the only one struggling, but this… I never expected an outpouring like this from Natani.

  “Now, Varan is about to lead everyone I love into war.” Natani runs his hands over his face and then stares the Tarusutas down. “If you don’t believe we want to save your people, you had better at least believe we want to save ours.”

  Breath coming too fast, hands clenched in fists, and stance almost begging for a fight, Natani bears the weight of everyone’s attention in silence.

  Tsua swallows, looks at Osota, and simply asks, “Will you help us?”

  For several long breaths, the two women stare at each other. Trembling, Natani turns away from the others and leans heavily against the wall, his hand over his eyes. I keep him in my periphery as Osota responds.

  “Untie me.” She looks at me and raises her eyebrows. “I’m certain you could eventually break that spell, but I’ll save you the time. And save myself from having to rebuild it. If you set me free, I’ll open that door and give you whatever you need. For a price.”

  “And what’s that?” Chio asks.

  “A warning,” she says. “If you can’t stop what’s coming, I want you to find a way to give us time to leave before your brother slaughters us.”

  “I promise to do everything I can,” Chio says carefully. “But there’s no way I can guarantee we can reach you in time. No matter how powerful the legends claim we are, sending messages across the length of Ryo
go is beyond me.”

  “Agreed. Now, let me go,” Osota demands.

  Tsua releases the ropes, and I move to Natani, leaning against the wall a few inches away from him. “You’re not the only one dealing with it.”

  He doesn’t move his hand from over his eyes. “With what?”

  “Everything.” I exhale heavily as he slowly lowers his arm. “Bellows. You’re right, Natani. We’ve lost everything, and we don’t know if we’ll ever get a single piece of it back. But what we’re doing here? This is how we’ll find out what’s left when we go home. We’re fighting to get home, and no, it won’t be the place we remember—it can’t ever be that again. Doesn’t mean it’s gone. But it will be if we don’t fight to keep the salvageable pieces.”

  I lean closer, until my forehead almost touches his. “I need everyone’s help if we’re going to have a chance of succeeding.”

  Succeeding at getting back to Shiara to find Yorri. To stop a war. To save our clan from the leaders we thought were protecting us. I try to exude confidence, but this all feels impossible. Even as we watch Osota use a key hidden at the bottom of a grain bag to open the door and hand us everything we asked for and more.

  My words seem to be enough for Natani, though. Nodding, he straightens and walks to the now-open door, taking a bag from Tsua’s hands and carrying it out of the way.

  “That was good. You’re getting better at being nyshin-pa,” Tessen whispers. “Hopefully one day soon you can find a way to say it all that’ll make yourself believe it, too.”

  “One step at a time.” That’s all any of us can do, face the problems—and the unexpected solutions—one at a time.

  Otherwise, forget saving anyone else; I don’t know how we’re going to get through this alive.

  Chapter

  Eight

  The wind is so strong it bends the trees, swaying the massive plants closer to what must be their breaking point. Somehow, they don’t snap. We might not be so lucky if we don’t reach shelter soon.

  We needed to see how bad the storm was getting, so I warded the door and the window to keep the weather outside. Now I’m regretting the open portals. The mountain path we’ve been traveling is narrow and well above the ground. I can’t ward us against that drop, and not even Tsua is strong enough to catch and hold eight wagons and sixteen beasts. If we’re about to face unpreventable death, I don’t think I want to see it coming.

  “How much farther?” Osshi asks Lo’a with his garakyu.

  “In good weather? Maybe half an hour,” she says. “Tonight, I do not know.”

  Another gust. The wagon shakes. Tips. My breath catches. I scramble for something to hold on to. Blood and rot, all four wheels can’t be on the ground anymore.

  “Etaro, help her!” Tyrroh shouts as Tsua slams her hands against the wall.

  Desosa gathers around her and the wagon shudders. With a groan and a cracking crash, the wheels reconnect with the path; it feels like the wagon is seconds away from breaking apart.

  “Can you ward the caravan against the wind, Khya?” Tyrroh asks.

  I shake my head, focusing on him instead of the open window. “The road curves, and I don’t have wardstones in their wagons. I can’t see them. I can’t—”

  “We better get where we’re going fast, then.” Tyrroh braces when another gust shakes the wagon. Even in the cold, sweat beads on his dark skin. “I don’t know how much longer we’ll stay on the rot-ridden ground.”

  “This is like running up the path to Itagami in the middle of that storm.” Rai’s on the bed, tucked tight against Etaro’s side. Sanii, Tessen, and I take up the rest of the cushioned space.

  “It’s worse this time.” Etaro rubs eir arm, the one ey broke the day the first unexpected storm struck back on Shiara.

  Only the storm makes noise after that. What else is there to say? No magic I know will dissipate a storm, and we can’t fight it. There are no battle lines or ground to gain. All we can do is head for shelter and pray to the Ryogans’ Kaisubeh that we make it there alive.

  An hour or so later, the wind dies. Suddenly. Completely. I strain for sound; it takes several seconds before I realize the sound isn’t gone, it’s simply faded into the background. And it’s picked up a familiar, keening edge—the same pitch I know from Itagami when the wind blows hard enough to whine through the tunnels under the city.

  Another few minutes and the wagon jerks to a halt. The hanaeuu we’la maninaio call out to each other, relief in some voices, stress in others. The sound makes Zonna stand and stride to the door. In seconds, the others are scrambling to get out. Heart pounding, I hesitantly follow.

  “Bellows,” I breathe when I see where we are. “This feels like home.”

  The stone is darker here, charcoal-gray rather than silver-gray, but the cavern is as enormous as the ones under Itagami. All the wagons and animals fit comfortably in the space with plenty of room to spare, and the roof is at least fifty feet above our heads. The floor has clearly been smoothed and leveled out by hands and tools, but the walls and roof are craggy. And adorned; symbols have been carefully and colorfully painted on the rough stone.

  “Is everyone all right?” Lo’a approaches at a jog, her small white and gold ahoali’lona, which she calls Koo’a, trotting at her side.

  I nod. “What is this place?”

  “A secret.” She gives me a rueful smile as she scoops Koo’a into her arms. “I seem to be exposing too many of those around you.”

  “It’s only fair,” I counter. “You already know all of ours.”

  Lo’a tilts her head in acknowledgement, her fingers tracing the gold lines on Koo’a’s fur. “This cave is a hiding place we have used for centuries, usually when the Ryogans decide our presence is no longer welcome.”

  “That happens often?”

  “Often enough that we always keep supplies hidden in the smaller caves.” She gestures to the far end. “A stream runs through the mountain, and there are animals that hunt in the area. If we are careful, we can live here for quite some time. Secure if not comfortable.”

  “It’s easy to defend.” There only seems to be one entrance, so the biggest worry would be encountering a group of powerful ishiji mages, whose stone magic could turn this place into a tomb. On Shiara, that’d be a real concern. Here, the most powerful magic I’ve seen is the trap Varan left behind.

  “It stretches beyond this, too.” She nods toward the back of the cave. “When we are here long enough to bother, there are alcoves and smaller caves that can be used as bedrooms or storage.”

  “Useful. And well thought out.” I force myself to smile. “Thank you for trusting us with this. I don’t know where we’d be if not for your help.”

  “Honestly?” Lo’a lifts one shoulder, still stroking Koo’a. “You would likely be fine, but I have a feeling I will look back on this and be glad we did not turn you away.”

  “You hope that’s how you’ll feel.”

  “And I trust you will not prove me wrong, Khya.” Then, with a smile I’d read as an invitation from an Itagamin, Lo’a turns back to her people, conferring with the elders for a moment before she begins issuing orders. Our communication with anyone but Lo’a is still limited—mostly happening only during weapons training—but they’ve stopped trying to hide the fact that Lo’a isn’t in charge, she’s simply one of the three who makes decisions for their family. It’s a start, a good one considering how secretive their people obviously are.

  Soon there are three large fires burning in pits. Our andofume settle near one with Osshi, Sanii, and the bag of supplies Osota and Shideso gave us. I follow and sit near Chio. “Will this work?”

  “We know something worked,” he says without looking up. “But it’s only because of the trouble Varan went to protecting that box that I think it might be because of this susuji. This has to be how he pushed himself into immortality.”

  Hope grows in my chest, a thin tendril of it cracking through despite how hard I’ve tried to squash it. An
d despite how clear it is that Chio is trying to make himself believe. Hope is dangerous, and watching them work on Varan’s susuji will only make it worse, so I look for something else to do. I could reread the books on Ryogan magic; I’m probably one or two readings away from having the rot-ridden things memorized. But that’s exactly why I don’t think I can possibly learn anything new.

  So instead, I beckon Lo’a to join us and ask, “Can you tell us about the Kaisubeh?”

  After the nearly unbelievable coincidence of meeting a many-times-removed blood descendant of Suzu’s, I’m beginning to wonder if the Ryogan’s faith may have a more solid foundation than I thought.

  “That is not an easy task.” She laughs and settles by my side. “There are hundreds of stories about each deity, and those are just the ones Ryogans accept. Other lands have told different tales of the gods, and there are old stories that have been all but forgotten.”

  “Other lands?” I glance at Tessen, but he shakes his head, eyes round. His confusion doesn’t help—I feel like I should be bracing myself for what’s coming but I don’t know how. “What do you mean?”

  There’s something like disbelief in her expression as she gently says, “Khya, the world is so much more than Ryogo.”

  Then, shaking her head, she calls to one of her people in their language. They jog off and come back soon with a roll of paper. Lo’a spreads it on the stone. “This is the world as my people know it.”

  “I…oh.” I swallow, my eyes jumping from point to point on the map, one that stretches so far beyond Ryogo and Shiara. “Wh-where are we on this?”

  Her smile is sympathetic as she places her finger on a single point, the western third of a mountain range dividing Ryogo from a place called Khylar. These mountains feel so big, endless almost, but they’re really such a small part of the world, a world I’ve seen so little of. There’s one thing I don’t see at all, though. “Where is Shiara?”

  “My people are travelers and traders,” Lo’a says quietly. “That has allowed us to make incredibly accurate maps, but until I met you, I did not know Shiara existed. It is not included on any map I have ever seen.”