by L. W. Jacobs
“Yeah,” Marea shot back, “maybe I do. I’m going to go either way, so wouldn’t you at least I had somebody to watch me?”
Ella spoke up before Feynrick could crack some kind of lewd joke. “I’ll be careful. And being Marea’s chaperone is the perfect excuse to look like I have no other intentions.”
Which worked doubly—because much as Ella wanted to learn what they knew about opening the stone, she also wanted to feel out their shamans on getting her a revenant. Since Nauro never would.
“These men are not idiots,” Nauro said. “Whatever story we’ve given them, they will still be watching us for any signs we are competition in opening the stone first. If you go, you’re putting all our lives at risk.”
“They already are,” Ella countered. “They have been since we got here. Since we left Ayugen! This could be our only chance to get information. Prophet knows we don’t have the men to force it out of them. So we go to dinner, and you three quietly get ready to cut and run if things go wrong.”
Tai shifted his legs. “I don’t like it. But I think you’re right. You should go.”
And that was why she loved him—he didn’t try to control her like a Councilate man would. He trusted her. Ella smiled and snuggled closer into his shoulder. “Thank you.”
Nauro still looked sour, but the man was beginning to accept that he couldn’t actually go against Tai. “Fine. I will be watching from here, making sure the air is dead around you.”
“And listening in, I imagine?” Ella asked. “Maybe you’ll hear something I miss.”
“And listening in,” Nauro said. “He may say something only a shaman would understand. If everything falls apart, I can likely get you out alive.”
“And I as well,” Feynrick said, not looking particularly intimidating stretched out on his back with his knotted toes exposed.
“We will be fine,” Ella said. “If worse comes to worse, shamans still seem as susceptible to timeslips as anyone else. I will get us out.”
Tai rolled his shoulders. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
18
Wild beasts they are, wild beasts. The Yati war and kill and procreate with all the abandon of a pack of curs. A man could grow to love it.
—Seamon Twelvehands, Among the Dark: A Travelogue
Marea’s stomach was a bundle of nerves, which was stupid. He’d invited her. And she was the most attractive woman in this camp by default, at least for someone his age. Probably in the hundred thousandpace area. And it was just a dinner.
Still her stomach felt like Brinerider paper art, cut and twisted and folded a hundred times into something it absolutely shouldn’t be.
Ella, for her part, seemed entirely calm beside her, walking across the springy green grass toward the fires of Ollen’s camp in the near-dark blueness of starset. She was the one who should be nervous—she’d be spying, trying to get their secrets without letting on she was trying. Marea just had to keep her story straight and she was good.
Still her breath caught when a tall and broad-shouldered man stepped toward them, silhouetted in firelight. “Marea?” he called.
“Yes!” she cried, then immediately was glad for the darkness as she blushed. “Yes. And, I brought my aunt. Ellumia?”
“Great.” Avery’s features came clear as they reached him, broad cheekbones and that wild light in his eyes. He took Ella’s hand and kissed it like any Councilate gentleman. “A pleasure, Miss Ellumia. How are you liking the stone?”
“Oh, it’s just fascinating,” Ella said, voice higher and breathier. “I envy you men the freedom to stay here weeks and months, just soaking in its presence.”
Was that supposed to be a reminder of their earlier talk of lonely isolated men? Marea brushed it off. “Well. What’s for dinner? I love a good Ascension day feast.”
Avery gave a rueful grin. “Well, it’s probably not good. Definitely not by Mouth standards. But for the middle of Yatiland we do okay.”
He took her hand then, and—Gods, he took her hand—nodded to Ella to follow, pushing deeper into their maze of tents and cookfires. Unlike the Achuri, they had the sense to keep their fires outside their tents, where they wouldn’t all breathe smoke all night long. A long table was laid out in a clearing between the tents, lumpen candles illuminating an entire roast venison, trays of roast tubers with fragrant herbs, and a drunken Seinjialese man ladling something awful-smelling from an earthenware cask.
“Lager!” he called. “Yealon’s finest! Drink up ye dogs, it’s feast day!”
Men moved about the table, joking and calling, tearing into the meat with bare hands, many appearing well into their cups.
“Seinjials,” Ella muttered beside her. “The Prophet himself couldn’t keep them from their drink.”
A hush fell over the rowdy men as they gradually noticed her and Ella. Forty-five pairs of eyes fell on them, and Marea suddenly felt like a piece of meat. Gods. This was what Ella was talking about.
She was all at once glad to have the woman along.
“Relax!” one of them called, standing up. Ollen, the camp leader. “Did ye forget what women look like?”
“Reckon I did!” one of the others called, and their general mirth started up again, twice as loud if anything, though plenty of the men kept staring.
Thank the Prophet Avery wasn’t one of them. Neither was Ollen, who approached looking quite steady on his feet. “Miss Aygla, what a pleasant surprise! Avery, you invited the women over?”
He didn’t sound happy about it, but he also didn’t sound like a master talking to his worker. Ella was worried Avery wasn’t a good person, but if even his master respected him…
“He invited Marea, actually,” Ella answered. “And though we are far from Worldsmouth, I still didn’t think it appropriate to let the girl go alone.”
Marea tamped down on her frustration. Did they have to talk about her like she was a child in front of Avery? She was an adult. Had been surviving for months now among enemies of the Councilate, and knew secrets about the resonances few people could claim.
She was not a child.
Marea tugged on Avery’s hand, his fingers calloused. “Come on,” she said. “Help me get a plate?”
He did, thankfully pulling her away from Ella and Ollen and any further conversations about how she was incapable of taking care of herself.
“Here we are,” he said, sweeping an arm grandly at the rough-hewn table. “This is as good as it gets in the hinterlands.”
“It looks amazing,” she said honestly. “Have you ever heard of wintergrass?”
Stains. Was that only something the Achuri ate? She didn’t think Avery would care, but… everything could go terribly wrong from some minor slip here.
Which she also hated.
Thankfully, he grimaced. “Wish I hadn’t. The stuff is supposed to be full of whatever powers the resonances, but personally, I’d rather go hungry.”
She laughed. “Me too! We’ve been basically living on it. So, deer and tubers? Yes, please.”
He helped her dish a plate—thankfully, they had a few. She did not want his first impression of her eating greasy meat with her bare hands.
Stains. Was that something her mom would think?
“Lager?” Avery was asking.
Marea wrinkled her nose. “That stuff the Seinjials drink? I don’t think so.”
He shrugged. “I thought it was nasty at first too, but it’s kind of grown on me. Here. Just try a sip.”
And he held up his glass. Marea had read about this in her novels: the first sign you wanted to kiss each other was sharing the same glass, or fork. It was even a ritual among some of the peasants apparently.
Well she couldn’t really refuse that, could she?
“Shattercocks,” she choked, once it was down. “That’s disgusting.”
Avery shrugged. “It’ll grow on you. Want to sit?”
19
Ella watched Marea go with dismay. The girl was obviously sti
ll angry about their conversation earlier today, even if she’d agreed to Ella coming. Prophets send she didn’t get careless and let something slip.
“Can I offer you a chair?” Ollen asked. “Some dreamtea or lager?”
“A chair, yes! I’m afraid I never took to dreamtea or your, ah, cultural beverages.”
At this Ollen smiled, directing her to a seat near the fire. “To each their own. I confess I have tried your ginseng beer and, well, it’s difficult to forget one’s roots, isn’t it?”
A clever play on words. Too clever for her persona to catch—was he testing her? “I’m sure it is. Oh, what a lovely chair! Did you drag this all the way out here?”
“Oh no,” Ollen said, sitting in a similarly well-made wood chair. “Some of our men have woodworking backgrounds, and we have nothing but time out here.”
“I’m sure. You have so many people here—are they all involved in your research?”
He paused, and she cursed inside. Baby steps, Ella, baby steps. She was dying to know what he knew, but this needed baby steps.
“I will admit many of them are here just to keep the rest of us comfortable. We have the luxury of a well-funded expedition, and Credelen thinks this could take some time, so we made some allowances for creature comforts.”
Ella gave a dramatic sigh. “Nauro’s research really deserves better than what I can give him. And even so, this cost me a second mortgage on our Yersh estate!” She put on a bright smile. “But isn’t it all so worth it? I never thought I’d get a chance to see these stones, and here we are!”
“Yes,” Ollen said, eyes glazing a bit at her exuberance. Excellent. Let him take her for a fool. “Did you find anything noteworthy today?”
Ella put on a frown-pout. “I’m afraid not. Nauro has some theories about the proportions of the stone in relation to the moon and star, but it’s all terribly mathematical. I’m really an idiot when it comes to that sort of thing! My interests lie more on the spiritual side of things.”
Hint, hint. How did you bring up shamanism if you weren’t supposed to know about it?
Ollen raised his eyebrows. “I see. This is part of the theory around astrological alignments?”
“Oh, yes. You know some old texts talk of the stones having resonances of their own, and of course the star is the ultimate source of our resonance, so I am hoping, well—”
“Yes?” He looked interested but unthreatened. Perfect.
“It must sound so foolish. But hoping that the stone will come to life, and that we’ll be given a new resonance, or—I don’t even know what will happen! There are so many hints in the old texts, but no direct answers.”
Ollen leaned in, mug of lager forgotten. “What sorts of hints?”
Aha. Got you now. Ella suppressed a smile. “Well, Nauro would really be the one to talk to about that, I just read what he points me to. But some sections talk of spirits, or our ancestors, coming to life, and giving us power. Honestly I was so excited when I saw you here because I thought maybe you’d have clearer answers. The hymns—did I mistake that those are dirges for the dead? Does your research speak of any similar things?”
His eyes darted for a moment before settling back on hers. Tell me, she willed him. Tell me what you’re doing.
“Our… knowledge has come at great cost,” he said finally, fingers toying with the rough clay of his mug. “I wish I could share it with you, but it would be a disservice to the work we’ve already done.”
Stains. Or was he hinting at a trade? She had no knowledge she was actually willing to trade with him, but he didn’t have to know that. And what harm if another pack of ninespears was thrown off course by some plausible lies? Their whole goal here was to get Semeca’s spear before any others had a chance.
“Perhaps we could arrange a trade then,” she said, struggling a bit to keep her façade up. “A scholarly trade! Our insights for yours?”
Ollen gazed into his glass, swirling the liquid. The man was interested—and if he was a real scholar, or just really hungry for power, he would take the risk. Time was limited, and she had tempted him enough with talk of the stone giving power that his ambition would be peeked.
Then Credelen laid a hand on Ollen’s shoulder, from where the man sat a chair away. He had clearly been listening. Ella waited for him to say something, to deny the deal, but he just laid his hand on Ollen’s shoulder.
And Ollen’s eyes grew distant—they were talking! Ella felt a chill creep down her spine—this was no resonance she knew of. Mindseyes would have no need for physical touch, and what was the likelihood they were both second-level mindseyes? No, they were shamans with uai streams, which meant they could do anything. Like have conversations through touch.
Across the clearing Marea tittered, leaning in close to Avery. Don’t ruin this for me now, girl, Ella thought, recognizing the timbre of her voice. Marea was getting drunk. But Ella needed more time to learn what they knew. Especially if Credelen was involved.
The lighthair’s hand dropped, and Ollen took a drink. “I’m afraid I can’t, Miss Aygla, much as the scholar in me would love to. But thank you for the offer.”
Meck meck meck. Ella glanced at Marea, still grinning foolishly at her boy toy. The girl wasn’t stupid. She could keep her mouth shut, even tipsy on Seinjial lager. She had to.
Because Ella wasn’t leaving till she learned something.
20
Marea laughed, leaning into Avery. He was so funny. And so solid on her arm.
“So I told him,” Avery said, grin wide in the firelight, “you drink the scatting pondwater, if you like it so much!”
She lost it in another fit of laughter. A distant part of herself wondered, what was so funny?
“Are you a mosstongue?” she asked between gasps, though it came out more like moshtongue.
“No,” he said, grinning back at her. “Why?”
“Cuz you’re just so funny,” she said. Was he naturally this funny? Or was he just so handsome she was laughing from nerves? Because he was handsome.
“Have another drink,” he said. “It’ll help with the giggles.”
“Will it?” she asked, and took another big swallow. Lager was still disgusting, but she was getting a little more used to it. Or maybe everything was just so funny—
“I’m a brawler,” Avery said. It took her a second to remember why he said it. Right. She’d asked. Stupid. “Not that I get much chance to use it. Moss was always too expensive, even in Seingard. You’d think this close to the rebels there’d be some cheaper, but the Yati—” He shrugged.
“Savages,” she said. “Or—that’s what Feynrick says. But he’s a Yati, so—”
That was funny too. Was it though? It seemed like it shouldn’t be—
“So what are you?” he asked, their hands still twined together. It was just a hand, but prophets it felt good to hold it. To feel his eyes on her.
“A blank,” she said, a second before thinking maybe he’d think badly of her for it. “I mean, I—”
“Hey, no worries,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze. “I know lots of blanks. Thought I was one for a long time too. Turned out I just wasn’t eating enough bitter foods.”
He looked at her like he was expecting a laugh, but somehow she suddenly felt very serious. He was so kind. He didn’t care that she was a blank. Because he wasn’t some southern barbarian who all had all kinds of resonances. He was just a normal boy from the Mouth. Or, well, a man really.
There was no denying that.
“I like you,” she blurted, then blushed fever red. Oh meckstained cockwattles what did she just say?
But he just smiled, like it was the most normal thing in the world to say. “I like you too,” he said, and leaned in closer.
He was going to kiss her. Holy Gods mecking stains he was going to kiss her right here in front of the whole camp and Ella and everyone—
But he didn’t, he just leaned shoulders against her. “I’m so glad you showed up,” he said. “Ca
n I get you more lager?”
21
Talk had turned to more mundane topics—the state of Councilate politics, the rebellion in the south, their journey here. Ella had to think fast to lie convincingly a couple of times, and she worried about Marea on the other side of the fire, looking ready to start making out with Avery then and there. What if Avery was more than he seemed? Another shaman like Ollen and Credelen, sent to squeeze information out of the weakest of their party whatever way he could?
Ella took a deep breath. Marea could handle herself. She would have to. There was only so much they could do here without getting Ollen’s secrets, and only so much time they could stay before they needed to keep searching for the real stone. Every night was precious. And the longer they stayed the better chance Ollen’s camp had of discovering who Tai was, or their real purpose in coming here.
Her attempts at weaseling Ollen’s information out through talk had failed. But there was more than one way to learn what they knew.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Ella said, standing, “I’m afraid I need to attend to some business in the woods.”
Ollen started up. “Let me accompany you. The night is dark, and there are predators this far out in the woods.”
He could be a gentleman. Or he could be worried she’d see something she shouldn’t in their camp. Either way, she couldn’t let him come. She put on her mother’s best smile. “Oh, there’s really no need. I’ll just step over to our side of the bowl. It’s not entirely ladylike, but I guess it’s become routine after this long on the road.”
Ollen appeared as though about to say more, then nodded. “You’ll come back? I was so enjoying our conversation.”
Ella glanced at Marea. “Oh, yes. I wouldn’t want to leave her unattended.”
And I have more I need from you, shaman.
She wandered as much as she could on her way out of their camp, looking in the wavering shadows for tents that looked bigger or more luxurious. They were of all shapes and sizes, but she marked a few that would bear closer inspection on her return.