Deverea moved just enough to keep both Joslyn and Ghost in clear sight. "I see you know more of my people than our language. How does that leave us?"
"It leaves you stranded," Ghost said, "and vulnerable. Windfolk trading is good for Ly Ossia and the Governor is content to turn a blind eye, normally. But if the Watchers find you here he'd have to follow form. I think you know what that means."
Joslyn's gaze was still frozen on the spear point, and odd curiosities were brewing in her mind. Such as how long it would take to die after being speared. What it felt like, and would she know what was happening as her life dripped away. Ghost, what are you doing?!
"Clearly," Deverea said, "Do you propose alerting the Watchers yourself or are you merely making conversation?"
"Neither. Joslyn and I need transportation to Darsa on the south coast. You need your ship repaired. I think we can make a bargain."
The nomad woman kept her grip on her weapon, and there was open suspicion in her eyes. "The wheel can't be mended—don't you think I've tried? It'll have to be replaced, and even if we had the time there's no seasoned white oak for miles! I was close to abandoning my craft here when you came."
Ghost squatted by the ship and eyed the broken wheel critically. "It doesn't look so bad to me... is it a deal?"
Deverea looked toward the heavens. "Yes, for all the good of it."
"More than you think, certainly. As I said, not so bad... spokes merely warped a little."
As he spoke, both Joslyn and Deverea could see that the spokes were but slightly bent, not broken.
Joslyn frowned. I could have sworn...
Ghost gripped a spoke and bent it back into shape. Then another. Each time the wood groaned and creaked, but obeyed. Joslyn looked at Deverea, who was looking at her, and both with the same mad confusion in their eyes.
"How did he do that?" Deverea asked. Her voice was a harsh whisper.
"I don't—"
She never finished. Something worse that the shock of seeing Ghost do the impossible struck her—terror. It nearly overwhelmed her; she almost gave in to the urge to run, it didn't matter where. Anywhere. And knowing all the while that no place was far enough. Later she tried to get a grip on the feeling, but only one image made sense—the memory of a dream wounded beyond recovery, one that was about to end. Another instant and the feeling passed, leaving her weak and trembling.
Deverea didn't seem to notice. She was staring at the resurrected wheel. Joslyn was amazed at the difference: the spokes had been burst by impact—she knew that despite what her eyes said later—and the few that weren't shattered were twisted beyond repair. But now the spokes were tightly in line, row on alternating row, and the windship rested on even keel.
Ghost stepped back and examined his work. "I think it'll hold."
Deverea gave him a wide berth as she went to see for herself. Joslyn waited for Ghost, arms folded across her chest. "How did you do that?"
He shrugged. "It wasn't that bad."
"It most certainly was that bad. It was broken past fixing, and you fixed it. I want to know how, and if you dare tell me it's a secret I'll borrow Deverea's spear, see if I don't."
Ghost looked unhappy. "I don't know. I wish I did."
Joslyn shook her head. "That's not good enough."
"But I honestly have no idea. It's something that's come about since my..." he groped for the right word, "Sundering. I once saw an aged master do something similar. He went into a waking trance for half a day, and the end all he managed was to change the color of a rose. It was a marvelous thing, but I can do far more with no effort at all now. No great changes, mind. Just things like walking past a White Robe without being seen. Or fixing that wheel."
"You did more than fix it, Ghost. You remade it, changed broken wood to sound. What you did wasn't possible!"
"Since I did do it you must be mistaken. And I told you I wasn't the first."
Joslyn looked thoughtful. "Could we find this 'master' you spoke of? Perhaps there's a connection—"
Ghost was shaking his head. "I thought of that, even before I came to Ly Ossia. He's been dead for many years."
"Damn..."
Deverea joined them, looking bewildered. "It's better than it was," she said. It sounded like an accusation. "Ghost man, are you a magician?"
"Something like that, I suppose. I don't think there's a word for it."
Joslyn thought of a few, but she didn't get to use them. She cocked her head, listening, and saw Deverea do the same.
"Horses," Deverea said. "No doubt carrying soldiers. We'd best get moving."
Joslyn scrambled into the stern while Ghost and Deverea swung the craft about and put its back to the breeze sweeping down from the hills. They climbed in and Deverea quickly trimmed the sail. It began to pop and rustle in the wind and Deverea took hold of the boomline. "Into the bow, both of you!"
Joslyn ducked under the boom and crawled forward. The vessel shuddered, once, then began to move. Joslyn felt a little queasy.
The boom swung sharply right and Ghost leaned on the left rail. "I've sailed before," he said. "I can help."
Deverea shot him a worried look but didn't argue. The craft was bouncing along now, faster with every moment as the woman let out more sail to catch the wind—too fast. The left rear wheel rose from the grass and the windship heeled to the right. Deverea slipped the line and the craft righted, but not before Joslyn banged her head on the deck. She lay where she fell, dazed.
"Are you all right?" Ghost asked.
"I would be," she yelled. "If I was walking."
"I doubt it. Look behind us."
Joslyn looked toward the hills bordering Ly Ossia. The spearpoints appeared first and then seven horsemen galloped over the last crest and down into the plain, and more followed. Joslyn stopped counting after twenty.
Deverea glanced back. "Who are they after? You or me?"
"If they catch us," said Joslyn, drily, "I don't think they'll draw fine distinctions."
Deverea laughed and let out a little more line. The vessel picked up speed more smoothly this time, and the wheels hissed through the grass as if they sailed through a sea of snakes. The horsemen were gaining, but not rapidly.
Joslyn sat up and put her back to the rail. "Can we outrun them?"
Deverea concentrated on handling the ship. She didn't look back. "I didn't get a good look. Are they wearing iron?"
"Yes."
"Then we can outrun them. Lie down, girl. Your weight's on the wrong side."
Joslyn slid forward until she was lying on the deck again. She looked up into a cloudless, changeless sky and it robbed her of any sense of motion, leaving only the vibration of the windship beneath her. She looked over the side and speed returned. Hummocks of grass and weeds shot past beneath her, and the earth was a blur. Joslyn felt giddy.
"We're losing them," Ghost said.
Joslyn strained to see. The Watchers were no longer gaining ground; soon they weren't even holding the pace.
"Keep down!" Deverea shouted.
An arrow smacked into the deck an inch from Joslyn's foot and stuck there, quivering. Another fell short of the stern.
"They started shooting too late," Deverea said, with satisfaction, "We'll be out of range soon."
The nomad woman proved an adequate seer. The Watchers finally drew rein and immediately began to dwindle. Soon they were out of sight. Joslyn sat up. "They'd have caught us for sure."
"I think you're right," Ghost said. There was nothing in his voice of near-disasters and lives saved by a whisper's echo. He could have been discussing the weather. "Deverea, our meeting was quite fortunate for all of us."
Deverea shook her head, smiling. "The Wind Dancer takes care of her own. We met because she meant it to happen."
Joslyn carefully worked her way by the mast, her eyes on the swaying boom. "Who is this 'Wind Dancer?'"
"Ajel Kar, city girl—Mistress of the gale and the soft flowing breezes. The one we honor."
&
nbsp; "Your goddess," Joslyn said.
"More than that. She is macler. Like your 'mother,' and more. Have you none like Ajel Kar? Whom do you honor?"
Joslyn couldn't keep a tinge of pride out her voice. "I am of the Temple of Somna the Dreamer. I honor the Creator." Deverea smiled at her, and Joslyn had the distinct feeling that she smiled because she wanted to laugh. "Did I say something amusing?"
"Yes," Deverea said flatly, "Among my people that's like saying you worship the seasons, or a blade of grass."
A sudden gust heeled the ship a bit, and Deverea adjusted boom line and steering bar to straighten them out again. Joslyn glanced at Ghost to see if there was a warning on his face, some protocol or custom of Deverea's folk that she risked treading on, but Ghost's eyes were fixed ahead where the green horizon met the sky. Joslyn crossed her arms like a city preparing for siege. "I don't mean to offend you, Lady, but Somna isn't the same as a blade of grass."
Deverea did laugh then. "In one very important respect they are exactly the same. Don't you know what that is?"
"I can't imagine."
Deverea leaned forward and said, "They don't care."
Joslyn was so close to anger that she would have made it with much less of a push. "That's not true! Somna loves her creation!"
Deverea nodded. "Of course. But you and I and the boils on the Emperor's arse are only tiny parts of that creation. And it is the creation, the pattern, that concerns the Dreamer. Individually we mean nothing to her."
Ghost finally showed interest. "Are you saying it's wrong to worship the Dreamer?"
She shrugged. "Not wrong—useless. Ajel Kar is concerned with the least of us, and can be moved to our aid. The Dreamer cannot."
Joslyn listened to this exchange impatiently; a flaw in Deverea's reasoning was demanding challenge. "But if Somna is the Creator—and I've not heard you deny it—then the gods must be as much her work as we are. Who's to say that Ajel Kar isn't Somna's way of looking after your people?"
Deverea inclined her head slightly in submission. "The origin of the gods is uncertain, but it is a worthy point and I will consider it. But even if true it changes nothing. We will always pray to one who listens; it's a matter of survival."
Somewhat mollified, Joslyn let it drop. She turned her attention back to her surroundings—the tireless motion of the windship as it hissed through the grass, the wind on her face, the sunlight playing on dew-sparked weeds and flowers. The rest of her anger slowly faded against the wonder of it all.
Deverea pointed off to the left. "Look there!"
Joslyn had seen deer before: on a tapestry, in a dusty hallway. By candlelight. These little black and tan creatures were all living motion to the woven deers' pose, vibrant life to their stiff immortality. Their horns were delicate ivory spirals, and their wiry legs sent them through the grass in long graceful bounds. They paced the craft like dolphins.
Deverea saw the question in Joslyn's eyes. "Telbok. I doubt you have a name for them, so you're welcome to use ours."
Joslyn smiled at her, the argument forgotten. "Thank you."
The telbok on Joslyn's side of the windship sprang across the bow and joined the larger group on the left side. Then as one they cut wide to the left and vanished. Joslyn joined Ghost on the left rail. "Weren't they beautiful?"
A look of deep concentration on Ghost's face slowly faded. He looked at her. "What are you talking about?"
"Why... the telbok! didn't you see them?"
He shrugged. "I saw them. They were animals."
Joslyn studied his face, and after a moment she was certain. He honestly didn't understand. "Ghost, how can you stand there and not be affected? How can you be so—" Joslyn wished she'd bitten her tongue.
"Dead?" put in Ghost, helpfully. "And how could I be otherwise? The hearth is long cold and no one's home. Please don't forget or ignore what I am, Joslyn. I need you to find what I've lost, true, but just as much I need you to help me remember what that is. It's too much for me alone."
Joslyn didn't look at him. "I didn't mean to offend you."
"You didn't. I'm not sure it's possible... Deverea? May I take the tiller for a bit?"
She looked skeptical. "It's not quite the same as water sailing."
"I've done both. I know what the differences are."
Deverea shrugged and helped Ghost slip into her place. He took the line and steering bar and almost immediately the nomad woman relaxed. Ghost's adjustments were quick and sure; it was clear even to Joslyn that he knew what he was doing. Deverea stretched gratefully and climbed down through the hatch by the mast. She soon reappeared carrying a wheel of cheese and a loaf of dark bread. She broke the loaf into three pieces and Joslyn helped her cut the wheel. Deverea carried bread and a hunk of cheese back to Ghost in the stern. He clamped the steering bar under one arm, steering the craft and eating as if he'd been doing both all his life, all at the same time.
"The only way you learn to sail a windship is by sailing a windship," Deverea said, "Who was your teacher?"
"I traveled with some of your folk when I was younger—Caelo Kender's Child's household. And I've been on the true sea."
The words came slowly, as if Ghost was making up his past as he went along. Joslyn knew he wasn't imagining: he was remembering. And trying to understand why his memories should be important to him. At first Joslyn had been annoyed that Ghost had told her so little of his past, but now she was beginning to understand what memory was to Ghost. His apathy was a slow, remorseless tide that threatened to overwhelm the few fragments of life that were left to him. Joslyn didn't know how to help him, and, seeing the confusion and pain in his eyes, she did want to help him.
"Why did you travel so much?" she asked, "Were you looking for something?"
Ghost frowned, then slowly brightened. "You know, I believe I was—"
"Gechek'de! Krascen lesos dess'ta..." Deverea scrambled back through the hatch.
Joslyn stared. "What—?"
"'Red hell.' And I believe the rest was a reference to 'boils on a pig's arse,'" translated Ghost, helpfully, "We're not safe yet."
Joslyn looked where Ghost was looking and did a little swearing herself. A band of horsemen had appeared on the horizon directly in their path. "How did the Watchers get ahead of us?"
"Those aren't Watchers. Those are brigands—"
"They're slescha!" Deverea snarled, falling back on her own language when city argot apparently lacked a word vile enough to suit them. She crawled out of the hatch carrying a bow of dark horn, a quiver of yellow and green fletched arrows, and a bundle of javelins.
Ghost had already turned the windship at an angle away from the riders, but it wouldn't be enough. The riders turned to intercept them. "We'll have to turn back and tack against the wind."
"And slow to a crawl that even if it is fast enough—and it isn't—will take us right back to the arms of the Watchers. We'll have to fight." Deverea strung the bow deftly.
"We'll lose. I count five... no, six."
Joslyn said nothing. To her own surprise she was more angry than afraid. Escape so near and now a gang of common raiders appears like lightning out of a clear sky. It wasn't fair. "I thought the Empire kept the trade routes clear!"
Deverea laughed. "It does—so far as the Emperor is concerned. The bandits learned the rules long ago: raid a windship and the Governor turns a blind eye. Raid an Imperial caravan and your body turns slowly in the breeze. They're scum, girl, but they're not stupid. By the way... is either of you an archer?"
Joslyn just looked at her. Ghost smiled. "No, Lady. No warriors here."
"Pity." Deverea untied the thong on the bundle of darts. They were about four feet long, with short barbed heads. She handed one to Joslyn. "Hold it so," Deverea instructed, grasping the javelin a third past center. "When you finish your throw your shoulder should be pointed at your target. That's if you're alive when they get close enough. They'll have bows, but I rather think they'll try to kill me or our steersman first."
The nomad woman went about preparing for what probably was a doomed struggle with methodical calm. Joslyn was inwardly terrified, but she found Deverea's serenity infectious. "I gather you've been through this before."
"Many times, Bless the Dancer, though I do miss my man Syl. He was the archer; all I had to do was keep the ship steady. Sweet idiot fell off the ship and broke his fool neck last Gathering."
Joslyn watched the bandits getting closer. "I wish he was here now."
Deverea winked. "So do I. On a cold night he was better than three blankets."
Joslyn laughed despite herself. She tested the heft of her dart and tried to gauge their distance from the raiders. The bandits were closing rapidly.
Deverea went to the foredeck, sat down and braced her feet against the rail. She nocked an arrow, drew and released with barely a pause. "Damn! I told you I'm no archer."
Joslyn gasped. "You hit him!"
"In the leg," Deverea snapped. "They're always vicious; now they're angry." She drew another arrow and fired. This time the lead horse stumbled and went down. The rider catapulted over the beast's head and the horse rolled over him.
"I'll guess," Joslyn said, "you were aiming for the rider."
Deverea laughed. "Horses are valuable. The Dancer alone knows why."
Her next two shots were clean misses. The bandits began a zig-zag approach, sometimes heading straight for them, at others turning at steep angles to their path. They closed more slowly, but still they closed.
"They're good," Deverea admitted.
"Look out!" Joslyn shouted the warning, but Deverea had already thrown herself flat on the deck. An arrow hummed over them. Another struck the rail and glanced up through the sail. It was a small tear, but Deverea cursed loudly. She fired again.
Ghost watched the result. "Four to go," he said.
One of the riders broke from the others and sped directly toward the stern. He rode low on his mount, holding a bow with an arrow tightly nocked in one hand. Deverea sat up and groped desperately for the arrow she'd dropped. "That's a Sulidun riding trick. If he gets our steersman we're dead!"
Only then did Joslyn grasp their strategy: Kill Deverea and the bandits would have them sooner or later. Kill Ghost and the bandits would have them immediately. If Ghost let go of the line...
A Warrior of Dreams Page 11