by Jack Massa
As they sailed toward the inlet, Amlina headed for her cabin. All of the Iruks were on deck, bantering and laughing as they secured lines and packed up their gear. After so many days on the cramped vessel, they were looking forward to time ashore.
Ducking her head, Amlina entered the crawlspace. She had already packed one of her trunks with trinkets, a change of clothes, and the talking book. Now she added her purse, and an embroidered pouch containing her jewelry and dagger. A heavier bag held several hundred gold coins, which Meghild had given her prior to leaving Gwales to ensure adequate funds for the voyage.
The queen's gift had been necessary, since the small amount of gold Amlina had carried off from Kadavel had been spent—gone in generous payment to the crew of the Larthangan ship and in Amlina's share for financing the Phoenix Queen. The Iruks, of course, had taken much more treasure from the Temple of the Air and, so far as the witch knew, still had sacks of it stored with their gear.
Amlina placed the money-bag in a hinged basket and set a blanket over it. Then she knelt before the shelf where the head of the queen floated in its bowl. She whispered a few words in the extinct Nyssanian tongue, then said aloud: “My queen, it is time to awaken.”
The eyelids lifted at once, the face alert. “Amlina. Have we landed?”
“We are nearing the boatyard. I must draw your light form out of the water.”
“Bah! And wrap my head in an oilskin, hide it in a dark trunk. I don’t want to sleep the whole time we are ashore. I want to walk the land and breathe the air.” Since Amlina drew the eidolon’s power to summon the wind, the queen had been more energetic, more present in this world—and also more willful and stubborn.
“I know, my queen. I regret the necessity. But in your present form, you are bound to attract undue attention.”
“So wrap me in a cloak to hide the light. I won’t say a word. I can be discreet.”
Amlina sighed. “I’ve explained to you: If even a few eyes discover your true appearance, the wonder of it will cause ripples in the Deepmind—ripples that the Archimage is liable to discern. Our whole venture depends on concealing ourselves from her, at least until after the Mirror is cast.”
“By that time, I will be dead,” Meghild answered. “A queen does not beg, Amlina. But neither does she accept terms she finds unreasonable. I remind you of our bargain: that I should be able to sail and walk and take full part in one last adventure. Nothing was said of locking me in a trunk.”
Amlina bowed her head. She could not deny the rightfulness of the queen’s appeal. And she could not find it in her heart to deny it.
“Very well. We will draw up your light body and let you walk. We will purchase clothing in the town to conceal you. That will have to suffice.”
“Ha ha!” the bodiless head cried. “Now I am satisfied!”
* O *
When Amlina returned to the deck Meghild followed, her eidolon body rising tall, wrapped in a blanket from head to foot. The queen looked around, eyes sparkling.
The sail was lowered, the cranock settled in shallow water. Before them on the shore rose the ramps and enclosures of the boatyard, crowded with workmen and vessels being built or repaired. Wilhaven stood on a boardwalk, gesturing in intent conversation with a burly man in a leather apron. Several workers stood behind them with hands on their hips. The Iruks had gathered at the rails to watch the confrontation.
“Amlina,” Lonn called. “You had better go and help Wilhaven. I don’t think the negotiations are going well.”
The Iruks assisted the witch over the side. She marched through the shallow water and onto the boards. Folding her hands in her sleeves, she took a deep breath to settle herself.
“Greetings, gentlemen,” she said. “Have we been able to come to terms?”
“Not hardly.” The boatwright stared at her belligerently.
“This is Master Bruel.” Wilhaven introduced the man. “He says they can do the work all right, and for twenty ellas, a reasonable price. But not for another small-month.”
“Two small-months more likely,” Bruel said. “This is our busy time.”
“But the job is not large,” Amlina suggested. “Perhaps if we offered a higher price?”
The boatwright crossed his arms. “You could offer me both moons and it wouldn’t make any difference. I have contracts with local owners to fulfill. I can’t delay them just because some foreigners sail into town and expect special treatment.”
Inside her sleeve, Amlina moved her fingertips. She stared briefly into the man’s eyes and summoned her witch’s art of passive persuasion.
She offered a tenuous smile. “Forgive me for not introducing myself. My name is Olicia Wor-T’sing. I am a scholar from the Academy of Foreign Nations in Larthang. Once each hundred years, we are sent across the world to survey the peoples and climes and update the Academy’s knowledge.”
“So?”
“Well.” She lowered her eyes, evincing embarrassment. “I am afraid we are far behind in our timetable—owing, I must say, to faults entirely my own. You see, I so love learning about people and their ways that we spent far too much time in the hinterlands of Kleeg. Now I must get upriver to survey your inlands as soon as may be. It would be a great kindness if you could have our boat outfitted by, say, tomorrow morning?”
The foreman’s expression had softened, his mind lulled by her gentle voice. “I’d like to help you, but my regular customers …”
“They will not be inconvenienced—a single day’s work for a few of your men. Indeed, they may think you magnanimous for assisting a troubled group of travelers. And they need never know that you were paid twice the sum you asked.”
Bruel’s eyebrows lifted. “Well, I …”
Amlina took a silver ring from her finger. “In appreciation of your generosity, I offer this token. It was forged by a witch at the Academy of the Deepmind and contains a charm said to bring good fortune in business affairs.”
The foreman scowled dubiously. “Oh, really?”
“Here, see how it fits.”
Reluctantly, he took the ring. When he slipped it onto his little finger, the scowl melted into a look of wonder and delight.
“Worn on the smallest finger—most propitious,” Amlina said. “So you will have our boat ready by tomorrow noon?”
“Yes …” the boatwright looked puzzled. “You did say forty ellas, correct?”
Amlina smiled. “Agreed.”
* O *
Firelight from the stone hearth danced across the floor. Under the low-beamed ceiling, the dining room was crowded with tables and benches, customers and servers, eating and drinking, talking and laughing. The close air smelled of spilled ale, grilling meats, wood smoke.
Amlina and her companions sat at a table in a dim corner. They had dined on broiled fish, fresh vegetables, hot bread. Their mood now was languid and satiated.
“Oh, I’ve missed this, to be sure.” Meghild waved her tankard at the noisy crowd. Though the eidolon had no need of food or drink, the queen was managing to enjoy her ale, the gold liquid passing down her throat to be immediately consumed and changed to light.
“All of us have missed this,” Eben laughed.
“Aye,” the queen answered. “But I don’t just mean the inn and the drinking. I mean traveling, seeing new lands and people, breathing the air of different climes. I was stuck in that moldy castle nigh on ten years and thought to never sail again.” She laid a glove on the witch’s slim wrist. “You’ve made an old woman happy, Amlina.”
“I am glad, my queen.”
After leaving the boatyard early in the day, they had stopped at a clothier and purchased a long cloak, gloves, and boots to conceal the eidolon’s light. Next, on the Iruks’ insistence, they had found a bathhouse. While the travelers soaked gratefully in steaming tubs, their clothes were laundered, furs brushed and cleaned. Finally, they had come to this inn near the waterfront and rented two rooms for the night. Locked in her room, Amlina had meditated, wov
en her usual concealments, and then fashioned an additional cantrip—a mind trick extended to all of her companions, making them hard to notice and easy to forget.
With all of that accomplished and after the warm and nourishing meal, Amlina should have felt relaxed. Instead, apprehension tugged at her nerves. Restlessly, she scanned the other tables and along the walls, watching for anyone who might be paying them undue attention.
The babble in the dining room subsided as, off in a corner, an elbow-piper sat down to play. His instrument was a construction of pipes, keys, and an air-bag squeezed at the elbow. Amlina had heard it played before, in Meghild’s hall. The tune was mellow and sweet, and the diners listened with quiet appreciation. Borgova had been founded long ago as a colony by Gwales traders. In later times, Tathians had come to dominate the sea routes, and now the town was a mixture of Gwales, Tathian, and native Nyssanian folk. But plainly the love of Gwales music lived on.
“Sure, and that lad needs accompaniment,” Wilhaven said, amid the applause that followed the tune.
“Aye, my lovely,” Meghild cried, as the bard took his harp from its velvet bag. “Let them hear the music of the eastern fjords!”
Amlina started to object, worried once more about being conspicuous. But glancing around the table, she stopped herself. After so many days and nights of hardship, her companions were enjoying themselves. She must not spoil that, she thought. She must let it be and trust that her concealments were enough.
Wilhaven stepped across the room and introduced himself to the piper. Together they played two pieces--another delicate air and then a lively, stomping reel that brought fervent applause and set a few of the customers to dancing. When the crowd demanded more, the bard offered to sing a ballad, one of his own recent compositions.
The song concerned a group of pirates, “rude barbarians from a distant shore,” who wintered as guests in a Gwales castle. All went well, until a certain prince of the tribe took a dislike to the guests. This was a proud and arrogant man named “Pendraith.” One night, when he’d had too much to drink, this prince broke the courtesy of the hall and challenged the foreigners to fight. After consultation, the pirates sent the smallest of their band to accept the challenge, a woman warrior named “Alyssa.” She bested the boastful prince with ease, and left a scar on his cheek to remind him to treat guests with respect in the future.
Cheers erupted at the end of the song, several patrons jumping up to clap Wilhaven on the back. Scanning her friends’ faces, Amlina saw smiles of smug satisfaction from the Iruks, a blush on Glyssa’s cheek, fierce pride on the queen’s countenance.
Startled, Amlina felt tears welling in her eyes. As a witch of Larthang, she was schooled in the concept of rectitude, the correct use of power. Since the start of this voyage, she had been troubled, unsure her choices were correct. But now, contemplating this remarkable group of friends from far-flung places, who had chosen to journey with her, united in her cause to rid the world of a great evil, she took comfort that her course might indeed be rightful.
* O *
Later that night, the Iruks marched through the streets of the town. Glyssa and her mates were dressed in clean clothes and carried all their weapons, cleaned and oiled. Although the night was warm, they had donned their hooded capes. Eben toted a water skin filled with ale. Lonn and Brinda lit the way with lanterns borrowed from the inn.
“I think it was a fine ballad,” Draven was saying. “Of course it’s not exactly what happened. Wilhaven changed some parts to make a better story.”
“I realize that,” Karrol answered. “I’m not saying he should sing exactly what happened. I’m just not happy with how he described us. ‘Rude barbarians from a distant shore.’ When were we ever rude to anybody?”
“I think he used ‘rude’ in a different sense,” Eben said. “Not discourteous, but uncivilized. Because we’re barbarians.”
“Aren’t all barbarians uncivilized?” Karrol argued. “Isn’t that what the word means? Why not just say barbarians then? I get tired of the way people from other nations look down on us, just because they live in big halls and sail big ships. I’d like to see some of them survive in the Polar Seas ...”
“Wilhaven is all right,” Lonn said.
“I know, Wilhaven is all right,” Karrol said. “Amlina is all right. Even the ghost queen is all right. I’m just glad to get away from them all for a while. To be alone with my mates.”
That was the reason for this late-night foray. Karrol and Brinda had suggested the mates leave the inn and find some deserted place where they could build a fire and raise the klarn spirit—to reestablish their unity after so many days at sea.
Passing the outskirts of town, they climbed a grassy hill. They had learned that the hills behind the town were commons, used for pasture in some seasons, little used this time of year. The night was clear, with both moons floating among the bright and unfamiliar constellations of the northern sky. Lonn stopped at the crest of the hill, where the ground was nearly level.
“This looks to be a good place.”
The mates nodded agreement. Below them spread the town and beyond it the wide river, black and sluggish—only gradually acquiring witchlight as it flowed west and mingled with the salt water of the bay.
From a grove on the far side of the hill, the mates gathered sticks and fallen branches. Lonn lit the fire, then extinguished the lanterns. When the blaze was high and crackling, the Iruks stood in a circle and one by one thrust their spear tips into the ground.
With their hands still gripping the spear hafts, Lonn said: “The klarn has not been put to rest, and we do not rest it now, for the hunt continues. But gathered around this fire we awaken the klarn-soul, that we may feel it in our bodies, to bring us strength for the journey ahead.”
“And so we may feel our bond,” Glyssa was inspired to add. “And bring comfort and strength to each other.”
Glyssa felt the klarn-soul thrumming inside her—an energy like and yet unlike the power that circulated in her with the witch’s exercises. Glancing around the circle, she was astonished to find she could see the klarn’s presence, a silvery aura hovering around each of her mates. It was witch-sight, she realized. Amlina’s training was changing her into a seer.
The mates sat down cross-legged around the fire. Eben took a swig from the water skin and passed it to Brinda.
After passing it on, Brinda said. “I am glad we did this. We are going to need all our strength for pulling that boat up the river.”
Back in the fjord in Gwales, the Iruks had seen a cranock outfitted with oars, so they understood about the conversion. But they had never sat at oars and had no experience rowing.
“We’ll learn it quick enough,” Lonn grumbled. But Glyssa knew he was masking uncertainty.
“Sure,” Draven declared. “How hard can it be?”
“Back-breaking,” Karrol said glumly. “That’s what I heard Meghild’s boat master say.”
“Well, he would say that,” Eben remarked, “just to impress us with the toughness of Gwalesmen.”
A calm sureness came into Glyssa. “We will manage it,” she said.
All of them stared at her.
“When you say things in that tone,” Karrol said, “I feel sure you are right. Is that the witch power growing in you, Glyssa?”
She laughed softly. “I think it could be. Sometimes now I feel things and … am just certain of them. Perhaps this is how a shaman, like Belach, perceives truths from the spirit world.” She watched as her mate’s auras flickered, ghost-like. “The training is changing me. That’s for sure.”
“It is helping you, I think,” Draven asserted. “You seem much better than before we left Gwales.”
Glyssa reflected on that. “Yes, I am steadier. I cannot say I am cured. The fear and emptiness still seize me sometimes; perhaps they always will. But I can control myself better now.” The ale was passed to her, and she took a sip. Her mates gazed at her and she smiled. “One other thing I know fo
r sure: I am happy to be here with my klarn.”
They talked quietly around the fire, until they had drunk all the ale. Then Karrol stood and stretched. She walked a little apart, drew her blades and practiced her fighting stances. The others joined her. Joking and laughing, they matched feints and thrusts in mock duels, relishing the chance to exercise freely after so many days confined on the boat.
Glyssa fenced with Lonn, then Brinda. But she tired sooner than the others. She watched them for a while, then went and placed more wood on the fire. She wrapped herself in her cape and lay down, feeling drowsy and content.
When she woke, it was well past midnight. Rog had already set and Grizna floated in the west. Her mates were sleeping, all except Draven who sat hunched over the fire.
Glyssa crept over to join him. Draven eyed her with a wistful smile.
“You are troubled?” Glyssa whispered.
He lifted a shoulder. “Thinking about Amlina. Does your witch-sight tell you anything about her, Glyssa?”
She reached over and squeezed his hand. “I don’t need witch-sight to see you love her dearly, Draven.”
He snorted. “No, that’s obvious I suppose. My feelings for her are hard to fathom, though. I want her as a woman, of course, but that’s only the start of it. I feel a bond with her, a spirit bond, like we have with the klarn, but different.”
“How different?”
Draven pondered for the space of several heartbeats. “The klarn is something we make up together, something we all agree to. But my feelings for Amlina come from a place deep inside me. Sometimes I wonder if she’s bewitched me.”
Glyssa reflected on that. “No, I don’t think so. Not in the way of using magic to control you. But … there is something in her that calls to you, a weakness she dare not admit, a need for someone to care for her, someone she can love and trust.”