by Robin Hobb
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
GONE ASTRAY
Thymara blinked her eyes, then squeezed them shut. Vertigo spun her. She had been sitting on Tarman’s bow, dangling her legs over the side and considering how big the world had become. The dense cloud and steady rains of the last few days had finally ceased; overhead was an endless canopy of stars that stretched from horizon to horizon. She’d stared up at them too long and had suddenly felt as if she were falling off the deck of the boat and up into the sky. She opened her eyes again and stared out at the water.
The forest was gone. It had retreated, day by day, until now it was no more than a smudge on the horizon. The ship was lost in a flat slough of reeds and rushes. Short trees and bushes with stilt roots stuck up in isolated groves. They had learned these indicated not only the shallowest water but also areas where gallators enjoyed sunning themselves. The dragons did not fear the gallators; they regarded them as a larger meat source. But the larger gallators felt the same way about the keepers and their small boats. The keepers had learned to hang back and let the dragons feed off the gallators before coming close to the stilt bushes. The dragons liked to overnight near the groves. All of them were tired of standing in water, but at least it was shallower by the groves. Captain Leftrin accommodated them, but she knew that he feared grounding Tarman in water so shallow that not even he could scuttle out of the mud.
The retreating forests had taken all her familiar food sources with them. Now the keepers set nets for fish at night and pulled up reeds and rushes for their thick, starchy roots. A few days ago, they had been lucky when a flock of waterfowl had got entangled in Carson’s fish nets. They’d had fresh meat, but they paid for it in long hours of attempting to mend the tattered nets. She didn’t like the monotony of the food now and disliked even more her feeling of being useless. With her hunting gear lost in the wave, all she could do was gather. And the only things to gather were the starchy roots or the seedheads from the tall grasses.
At least Sintara had become more attentive to her, if not any kinder. The dragon demanded nightly grooming now. The water made it difficult, and she had had to submit to Thymara climbing on her back and neck in order to reach the parts of her that needed cleaning. Bundled handfuls of reeds and grasses made coarse brushes for dislodging insects and polishing the dragon’s scales, but they were harsh to human hands. Thymara felt sorry for those whose hands were less scaly than her own.
Despite the difficulty of grooming her, Sintara insisted that Thymara be thorough. Thymara had spent most of her evening on the dragon’s wings. Despite her differences with the creature, she had enjoyed it. When Sintara opened her wings now, the delicate traceries of the bone and cartilage and the panels and patterns of her coloring meant that it was like cleaning stained glass. The scales with their serrated edges reminded her of translucent feathers. As large as the dragon’s wings had become, the skin of them remained thin and fine. The overlapping scales could scarcely be separated. Her wings folded so compactly that it seemed almost impossible that so large a spread of wing could fit so smoothly against the dragon’s back. Insects were an irritant when they crept into the folds, and the constant moisture of the river invited wet sores. There was no question that her wings needed daily attention of a kind the dragon could not easily give them. Even so, it seemed to Thymara that Sintara made her spend a ridiculous amount of time on them. Over and over, Sintara demanded that she praise the color and patterns that were developing, that she note the delicate strength of the structure and the fine barbed claws at the tips of each wing rib.
As a result, despite the fact that she’d traveled aboard the barge today rather than paddling one of the boats, she was tired. Tired to the bones, and they ached, too. Her hands hurt, and her back ached around her never-healed injury. That was a pain she was growing accustomed to; she seldom thought about it until a chance touch woke a stab of agony. Furtively she glanced around, and when she was sure no one was looking at her, she slid her hand up under her shirt and cautiously touched the area between her shoulder blades. Hot. Swollen. And a nasty scabby valley down the middle that made her feel queasy. It was almost a relief that Tats wasn’t currently speaking to her, let alone trying to kiss her or touch her. Keeping his wandering hands away from her back had been a challenge, and a behavior that completely confused him. She should have let him touch her there; that would have put a quick end to his heat.
She sighed. Rapskal came to her mind. Not for the first time, she missed him intensely. If he were alive, he’d be sitting here beside her tonight, nattering on about something inane, cheery, and optimistic. He had been her friend without any obligations or expectations. She hadn’t worked for him to like her, and he’d always just assumed that she liked him. He’d made friendship so simple. She missed that. Tonight, she longed for it.
She turned and looked back amidships. All of the keepers were on board tonight. Some of them were sitting on the roof of the deckhouse. They’d been playing dice until it got too dark to see the gaming pieces. Now Boxter was tormenting everyone by talking about the spice rolls his mother used to make. Sylve and Kase and Alum were huddled around a pile of rush roots, peeling the tough outer skin off the thick tubers and then passing them to Bellin who was chopping them into chunks for tomorrow’s breakfast. Thymara knew she should go and help them.
“Greft. Can we have a word with you?”
She turned at the sound of Tats’s voice. He and Harrikin were standing behind Greft. She hadn’t noticed him leaning against the railing not far from her. Lately he’d been quiet, withdrawn, and hostile toward the other keepers, and it had seemed wise to avoid him. Trust Tats to think it would be best to prod him out.
“You’ve already had several. Why stop now?” Greft replied sarcastically. His words were badly formed. She wondered if his lips were stiffening. She’d heard of that happening to heavily scaled people. It had been days since Leftrin had hit him. His mouth should have healed by now.
“We noticed you didn’t take the boat out today.”
“Didn’t feel well.”
“Well, yes, that’s what I thought. So Harrikin and I, we’re going to take it out tomorrow and see if we can’t get some fish or some of those water gophers that we saw a few days ago. Or even one of those gallators. The dragons seem to think they’re tasty. Any kind of fresh meat for the keepers and crew would be welcome.”
She noticed he wasn’t asking Greft if he could take it. He was telling him that they were going to do it. Harrikin wasn’t speaking, but he stood ready to back Tats up. Greft looked from one to the other. His voice was low and serious as he said, “Don’t like loaning my gear. No.”
“It’s keeper gear,” Tats said.
“And a keeper boat,” Harrikin added.
Greft looked from one to the other. “Gear was issued to me. I took care of it, stowed it right. That’s why I’ve still got it.” She marked how he said only the words he needed, and she suspected that speaking was painful, or an effort.
“Luck,” Tats insisted. “Just luck, Greft. You weren’t the only keeper who stored his gear tight. You were just lucky enough that your boat washed up where it was found. That’s all. It’s not fair for you to hold it back from everyone.”
“It’s mine.”
Tats lowered his voice slightly. “I seem to remember standing near an elk that Thymara had killed and hearing you sing a different tune about how things should be shared out.”
Tarman was not a large vessel. Silence rippled out from Tats’s words. The conversation on the roof of the deckhouse stilled. Heads turned.
“That was different.” Greft tried to clear his throat. He leaned over the side and spat, but it didn’t come off his mouth cleanly. He wiped his ragged sleeve across his mouth, looked from Tats to Harrikin. “No. Or fight now.”
Tats and Harrikin exchanged glances. Tats spoke for them. “No fight, Greft. I know you’re not a healthy man. And I don’t want to cross Leftrin about fighting on his deck. I didn’t come
to you to start a fight. I came to let you know that tomorrow we’re taking the boat and the gear out at first light, to try to get some serious hunting and fishing done. No insult intended, but you’re not holding up that end of things anymore. So, for the good of us all, Harrikin and I are stepping up to it. And we need to use the boat and gear.”
Greft turned away from them to look out over the water again. “No,” he said in a neutral but factual voice. Did his back dare Tats to attack him? If so, Tats refused the bait.
“Just saying that’s what is going to happen,” Tats said quietly. He glanced again at Harrikin, who nodded. As one, they turned away from Greft and sauntered off down the deck. Whispers in the dark behind them turned into muted conversation. Thymara stayed where she was, staring out over the water and darkness. She did not care for Greft, but she felt heartsick it had come to this.
Greft seemed to feel her regard. “Funny?” he asked her in a voice gone harsh.
“No,” she replied shortly. “Tragic. I’m sorry this happened to you, Greft. For what it’s worth, you have my pity.”
When he turned to face her, the blue in his eyes shone with anger. “Keep your pity for yourself. Useless, stupid whore.”
The insult stunned her, not just for the seething vehemence in his voice but because it baffled her. Useless? Stupid? Whore? Greft had turned and was walking away before she realized that it wasn’t intended to make sense, only to insult. He’d actually expected her to be enjoying his downfall. “You don’t know me at all,” she said into his absence. She glanced toward the other keepers. “I don’t think anyone does anymore.”
The other keepers had resumed their activities. Alum was trying to give Boxter a haircut, with helpful advice from Kase and Lecter. Davvie was watching and laughing. Tats was sitting with Harrikin; Sylve was leaning against Harrikin. All three were talking softly about something. “I miss you, Rapskal,” she said to the night. “I miss having a friend.”
An unexpected echo bounced back to her. Stop being stupid. You have a dragon. You no longer need human companions. Go to sleep.
“Good night, Sintara,” she muttered and went to take the dragon’s advice.
THE RIVER WAS GONE. It was time to admit that. Leftrin wasn’t sure what to properly call this body of water that he was on, if it could be termed a body of water at all. For three days, Tarman had been making agonizingly slow progress. They followed the dragons, but he doubted that they had any sense of where they were going. Were they following the main channel? Was there a main channel? The current was barely a current anymore. He watched the dawning light reflected in the still surface of the water, broken only by the faint stirring of the reeds and rushes as the morning wind passed through them.
The walls of the world had retreated. For as far as he could see from Tarman’s deck, they were in an immense slough filled with water plants. Even from the roof of the deckhouse, he gained no vantage or sense of it ever ending. Perhaps this had once been a river system or a lake. Now he wondered if it were not a wide drainage for distant hills, a place of water that was scarcely deeper than a man was tall. Like a flat plate, he thought. He tried not to wonder what might happen when the rains began in earnest. If a deluge started and the water began to rise, there was nowhere for the dragons to retreat. He shook the useless worry from his head, certain that Mercor was aware of it. Daily he led them on, to Kelsingra or death. They’d find out which when they reached there.
He scanned the wide circle of horizon and saw nothing promising. He had never felt he was such a tiny spark of life floating on a twig as he did now. The sky overhead was wide and gray with high clouds. He missed the shady riverbanks he’d known all his life. The light seemed relentless during the day, and on a clear night, the blanket of stars overhead reduced him to insignificance.
Somewhere in the distance a hunting bird, hawk or eagle, screamed a long, lonesome cry. Tats’s dragon roused and lifted her head from where she dozed. She made a questioning sound, but when no response came, she once more tucked her head under her wing. The dragons stood in a huddle, like a flock of exhausted waterfowl, heads tucked to their breasts or resting on the back of an adjacent dragon. It could not have been relaxing sleep for them. They slept on their feet like sailors kept on watch too long. He pitied them but could do nothing for them.
Insects had become more plentiful, but at least on this river, bats abounded by night; and during the day, tiny darting swallows feasted on the mosquitoes and gnats. There was still no lack of stinging, buzzing insects, but watching them be devoured in turn gave him satisfaction.
Habit made him take his pipe out of his coat pocket. He looked at it, turning it in his hands, and then put it away. Not even a shred of tobacco remained anywhere on the boat. It wasn’t the only supply that was exhausted. The sugar was gone, as was the coffee. The tea that remained was more powder than leaf. There were two more casks of ship’s bread. When that was gone, their dependence on what they could hunt and gather as they traveled would be absolute. He scowled and then resolutely shook off his gathering worries.
Where there’s clean water, there’s food, he reminded himself. Fish there were in plenty, and some of the rushes had thick, starchy roots. For the last couple of nights, Carson had been deliberately setting out nets for waterfowl. He hadn’t had much luck yet, but when he did, not if, there’d be roast duck on the menu. Or more likely boiled, he reminded himself, to use less firewood. Large pieces of wood had become scarce of late. They watched avidly for driftwood now, any snag deposited in days of higher water. Until then, all the keepers had the task every evening of gathering as much dried reed-grass as they could. It burned quickly; they gathered bushels every night and twisted it into bundles to try to make it burn longer. Thank Sa the nights had remained mild so far.
Everyone’s clothing was showing the effects of hard use and too much exposure to the acid water of the Rain Wild River. Fabric was fraying away to nothing. Trousers had become shorter as cuffs became patches for knees. Alise had shared out her previously ample wardrobe among the female keepers, offering it even before she was asked. Sedric had followed her example; it was strange to see the keeper lads going about their duties in linen and silk shirts in bright colors. Even so, Leftrin knew it was only postponing the inevitable. For now, they were coping, but eventually a solution would have to be found.
Alise joined him, carrying two steaming mugs with her. She balanced hers on top of the railing and handed one to him. “Tea?” he asked her.
“Yes. Pretty much the last of it. And weak at that.”
“But hot,” he said, and they smiled at each other over the steaming mugs.
They surveyed the horizons of their domain. After a time, she spoke both their minds. “The water gets shallower every day. I have no faith that the dragons know where they are going. In the memories that Tarman showed us, Kelsingra was on the banks of a large river, not a lake like this.”
She said no more. They both sipped their tea and wondered. Wondered if they had followed the wrong branch of the river, wondered what would happen if the water became too shallow for Tarman, wondered if the dragons would demand to turn back. Then Alise put her free hand on the top of Leftrin’s shoulder and he bent his head to trap it between his shoulder and cheek. “I love you,” he said quietly. He hadn’t told her that. Hadn’t thought to say it aloud.
“I love you, too.” The words seemed to come easily to her, as if she had said them a thousand times before. That pleased him. It wasn’t the saying of the words that mattered to her, then. It was just acknowledging what was.
He smiled, put his arm around her, and pulled her close. It was a good thing to know, on a day when he felt he knew nothing else for certain. “Looks like the clouds are breaking up over there. Perhaps we’ll have another sunny day,” Alise said, looking at the sky.
“More freckles for you!” Leftrin declared, and she shook her head with a mock frown.
“I don’t understand why you like them! I spent years o
f my life trying to avoid getting them and fading the ones I had with lemon juice and buttermilk.”
“Kissing you must have been delicious.”
“Foolish man. No one kissed me then.” A crooked smile.
“Seems to me the Bingtown men were the foolish ones.”
She smiled still, but a small shadow crossed her eyes, and he knew he had reminded her of Hest, and humiliation and deceptions. It saddened him that no matter how he tried he could not erase that from her heart. He knew that it still colored her relationship with Sedric. The two circled each other at a distance, polite, almost kind to each other, but with the caution of people who had bruised each other badly. He felt sorry for both of them. She had spoken enough of Sedric that he knew her friendship with him was years older than her disastrous marriage to Hest. He wished she still had the security of Sedric’s regard. Losing it had cracked her image of herself. He wished his own respect for her was enough to make her see her own worth, and he recognized the selfishness of that wish. He could not be her entire world. She needed to mend her bridges with her old friend before she would be whole. For all of their sakes, he hoped it would happen soon. Tarman was too small a world for strife and conflict.
Yet they had enough of that and to spare in the person of Greft. He moved about the ship, neither a keeper nor a member of the crew, rejected by the dragons; a failed leader with failing health. Leftrin would have pitied him if Greft had allowed it. He didn’t. He had become as bitter and nasty a man as Leftrin had ever known. Many a time he had wished that Kalo had simply eaten his keeper that night.
“You’ve grown quiet. What are you thinking?”
“Greft,” Leftrin said briefly, and she nodded.
“It’s coming to a head, isn’t it?”
“There was a bit of a tussle last night after you’d gone to bed. Greft stayed on board all day yesterday; I don’t know if the physical changes are hurting him that bad or if he’s just too discouraged to make the effort. Tats went to him and told him that if he didn’t hunt today, he and Harrikin intended to take the boat and gear and ‘do some good’ with it.” He sipped his tea and shook his head. “He made it sound like it was about the boat and the gear, but I think there was more to it than that.”