With twists and pulls she straightened her dress and gear before strolling toward this Hidreng town. But the Luxun captain never mentioned their destination, and all she’d cared for was getting away. She concentrated as she walked, images of maps she’d perused in Istinjoln flashing in front of her eyes. Stone walls shielded the town, and town it was, not a city. This alone chopped the options of where she was to a handful of possibilities. A deep water bay for trade. She could see the little circle on a map, but couldn’t read the name. Two gates, north and south, both bearing towered gates. She’d stumbled upon either Semhuar or Inster… Semhuar has a central tower.
None of the rooftops forming this maze of humanity could warrant description as a tower. This must be Inster. It made sense, it was said that half of Choerkin trade traveling to the Hundred Nations passed through Inster. Rumor spoke of an agreement between the Fost and officials of Inster, gold, silver, and iron from the Estertok Mountains for spices and exotic foods. Horses. Oxen were also mentioned in those rumors.
Inster of all Hidreng places should be safest.
As she reached the sweeping expanse surrounding the town, her thoughts turned to food which wouldn’t threaten to wear her teeth to nubs. A few hundred strides into the filthy encampment brought the shouts to her ear: “Bread! Smoked fish!”
Her mouth watered, a clear sign of starvation; she loathed fish.
She tracked down the teenage girl in a wick. A big girl, blonde and popular, at least so long as she sported a pack filled with bread on her back and a basket of fish wrapped in leaves in front of her.
Meliu’s stomach growled with a ferocity that made a little girl glance at her belly. “Two loaves and two fish, if it pleases.”
The girl gazed down on her with beady, narrow-set eyes. “Ten songs fer the loafs, another twenty get ya the fish.”
“Thirty songs!” The screech in her voice caught even herself off guard. The price was outrageous, enough to set her teeth to grinding. But she eased her tone. “I’ll give you twenty.” The girl stared. “All right, twenty-five then.”
The basket of fish spun away from her; haggling wasn’t in the girl’s plan. Meliu dug into her purse. “All right! Thirty, you little she-shit.”
The girl spun with an outstretched palm and took her coins with a cocksure smile. Meliu’s gut snarled again, and she wondered if it hadn’t been the rumble of her own belly betraying her on the price of food.
Meliu found a clear spot next to a cart and took a seat, peeled the fish from its leaves and ate. Best damned fish she ever stuck in her mouth. Best bread too. And should’ve been for the price she paid. But once she tossed the leaves of the first and bit into the second, the rapture of sated starvation faded. This fish was crap. Over smoked and dry. She ate it anyhow and tossed the bones into a barrel.
Two days outside Inster taught Meliu much of human nature and commerce.
The first lesson was that the key to any negotiation was not needing what the other offered, so when it came to food, the greedy bastards knew they had you. Second, Hidreng crowns spent with more value than the same weight in songs, with the pigs claiming the purity of southern ore superior, but truth was they sought a lender’s profit at both ends. She had coins enough, but her pa had taught her enough for her to realize how right quick they’d spend. It was a lesson he claimed her mother never learned. She promised herself the coins in her boots were for saving her hide, same for the gems, which meant she had maybe two weeks to concoct a plan, and that was if prices didn’t climb.
Rumor spoke of food in Inster being cheaper, but stepping into the throngs of Tek made her nervous. She tore a chunk from her loaf of dark bread and chewed. If she could buy bread in town and sell it at profit her money troubles disappeared, but she’d have to do it before she ran out of songs.
There were scraps to be had, of course. People were generous in hard times, but only so far as they were able. Fishers handed out extras as they had them, but folks were already salting and drying as much as they could, storing up for worse times if they came. But Meliu was an inland girl, raised on pork, goat, chicken, and vegetables, fish never did taste quite right. She’d eaten too much fish since first stepping on a boat, and she’d kill for a roasted chicken about now, hells, make that a pigeon.
Meliu glanced at Inster’s gates and shuddered. She’d seen so much death, faced terrors she wouldn’t have imagined a couple months ago, that the godsdamned Tek shouldn’t scare her. But they did, them and their false gods, bloodthirsty gods. It didn’t help that she could speak Tekit, because she understood what they muttered behind her back. Even here outside those stone walls, they were crude and bawdy, or downright violent; their words were never kind.
Came down to it, she might be better off selling herself to Silone men, or cozying up to a single merchant with coins to spare. More women than would admit were already earning their meals this way, and Meliu was pretty enough after Lord Priest Ulrikt healed her himself. A look in a mirror after his touch defied her memory of the pain and ordeal she suffered at the hands of Angin after he’d been Taken. Her skin was perfect, without a hint of scar, but she couldn’t forget her scalp hanging clean from her skull.
She scoffed at the notion of whoring, but admitted to herself she didn’t know to what lengths hunger might drive her. Still, trading in food would keep her dignity and pride until she came across a holy enclave she could trust. She ate until her belly was full and crammed the remnants of loaf into her satchel before staring at the gates again. She took a few strides to test her courage and stopped.
Even among the Hidreng she was a waif, short and thin, weak. She was a scholar skilled in languages, and her strength in prayer wasn’t like One Lash, with her Fire. Meliu’s strongest prayers were Light, useful for someone reading books in the dark, or needing to find their way in tunnels, and it might even save her life in a pinch, but it wasn’t a great weapon. Even blinding a man was temporary, most times.
Living is overcoming your fears. Master Mestel had told her this a hundred times, and if she were still alive, the Master would grimace at her cowardice. With a deep breath she held her head high and strode forward, but thought better of it and slouched, eyes on the ground trying not to draw attention. By the time she reached the heavy log gate she’d settled into what she hoped was a nondescript walk that portrayed she knew where she was going. Act like you know what you’re doing, and folks will believe it. Or at least that’s what she hoped.
The town was filled with black hair and dark eyes, and she swore they all glared at her. The few Silone she saw were men, a head taller than the Hidreng and armed. She stayed to the middle of the dirt road, avoiding any ruts that’d make her shorter than she already was, and kept her nose open to the smell of a bakery. Animal and human waste assaulted her nostrils, and there must be a tannery not too far away. Her nose wouldn’t be much use.
A horse-drawn cart rolled by and she spotted bags of grain onboard, so she followed, cursing as she stepped in the trap the horse left her. She shook and scraped the crap off her foot, thankful for boots rather than sandals, and trotted to catch up. They took several turns, but she was used to caves and their winding ways, she didn’t worry at all about getting lost. Although the cart’s path didn’t stop, it led her to a shop with a shingle painted with a golden knife. In its windows dried meats hung over a counter filled with loaves of bread. Not stinking fish neither, goose and chicken. Her mouth filled with water, and she licked her lips.
A bell rang above her head as she opened the door, and two ominous stares greeted her. A large woman whose arms rolled in waves of walrus blubber stood behind the counter, and a crooked-nosed man gone gray swept the floor with a straw broom. “Do you speak Silone, by chance?” Keeping her knowledge of their tongue to herself was an advantage she didn’t want to give up over quick.
“Stinking foreign urchin,” the woman said in Tekit. “A little, if her has coin.”
“I’d like ten loaves of bread and a chicken, roasted plea
se.”
The merchant stared, turned her back. “Go away, child.”
“I’m not a child, and I got songs. How much?” She pulled a silver fifty-songs from her pouch and held it up.
“Songs? Your coins worth half their weight, maybe.” The woman laughed but pulled a scale from beneath the counter. “Come.”
Meliu dropped the coin on the scale and the woman adjusted the measure. “Coin is shaved. Five loaves, no chicken.”
The ugly man spoke in Tekit. “Sparrow-assed girl, give her nothing.”
Meliu scowled, but ignored the man’s words. “It isn’t, and I’d get twenty loaves outside the gates without the bird.”
“Not child.” The merchant smiled. “Five loaves and chicken.”
“I’ve a large family, please—”
“Ha! Think her first?” The woman bent over and winked. “Her make coin off me, instead of who her stole that coin from.”
The man spoke to the woman. “Sell her to the whore’s nest down the street. No one would miss this titless child.” His lip-suck and chuckle sent a shiver down her spine, but she kept her eyes on the matron.
The woman gave the man a three fingered gesture she didn’t understand and smiled at Meliu.
She didn’t know whether to trust her, nor how to convince the merchant she’d be worth more selling bread. Maybe honesty blended with fabrication would count for something. “I didn’t steal it, but you’re right. I can get a loaf for five Songs outside, sell them to me for three, I can sell at four.”
“So, ten profit for her, and the chicken?”
“I might have to haggle, so more like seven, and the chicken is mine. I hate fish.”
The merchant waggled a finger and laughed. “I’ll give her eight and the chicken. Her come back midday tomorrow for more? Ten, then.”
If she got thirty-two for the batch, she’d make a whisper’s profit, but she would have herself a chicken. And she might resell them at four and a half or five anyhow. “Deal.” She held out her hand, but the woman ignored her.
“Her make money, her buy a knife. Come only middle of day or morning, if her smart girl.”
Meliu lied. “I got a dagger.” She took off her pack and put it on the counter before considering her robes stuffed in the bottom. She doubted a Hidreng merchant would recognize them, but it still set her nerves on edge. Eight loaves swelled her bag, and she had to wipe her mouth when the woman handed her a chicken wrapped in an oiled cloth to keep it moist. “Thank you.”
“Her late, deal no good.”
The creepy man leered as Meliu slung the pack over her shoulder and she made a point not to meet his gaze. She nodded to the woman as she clutched her chicken and walked outside with a bounce to her step. She took a few seconds to remember where she was, before taking hastened steps to make sure she got out of Inster quick as her legs would carry her without running. This time whenever she saw a Silone man she veered in their direction, hoping anyone following might think she had an ally close.
When she stepped from the gates and into the milling throngs of her own people, she breathed easy again. The threat of being found out a priest felt small compared to walking into the den of foreigners who bore witness to false gods. At least one thought to sell her into whoring. Prostitution wasn’t a sin in the eyes of Sol, although frowned upon, but the slave trade was an abomination. Only the gods possessed the wisdom to make slaves of a mortal’s soul.
It was no matter, she made it out of the enemy’s den unharmed and with a partner easier than she’d expected. She knew better than to trust the woman, in particular if she failed to make the woman a profit, and she reserved a special dislike for the old man’s lascivious glare.
Now she had to figure out how to sell bread. She figured to get five Songs a loaf on a few at least, being Silone would help. Folks would be happier to buy from her than some Hidreng, the trick was finding people with Songs in their pocket. She needed to avoid Ivin Choerkin, the Wolverine, and a few Wardens. Scattered others would recognize her, and if they did, most would keep their mouths shut. The smiths on the hill, they’d be too busy to travel for food, and they’d have plenty of copper from their work. Seamsters, tanners, heck, fishers should have coin too, and be eager for some bread. She stood straighter as she walked into the tent camp, pleased with herself. Her plan wasn’t a road to wealth, but she’d keep herself fed.
3
Mainland Rains
The whale, its tail, the dolphin, its tale,
the sing-song-sing, calling the sailor or warning the sailor?
The seal’s bark knows it’s not a dog,
yet knows not the man beyond understanding,
the landing, the reef, the shallow waters and the deeps,
where fancy says the dragon sleeps.
But I looked into the dragon’s eye
and stepped inside. Never came back. Not all the way.
A luxurious prison never fully entered, and never left behind.
–Tomes of the Touched
The fifth day aboard the Entiyu Emoño found Ivin brooding alone, seated against the mainmast. The Luxuns went about their work aboard ship, while amongst the clansfolk there was banter and even laughter here and there, but far more tears and curses. He knew they didn’t leave him alone because he wanted to be alone; they left him alone because everyone wrapped themselves in their knitted groups of friends and their own emotional losses. Solineus, Lelishen, and the Luxun Captain were the few people he bothered to expend more than a few words on.
Voices and the clack of sticks brought his eyes from the deck. Solineus and Alu traded blows with wasters, the girl having badgered him into sword lessons the day before. Farmers and city-folk who’d never considered wielding a sword before the last couple of weeks gathered to watch, but they weren’t alone. Sailors and warriors looked on in fascination, imitating the poses and motions. They saluted the Sun, the Moon, the Earth, and the Waves, striking air with empty hands. Whatever training they’d had in the past, it didn’t meet the precision the girl received. Given a few weeks she might have skill enough to give some older boys a beating or two.
Ivin held edged steel by the age of seven and trained for another decade, but the tips on both leverage and judging the pressure of the opponent’s weapon in the bind on her second day with wooden blades were both beyond her and finer than he’d heard in his life, putting words to things Ivin learned through welts and bruises. The man’s easy grace with a blade in his hand struck envy into every warrior’s heart. Ivin watched the man and his smile for Alu, but ghosts of Istinjoln bloomed in his mind’s eye. How did a man without memories fight with such skill?
Some men carried two swords, some an axe and sword, but most still used a shield, with the second weapon a spare in battle. A skeleton gave Solineus two swords, and a couple days later he’s hewing demons as if born with blades instead of hands. To be skilled was one thing, gifted yet another, but the deft precision of the man’s blows were uncanny. When Ivin asked, all he got was a shrug.
A shrieking giggle broke his thoughts, and his eyes flipped to Kinesee, who struggled against the tickles of Lelishen. The sisters were the only children on the ship, a blessing, a reminder of why they needed to live to see the future. They needed a touch of hope in these dark days and seeing children who’d lost so much smile and laugh, forget their woes for even a flicker, gave everyone a lift.
“Ziñi!”
The cry of land from the crow’s nest brought him to his feet, but it was still a good while before the coast came into view beyond bristling masts on the horizon. The walled town of Inster housed maybe seven thousand Teks, but by now Silone refugees outnumbered them. There were larger cities with deep harbors and more supplies they could’ve sailed for, but those were dangerous; Inster and the Choerkin had traded more goods than blows for decades.
Ivin felt as if he could breathe for the first time since Eliles stepped onto the docks of the Watch as the ship drew closer to land. Cooped up on the Entiyu Emo�
�o with nothing but memories to keep him busy grated his nerves, he needed dry land and a purpose.
The ship drew into the shallow coast, and Ivin stood with his gear packed as Captain Intœño stepped to his side. Anchors splashed into the sea, the clangor of rattling chains drowning out the calls of seagulls for several flickers. The man’s feather-hair puffed and relaxed, glinting with blues and greens in its black veins. “You and your friends, we’ll make sure you’re on the first rowboat.”
Ivin glanced down at the blue-skinned man, met his golden-topaz eyes. “Thank you.” If all foreigners were as generous as these Luxuns there’d be little fear of the future, but he knew better. Initial word spoke of the Hidreng tolerating the Silone, but that’d been before leaving Herald’s Watch. Thousands more people were scattered along the coast by now, and an official peace needed forged as soon as possible. Roplin had made for the mainland days before them, leading the initial wave of flight from the Watch, but his brother was less a diplomat than Ivin, and no doubt had a thousand problems on his hands.
Solineus, Lelishen, and he were first aboard a rowboat as promised, along with the sisters and their pesky goat. Luxun sailors powered the oars with surprising strength considering their slender frames and stature. Ivin sat in silence, lulled by the steady rhythm of oars in the water as he admired their pale blue skin and vibrantly colored hair… or feathers. He wasn’t sure what to call the growth. A noble and giving people, showing kindness to people so different from their own.
“Have you ever been to Hidreng?”
It took several moments to realize Lelishen spoke to him. “What? No, met a few traders and sailors, is all.”
The woman nodded. “You’ve heard of Sin Medor?”
Trail of Pyres Page 3