Larsin turned. "Still awake?"
"My mother," Dante blurted. "What was she like?"
His father eyed him. "You're drunk."
"So what?"
Larsin chuckled softly. "Fair question. I suppose you deserve to be. And to know this. Your mother was…very beautiful."
"I mean what was she like?"
"Witty. Her tongue was as sharp as broken glass. That was what I liked best—the way she made me laugh. She made everything brighter. She could have charged money to listen to her describe a twelve-hour sleep." As he spoke, his voice lightened with recalled memory. "She loved to learn. To read. Sometimes, I think this was mostly so she'd have more ways to prove others wrong. But she loved it for its own sake, too. She was always hungry. I couldn't always keep up with her. I thought when we had you, that might finally slow her down enough for me to keep pace."
He found a small smile. "After her death, I nearly joined her. So she could make me laugh again. But I knew I couldn't leave you alone in the world. What an idiot I was: I wound up doing that anyway."
Dante took a shuddering breath and gazed toward the entrance of the bay. In two more days, the Sword of the South would arrive.
The next time he turned around, Larsin was gone. Dante made his way to the hut and climbed the fresh-cut stairs. Blays snored inside. Between the wash of the surf and the perfect air, it was the most restful sleep Dante had ever had.
The sun woke him too early. Yet somehow, Blays was already up and gone. With a headache and a dry mouth, Dante headed uphill to the town well. When he got back to the hut, Blays was there, puffy-eyed and sweaty.
"I think we should stay," Dante said.
Blays wiped his brow. "Don't tell me you're actually going to take them up on the wife thing."
"We'll ask Captain Twill to come back again in a few weeks. Then we'll conduct a few raids of our own. Arm these people. I can make them loons so they can coordinate with the Boat-Growers or anyone else Larsin can rally. And we'll do our best to knock out Vordon."
"What triggered this about-face?"
"We have the power to help these people. If we don't, the next time we come back here, they may be nothing more than a memory."
"And you're sure that would be a bad thing?"
"You'd leave them to be overrun by the Tauren?" Dante said. "I'm shocked. Actually shocked. I would have expected you'd be trying to convince me to stay."
"Yesterday, I was thinking about it." Blays slapped his palm against the wall of the hut. "But our circumstances are muddier than they seem. There's something you need to see."
He led Dante to a grassy path into the jungle, refusing to answer any questions. After a short hike, running water splashed from ahead. A small, two-part waterfall coursed into a misty pool. Around its banks, rabbit-eared molbry flowers peeped from the shadows.
"They were growing here all along," Blays said. "Still want to help these people?"
10
Dante moved toward the flowers in a daze. "How did you find these?"
"Last night, a woman came to speak to me, terrified. Once she'd calmed down, she said that since we'd been named rixaka, she had something to show me. And she brought me here."
Dante's hands curled into fists. "Find Larsin. And Winden."
Back in town, they located Winden within minutes. It took significantly longer to round up Larsin, blinking and bleary. Dante marched them through the jungle. Winden fell silent at once, but Larsin kept up a breezy, amiably confused stream of questions right up to the moment they gazed on the red flowers surrounding the waterfall.
"The cure for your sickness was right here all along," Dante said. "Why, then, did you send us across the entire island to find it?"
Larsin gawked. "Molbries? Here? But they only grow at the Bloodfalls!"
"Horseshit! They grow wherever they please, don't they?" He turned on Winden. "That's what you were doing at the Basket yesterday, wasn't it? You weren't looking for people who might see us. You were destroying the molbries you grow there. So I wouldn't see them."
She couldn't seem to meet his eyes. "The Basket. There were no molbries there."
"This is a misunderstanding," Larsin said. "We didn't know these were here. If we had, there would have been no reason to send you so far."
Dante rubbed his hand down his mouth. "Unless the trip had some other purpose. Such as exposing us to the crimes of the Tauren. You chose the Bloodfalls because that's where they leave out their newborns. You knew if we saw that, it might be enough to convince us to help you fight them."
"That's absurd. If I wanted your help, I wouldn't send you on some two-tailed fox hunt. I would simply ask for it. There must be something in this waterfall similar to the Bloodfalls. We'll ask whoever owns this land—and then ask why they didn't tell me about it when I was at death's door."
"Why would they withhold the cure from you?"
"I can't say. Maybe they'd have us surrender to the Tauren. Maybe this is an old grudge. Gods know I've made my share of enemies."
Winden strode between them. "No more!"
Larsin's eyes shifted. "Winden, what do—"
"I said no more." She pointed at Dante and Blays, then stuck her finger in Larsin's face. "These two, they have done everything we asked. Risked their lives for you. Faced the Tauren in battle. Healed our people. All of this, they have done with honor. We can't lie to them any longer."
Larsin's hand clenched near his belt. "What are you saying?"
"Dante. You're right. After you couldn't heal Larsin with nether, the only cure was the molbries. Those could have been found right here. But they also might have killed Larsin, taking away our only chance to stand against the Tauren."
"So in case that happened," Larsin said, "we needed you to see what they're really like. In the hopes you'd take up the torch."
Dante exhaled through his nose. "Is this why you made us rixaka? To try to make us feel attached to this place?"
"And this is why Stav came to you to play Woten," Winden said. "To learn if you wanted me, and if so, for your wife or your toy."
"That's why you're telling me this now? To avoid having to be my consort?"
"No! I tell you because you have to leave on your boat. If you stay? You will get sick."
"Sick?" Blays said. "You mean with the plague?"
"It afflicts everyone who stays here longer than a few weeks. This is why you must go now."
"But if it affects everyone, there must be a cure."
"It doesn't always work. I won't let you take that risk."
Dante turned on Larsin. "You cared nothing about exposing me to all of these dangers. Why shouldn't I kill you?"
Jaw bulging, Larsin stepped forward. "Because it's exactly what you would have done."
"You don't know anything about me!"
"I have been searching for you for years. I've heard the stories they tell about you. When the knives are out, there's nothing you won't do to win. You'll lie. Cheat. Let friends die. Because the alternative is far worse. My people are on the brink of destruction! Just as you've always done for yours, I will do anything to save them."
"Then gods help them." Dante stepped back down the path.
"Wait," Larsin called. "The woman who brought you my note. Riddi. She believed in this just as much as I did—and she was your half-sister."
Dante met his eyes. "Your daughter died for nothing."
He walked away from the falls. Behind him, Larsin said something and Winden raised her voice against him.
"I'm sorry," Blays said. "I can't help feeling like this is my fault."
"That would be because it is."
"I would place some of the blame on that dad of yours."
"None of this matters anymore. The Sword of the South will be here tomorrow. We'll get on it, and we'll go home."
Blays tromped through the grass beside him. "You know he's wrong, don't you? We've made a lot of tough choices along the way. We've had to find answers to impossible questions.
But we've never done anything like what he's done to you."
Dante nodded, but he wasn't at all sure that was so. Maybe they only believed it because the only ones who knew better were long dead, voiceless, powerless to speak the truth.
* * *
The next morning, they sat in the shade of their hut, waiting for the ship to arrive in the mouth of the harbor. Dante yawned steadily. Wary of betrayal—if Larsin had sacrificed his daughter to his cause, he might be angry enough to try to capture or punish them—Dante had convinced Blays to hide overnight in the jungle. There, the birds, bugs, and constant rustling of the leaves had woken them a thousand times apiece. It had been the smart move, though. They could sleep on the boat.
By the hut, he kept one eye on the town. No one got too near. Around ten o'clock, white sails shined from the bay.
Dante stood, slinging his pack over his shoulder. "About time."
He padded to the shore. A small canoe waited in the dry sand above the waves. They'd take it to the little island in the bay, where the Sword of the South would pick them up via longboat. Dante wasn't sure if Captain Twill intended to quarantine them after that, but after the events of the last two weeks, spending some time sequestered in a cabin would feel like a vacation.
"Hey." Winden jogged toward them, carrying a satchel. "Before you go."
Dante grabbed the canoe and dragged it toward the surf. "Don't want to hear it."
"I know my apologies are worthless. I brought you something that isn't."
"Right now, the only bribe I'm interested in is a Larsin-sized coffin."
"If you get sick. And it's not something you can heal yourself? These will help you." She passed him a narrow black box.
It sloshed and smelled like the sea. "Shaden?"
"Eat them. And then come back here as fast as you can."
He held the box back out for her. "Please. I've had enough of your games."
She stepped closer, face barely a foot from his. "No game. No lie. Stab me in the mouth if you don't think it speaks truth."
"I won't do that." He took the box and tucked it under his arm. "But I don't know if I can trust you, either."
"I hope you never have to see me again."
He turned halfway toward her, nodded, and put his things into the canoe. Blays hopped in. Dante gave the boat a running shove, then rolled in over the side. They took up paddles and made way to the tiny rocky island, landing on a smooth apron scraped clean of mussels and barnacles.
Mr. Naran awaited them. "Survived the stay, did you? How was paradise?"
"Hell," Blays said. "Tell me you've got rum?"
"You insult me by asking." He held the longboat steady while they climbed aboard, then deftly jumped in behind them. "As for your stay being hellacious, please tell me you didn't offend our most reliable trade partner too badly."
Dante scratched his neck. He hadn't shaved since reaching the Plagued Islands and was looking forward to a visit with the ship's barber. "Don't worry. The way things are going here, it won't be long before they're all dead anyway."
Naran tucked down the corners of his mouth. "I am trying not to imagine the kind of person who could make enemies of the Kandeans."
The longboat splashed toward the Sword of the South, which rode higher in the water than the last time Dante had seen it. They climbed aboard and the crew bustled to haul in the longboat and weigh anchor.
On the deck, Twill clung to a rope, her blond hair fluttering around her face. "You're alive. And the village isn't burning. Good news, yes? Yet you look like you just stepped in a fresh pile."
"That would be an adequate description of our stay," Dante said. "I trust your travels went better?"
"Much silver, minor trouble. My definition of a good trip. How's your health?"
"Better than my mood."
Her eyes moved down his form. "Three days confined to quarters. For the safety of my men. You're a hell of a physician, but the islands carry illness beyond any magic."
The ship lurched. Dante staggered, grabbing for a nearby rope. "If that's what it takes to get us out of here, I'll spend the entire voyage stowed in a cask."
"While I encourage you to accept his generous offer," Blays said, "I'll accept a cabin."
They were installed in the same cabin they'd shared on the trip south. The ship entered the rough waters beyond the bay, listing as it hove east to fight free of the tremendous Current driven by the swirling Mill. Between the detour and the lack of friendly seas, Dante understood why the return trip would take twice as long as their initial passage.
He requested and was supplied with a blank book and a quill. While Blays sipped rum, lounged in his bunk, and did considerable napping, Dante wrote down his experiences on the island, describing the people as well as the numerous plants and animals they'd seen. Despite Larsin's shameless attempt to drag them into a war, Dante thought there might yet be room for trade with the people there.
And now that things had settled down, the shaden struck him as the most interesting discovery of all. They carried nether in them. A handheld reservoir of it. It was difficult to overestimate the value of such a thing, particularly in wartime, where a skilled sorcerer could singlehandedly fight off a platoon or tear down a wall. A leader who could bring shaden to the field would have an advantage over anyone he faced.
When he wasn't writing, Dante spent all three days of the quarantine studying the shells. All living things carried the shadows inside them, but the snails' tissue was packed to the figurative gills. Blays had said they were reminiscent of the kellevurts used in training by the People of the Pocket. In his excitement, Dante tried to loon Nak to research the kellevurts in advance of Dante's return, only to be reminded that the loons had broken.
"This is just great," Dante said. "Shaden may be my biggest discovery since the Black Star, but mine may well be dead before we're in sight of a library."
"No library?" Blays said. "Are you blind? Or just being dense?"
"Oh, we do have one? Is it in the bilge? Or the poop deck?"
"This boat makes its trade in this region. You're basically sailing on a floating library full of fleshy, walking books."
"Oh. Right."
"And here's the best part. Unlike your monks and scribes, who like to leave their cloisters about as much as I like being in them, the people on this boat may actually have experience with shaden."
Dante clapped his notebook shut and stood. "How did I ever forget about your ongoing commitment to education?"
He went to Captain Twill first. When questioned, she shrugged. "Don't know anything about shaden."
"They seem to be the Tauren's motivation for the raids. Like the one you delivered us into. That's never piqued your interest?"
"Those things are a big deal on the island. To everyone else, they're just snails."
"Have you ever seen them outside the Plagued Islands?"
"Nope." She glanced across the deck. "I'm really not your man for this. Ask Naran. He seems to enjoy being bored by nature."
Dante thanked her and found Mr. Naran doing paperwork in his cabin. He didn't look pleased to be interrupted.
"The captain said you might be able to help me," Dante said. "I have some questions about shaden."
Naran set down his quill. "And I have complaints about my workload. So make it fast."
"Do they exist outside the islands?"
"Not that I've seen. Though the west coast of Gask has something not entirely dissimilar."
"Kellevurts?"
Naran nodded. "But this is like the difference between a seagull and an albatross. Similar at a distance, but the shaden are far, far grander."
Dante made quick notes in his book. "Any idea why they're confined to the island?"
"If I would hazard to guess? Because it's an island."
He didn't write that down. "The locals value them highly. Do you know why they don't farm them?"
"They don't grow in the shallows. Nor the quiet places. Only where the Curren
t is hard and strong. This makes them hard to locate and dangerous to collect."
After a few more questions, Dante exited onto the deck, gazing in the direction of Arawn's Mill. The funnel of clouds was far too distant to see, yet after speaking to Naran, he was certain the Mill's nether-saturated Current was feeding the shells. If true, this meant that even if he could induce shaden to grow in Narashtovik, they would be useless. No different from the diverse snails already populating the northern city's bay.
Even so, he continued to question the crew, jotting down their responses and making comparisons. He started work on a map, too, augmenting it with whatever information he could pry from the sailors. Eight days into the voyage, with six remaining, a storm hit. Even if the crew hadn't been too busy tending to the ship, Dante was unable to pursue his studies due to a violent bout of seasickness. His heavings were so wretched that Blays stuffed cotton in his ears, then left the cabin to assist on the deck. Within hours, the waves were battering the ship so hard Blays was compelled to return to the cabin despite the odor.
The next day, the storm had calmed, but Dante's stomach hadn't. That evening, undressing for bed, he froze. A chill ran down his spine. His stomach and ribs were streaked red.
He doused the cabin's lantern. After Blays was snoring, Dante nicked his arm and sent the nether within himself. Small black spots were suspended in his viscera. When he attempted to touch them, the shadows slid right off.
He sat back on his bunk, limbs quivering. It felt like the same affliction that had nearly killed Larsin. They'd treated his father's illness with molbry flowers, yet Winden had only provided Dante with shaden. And instructions to come back and see her in the event he fell ill. Why? Because the molbries wouldn't have survived the trip? Or had they not been a cure at all? Had they been nothing more than a way to get Dante and Blays to trek across the island?
He took deep breaths until he calmed down, then tried again to heal himself. Again, the nether found no purchase.
He didn't know how suspicious to be of Winden. The shaden she'd given him might be some kind of final trick or poison. Besides, he didn't know if his affliction was lethal. Except for plagues, many diseases had an alternate cure, one that often functioned better than anything a physician could give you: time.
The Red Sea Page 14