The Red Sea

by Edward W. Robertson

  They reformed their chain up the cliffs. At the bottom, one monkey dispensed the shells, which were passed on from monkey to monkey to the top of the bluff. Finished, they assembled at the top and withdrew, each animal clutching several shells to its furry chest.

  Once they were out of the Tauren-occupied land, and heading back down to Dante, he withdrew from their vision.

  "Got the shells," he said. "And still not a peep out of the Tauren. Know what? I think we can do this by ourselves."

  "Oh sure. We've got two dozen troops, but why not take on all the risk personally?"

  "I think there's less risk of waking the enemy if it's just the two of us rather than twenty-plus people trying not to step on any twigs."

  Blays chuckled without much humor. "What's the plan? Take out the guards, and knife the others in their sleep?"

  "They'll never surrender to the two of us."

  "Probably not. Still feels a bit unsavory."

  Dante tucked his hair behind his ear. "If we do it this way, there's less chance they'll be able to hurt the Dreamers they've captured."

  Blays shifted his sword belts. "That's reason enough. Let's do this."

  Dante went to Niles to tell him the plan. "Blays and I should be able to handle this on our own. After I take out their guards and clear the path in, bring your people over the rubble, but keep them back."

  Niles stuck out his lower lip. "You're sure you don't need help?"

  "It'll be so easy I might even feel bad about it."

  He and Blays headed uphill, moving from rock to rock. It was a clear night and the stars shined like raw ether. A half moon provided a little more light than Dante would have preferred. He pulled the nether around Blays and himself, darkening the air around them. His monkeys ran up to him. He took two shells from them and sent the others downhill to Niles.

  Dante's ringtail was perched on the cliffs to the right of the blockade of rubble. As he neared, he used the animal to watch the sentries for any sign they'd spotted him. He closed within five hundred feet, then three hundred. He stopped behind a boulder.

  Two lances of shadows streaked toward the guards. Both men fell, voiceless, slumping back against their hutches.

  The rubble was now unguarded. Dante picked his way across the rocky scree. Once he and Blays were on the other side, he sent the rabbit bounding back toward Niles.

  Before heading to the great hall, Dante detoured to the harvested shaden vault, dispatching the single sentry there with another bolt of nether. He and Blays crept back down the switchback. At the hall, the skin that had once been used to cover the entrance had been replaced with a wooden door. Dante didn't have eyes inside the building, but from the outside, it was silent, at peace.

  Blays drew his swords and walked toward the stone wall. Shadows shimmered around him. He moved into them, disappearing. Five seconds later, the bolt scraped from the other side of the door, which swung open with a creak.

  Dante moved inside, stopping beside the doorway to watch for movement and let his eyes adjust. The vast space was darker than it had been outside; on the far left and right walls, a single lantern hung from a hook. The space was broken up by pillars and drapes, but Dante didn't see anyone up and about.

  "Person to person," he whispered. "If they mount a resistance, get out and wait for our people to back us up."

  Blays moved forward. His posture wasn't proud, but it bore the sturdiness of someone who knows what he has to do. A worm of shame turned in Dante's gut, but as he neared the pallets of the sleeping soldiers, his nerves went calm. These beds had once held the Dreamers. Who gave up their lives to seek the forgiveness of those their people had once wronged. And most of whom had almost certainly been put to death by the Tauren.

  He moved from bed to bed, spiking each soldier's brain with nether. Blays worked across the other side of the hall, muffling mouths and slicing his blade across their throats. After tending to four of the occupied pallets, Dante still hadn't seen the portly nethermancer among them.

  Faint light glowed to his left, then faded. Dante turned, scanning the hall, but he couldn't see any sign of Blays. He approached the light, keeping the nether close. A heavy curtain hung over a doorway leading into a silent courtyard surrounded by ten-foot rock walls. Dante took two steps out, but saw nothing. The wind had stirred the curtain, letting in a sliver of moonlight.

  To his right, a shadow detached from the cover of the wall. Dante whirled and looked into the eyes of Vordon.

  19

  The man laughed raspily. He wasn't wearing his helmet or the guards on his forearms and shins. Instead, he held an oblong blue fruit, half-eaten. Despite the casualness of the scene, he looked no less formidable. He was broad-shouldered and exuded lazy arrogance.

  Vordon smiled. "Had a change of heart? Decided to surrender to me after all?"

  Dante moved half a step, putting himself between Vordon and the doorway. "And I brought tribute." He condensed the nether into a black blade.

  Vordon clucked his tongue. Darkness enfolded his hands. "Don't."

  Dante eased back. Every second he could delay the man was another second for Blays to conclude their dark business. "I made a trip to Bressel. While I was there, I learned a few things. The Mallish are using you."

  "Oh, do you think so?"

  "They want the shaden. For now, they're happy to let you gather them up for them. But that won't last. Eventually, they'll want to take the source for themselves."

  "They'll try."

  "I know they've taken these islands before. They can do so again."

  Vordon took a bite of fruit and spat a seed at Dante's feet. "So they come here. We let them have the shores. Soon enough, they'll get sick—and then they'll die."

  "Unless they know the shells hold back the ronone. Then you'll be trapped in the hills, with them on the coast between you and the shaden."

  "Do you bring me a proposal? Or are you just here to warn me of dangers you don't understand?"

  Dante's mind raced. "Withdraw from the Dreaming Peaks. Declare an island-wide truce. This fighting only weakens you all. United, the Mallish would never be able to take it away."

  The man tossed the spent fruit over his shoulder. "The Mallish bring me steel. That is good of them. I will use it to take this island. And if they come for me? Then I will kill them with their own blades."

  "You have no idea how big Mallon is. To them, the Plagued Islands are nothing but a speck. If they want this place—"

  "Help!" a man shrieked from inside. "We're being—" His voice cut off.

  Vordon clenched his jaw. "You have sneaky friends."

  "You have no idea," Dante said. "We took your shaden, too. Give yourself up now and the Kandeans might let you live."

  Vordon laughed. He jabbed the nether at Dante's heart. Dante deflected it easily. But this was just a feint; as he moved to counter, Vordon poured nether into the seed at Dante's feet. Leaves erupted from the ground. Before Dante could stagger back, something cool, damp, and fleshy engulfed him head to toe.

  Liquid clogged his mouth and nose. It tasted sweet. Sticky. It was the juice of a fruit grown to massive size, engulfing him in its sturdy pulp. In another situation, he might have laughed. But he couldn't move his arms or legs. He couldn't even draw breath.

  Nether speared at him from outside. Instinctively, he tried to jerk back, but he didn't so much as wobble. He struck at the incoming shadows and felt them disperse. When the next thrust came, he parried it much more calmly. The attacking nether withdrew. He felt it massing outside. With a squelching noise, the substance engulfing him grew heavier yet.

  He held his breath for several heartbeats, awaiting a new attack. None came. Shouts pitched up from back in the hall, muffled heavily. Dante tore at the shadows within the fruit around his head, smashing the sticky, fibrous matter down into itself until a space was cleared around his face.

  He breathed deep. The air tasted like the fruit, humid and thick. He squished down more of the pulp, freeing hi
s hands. His breath echoed hollowly. He dug forward, fingernails scraping against a shell that felt as hard as rock. The air was already starting to taste stale. He spiked the shadows forward. They hit the shell with an arrow-like rap. A small crack appeared, pierced by a beam of moonlight.

  He pressed his mouth to the hole and drew clean air. Once his lungs felt less panicked, he backed off and struck again at the crack, widening it an inch, then three. A few more blows, and a chunk of shell as big as a shield fell to the ground, rocking back and forth.

  With a slurping noise, Dante pulled his feet free and stumbled out of the fruit. As soon as he was clear, he stopped, listening. Hearing nothing, he moved toward the curtain.

  Blays materialized in front of him, swords in hand.

  Dante called out in surprise. "Don't do that to me! I was about to knock a window straight through you."

  Blays kicked at a shard of shell. "Holy shit, you were inside that thing?"

  "What do you think happened? I decided to take a juice bath?"

  "What a waste. You'd have to take a normal bath right after."

  "Vordon was here in this courtyard. Either I missed him earlier, or he showed up after we were done scouting."

  "Well, he's not here anymore." Blays swept the curtain aside with his sword, eyeing the silent hall. "He ran out of here like the building was on fire."

  In the vast space, Dante saw nothing but bodies. "So he's gone? That's good."

  "What do you mean, good? He escaped. Absconded. Got away!"

  "We aren't here to kill him." Dante moved to light more lanterns. "We're only here to take the Dreaming Peaks. We've done that. As soon as this place is secure, I'm going back into the Mists."

  In all, fourteen men lay dead, including the portly nethermancer. The room that had once smelled like incense and flowers now reeked with the metallic tang of blood. Dante sent the rabbit and the ringtail down the path south from the great hall. They reached the river without incident. Since Dante had flooded out the old bridge, Vordon and his people had harvested a new one, a solid arch with roots on both ends that dug deep into the soil.

  He kept watch on the place while Blays went to call for the others. The twenty-odd Kandean warriors helped make a more thorough search of the area. Dante posted sentries at the bridge and gathered Niles, Winden, and Blays.

  "First, the good news: I don't think Vordon will be back soon. Not without more men. And more shells."

  "But he will be back," Niles said. "This is merely a reprieve."

  "Could be." Dante gestured south. "But if you knock down that bridge, and fortify this side, you'll make him pay dearly if he wants to reclaim these peaks."

  "You said there was also bad news," Winden said.

  "I spoke to him. He knows the Mallish are using his people. He doesn't care. All he wants to do is conquer the island."

  Niles grimaced. "Then why doesn't he do so already? None of us can stand against him."

  Dante shrugged. "He's gathering steel. And shells. I think he's hesitant to make a move until he has enough strength to stand against the Mallish, too."

  "Then I dearly hope you learn to lift the ronone. If the Tauren gather that much power, we may have no choice but to sail away from Kandak."

  "That might be for the best. Between the Tauren and the Mallish, I'm afraid the coasts could turn as red as the Bloodfalls."

  Winden opened her mouth like she smelled something foul. "These lands, we know they weren't those of our ancestors. But the Tauren have no respect for those who once lived here, and the Mallish don't even know who they were. If we leave here, the Dresh will truly be dead for good."

  Niles reached for her arm, glancing about the hall, where some of the warriors were dragging out the corpses. "Keep your voice down. If the others learn what we've told Dante and Blays, then we'll find ourselves cast into the Mists permanently."

  She pulled from his grasp, but held her tongue.

  "Speaking of," Dante said. "I think it's time we went back."

  Niles raised a brow. "Right now? We've just taken this place."

  "Vordon won't be back for at least a few days. We have to make them count."

  "And we'll need every minute we've got to fortify the peaks."

  "Fortify away. With or without you, I'm going back to the Mists."

  He exited through the northern door, heading for the fields of orange flowers. Blays went with him.

  Niles said something to Winden and jogged after them. "You still don't know the ways of the Mists. I'll go with you."

  Dante glanced over his shoulder. "You're sure they won't miss you?"

  "I've put Winden in charge of the defense. She's capable of handling the fortifications."

  They reached the fields and plucked three flowers. It wouldn't do to pass out right there in the field. Nor could they lie down in the hall without revealing their activity to the warriors. Niles brought them to a shed full of hoes and shovels. They spread out blankets that turned out to be incredibly coarse.

  "What are these made out of?" Blays said. "Hog fur?"

  Niles popped his flower in his mouth. "Do you see a lot of sheep around here?"

  Dante swallowed his plant before its poisonous taste could permeate his mouth. "Is there anything I can do to get through the Pastlands faster this time?"

  "It shouldn't be as bad. Once you've made it through them once, the heart remembers even if the mind doesn't."

  The edges of Dante's vision started to close in. This time, he didn't fight it. He sank into the floor.

  * * *

  He woke. The room looked the same, but the bed was so small that his feet jutted off the end. His feet had a dusting of hair on the top. This time, he wasn't a child.

  Stranger yet, this time, he remembered the last time.

  He walked out. The house was vacant, but embers burned in the stove. Dante went to the porch. The full moon hung in the morning sky. Tod walked in from the side carrying two mugs. He passed one to Dante.

  It tasted stronger than before, more bitter. There was nothing small about this beer. Tod gazed out on the meadow.

  "What are you?" Dante said.

  "It doesn't matter."

  "When I'm not here, do you still exist?"

  The monk smiled slightly. "If I don't, I don't remember it."

  "I can't stay long," Dante said. "But I'll finish this drink."

  Flies flitted about the meadow, chased by birds. Dante sipped unhurriedly. The place was peaceful, he'd give it that. It wouldn't be so bad to rest here a while. To take a break from the travel and fighting and hardship. He could stay a week, and to the others, it would only feel as though a few minutes had passed.

  With a jolt, he stood, then slugged down his beer. "Good to see you again. But I'd best be on my way."

  Tod watched him solemnly. "Don't be too pleased with yourself. You are no longer tied to here. But only because a piece of your dream has died."

  "If it makes my vision clearer, it deserves to be dead."

  He clomped down to the basement, took a look around, then headed back up the stairs. They extended before him. The doorway filled with light. He walked out into the land of clouds.

  He was the first to arrive. Under different circumstances, he would have done some poking around, but he stayed put. A few minutes later, Niles walked out of the Mist as abruptly as when Blays walked out of the shadows.

  Dante watched him. The man looked away, smoothing his shirt, which in this realm was cleaner than the version he'd worn in the Dreaming Peaks.

  "What did you see this time?" Dante said.

  Niles shook his head slightly, as if to brush off the question, then gazed up at a jungle passing through the fog. "I was fighting the Tauren again. But this time, I was alone."

  Blays showed up seconds later. "Ah good, no waiting around this time."

  "I had to wait," Dante said.

  "Yes, but as it turns out, you're not me. Which I'm thankful for in a number of ways."

  Niles
led the way forward. Mist gushed around them, stirred by each step. In less than five minutes, the fogs parted to their left, showing a brilliant blue sea. A lane of purple sand divided the water from the land. The Dresh woman strolled toward them. She was still young and carrying her spear, accompanied by the three hogs.

  She regarded them coolly. "It's said that many Tauren were ushered into the Pastlands less than an hour ago."

  "We drove them out of the Dreaming Peaks," Dante said. "The space is sacred once again."

  "I wonder how long this will last."

  "The Kandeans are digging in as we speak. They won't give it up easily. Our agreement was to boot out the Tauren. We've done that. None of us can guess what the future holds from here."

  "I know what our agreement was." The woman planted her spear in the sand. "Remain here. I will ask those who came before me how to lift the ronone."

  She walked away, fading from sight. The three jone vanished with her. A thrill tingled up Dante's belly. He'd been trying not to think of the prospect of being stuck on the Plagued Islands for good. Even his optimistic forecasts of finding a cure involved months of research and interviews with the island's various peoples. The idea that he might have his answer in minutes was more than he could have hoped.

  "So where exactly did she go?" Blays said.

  Niles sat down in the sand. "The Worldsea, I'd wager. To speak to her ancestors."

  "The dead in the Mists can move back and forth?"

  "Aye, in very limited fashion. Like leaning through a doorway without crossing the threshold."

  "So what's it like in the Worldsea?"

  "Can't tell you."

  "Another one of your secrets, eh?"

  "It's not my secret," Niles said. "The dead don't speak of it often. Sometimes the Dreamers hear things, but the way they talk, the Worldsea's less like a place and more like a mood."

  "Aha. And how exactly does one search a mood? Are we going to be sitting on this beach until our bodies are covered by the dunes?"

  "I don't think the passage of time in the Worldsea has much to do with time here. I can't rightly say if they have time."