I will take it to be analyzed, thought Shady. There’s no point in taking a risk. If it’s fine, hopefully there will be some left, and I can have it for breakfast.
* * *
Cypress sighed, gazing out at the new day with boredom. The Lodos winds had died after the first day, leaving behind the occasional, fluffy cloud in a pale blue sky. Now there was a different wind: Poyraz from the northeast. After watching patiently for five days, she had not seen any signs of a fishing boat! Or any boat, for that matter. The sea was an empty, flat canvas of dark bluish-grey by day: dull and listless. By night, it was a monster, dark and still. Waiting… She imagined it had lain in wait for her all night before the day of the Fall. But the monster, while frightening, was also kind in a way, she thought. It had opened up its arms to her, and carried her, albeit roughly, to safety.
She drew vague patterns in the dirt with her right hand. “It’s so boring here!” she cried, stamping her feet. I wonder what I will get to eat today? She had not ventured to the nose rock yet. What if there’s nothing?
Every morning since the Fall she made a trip to the nose rock to retrieve the day’s offerings of food and drink, and occasionally clothing. She had even found her favorite blanket from home three days ago! That had been particularly nice because it was a very warm blanket, which had substantially improved her sleep quality. There had been bandages too, with which she had inexpertly replaced the seaweed sling for her arm.
Was it her brother who brought all these things for her? Who else could it be? she wondered. Did anyone else know about the nose rock? But could her brother come all the way out here? After all, she knew that he would not be permitted to leave the house unattended until after the cypress planting ritual. A sudden panic gripped her: the planting ritual could be any day! And then where would she go? Her brother had said nothing about the planting ritual, but it must take place. The horn must be blown before Evening Song on the sixth day to accept Cypress’s mortal death so that the cypress tree could rise bearing Cypress’s immortal heart… By my Father, she thought, it is my Father who will announce my death. And before the tree ceremony, there would be the other one her brother mentioned: the ceremony of the Silent Dark, which would take place right here, in the caves where she slept, where she was now sitting. “Today is the sixth day, Dark One!” she cried out stifling a sob. What will happen to me in the hereafter?
Cypress looked in panic to the recesses of the cave. Where would she go? She buried her head in her arms, and heard Mother’s voice … soft… but never soothing: “Cypress does not weep…” She raised her head, wiped away the tears with her good hand, and then held firmly onto the small white figure of the crocodile around her neck.
Cypress’s heart…
“Well, Dark One, where are you now?” she asked defiantly. “You did not help me! Only my brother did…”
And… maybe someone else too… Someone who left food every morning, spoke an insistent voice in her mind. She had unsuccessfully tried to ascertain the identity of her savior by attempting to stay awake through the night, but had failed. Every night since the appearance of the first chicken sandwich on that first morning after the … fall, she had willed herself to remain awake. It was a lot more difficult than she had imagined, for eventually, every night, despite the fear, the sea would sing its lullaby and she would drift off… wrapped in her blanket. And the next morning when she awoke, the nose rock was bearing food!
Perhaps it is Father, she thought, but rejected the possibility immediately. I hate Father, Cypress thought vehemently. After all, it was he who had told her she was the Cypress. A year ago. Quietly and without emotion. At the time she had not completely understood what it meant. But he knew… He was the leader of the island and he didn’t mind that his daughter was going to be drowned! He wanted her to die!
Only Kaya had tried to help… I hope nothing bad happens to him, Cypress thought anxiously, hugging her knees. Perhaps I should pray for him. That’s what Mother would tell me to do… she thought dutifully. Cypress closed her eyes tight and muttered under her breath:
“Dark One: the one who is seen,
Dark Thing, wearing your crown of diamonds
Dark Thing, silver and bright
Brighter than Golden Light
Dark One, our savior
Saver of the embattled,
I know one who needs you…
Dark Thing, come forth
Dark One, come forth.”
Cypress opened her eyes. “I don’t feel a bit better!” she declared out loud to the dank walls, and with newfound bravery, got up and aimed a kick at the closest wall. “Ow!” she cried, clutching her toes as she hopped around the cave. But I am not scared, she grinned. “I am not afraid of you!” She flung her head back and cried out. Not afraid. Good. But of whom? The cave, possibly. She glared furtively towards the dark reaches of the cave where she dared not venture.
21
It was no good; he couldn’t concentrate on the copy of Fast! He flung the magazine on the side table and rose abruptly – at least he had intended to, just as he had been able to less than a year ago… Instead, he rose rather creakily and with some difficulty. Trapped inside this damn prison of decrepit flesh and bone! Trapped by age. Sinclair started to pace around the waiting room. Why did one have to wait? Always waiting. For the amount of money he was paying, they should be waiting on him. Instead, he had to come to this place once a month for a booster. The initial treatment was supposed to last at least a year but it hadn’t had it? Within six months, he’d had to go back for a second treatment… They said it was because of … LiGa! The degeneration was too rapid, they’d said. His life: gone. No, even worse: his life was now lived by others. That’s what LiGa did. It stole chunks of your life and gave them to others. That stupid old woman, for instance…Cat whatever her name was… what good was she to anyone? And that priest! What a waste.
The slight man sitting unobtrusively in the corner, wearing a rumpled, ill-fitting beige suit, coughed gently. Sinclair paid no attention. The man cleared his throat. “Mr. Davis–” he ventured timidly.
“Hmm… What?” Sinclair looked around the room in surprise. He frowned upon locating the source of the interruption. “Yes?” he said, with no hint of civility.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Davis–” the little man began. His milky grey-blue eyes looked out apologetically from behind thick, horn-rimmed glasses.
Sinclair waved away his mild apology dismissively. “What?” he repeated in the same tone.
“Oh. Um, well, I wanted to say hello, Mr. Davis. ” The man rose hesitantly and came forward.
Sinclair stopped in his tracks but ignored the man’s proffered hand. “Yeah. Hello.”
“I– I, I’ve seen you a couple of times here,” the man ventured. “I’m sorry. My name is Evan Nightshade.”
“Good.” Sinclair flashed a brittle, uninviting smile.
Evan Nightshade withdrew his hand hurriedly and smiled shyly. “How have you found the treatments?” he ventured. “I personally have not found them to be as effective as I expected…” He looked at Sinclair with an expression that could best be described as hopeful alarm. “And really very expensive,” he added, shaking his head sadly. “So very expensive…”
Sinclair shrugged irritably, and then with a sudden change of direction, said tersely, “They are not what I wanted.”
“No, no…” Evan Nightshade rubbed his hands with an indecisive motion and looked away. “Not what we expected at all. Not… Not like LiGa…” he added quietly. Almost a whisper.
Sinclair regarded him suspiciously. “What do you know of LiGa?” he barked.
“Very little, very little–” the small man shook his head and waved his hands in an appeasing gesture. “I only know what I heard from Father Roland Griffith…” he smiled. His face bore the kind of weak, ingratiating expression that repulsed Sinclair at an elemental level.
“Oh yeah?” Sinclair half-sneered. “What did the priest s
ay?”
The little man opened his eyes wide with astonishment. “Do you know Father Roland? I would not have thought you would have … that you would have come across one another.”
Sinclair regarded him with suspicion. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing.” Evan Nightshade gave a small smile. “I meant nothing at all. Father Roland is a remarkable man. I was fortunate to meet him,” he added reverentially.
Sinclair snorted, and resumed his pacing. Evan Nightshade took his seat in the corner of the room and watched Sinclair. “He was looking very healthy…” he said wistfully.
“Eh? Who?” Sinclair stopped in his tracks.
“I am sorry Mr. Davis. I meant – well I – I was thinking of Father Roland,” Nightshade stammered uneasily. “I didn’t realize I spoke out loud.”
“When did you meet Father Roland?” Sinclair demanded.
Nightshade appeared to visibly shrink before the direct questioning. “Oh, ah… About two weeks ago, maybe a little more, I think. What a kind man! He was most helpful.”
“Why did you see him?” Sinclair continued, not bothering to disguise the suspicion in his voice.
Nightshade gave a deprecating laugh. “Well, I really, I honestly–” he mumbled. “I had been referred to him by a mutual friend. A biologist. Very eminent. Highly– um… a kind, kind lady. Professor Fiona Manx? Doing work in Africa. Was. She was…”
Sinclair stopped listening. How long did one have to wait? The man’s obsequious twittering was beyond irritating! Will you shut up? He thought, and clenched his teeth.
“…played LiGa…”
Huh! “What did you say?” Sinclair wheeled around. “Who played LiGa?” he asked accusingly.
The little man wore a startled expression. “Fi—Fiona Manx. I was mentioning that she played LiGa.”
“Oh?”
“She won,” Nightshade said simply, answering the unasked question.
Sinclair sniffed. Not that he cared about LiGa anymore… but… Deliberately, he walked over and took a seat close to Evan Nightshade. His expression when he spoke was mellower, almost charming. “I don’t know this Fiona Manx,” he said. “Where did you say you met her?”
Evan Nightshade looked at Sinclair gratefully. How kind of you to talk to me, said his expression. It was an attitude Sinclair was used to. Not one he would ever adopt, naturally, but one that he expected from others. He did not fear such a person. He certainly did not respect Nightshade.
The little man continued to speak softly, looking intensely gratified by the attention bestowed upon him from such a quarter…
22
Orion…
Beware.
The Scorpion waits for the Hunter,
Orion.
Let the Hunter beware
Of the Scorpion that is hid,
Orion.
The Scorpion behind the Veil…
The sounds of running feet, and urgent shouts of Patron brought Cat unsteadily to her feet. “What’s wrong?” she grumbled groggily, opening the door to her cabin. It was proving to be a rough night as Patron’s new course had meant sailing several degrees closer to the wind to make up time lost accommodating the curious sailboat a few hours previously. She peered into the half-dark of the hallway, and holding on to the wall to steady herself against the rocking made her way up the stairs to the captain’s deck whence she surmised the noises emanated.
Father Griffith was present, but did not look well as he clutched something solid and wooden. His face looked ashen in the pale light of a cloudy night, and he was staring with fixed determination at a point beyond the ship’s prow.
“What’s going on?” Cat shouted above the wind, trying to locate Orion, Patron, anyone with authority.
Beware!
She flinched as though struck, looking around for the person who must have…spoken? There was only Father Griffith nearby and he was clearly in no mood to speak. Am I hearing things? Did I imagine it? she wondered.
Orion brushed past her, barking: “Patron! Where are you?”
“A warning…” Cat said to herself. “I felt a warning.” She shivered and felt her hands balling up into fists. Tight. Tense.
“Here!” Patron replied, striding across the deck to where Orion was standing between Cat and Father Griffith. “Yes, I know, there’s danger ahead. I got the gist, but not exactly. What did it say?”
“Hostile ships,” Orion replied. “They are waiting for us on the other side of the Light Veil. Hostile ships.”
“I got that much!” Patron snorted impatiently. “What kind of ships? How many? Where exactly? Ask!” she boomed. “What are you waiting for? We’re less than three hours of sailing, at this rate, from the Veil. We barely have time to prepare.”
How many are the Scorpion? Orion thought.
The Scorpion that is hid behind the Veil
Is of a sail
Not unlike the one across the Veil
Orion considered this. Pirate ships? He thought. How many ships? It is important. He thought urgently, receiving silence in return.
Orion…
Let the Hunter beware,
Of the Scorpion behind the Veil…
“Well?” Patron demanded.
“I believe they are pirates,” Orion replied. “I don’t know how many or how they are armed, but Patron, you probably have a good idea of their capabilities.”
“Well, I might if I knew which ships!” Patron thundered. “What else? Did you ask how many?”
Orion shook his head regretfully. “Shadow doesn’t give such details. I don’t think it thinks like that. All I know is that they are waiting for us at the point where we will enter the Veil–”
“Can’t we change course?” Bruce asked. “Can’t we enter somewhere else?” He had made his way to the deck and now stood with difficulty by Cat.
“No,” Patron replied without looking at him. “The Veil permits entry in only one place. The coordinates are precise. Who’s in charge? Who’s the captain?” she asked Orion.
“I don’t know. Shadow did not say. Again, I don’t think it could know that sort of information.”
“There’s got to be one captain in charge…” she started to mutter.
“There is something that doesn’t want us in Pera…” Father Griffith said.
“Someone,” Orion corrected. “Or perhaps a group of people,” he added. “When exactly are we due to enter, Patron? On our current course, that is.”
“Just before first light. Three hours from now.”
“In the dead of night,” Orion said.
“Won’t that help?” Bruce asked. “We should be harder to see in the dark since our hull is virtually black.”
“Ha! I wish that were so. No. The hull looks black on this side of the Veil, but once we cross over, we will be easier to see than if we’d been covered in phosphorescent paint. The hull is coated with the seed of the lightberry. We will enter the Light Veil with the sparkle and glitter of a shooting star,” she added despondently.
“Oh. That’s not promising.”
“I’m sure we’ll think of something,” Orion said brightly.
“Well, start thinking, my boy. We don’t have a lot of time!” Patron shot back. “Even if–” she began, but shook her head. “Even that won’t work,” she said to herself. “We don’t know how many ships…”
“But only one captain, right?” Orion looked at her sideways.
“Yes, there would have to be one in charge. Only one. The charter says so.”
“And the captain commands one ship? Or many?” Orion continued.
“One,” Patron nodded. “No captain pirate can command more than one ship. The other ships’ captains would be commanding their own ships, but would defer to the one in charge for–”
“For the attack,” Orion completed her sentence.
“Yes. That’s how pirates work if they need to coordinate an attack.”
“I wonder who the captain is?” she said in a venomous undert
one.
If we manage to get out of this alive, thought Father Griffith, I would not want to be in the shoes of that captain…
“So what do we do?” Cat asked, looking around. “Surely this isn’t the first time you’ve been in a bit of trouble. Any ideas?”
“Do you think you could handle one ship, Patron?” Orion asked after a pause.
“What do you mean? One at a time or just one ship? What does it matter?” she added impatiently. “The point is that there are an unknown number of them!”
“I can’t reduce the number of ships,” Orion admitted, shaking his head. “But what if we could convince them to face us in a sort of duel? One on one.”
“How?”
“We have the LifeBank…” Orion said slyly.
“But–” Patron began, and paused. “What do you mean? I am not playing bridge or chess if that’s what you’re getting at!” she cried as suspicion dawned.
“And we can’t,” Cat interjected.
“No. No one has to play any game. Where’s Peter?”
“I don’t know. Somewhere below, I think. What do you need him for?” asked Patron with suspicion.
Orion beamed. “As I was saying, I did not mean for anyone to play bridge or chess, or any other game for that matter, but LiGa is not connected to any particular game. The games are simply vehicles that were chosen. They are artificial. All that is required is for at least two people to be willing to trade life points.
“The event that precipitates the trade is a matter of choice. In this case, perhaps we could persuade this captain on the other side of the Veil to fight you, Patron, for the right to immortality – assuming your respective life points permit it. A fight at sea. A sea battle between two pirate ships.” He grinned beguilingly. “What do you say?”
the Dark shall do what Light cannot Page 21