by J. M. Lee
“So?”
“So . . . how are you planning on reaching the Dousan clan in the Crystal Sea? Without a, you know. A sandship, and a Dousan to sail it.”
Amri hated the smug twinkle in Periss’s eyes. Naia crossed her arms.
“No way. I’d rather walk the whole way than go with a thief.”
Tavra sighed. “Naia, wait. He’s right. We’ll never make it without a sand skiff. The desert’s sands shift as constantly as the ocean. It’s a vast place, dangerous and full of ruthless creatures. And even if we found a way to survive, the Dousan are nomadic. Tracking them on our own could be impossible.”
Amri looked up at the Claw Mountains that rose south of Cera-Na’s sandy shore. He had never seen the Crystal Sea in person, of course, but he’d seen maps and drawings. On the other side of the Claw Mountains spilled a vast desert of golden and white sand. The desert sprawled southeast, stopping only where its waves of sand lapped the border of the Dark Wood. Between the Claw Mountains and the Dark Wood, it was a world of light and constantly changing terrain. Desert creatures roamed the dunes. It was somewhere out there, navigating the constant storms, that the Dousan Gelfling had made their home.
“I think Tavra may be right,” Amri said.
Periss’s hands had drifted from the air to his belt, his expression of surrender transforming into a pompous smile. He adjusted his cloak and brushed the dirt and leaves that had stuck to his jerkin when Amri had tackled him.
“So, have we an accord?”
Amri had never seen Naia so reluctant to put away her dagger.
“Let’s see this sandship of yours,” she grumbled.
South of the bay, through the brush that ringed the beach, was a rocky pass into the Claw Mountains. A sand river cut the ravine like a slow-moving knife, and waiting there was a low-lying craft the size of Onica’s ship, made from the skeleton of some flat, wide beast. Periss gestured grandly as they approached.
“I promise my fee will be fair,” he said.
“We’re not paying you,” Naia retorted. “Your reward for helping us is knowing you took part in saving the Gelfling race.”
“I’m afraid good feelings don’t make my heart as full as a pocket of pretties. So, show me what you have to give, and I will tell you if you’ve come up short.”
Amri wanted to tackle the Dousan again and take his sand skiff as their own. It wasn’t right, of course, and he didn’t know how to sail the thing at all. But the thief’s attitude was so grating, it almost felt like it would be worth it. He didn’t want to give up anything, especially not if it was going into the thief’s pocket.
But if they were going to reach the Dousan, it was the only way.
“Well?” Periss asked. “Do you want to get going or not? If we leave today, we might reach the Dousan and light that fire by tomorrow morning. Wouldn’t that be worth all this?”
Amri frowned. He had his own pouch, but it was filled with spices and dirt, twigs and berries and roots he’d found on their way north. But to a Dousan with an eye for what glittered, Amri’s treasures were good as hollerbat dung.
Naia clutched the hilt of her dagger. It had a stone in the handle, and it was Skeksis metal, made in the Castle of the Crystal for her brother. Periss’s eyes drifted to her hand, then to Kylan. The Spriton had unconsciously put his hand on his own most precious object, the firca hanging at his neck.
“I’ll take the dagger and the firca,” Periss announced. “And, Far-Dreamer, you’ll read my bones, once we’re asail. Give me those things three, and I’ll give you as many days as it takes to find Maudra Seethi and my clan.”
Naia gulped. Amri wanted to tell her no, that they would find another way, but he wasn’t sure there was one. They had only reached Cera-Na thanks to Onica. Without her help, he wondered how they might have arrived. They would likely have been too late, getting to the bay only in time to see the ships sailing off on the horizon, flanked by skekSa’s behemoth ship.
What if it were the same with the Dousan?
Teeth clenched, Naia nodded at Kylan. He closed his eyes and looked down, but he knew it, too. Together, they handed over the dagger and the bone firca. Periss stuffed them in his traveling sack and yanked on the line. The sails, made of thin white leather, dropped and the skiff lunged, held in place only by stakes driven into the sand.
The Dousan gestured with a broad smile.
“Congratulations, my friends. You’ve just bought yourselves a one-way trip into the desert of death.”
CHAPTER 14
Sailing on the river of sand was rougher than on the ocean.
The skiff itself was an oval body kept upright by two floats on either side, each balanced by several webbed fins roughly the size of a Gelfling’s wings. The rigid parts of the ship were all bone, light and hollow, with leather and woven fabric attached with hardened sinews. Black sand snakes raced alongside the skiff as it cut atop the sand river, all of them carried by the current and propelled by a strong wind that howled along the bottom of the ravine.
Still, Amri preferred the skiff to the ships on the sea. Though the sands were ever changing, they were still of the earth. Still rock and dirt and crystal, and he could just make out their whispers. Like a million voices, speaking all at once, resonating against the deep tones of the red cliffs.
Periss handled the ship alone, leaving the rest of them to sit, holding on to the rope loops knotted into the deck.
“At this speed, we’ll cross the Claw Mountains and reach the desert within two days’ time,” Onica said. “At least our guide wasn’t lying about the integrity of his craft.”
“Then it’s worth it,” Naia said, hand on her belt where her dagger used to sit.
Kylan hadn’t been able to give up his part of the payment as easily. From Naia’s dreamfasts, Amri had seen her let go of her brother’s dagger once before. But Kylan had created the bone firca from his bare hands, and performed perhaps the single most rebellious act against the Skeksis with it. But Periss didn’t know that, and Amri hoped he never would. It would make getting the instrument back all the more difficult.
Periss tied the sails off as they entered a long, straight stretch of the ravine. The immense cliffs cast a shadow that flooded the gorge with blue, highlighting the wedge of gold light at the far end where the river would eventually empty into the desert. Periss swaggered back to the deck where his passengers sat, easily keeping his balance without holding on to the many rope loops that flopped about the ship’s architecture. He dropped down, cross-legged, on the open end of their circle.
“You’ve made a good investment, so let’s make merry.” He gestured to his shaved head, covered in tattoos. “Since I’ll be your guide and protector as we make way into a dangerous landscape, I should know your names, eh? So I can shout them before you make any stupid decisions that will get us all killed.”
“We already met. I’m Naia.”
“Drenchen, yes. I’ve got waterskins belowdecks for you; you’ll need them and I’ll sell them to you at a good rate. You’re the leader of this little crew?”
The question had never been asked. Amri had always assumed Naia was their leader, though Onica and Tavra were both older. Not to mention that Tavra was the daughter of the All-Maudra. Despite her station, though, she was also a spider now, and it was Naia who had seen the Crystal and led the charge on every other account.
“Yes,” Naia said.
“And you’re one of the Gelfling the Skeksis are after, eh? Along with the Stonewood, what’s his name. Rian?” Periss lifted a finger, scanning their faces for the sign of a woodland Gelfling. “Hm, so he’s elsewhere. Then you, Spriton, must be Kylan the Song Teller. Who bewitched the Sanctuary Tree that grows near the Grottan Tomb of Relics.”
“You’re surprisingly well-informed,” Kylan muttered.
“My father always told me I have many knives. And you—you’re
Onica. I’ve heard your name around Cera-Na. Saw what you did aboard the coral ship. They say you’re a talented Far-Dreamer.”
Onica was the least perturbed by the ship’s turbulent shaking, kneeling casually with one rope loop nearby in case of rough sand. “They aren’t wrong,” she said.
“And what about you?”
“Amri.” He was really starting to hate that question. “The Mysterious.”
“I’ve never heard of Amri the Mysterious.”
“That says more about you than it does about me.”
Periss snorted. “All right, Amri the Mysterious. Naia, Kylan, Onica. That leaves one piece I haven’t got figured out . . . the spider with the Ha’rarian accent. Speaks like a princess, that one. I’d heard one of the All-Maudra’s own daughters got caught up in this mess with the Skeksis. Disappeared in the Castle of the Crystal. There was a reward for songs of her whereabouts, though I think by now many believe her to be dead. You all wouldn’t happen to know anything about that?”
Amri had lost track of Tavra, though he guessed she wasn’t invisible by accident.
“Nothing indeed,” Onica said, mildly changing the subject. “As for you, Periss. I agreed to read your bones. I expect you have some? I don’t lend my own to read for thieves.”
Periss grinned broadly and tilted so he could reach into the small of his back, under his cloak. He must have had a second pack there, a slim one hidden by the folds of red fabric. Out came a pouch, and then a soup cup carved from another piece of bone. He handed both to Onica.
“Have you ever had your bones read?” she asked, tossing the pouch in her hand. Over the roaring of the sand below the skiff, Amri heard dry jangling.
“Never. I’m quite intrigued!”
Onica poured a handful of tiny bone fragments into the cup. Holding the cup in one hand and placing the palm of her hand over the top to keep the contents inside, she shook the bones. Amri had never seen bones read and wished it were under different circumstances. Then again, if Onica had bad news to tell, he would rather it were to Periss than any of their friends.
“I stole those from a Sifa soothsayer,” Periss remarked, ill-placed pride poking at the corners of his smirk. “They’re authentic.”
Onica smiled her usual mysterious smile, as if everything Periss said washed off her like ocean wind. With a swift motion, she plunged the cup, upside down, onto the toughened leather of the deck. She leaned over the cup and fixed Periss with an electric, turquoise gaze.
“Love, life, or death?” she asked.
Periss returned her smile. “I’m Dousan, sweetling. I don’t need to know about my death. Tell me about love.”
Onica pressed her hands against the cup, holding it down on the skin of the deck. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. As she let it out, her shoulders drooped and her head tilted back.
“Hmm . . . Your heart yearns. I see a plant . . . No, a tree, growing in rich soil. Hands reach down, grasp the stem. Pull it out, roots and all. There’s a hole left, but the hole goes deeper than the tree ever grew . . . No matter what you pour in, it never fills.”
Periss’s face didn’t change, still set with that smug smile. Trying not to be vulnerable, Amri thought. Trying not to appear intimidated by the Far-Dreamer’s words. Onica tilted her head to one side, moving her hands along the cup without lifting it.
“Yet you try . . . Restless and unrelenting. You seek love, but cannot find it. You believe it is because you don’t deserve it. But the truth is, love is the only thing that can heal the wound. You are looking in the wrong place. Outside, when you should be looking within. You look to what you can take from the future, instead of mourning what you’ve forsaken in the past.”
“All that without even looking, eh?” Periss said, resting one elbow on his knee and his cheek on his fist. “Impressive. Can’t wait to hear what you can read off the bones themselves.”
Onica opened her eyes, gaze falling from the skies down to the Dousan in front of her. She put a hand on the cup.
“The bones say . . .”
She lifted the cup. The wind rushing along the deck blasted through, scattering the bones in a cloud of gray shards. Periss yelped and grabbed after them, but they were already lost to the wind and sands.
“. . . That you shouldn’t ask for bone readings on a moving sand skiff.”
Periss growled in frustration. He snatched the cup from Onica, then realized he’d shown a real emotion, even if it was anger. He coughed and put the cup away, reabsorbed by his nonchalant arrogance.
“I suppose I deserved that,” he said.
Onica shrugged. “Now I’ve told you your fortune. You can tell us ours. What will we face in the desert, and what can we do to be sure of our success?”
She leaned back, and Amri felt a swell of respect. Tavra couldn’t have chosen a more formidable partner, and now she was his friend and ally, too. Periss accepted his chagrin with surprising grace, spreading his hands.
“As you know, there is a great desert that fills the space between the Claw Mountains and the northwestern border of the Dark Wood. My people call it many things, but the name that has stuck is the Desert of the Dead.”
“Sounds promising,” Amri said under his breath.
“On the northern edge, where the desert pools in mountain bays, there are four seas. The Crystal Sea is where we head. During the season of storms, my people gather there until the winds are less fierce.”
“The Crystal Sea is deep inland,” Amri said. He’d seen many maps of the area in the Tomb. Although he knew there were also similar maps in Kylan’s book, he didn’t want Periss to know about any more of their precious possessions. “Is your ship durable enough to weather the storms?”
“This ship is made from the bones of my ancestor’s Crystal Skimmer. It will outlive us all. It is we mortal folk who will need to prove ourselves.”
“And how do we know you’re not just taking us out into a wasteland to leave us, after you steal every last thread from our hems?” Kylan asked.
Periss snorted. “I may be a treasure seeker, but the Dousan pride ourselves on our word.” Periss paused. He looked like he wanted to spit. “Words are the only thing worth keeping in this world, or so says Maudra Seethi.” This statement sounded well rehearsed, as if he’d been forced to repeat it many times.
“Treasure seeker? What a fine way to say thief,” Naia said.
“Call me what you like. We’ve made a deal, and I’ll honor my end of it if you honor yours.”
The Dousan boy stood, brushing himself free of the sand that had gathered since he’d sat, and waved over his shoulder as he left them to stand at the bow of the skiff. Naia rolled her eyes and touched the sand in her own lap. They had only been sailing for half a day, and she was already looking pale, as if the color were being drained from her by the bone-dry air. Amri hoped it wasn’t a bad sign. He gestured with his chin.
“Are you going to be all right?”
She looked at her fingertips, lips quirking.
“I’ll live. Even if I have to pay for those waterskins he mentioned.”
“If he’s wise, we’ll travel at night and rest during the day, once we reach the basin,” Tavra remarked. It was one of the first plans she’d had that Amri wholeheartedly liked, but he didn’t say so. He was just glad when Onica replied,
“And if he’s not wise, I will educate him.”
“Did you really read his bones through the cup?” Kylan asked.
The Far-Dreamer’s smile was mysterious and misleadingly demure.
“Oh, I read his bones,” she said. “Just not the ones in the cup.”
CHAPTER 15
When night fell, Kylan mildly suggested that Amri take the first watch. At first Amri thought it was a rude thing to volunteer for someone else, but then he realized that first watch meant night watch. So, while the others went
belowdecks to rest, Amri sat on the bow of the ship, watching the desert basin draw slowly nearer. There he sat all night, hand on a rope loop, the subtle thought of kindness from the song teller keeping him warm.
Later, as the sky lightened, Naia joined him. Her eyes were red and her cheeks wan.
“Are you all right?”
“Had a bad dream. I’ll be fine.”
“Want to talk about it?”
She sat beside him. “I dreamed I was in Sog again . . . as Gurjin. A windsifter came with a message for my mother. I . . . Gurjin . . . went to my mother’s chamber to hear what news it brought, but all I saw was this horror in her face. And then I woke up.” Naia groaned and rubbed at her face with her hands. “I don’t know what the message said, but it was bad. Very bad.”
“Do you think it’s an omen? Maybe you should ask Onica.”
“She’s sleeping. I’ll ask her when she wakes . . . You should rest, too, nightbird.”
Amri stood and yawned. Then he added, “Birds die in caves.”
“Nightworm, then.”
“They’re called nurlocs.”
“Go on!”
Before he left, he put a hand on her shoulder.
“It was just a dream,” he reminded her, even though he knew they both had the feeling it wasn’t.
The lower deck was cramped, but there were woven hammocks hanging from the ceiling, and Amri climbed into a vacant one. The bumping of the ship was absorbed into the gentle swinging of the hammock, and his exhaustion overtook him in moments.
“Amri! Get up, hurry!”
Amri tumbled out of his hammock, hitting the tough under-deck. He didn’t remember falling asleep, but he must have. Daylight burned through the slats of the deck above. Kylan pulled him up as the floor tilted and lurched, then slammed down with a bone-jarring crash. Amri scrambled to grab hold of one of the many lines strung along the ceiling.
“What’s going on?” he shouted as they clawed their way above deck.
“There’s a storm—and Crystal Skimmers—”