by L. Penelope
So he made his way to the docks with just a small knapsack. Roshon and Ani were leaving this morning, so he had a good cover story for being down there. Papa had risen earlier and was already at the busy port when Varten arrived, staring up at a Raunian-built ship named the Rapskala with misty eyes.
“You’d think after seeing your faces every day of your lives it wouldn’t be so hard to go without.” His throat sounded clogged.
Varten stuffed his hands in his pockets, flustered by his father’s display of emotion. While Ani and her two-person crew did their final checks, Roshon came down the ramp to stand on Papa’s other side.
“It’s not a long trip,” he said. “Just two months and we’ll be back.” He was happy, happier than Varten could remember seeing him.
“So long as you two don’t elope,” Papa chided, bringing Roshon into an embrace.
“No promises.” Roshon pulled away and turned to Varten.
“Stay out of trouble,” they said to each other in unison. Roshon shook his head, and Varten gave a half smile. He hugged his brother one more time, then stepped back.
Roshon looked at them both, then nodded and made his way up the ramp to the ship’s deck. The invisible string that connected the twins grew taut. Varten knew it wouldn’t snap, but it tugged at his chest and constricted his heart.
Papa wiped a tear from his eye and the two of them stood in silence until the Rapskala pulled out of its berth and headed off into the endless ocean.
“Two months isn’t so long,” Varten offered.
“No, I suppose not.” His father looked up, grim. “And you are certain you don’t want to come with me?”
“I am. This is the best idea you’ve had in years. The refugees need healers. Translators. They need you. I will be fine.”
Papa was headed up north to one of the new settlements to volunteer and help the Lagrimari adjust. Varten wanted to help, but he wasn’t an Earthsinger. He could always teach or translate, but was inevitably met with suspicion and fear by Lagrimari who viewed him as just another Elsiran. The effort of breaking down the walls of distrust with kindness and humor shouldn’t have been taxing, but it was. Just another reminder that no matter where he went, he didn’t truly belong.
“Things are changing, but they always would have eventually,” Varten said. “They’re good changes. We all just need time to get used to them. You won’t be that far away. The refugee community in the north is what, an hour by auto? I live in a palace, Papa. I’ll be fine.” He grinned, hoping to put his father at ease. He couldn’t lie to the man, since Earthsingers could sense it, so he injected all of his sincerity into his words.
Papa squeezed him into a tight hug. They were of a height now, and a similar size, almost. The old man’s hair was fully gray, though it hadn’t been two years earlier, and he still looked just as strong as he was in his son’s memory. A couple of years in prison would change anyone’s hair color. Varten was surprised his own ginger locks hadn’t shifted a shade or two. But he’d been altered in other ways.
Papa stepped away, a serious expression on his face. “This is the beginning of you all starting your own lives. Roshon off on an adventure. And you—I know that you will figure things out in due time. All I want for you is to live. Promise me you’ll do that? Live as much life as you can.”
Varten swallowed and nodded. “I will, Papa.” Guilt punched him in the gut. Should he tell someone about this trip?
He’d told Jasminda that he was going with Papa up north, and she’d seemed relieved. Papa believed he was staying here with his sister. Telling either of them about the journey could not only put them in danger if the Goddess truly was untrustworthy, it could give them both false hope about the possibility of restoring Songs. For even if he and Zeli managed to access the Archives, there was no guarantee the answer they sought was even there. Best to keep quiet until they had something real to share.
After giving the retreating ship one last look, Papa said his final good-byes to Varten and went to catch his bus. Varten settled onto a bench, out of the way of the bustle, watching it orbit around him.
The port was peppered with people from all over the world speaking in their languages, haggling, yelling, commanding, and laughing. He breathed in deeply, closing his eyes to take in the intermingling smells. The salt water and brine, a sour odor that he couldn’t quite place, aromas of spices and different foods wafting in from the market just a few blocks away. He’d sat there only a few minutes when a familiar scent threaded its way through the rest.
Varten opened his eyes to find Zeli before him. She was no longer in her Sisterhood blue robe and pinafore, having exchanged it for a simple gray frock. Her hair was in dozens of thin braids hitting her shoulders.
Varten grinned. “Nice disguise.”
She looked down at herself a bit self-consciously. “I took it from the Sisterhood charity bin. I suppose I am a poor Lagrimari refugee, so it’s not exactly stealing.”
“No, not stealing at all.”
She looked around, dubious. “You said you had a plan for us to book passage? Why couldn’t we get a ride with your brother anyway?”
“Roshon may not be an Earthsinger, but he knows when I’m lying. There’d be no way we wouldn’t have to answer a thousand questions a day about what we were doing.”
She pursed her lips and nodded. Varten tore himself away from her to look back at the ships. Because of the embargo, port traffic was light. Still, he’d seen a few vessels that looked promising.
“Booking a trip on a regular passenger vessel would leave too much of a paper trail,” he continued. “We’d need to show identification and fill out all kinds of paperwork. If we want to be sure not to be followed, we’ll just need to find someone willing to take us on for the right price. Check out berth twenty-two.”
Zeli turned in the direction he pointed and her eyes grew big. The ship he’d scoped out was a luxurious-looking vessel, a yacht, no doubt a pleasure craft for someone rich. They had plenty of space, he figured, and might not mind taking on a few extras for the right price.
“Come on,” Varten said, rising and moving quickly. Zeli kept up with his pace, though he remained mindful of her shorter legs. A middle-aged, brown-haired sailor stood at the ramp to the yacht when they approached, a stack of crates at his feet.
“Hey there,” Varten said. “Do you accept passengers?”
“Go away,” the man said gruffly in accented Elsiran.
“I was just—”
“I said…” The man looked up sharply, then his gaze locked onto Zeli. She stiffened and slid closer to Varten. The sailor tilted his head. “Passengers, you say? Not sure my boss would take kindly to that, but he doesn’t have to know everything, does he?” He winked and grinned exclusively at Zeli.
“Ah, that’s all right, mate,” Varten said, sliding a protective arm around her. “Wouldn’t want to risk you getting in trouble or losing your job.” He backed away, pulling her with him.
“No trouble at all,” the sailor said, laughing rudely. “How much for her?”
Her small, trembling hand gripped his back. “She’s a person, she’s not for sale,” Varten said through gritted teeth.
“I mean, how much are you paying her? We could use someone to scrub up, empty the latrines, things like that.”
“We’re not looking for work,” Varten said, still moving slowly backward.
“Grols have strong backs, there’s lots of work to be had here, and they don’t charge much. I can offer five pieces a week, plus a finder’s fee for your trouble.”
Two more sailors appeared on the yacht’s deck, both large and grizzled. Their cold eyes looked at Zeli like property, just another good to be sold. One of the men grinned in a manner that made Varten suspect scrubbing toilets wasn’t the only work they would expect of her.
He swung her around. “Let’s go.”
“Aye, not so fast there. We’re offering good money for honest work.”
Varten snorted, looki
ng over his shoulder at the men. The two on the deck were headed down the ramp to stand side by side with their coworker. The move seemed aggressive, and he hoped the sailors wouldn’t try to chase them. Varten hadn’t been in many fights and knew he couldn’t take on all three of them.
A Lagrimari man appeared by their side with a wrench in his hand. He didn’t say anything but glared at the sailors. He was maybe thirty, clean shaven with a bald head.
The sailors stared back, then a call from the deck of the yacht grabbed their attention. A man in a captain’s uniform stood looking at the scene. “I’m paying you to get the ship ready, not to converse with ruffians.” The captain stared down his nose at them and the sailors complied, the first one leering once more before going back to his duties.
Varten turned to the Lagrimari man. “Thank you.”
The man raised a brow, likely at Varten’s command of the language, and then nodded his head. “Someone over there wants to meet you.”
Varten tensed. It wasn’t impossible that he’d been recognized, though he would have expected it more in an environment full of aristocrats than here on the docks. The man led them down a few berths to a small fishing ship where two more Lagrimari stood, a man and a woman.
Zeli gasped. “Yalisa?” She began running toward the woman, who grabbed her in a bear hug. “I can’t believe it’s you, are you all right?”
Yalisa was quite possibly the most beautiful woman Varten had ever seen. Her skin was luminous, and her short hair was a small puff.
“Your hair, did they make you cut it?” Zeli asked, patting the woman’s head.
Yalisa smiled. “It’s good to see you, too, uli.”
Zeli wrapped her in another embrace, resting her head on Yalisa’s shoulder. Varten looked on in wonder at Zeli’s obvious joy.
Yalisa smiled at him over Zeli’s head. “And who is your friend?”
Zeli finally pulled back, wiping her eyes, but didn’t let go. “Oh, this is Varten. Varten, Yalisa, I’ve known her almost all my life.”
Yalisa nodded in his direction as greeting. “This is my brother, Eskar-yol.” She pointed to the man who had come to help them. “And this is Lanar-deni. We met a few days ago in the camp.” They were all of a similar age, though the second man was prematurely gray and looked taciturn by nature. He nodded solemnly. Knotted locks threaded with silver and tied back in a queue reached his midback.
“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Zeli said with surprise and turned wondrous eyes at Eskar.
“I was sent to the camps as a child and then recruited into the army. Been in Elsira since the Seventh Breach.” Eskar’s voice was soft and scratchy. He seemed like a man of few words.
Tears welled in Yalisa’s eyes as she looked at her brother. “We met again in the refugee camp after the Elsirans took Sayya. I barely recognized him.”
Eskar gazed at his sister fondly. “Well, my face is forgettable, yours, however…”
Yalisa shook her head and lifted a thick green scarf to cover her hair. The air off the ocean was chilly, especially for Lagrimari used to a desert climate. “What are you doing here, uli?” the woman asked Zeli.
“We’re trying to get to Yaly. We … that is…” Zeli looked back to Varten, distressed.
“Seeing some of the world?” Yalisa asked conspiratorially. “I understand. It’s just what we’re doing as well.”
The ship they stood in front of was older. It appeared to be of Elsiran build, and had been well-patched. “Whose ship is this?” Varten asked.
“Won it in a bet against a drunken fisherman,” Eskar replied, looking proudly at the vessel. “Taught the man a valuable lesson about how smart grols actually are.”
Varten grinned. “Where are you all headed?”
“We’re not entirely sure,” Yalisa said. “We want to sail the continent, see other countries, go where the winds take us.”
“We’ve plotted out stops for fuel and supplies though,” Eskar hastened to add.
“Yes, yes, we don’t plan to be hungry ever again if we can help it.” There was joy on Yalisa’s face, mixed in with sadness. “And what is in Yaly?”
“We want to see the Gilmerian Rumpus.” Zeli seemed almost shy to admit it. Neither Yalisa nor Eskar had heard of the Rumpus, so Zeli explained what she knew of the celebration, leaving out, of course, their desire to visit the Archives.
Yalisa’s grin grew. “That sounds like a grand adventure. Very smart to head for an event that only takes place every decade. Eskar has no love of crowds and loud noises, otherwise we might have joined you. But we can take you as far as Melbain City. We were planning that as our first stop.” She turned toward Lanar, who had thus far stayed out of the conversation. “And have you decided on a destination, Lanar-deni?”
“I believe I, too, would like to see this Rumpus. Ten years is a long time to wait for another.” His voice was somewhat stilted, his tone formal, as if he was not used to speaking often. “Would you mind if we traveled together?”
Zeli looked to Varten, who shrugged. “Not at all. Happy to have you.”
Lanar nodded gravely in acknowledgement. He had a very matter-of-fact way about him, which reminded Varten of Papa, though his papa was far more jovial.
“It’s always good to help a fellow countryman. We Lagrimari need to stick together,” Yalisa said.
Varten shifted on his feet, uncomfortable. He was half-Lagrimari, but would never be considered a countryman. “We can pay our way,” he added.
“No need,” said Eskar. “You are guests. Beloved ones at that.” He beamed at Zeli, still attached to Yalisa’s side.
“I, for one, would be interested to hear of how an Elsiran came to speak fluent Lagrimari.” Lanar’s statement quieted the chatter. To Varten’s ears, even the volume of the docks lowered. His heart forgot to beat for a moment. He should have thought this through more.
If he told these people who he was, would they still want to help him? Or would they be afraid of drawing the ire of his sister?
“The king speaks Lagrimari fluently.” Everyone stared at him. That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say.
Lanar spoke up. “The king was able to learn Lagrimari because of the spell tied to his blood, which allowed him to awaken the Queen Who Sleeps.”
Now everyone stared at Lanar. “I-I didn’t know that,” Varten stammered.
“Few do. I wonder what is in your blood.” Lanar peered at him with eyes that looked older than his face. Though he seemed a no-nonsense sort, the deeply speculative gaze was a little unsettling.
Varten shrugged, hoping they would all just let the matter drop. Yalisa gave him a sympathetic expression. He fidgeted, feeling the scrutiny of the others upon him. When Eskar spoke, he sagged with relief. “Does anyone need anything before we pull anchor?”
“I’m ready to go when you are,” Varten said. Zeli and Lanar responded similarly.
“It’s two days to Melbain. Welcome aboard.” Eskar helped his sister climb onto the deck, and then reached out an arm to assist Zeli.
“What’s your ship called?” Varten asked, noticing a patch of fresh paint covering what must have been the former name.
“Haven’t named her yet. I wanted Yalisa to do it, but she’s been indecisive.”
“It’s a lot of responsibility,” his sister called out. “I’m just taking it seriously.”
Eskar smiled and shook his head. Watching the recently reunited siblings caused a pang to ricochet through Varten’s chest. He hoped Jasminda did not find out he was gone before he returned. Hoped this trip wouldn’t leave him with regrets or any more scars than the ones he already bore. Varten’s last sea voyage hadn’t ended well, and he fought off a heavy foreboding.
Instead, he took a look around the ship. The bridge was enclosed in glass. Steps led to a cabin below. There looked to be enough room for the five of them to sit comfortably down there, but the accommodations were sparse. Zeli settled in next to Yalisa, talking and reminiscing happily, while Lanar
paced the deck, inspecting the ship with an air of deep suspicion.
Varten stood, determined to offer Eskar his help. He’d learned some about sailing from Ani’s brother, Tai, and would rather put that knowledge to good use than worry about what was to come.
In a matter of minutes, they were on their way. Rosira’s port shrank in the distance as they raced toward the unknown.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
With even steps and temper
shall we lay our burdens
on the scales.
—THE HARMONY OF BEING
Jasminda arrived at the small, dingy building in the Northside neighborhood in a nondescript vehicle, a jalopy that bore no resemblance to the pristine, shining town cars generally utilized by the palace. A gray overcoat covered her from neck to ankles and a matching floppy rain hat hid her hair and face.
She’d altered the shade of her skin so that anyone getting a glimpse of her beneath the disguise would not be able to identify her as appearing Lagrimari. She wished she’d had time to master the shifting of features that Darvyn could accomplish that could turn her into another person entirely, but it was one of the most complicated uses of Earthsong, and though she now had the power to accomplish it, she still lacked the skill.
However, she was only visible on the street for a few brief moments before being ensconced in the building’s darkened entryway. The driver who accompanied her, dressed in a plain workingman’s shirt and trousers, opened the interior door and led her into an office full of men and women at desks cluttered with an excess of typewriters and telephones. Even inside there was no indication that this was one of the satellite offices of the nation’s Intelligence Service.
Her assistant Camm was already inside, talking with an older woman who sat at a desk with no less than seven telephones. He straightened and strode to her as Jasminda entered and let her meager disguise fall away.
“Your Majesty,” he said quietly, “he’s on the lower level in the interrogation room.”