“It will take at least three days to reach Arlain over land,” said the Harbormaster. “Then one more day before a ship can get here. Four days. Might be five, even.”
He looked at Callan and, though he didn’t say it out loud, we all knew what he was thinking. Would Callan be alive five days from now? With no shelter, hardly any food, and only our poor stinking seaweed fire to keep him warm?
“We didn’t know it would take that long,” I said. “Nico and I. We didn’t know that.” And we hadn’t thought that anyone would get seriously hurt.
The Harbormaster gave me a cold glare.
“The Crow knew.”
“Then he didn’t say.” A small defiance had crept into my voice. Did they have to paint us blacker than we really were? Did they think I had wanted anyone to get hurt?
“Shut yer face, whelp,” said the one who had struck me, balling his fists once more. “Better not smartmouth the master, or—”
The Harbormaster suddenly looked even taller and more commanding.
“Pipe down, Malvin,” he said. “There’ll not be fighting here. And as for you, whelp”—he stuck his finger almost in my face—“I’ll not hear another peep out of ye. You and yer folly lost me a good ship already, I’ll not lose a good—” He glanced down at Callan and bit back the words he had meant to say. “I’ll not lose more. D’ye hear me?”
My defiance melted away. I just nodded, miserable and dispirited. Callan lay in a sort of seaweed nest now, swaddled in every bit of blanket we had. Even his head was blanket-hooded, and the little you could see of his face was pale and shiny with the kind of sweat that has nothing to do with feeling hot. Pain sweat. I knew it well enough myself. And I felt sick to the bone to see Callan like that, knowing part of the blame was on my head. Me and my folly, just like the Harbormaster said.
“Aye well,” said Malvin. “The whelp needs a lesson, right enough, and he can count himself lucky we have not the time for such teaching. Someone had better be going.”
The Harbormaster nodded. “You know the way,” he said. “Best if there are two of ye, though.”
“Take me.”
I heard the words, and I knew I had said them, but I hardly believed it myself. Three or four days in the company of Malvin, who wanted nothing better than to finish what he had started? Yet that was what I wanted. Better to walk and run than to sit still and wait. Better to strain until the body reached its limits than to look at Callan and be sick to the soul.
Malvin was not thrilled by my offer.
“I need someone I can trust,” he said.
I felt like hitting him. So he didn’t think he could trust me? I would show him.
“I’m fast,” I said. “Faster than any of you. I might save us a whole day, even.” And time mattered now.
Malvin ignored me.
“Tristan,” he said. “Will ye come with me?”
One of the other men nodded, getting to his feet. But then Callan cleared his throat.
“The lad can run,” he said. “Runs every night, nearly.”
How did he know? The only other person who knew about it was my mother. Had the two of them been talking about me? Did Mama tell Callan things like that?
And then it hit me, like a slow sort of lightning bolt. A flickering pain through my body. Mama and Callan. Suddenly a thousand little things made sense. Glances, movements. The way he touched the small of her back when he helped her dismount. The evenings he sat in our kitchen, instead of going home while there was still light to ride by. When had it begun? This summer, when we came home from Sagisloc? Or earlier still, back when we thought we had lost Dina, perhaps. I knew something had shifted, then. That he was no longer looking after us because Maudi Kensie told him to. That he had begun to look at us, and especially at Mama, in a different way. Like family, or clan. Someone who had a claim. Someone who belonged to him. Callan. Callan and Mama.
“Are you getting married?” I burst out. The Harbormaster looked at me as if he was now quite sure I had lost my mind. But Callan knew what I meant.
“Mind yer own business, lad,” he said. “And run like ye mean it.”
Don’t die. I only just managed not to say it out loud. Bad enough if I had to tell Mama that Dina had gone missing once more, along with Nico. If I also had to tell her that…
Run like ye mean it. Oh yes.
“Tristan,” said the Harbormaster. “Lend him yer boots. The lad cannot run all the way to Arlain barefooted.”
Tristan took off his boots and handed them to me. I put them on and did up the laces. They were only a little big.
“Let’s go,” I told Malvin. “Which way?”
And this time Malvin made no more objections. He pointed up a steep gully, more or less due east.
“That way,” he said. “I hope ye can climb as well as run.”
DAVIN
The Way to Arlain
We didn’t bring much in the way of supplies. Most of it, food and blankets and so on, stayed with the crew at Troll Cove. We would reach shelter long before they did, and it was best for us if we didn’t have much to carry.
In the beginning it was a relief to get away from the sight of Callan and from the reproachful looks of the Swallow’s crew. Malvin might not love me, but at least he was too busy watching for handholds and footholds to give me much in the way of angry glares. The first part of the way to Arlain called less for the skills of a racehorse and more for those of a mountain goat. But when we had been climbing for about an hour and noon was approaching, Malvin stopped for a breather. We were well up into the black rocks by then and could only see the ocean as a sudden green glint in the distance now and then.
Malvin sat down on a boulder, rubbing his calves. I was too ill at ease for that. Once we stopped, I discovered that I had not escaped Callan. Whenever I wasn’t walking or climbing, he was there, inside my head, like a ghost that wouldn’t go away.
“Sit down, whelp,” said Malvin. “Rest awhile. Drink some water. We have a long way to go.”
I didn’t want to rest. I wanted to move on. But I took the water skin and had a few long swallows.
“Shouldn’t we be going?”
Malvin looked at me sourly. “There’s no call to kill yerself.”
“Callan can’t wait.”
“And whose fault is that?”
I clenched my fists, but though I felt like taking a swing at him, I knew that getting into a fight with him was just about the worst thing I could do right now. Besides he was right. More or less.
Malvin was still breathing heavily, I could see. The last rise had been a steep one. But he got to his feet all the same, and started walking.
That night, we slept very little. Only enough so that our weary bodies could rest a bit. It was cold, hoarfrost cold, and I could not stop thinking about Callan and the rest of them and their pitiful seaweed fire. When I finally did fall asleep, the Whisperers were waiting, and now they had fine new weapons to use against me.
… your name is murderer…
… your fault…
Callan’s pale face, bloodless and dead.
… your fault…
I sat up with a jerk. My body wanted to run. It was so tired it hurt all over, but I couldn’t bear to lie still.
“Malvin.”
No answer.
“Malvin, wake up. I want to move on.”
He woke only slowly and reluctantly.
“Bloody hell, lad. It’s the middle of the night!”
“No, it isn’t.”
A vague paleness colored the sky, the merest hint of a false dawn.
“Ye cannot see the hand in front of yer face!”
I didn’t answer. I just began to roll up my blanket and tie the laces of my borrowed boots. And grumpy old Malvin sighed and rose with a sound like the grunt of a tired horse leaning into the harness once more, though it barely has the strength for it.
“Here.” He passed me a couple of the ship biscuits which had been part of the provisions o
n the Swallow. “Ye’ll be sick if ye do not eat first.”
Surprised, I accepted the biscuits. When had Malvin started to care about my health? But perhaps it was Callan’s health he was thinking of.
Climbing and walking, climbing and walking. It was past midday the second day before we got to the first stretch of even ground, and an actual road.
Malvin sank to the ground as though someone had cut his legs in half. His skin was sallow, and his thin reddish beard and hair looked sticky with sweat. He seemed to have aged ten years in two days.
“Malvin, we can’t stop now!”
He looked up at me. His eyes were veined with red.
“This is as far as I go,” he grated. “Follow the road, lad. Not even a no-sense whelp like yerself can get lost now.”
“But…” He really looked completely done for. Even the way he said “whelp” was toothless and pale compared to his earlier efforts. Could I leave him here on his own?
“Off with ye, lad. Run, if ye still have the strength.”
Strange. Even though I was very tired myself, the thought of running somehow felt encouraging. My body had so longed for it, because it was the only thing that completely erased the gnawing pain inside. The only thing that would rid me of Callan’s face, bloodless and pale… run. The lad can run, Callan had said. The time had come to prove it.
I gave Malvin my blanket and the rest of my provisions. All I kept was the water bottle. I thought for a bit. Then I took off my heavy sweater and Tristan’s boots.
“Are ye sure, lad?” said Malvin when he saw what I was doing. “If ye have to stop—”
I knew what he meant. If I had to stop, I would get cold. Freezing cold, too cold, perhaps, to survive it. But I was not going to stop, was I?
“I’ll not stop,” I said. “Not till I get there.”
He looked at me. Then he nodded.
“Good luck then,” he said, “whelp.”
Two sandy ruts and a narrow hump of grass in the middle. That was the road. It cut through heather hills like those familiar to me at home. Heather and shrubs and long, withered grasses, wet and winter yellow. The sun was low in the sky now, but this late in the year no birds were singing. The only sound I heard was the slap-slap-slap of my running feet and the noise of my own breathing.
At first, it was pure relief. Finally to run, finally to be free of any thought but the thought of the road. The soles of my feet hit the sandy trail with a muffled sound, and my breathing had a rhythm of its own, not exactly quiet, but all the same, there was a certain strange calm in the middle of all the motion because of the sameness of it. Slap-slap-slap, one foot in front of the other, breathe in, breathe out—it was perfectly simple. Easy, almost.
At first.
The sun dropped lower. The road went on, weaving through the hills. And still no houses were in sight. How far to go? Three days, the Harbormaster had said, and Malvin and I had walked almost through the night also, so how far could it be?
Breathe in, breathe out. It was becoming harder. There was a pain deep in my side, and my legs were starting to hurt. But surely I had to be nearly there. Surely!
Uphill. My thighs were practically screaming at me now, but I wouldn’t listen. I couldn’t slow to a walk now, to say nothing of resting. On. And on. One foot in front of the other.
The sky was charcoal gray. The sun nestled among the hills now, glowing like hot coal. A wind swept through the heather, a cold breath against my sweat-soaked body. And then it began to rain. Heavy, cold drops spattering the sand, striking my shoulders so that it almost felt as if someone were prodding me with a finger.
I thought of Malvin—had he found somewhere to hole up?—and of Rose and Callan and the others. I wanted to run faster, but I couldn’t. My legs felt weird, heavy and burning all at once, and my chest and stomach were hurting now with a steady throbbing pain. If that town didn’t show up pretty soon…
Rain and sweat ran down my neck. My shirt was clinging to me like an extra skin.
I can’t go on.
It was almost like a voice saying it aloud, but the voice was inside me, inside my head.
“Have to.”
Like I was scolding some sulky child who had had enough. Won’t! Well, you just have to. One foot in front of the other. Just a little bit longer.
I could smell the ocean now. Arlain was a fishing village. Did this mean I was near now?
And then a light shone out through the gathering dusk. The trail dipped, and the light disappeared again, and stayed gone so long that I grew afraid I hadn’t truly seen it, but yes, there it was once more, like a tiny star at the end of the road.
I stared at it so hard that I forgot to look where I was going. I staggered sideways, tripped over the grassy verge, and fell. It wasn’t that I really hurt myself. I was just unable to breathe for a few moments. I lay there with the raindrops drumming against my back and thighs, and I could easily have gone on lying there. No problem at all, and never mind the rain. The really difficult thing was getting up.
Come on. Get up.
Won’t!
Have to.
Can’t.
“Up!”
Callan’s bloodless face.
I got up.
It was full dark before I reached the first house, and when I tried to stop, I weaved and staggered so badly that I hit the wet stone wall with a thump and dropped to my knees.
Up. Get up.
But this time, my legs really couldn’t, and I hadn’t enough breath left to yell. I had to crawl on all fours up to the door, hitting it with the flat of my hand.
“Open up!”
Nothing happened. Surely they couldn’t be abed already? I thumped the door once more, as hard as I was able. Come on, then!
“Open up, damn it!”
Finally there was a rattle of bolts being drawn, and the door opened. A frightened child peeked out.
“Papa isn’t home,” she said. “Go away.”
I had to be careful not to frighten her even more, I thought. She looked quite scared enough already, and it probably didn’t help that I was sitting there on the muddy ground rather than standing upright the way grown-ups usually did.
“Please go get your father,” I said as calmly as I could, though I was still heaving for breath. “Tell him a ship has been wrecked in Troll Cove, and that there are wounded people there. They need help, and they need it quickly.”
But she just stood there as if she had been turned to stone. She was no longer looking at me, but beyond me, over my shoulder.
“Who has been wounded?” asked a male voice behind me.
I was so relieved to hear a sensible and adult voice that I could have wept.
“Callan,” I said. “Callan Kensie. If there is a fee, the Kensie clan will pay it.”
“Kensie, you say? We will have to try and get there, then. And who might you be? Not Kensie, by the look of you.”
“I’m Davin Tonerre.”
I made a last attempt to gain my feet, but failed. My legs had completely lost their strength. But at least I managed to flail around so that I was able to see my rescuer.
It was only then that I discovered he was wearing the black uniform of Drakan’s Dragon army.
DINA
Stowaway
Nico saw me first.
The Sea Wolf leaped and sprang, her sails billowing in the wind, and the Crow and his crew were busy with ropes and booms and the like. I had found a hiding place of sorts behind a water barrel, and I no longer needed to play my father’s flute to make them not notice me. It was enough to sit quietly and not be in the way and perhaps to blow a few notes if someone happened to be looking my way.
It had been so easy. Much, much too easy. How had I become so good at it? Before I met Sezuan, I hadn’t even known that such a thing as the serpent gift existed. I had never learned to use it, unless you could call the short journey from Sagisloc to the Sagisburg the term of my apprenticeship. It was certainly the only time I had ever re
ally spent with my father, and back then I would much rather have been spared his company. Now… now I no longer knew up from down. I had the serpent gift; I could make other people’s eyes and ears lie to them. Lie, or dream. Or maybe both. But I couldn’t lie to myself. And in the end, it turned out I couldn’t keep lying to Nico either.
I wasn’t quite sure how it happened. I was cold, and I felt sick, and I was heartbroken to have left Davin and Rose on that beach with Callan, not knowing whether he would live or die, not knowing if help would reach them in time. But I was tired too. I hadn’t had much sleep the last several nights. Perhaps I dozed for a moment. At any rate, Nico was suddenly standing right in front of me, staring at me.
“Dina!”
He looked as if he half expected me to be a ghostly vision. Quickly I raised the flute, but not quickly enough. Nico’s hand shot out and seized the shiny black shaft. I knew he recognized it. He had seen Sezuan playing it; he had seen him open gates and locked doors with it the night we entered the Sagisburg and freed its many prisoners.
And now he had seen it in my hands.
He didn’t even ask how I had come aboard. I think he knew the moment he saw my father’s flute.
“Why?” was all he asked.
“Because I don’t want you to get killed.”
“So you think that’s your decision, now, do you?”
“If I’m with you, you have to be more careful,” I said stubbornly.
He closed his eyes for a moment.
“Are you never going to let me go?” he said. “You and your mother. And your stiff-neck brother. Have you any idea how cold that water was? He could have drowned. Any reasonable person would have given up. But, oh no. The Tonerres cling to me like I’m a prize sheep they want to herd back into its proper field.”
His eyes were red-rimmed, and there was a smell of beer on his breath. One could say as much for many men, or women too, for that matter. If one was none too sure of the water, it was as good a way of quenching one’s thirst as any. But with Nico… with Nico it was a bad sign. He was a poor drinker. And once he got going, he didn’t stop. Beer, wine, spirits, anything would do.
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