by Kevin Hearne
“I understand. That is fine. Seeing the Seven-Year Ship is all I desire.”
“Good. I can make no promises. But I will request that you accompany me north.”
“Thank you!” he cried. “May Žalost bless you!”
I was not sure I wanted Žalost’s blessing, but I smiled at him for the kind thought behind it.
The simple solution of what I needed to do had become clear to me at some point during the dizzying euphoria of oyster-shot aftermath. I wanted to be with Maron and still help both Brynlön and Kauria by continuing my work with Saviič and the Eculan language. I must, therefore, take Maron and Saviič with me back to Brynlön.
I hoped I could convince everyone it was the best course to take.
* * *
—
I could not speak for anyone else, but that particular tale filled me with both hope and dread. Hope that Gondel Vedd could still help us, and dread that somehow it had all gone wrong. Because while that sequence of events had clearly set him on a path that would lead him somehow back to Fornyd rather than Pelemyn, Fintan had not had any contact with the scholar since he had left Fornyd to perform in Pelemyn. That was forty days at least. And though we had sent Gerstad Nara du Fesset up to fetch Gondel, something had obviously gone awry with that mission. Something bad was happening in Fornyd, and Rölly had yet to tell me what it was. Which I supposed was in keeping with him having yet to tell me that Melishev Lohmet had ordered Sarena’s death.
The bard said, “As Scholar Gondel Vedd was deciding to sail back in hopes of helping somehow, the plaguebringer Abhinava Khose was thinking along similar lines.”
He took on the seeming of the young Nentian man.
I roared out of sleep and startled my friend awake. He growled at me in irritation, one half-lidded red eye glowing at me in the dying coals of the fire.
“Kalaad, Murr. What if I’m an agent of chaos?”
“Murr,” he said, and shut his eye pointedly and turned his head. It was either too early for such considerations or he didn’t care. He did shiver, though, and sigh heavily. I got up to put some more logs on the fire. It was still dark outside, and if I was lucky I’d be able to get another couple of hours of sleep.
We’d kindly been given our own dwelling in the city, since surprisingly few people wished to sleep next to a bloodcat and a stalk hawk. In that sense we were living luxuriously compared to many of the other colonists, who were bunked together in tents or the buildings that the Raelech stonecutter was raising out of the ground. But maybe those arrangements, with all that body heat, were advantageous considering that the long-expected snow had arrived and the temperature was well below freezing in the day, let alone the night.
Murr and Eep did not like the cold even a little bit, and I did not blame them. It was bracing in the morning; I went outside and sucked in a sharp lungful of air and said, “Ah, how crisp!” and then I went back inside before my nose started running. There was little for me to do except enchant stakes for the city to trade and wait for Koesha’s crew to finish building their strange double-hulled boat, which I would be enchanting. I’d already enchanted the first inner hull and was waiting for them to complete the outer hull. Once that was done and we gave it a test voyage, we’d be setting sail in the dead of winter. Haesha assured me that the rounded outer hull—especially the front—was ideal for breaking through ice. It put all that weight down on the top of the ice and shattered it, instead of expecting a sharp prow or keel to break it from the side. This was something that Joabei had been doing for a long time, Haesha told me, since they had quite a bit of ice near their northern island.
Our little home was cozy enough as long as I kept feeding the fire, but I was beginning to worry about Murr and Eep, who were showing signs of depression. And I had taken to worrying—even in my sleep—that I was going to cause more harm than good with my kenning. There was no way for me to anticipate the long-term effects of enchanting these stakes. Nor did I know how long they would work before they needed to be replaced. What if they only lasted a couple of months, or a couple of seasons? I had been having nightmares in which a family had settled on the plains somewhere with one of my stakes planted in the ground, thinking they were safe, and then one day it stopped working and when they went outside after breakfast they were torn apart by wheat dogs or sedge pumas.
And, of course, if the enchantment on the ship hulls stopped working, the krakens would destroy them.
The most distressing thing about it was that someone would have to die—or a ship would have to be lost—before I knew how long the enchantments lasted.
The only solution to the problem, if we wanted to stay on top of it, was to get a whole lot more people blessed with the Sixth Kenning and to have them systematically renew the enchantments on stakes and hulls and whatever else we did. That meant the beast callers clave would need to register these things—or, rather, people would need to register their enchanted items with the clave and contract with us to keep the enchantments current. It wasn’t like a Hathrim firebowl, where if the enchantment failed, you’d just be in the dark. Those enchantments did fail after a long while, so it was reasonable to assume that mine would as well.
When I voiced these concerns to Olet and the city council, they blinked at me, leaned back in their chairs, and cursed.
“Well, shit,” Olet said, and the others all echoed that in some fashion or another. But they agreed that the clave would need to actively work on this and that a warning would need to be issued with the stakes we traded. I’d also need to make more-targeted enchantments in the future, because humans would want some animals around but not others; these first ones were so broadly warded that they would repel house pets as well as gravemaws.
A couple of members of the council who were logistics-minded folks volunteered to coach me on developing best practices for the clave, and that was kind of them. I wondered if anyone could coach me on how to make a graceful exit.
Malath Ashmali was going to be a prosperous city, I had no doubt. But the crushing cold meant that it wasn’t an ideal place for me or my companions to settle. And…Olet was never going to really be at ease around me. I stepped over a line with her, and she can’t truly forgive or forget it. I don’t imagine anyone would. That she hasn’t incinerated me for it is testament to what an extraordinary person she is. But it would be best for us both, I think, if I were elsewhere.
I told Haesha that I’d like to leave with them, if that was okay; the Raelech bard had already indicated that he was going to hop aboard. I could have just headed back down to warmer climes with Murr and Eep, because Curragh had built bunkers along the road south, but I still didn’t want to place myself under the influence of a Nentian viceroy until I knew it was safe. Heading east sounded best to me, even though it took me farther away from Tamhan. For one thing, it would ease demands on my time. If I stayed in Malath Ashmali, there would always be more requests for me to do this or that; a journey would allow me to see new animals and continue to fill my journal with little-known facts about the world’s creatures. That was truly my passion now. Perhaps I would catch a glimpse of the fabled fir apes or see the pine shrikes that attacked Koesha’s crew. I caught myself wondering how Rrurrgh, the nonbinary gravemaw, was doing. I kind of missed them. They were as sweet as a nightmarish man-eating predator could be.
Quietly seeking out Teldwen’s creatures to say hello was also probably the best way to avoid becoming a destabilizing influence in the world. I didn’t want my actions, however well intentioned, to lead to any more deaths. Best to let my few enchantments work for a while in the world and see what good or ill they produced before making any more.
I would have so much to share if I ever saw Tamhan again. Doubtless he would too. We could probably spend days just catching up, and that would be so fine. Neither of us was the sort of person to respond to What have you been doing?
with Oh, nothing. Might as well do some things worth telling him about later. I wanted to run to him now, but I sensed it wasn’t time to circle back yet. But my road will lead me to Khul Bashab again someday.
My heart is there.
* * *
—
A vast collective “Awwwww” rolled out over Survivor Field, and I grinned. Who among us does not enjoy a nice hearty pining once in a while? Though it was doubtful Tamhan had a clue, I hoped that he knew he was loved.
Fintan switched his seeming next to the daughter of Winthir Kanek.
I am not a hearthfire.
I am the elected steward of Malath Ashmali, administering in conjunction with the council, but it is a tempestuous business at times. Though Halsten Durik and Lanner Burgan are off the council, the two other Thayilists who got elected in their place keep proposing ridiculous things the council must vote upon and reject, which the Thayilists then point to as proof that the other members are anti-Hathrim. They shout a lot and pound the tabletops but get little accomplished. When other council members complain to me about it, I remind them that enduring their shouting is far better than enduring their axe swings. I worry that the Thayilists want to push things that far; their words suggest that violence might be a more efficient way to govern than council meetings, and I will need to be on my guard on several fronts. They would especially like to embarrass me or figure out some way to remove me from office, but the best defense against them is competent government. People tend not to seek a fight when they are safe, warm, and fed.
I must remind people often that the council has much more sway over city matters than I do. People keep coming to me for quick decisions, though, because no one wants to face a council or to wait their turn. Better, they think, to just ask the giant redhead what she wants when you see her around and then do it.
The strange icebreaker craft that most of the city worked on in some capacity survived its test voyage down the river and successfully circled through the ice and back to the dock, much to everyone’s relief. No kraken attacks, though Abhi said that there was only one left, the rest of them and their spawn having left for warmer oceans to the east and west. The remaining kraken lurked very deep, and it was very old, if he had any sense for such things.
“No one else would have a sense for such things, so I’ll take your word for it,” I said. It was supposed to come out as a gentle tease, but it sounded more acerbic, judging by the hurt look on his face.
Abhi illustrated the value of blissful ignorance to me; had I not known he was the killer of Jerin and my father, I’d have liked him without reservation. He’s a likable kid. But knowing that he killed two people close to me outweighed the countless times he saved others and made this settlement possible. Emotional scales are unfair.
Koesha carefully inspected the craft when it returned and pronounced it fit. Then they began to load up for their journey east. Abhi and Fintan were going with them, so Curragh and I would be the only blessed remaining.
I was relieved the stonecutter would be staying on. He’s made a huge difference for us; between his work and looting Lorson’s stores, we’ll not only survive our first winter, we’ll do so fairly comfortably.
Abhi left behind a bunch of enchanted stakes for us to use and trade, though he took quite a few with him as well. I think he must be aware that he’s already a historical figure, but I don’t think anyone knows yet how much impact his kenning will have on the world. Will he be a footnote in scholars’ works or the sort of person about whom entire books are written? I’d wager a lava dragon hide on the latter.
When the supplies were all aboard and it was finally time for the ship to sail, I held fast to a resolution I made after Koesha revealed one night that at first she and her sailors thought I was a fire demon: I gave every single Joabeian sailor a hug goodbye. I had to do it on my knees and it was as awkward as dancing with a sand badger, hugging tiny women and trying to be gentle and firm at the same time. But when they finally made it home and told their people of the Hathrim, we wouldn’t be the fire demons of their cultural nightmares. We’d be very tall, very strong people who liked to cuddle.
When the sailors were all aboard, together with a few Nentian men who had decided to hook up with them, the two blessed passengers paused to say their farewells, shivering a little bit in the frigid air. Abhi, I noted with a wry smile, carefully stood back out of hugging range. I wouldn’t have tried it with that stalk hawk on his shoulder anyway. And I didn’t know that I had a hug for him either. Despite our smoke on the beach, those coals of resentment still smoldered in my breast.
Abhi held a hand over his heart and bowed his head before meeting my eyes. “Thank you, Olet,” he said, “for letting me come along. It quite probably saved my life—or saved years of it, anyway, since I didn’t have to spend them fighting off the government. I have learned so much. I’m glad I could be helpful here, and I hope Malath Ashmali will continue to be the peaceful city you and Jerin dreamt of building.”
“You are welcome. Thank you for saving our lives many times over; I’m sure we would have suffered many casualties without your protection. I hope you’ll come back to visit when it’s warm again. There’s a firebowl waiting for you and your friends in the cabin in the meantime.”
He nodded, thanked me again, and boarded with his bloodcat and bird. I meant every word; he is always welcome. But if I never see him again, that will be fine too. He simply reminds me of what I lost.
The Raelech bard threw his arms wide and smiled at me. “Do I get a hug too?”
“Only if you promise not to tell anyone.”
“I cannot make such a promise. The world must know of the huggable firelord of the north.”
It was then that I realized what a dangerous precedent I had set. The bard would make sure that everyone who came to settle or visit here would half-expect me to hug them. I’d have to weld some spikes onto my armor to discourage it.
As I stood with the council and waved farewell to Koesha and her crew crunching through the river ice, I realized that they might be the last people to bear report of me to the outside world. I had discovered the undiscovered country, and any number of disasters could happen now that the plaguebringer was leaving. I might never be seen or heard from again.
But I think I’d be okay with that. Even if this settlement doesn’t survive, or if it’s only me that doesn’t see the spring, at least I survived long enough for this to come to fruition: a city free of hearthfires and kings.
Jerin would have loved this place. And I know La Mastik did. Because it’s home now. For me and anyone else who wishes to live outside the sphere of violent men.
* * *
—
There was an audible sigh from Survivor Field as Fintan returned to himself, and the bard nodded.
“Sounds great, doesn’t it? I mean, apart from the cold. That is no joke. But thanks to Abhi, it should be possible for people to move up there. To the best of my knowledge, Malath Ashmali is doing well and has no doubt begun to trade with Ghuli Rakhan. I was on that ship with Abhi heading east across the Northern Yawn, thinking it would be a noisy but otherwise uneventful journey. We had no idea, of course, that a Bone Giant army had camped for the winter to the east of us and that we were heading directly for it. What happened there will unfold in the coming days, but I will leave you today with the thoughts of Koesha, who was, like Olet, enjoying a rare moment of peace now that she had set sail again.”
It’s snowing on top of the ice pack and we are crunching through it, the rounded bow and hull of the newly named Nentian Herald cracking and crumping through the sheets in an entirely satisfactory cacophony.
We are headed east through the Northern Yawn until we can turn south and visit the Brynt city of Pelemyn. From there we will sail to the harbor of Joabei, completing our circuit of the globe, and we’re confident that we ca
n make it. Because krakens, whether here or in what these continentals call the Peles Ocean, will not destroy this ship. The smile on my face is answered by the rest of the crew and most of our guests. We have such hope of fair winds and fortunes now.
The exception to the general happiness is Abhi, unfortunately. He and his animals are rather miserable aboard a ship. The fact that they have a cabin to themselves with a firebowl in it and plenty of blankets is the only thing making the journey bearable for them. We cannot sail south to warmer seas and lands quickly enough for their taste. Unfortunately, they will have to endure the cold for a good while longer. The Nentian Herald is breaking through the ice very well, but it’s not speedy.
But Baejan is radiant. She’s pregnant and bringing her Nentian man home with her. Several other members of the crew are in the same situation. The men are going to be surprised when they reach Joabei, but I doubt it will be unpleasant for them. Just…surprising. I’m proud of the fact that we managed to leave Malath Ashmali without revealing why our crew is entirely composed of women. That was, and remains, excellent discipline—especially since we were asked repeatedly and more often near the end there. We still don’t have the language to explain well; perhaps we will by the time we get to Joabei. And once we are there, they will understand why we made such choices.
Since we never got any clay before we left, the Raelech stonecutter was kind enough to create a stone monument for us on the beach, even crafting a mourning tube to our specifications. It’s a fitting memorial, and the mourning tube howls very well with the wind blowing through it, but the location is far enough away from the village that it disturbs no one.
I still feel the loss of my crew keenly. I still miss Maesi and always will. But I am proud of what we survivors are about to accomplish, thanks in part to Abhi but thanks also to our own perseverance. And I am grateful to the goddess Shoawei for encouraging us to see the world. She pushed us, eventually, into the path of the Sixth Kenning, which will allow us to end our relative isolation as a nation. This northern passage will finally be made and Joabei will enter a new era. It may be an era of prosperity or one of war. It may turn out to be both. We are all leaves in the wind of Shoawei; may the swirls and eddies of her goodwill bring us to many new shores.
