by Peter David
“Home,” the children whispered to each other, and that was all the incentive they required to keep going.
She just prayed that she wasn’t leading them astray.
firedraque hall, Perriz
I.
Arren Kinklash did not enter Firedraque Hall so much as he was propelled into it. The infuriated Mandraque, his skin even greener than usual and his forked tongue flashing out, yanked his arms away from the trio of armed guards who were escorting him, if forcing someone to go somewhere that they were not remotely interested in going could be defined as “escorting.”
“Keep the hell away from me!” he snarled at them, and the guards backed off.
One of them stepped forward, looking nervous and fidgeting slightly. “Lord Kinklash, please understand. We are Mandraques, as are you, but we are in service of the Firedraques and had no choice. We were merely following orders—”
“You were ordered to treat me as if I were nothing more than an enslaved Mort?”
“We were ordered to return you here, whether you wished to come or not.”
Arren had a leather carrying bag slung over his back. It contained all of the supplies he could quickly gather and collect on short notice. He unslung it now and dropped it to the ground. “Whether I wished to come or not? How is that even an issue? Of course I did not wish to come! That should be obvious considering that,” and he indicated the leathers he was wearing, “I am dressed for the road and am carrying supplies for a journey! What did you think was going to happen when you caught up with me and dragged me off the road to return here?”
And a sharp female voice broke in. “They were not required to think. They were required to do as their duty commanded them.”
A tall, imperious female Firedraque strode in, her head held high, her maw outthrust, her long and elegant tail twitching in anger. “For that matter, they did as I commanded them. At least some around here understand that which is required of them. And in case you haven’t figured it out yet, Kinklash, these good soldiers are concerned that, as head of the Clans, you are going to seek some manner of retribution against them. Or worse, against their family.”
Arren looked at them. “Is that true? Is that a concern to you?” When he saw them glance at one another, each of them clearly hoping the other would say something, he rolled his slitted eyes. “You and your families need not worry. You did as Evanna, daughter of Nicrominus, instructed you to do. There will be no retribution taken against you, now or ever. You have my word.”
“Satisfied?” said Evanna. When they nodded, appearing distinctly relieved, she gave them a leisurely gesture and said, “You may go.” They backed out of Firedraque Hall, bowing and scraping as they did.
Arren waited until they were gone, the huge doors of the cavernous hall shut behind them, and then said angrily, “What the hell did you think you were doing?”
“Kinklash—”
“What the hell did—? Damn it all, Evanna, what gave you the right—?”
“Nothing, Arren! Nothing gave me the right! Are you happy? Nothing gave me the right, and so I took it. And the reason I took it was because you were tossing it aside because you wanted nothing to do with it! Except I didn’t feel like giving you that option!” When he did not respond immediately, Evanna made an angry growling noise and turned from him. She strode away, heading toward the cavernous inner hallway. Sunlight beamed through the vast multicolored windows. It was as if a rainbow had taken up residence within the building.
Arren’s impulse was to turn around and bolt from the hall. He knew that would do him no good, however. She would simply dispatch guards to haul him in and return him to Perriz, and it would be even more humiliating than it had just been. And that had been pretty damned humiliating. Arren Kinklash, leader of the Clans, being escorted shouting and frothing like a lunatic through the streets of Perriz while other Firedraques looked on in amazement and perhaps even pity. He was not particularly anxious for a replay of that mortification.
So instead of going with his instinct, Arren reluctantly followed Evanna into the main hall. She stood there, bathed in the prismatic light, staring up at one of the large decorations left from the days when Morts ruled over the Damned World.
Arren stood next to Evanna and glanced sidelong at her. “Are you taller?”
She stared at him. “Excuse me?”
“You seem taller. A couple of inches.”
“Oh. Yes. That. I’ve gotten into the habit of slouching. When I’m with Xeri, when I’m with my father. I slouch. Otherwise I tower over them and they have to look up at me to make eye contact, and they find that disconcerting. So I compress my spine a bit. Salves their egos and it is no consequence to me. But when they’re not around—or when I’m yelling at idiots,” and she looked pointedly at him, “I tend to stand upright.”
“Ah.” He switched his gaze to the large monument mounted at the far end of the hall. Carved from some sort of wood, it was a representation of a scantily clad human male who was resting with his arms outstretched upon a cross.
“What do you think he represents?” said Evanna. “Xeri and I debated about it at length. My father believed it to be religious iconography of some sort.”
“It’s possible. On the other hand, it could also be agricultural.”
“Agricultural?”
He nodded. “Morts used to mount similar constructions made of straw or such like materials in their fields. They were designed to keep scavenging birds away from crops by making them think that a human sentinel was standing guard.”
“Did it work?”
Arren shrugged. “The birds likely ignored it and the humans felt they were being proactive, so I suppose everyone benefited.”
“So that statue,” and she indicated the one in the hall, “is intended to keep birds away from here?”
“Are there, in fact, any birds here?”
“No.”
“Then obviously it’s working.”
Evanna smiled at that and then slowly shook her head.
He regarded her for a moment and then said softly, “How are you holding up, Evanna?”
“How do I look like I’m holding up?”
“You look terrible.”
“That’s your answer then.”
“Evanna—”
“Everyone is looking to me for solutions, Arren! My father was kidnapped by a Zeffer! The bell tower has been shattered! There was rubble and debris everywhere! We have no spiritual leader, Xeri has crawled over to a corner and curled up into a ball…”
“Literally?”
“Metaphorically, but the principle is the same. And everyone is looking to me for solutions! Me! I have no idea what I’m supposed to tell them. I’ve no clue when, or even if, Nicrominus will be restored to us. The only ones who might know are the Travelers, and they are long gone, and even if they were standing right in front of me they would still tell me nothing. With all of that happening—with all of them hanging upon me—you go running off!” She swung a hand around and cuffed him on the side of the head.
Arren let out a cry of pain and clutched at his earhole. “You didn’t have to do that!”
“Apparently I did! Apparently you have to be reminded of your responsibilities! No one forced you to become head of the five clans, Arren,” and she waggled a finger in his face. “You maneuvered yourself into that position of power all by yourself. And you did it by dropping a gods damned giant bell on your closest competitor for the title. You have no one to blame but yourself for having responsibilities here.”
“I have responsibilities to my sister as well!” he said. “In case you’ve forgotten, the same Zeffer that made off with your father also took Norda with it!”
“Of course I haven’t forgotten. Except if I know that addled sister of yours, the Zeffer didn’t take her. She doubtless grabbed on thinking it would be entertaining to—”
Arren’s hand clenched into a fist and he brought it snapping around toward her head. But he was slo
w and Evanna caught it before he could connect. They stood frozen there for a moment, glowering at each other, but then Evanna slowly released her hold on him. “I beg your pardon,” she said formally. “I should not have disparaged Norda in that way. Whatever else she may be, she is also your sister and worthy of respect.”
“Thank you,” he said, still offended but otherwise opting not to push the issue. “And frankly, knowing Norda, if she did grab onto the dangling tentacles of a Zeffer, it wasn’t out of whim or caprice. She was quite fond of your father. She spoke of him often. If she saw him being threatened and being carried off, that would have been more than enough motivation for her to grab on.”
“If that’s the case…” Her voice trailed off.
“What? What were you going to say? If you have a thought, finish it.”
“If that’s the case—if she thrust herself onto the Zeffer—then there’s every possibility that she is beyond saving. Your impulsive rescue mission, for which you would have abandoned your responsibilities as head of the Clans, would be for nothing. The Zeffer would be taking care to transport my father safely to wherever it is that the Travelers wanted him taken. But it would have had no such responsibility for Norda’s well being. She could have lost her grip—”
“No.”
“—fallen asleep, perhaps, or—”
He shook his head and repeated firmly, “No. Norda did not lose her grip. Not ever. You never saw her bounding around the rafters of this place. Heights are her second home. There is no one more confident, more sure footed. Norda does not lose her grip. I have come upon her up in the bell tower…when there was a bell tower,” he added ruefully, “and found her sound asleep hanging upside down, dangling from her tail curled around a beam. I admit that Norda can be flighty. Difficult to understand. Bizarre, even. But if she did indeed grab a ride on the Zeffer in order to accompany Nicrominus—and I have no reason to believe that is not the case—then wherever he is, she is.”
“And perhaps, upon her arrival, the Travelers or even the Overseer dispatched her since she was not supposed to be there. Or do you think that Norda would be capable of surviving the wrath of the Overseer as well?”
“I think Norda can survive anything she…” Then his voice tapered off and he looked downward. “No. Unlikely.”
“Very unlikely.”
“But we can pray to the gods. Pray for both your father and my sister.”
“And we can agree,” said Evanna, “that you will not be embarking on any more foolhardy rescue missions? The five Clans, given the slightest opportunity, would go to war with each other in a heartbeat. The Firedraque treaties seem to mean nothing to them. And with Nicrominus gone, they will doubtless consider our people to be at a low ebb, and would not be far wrong to do so. The only thing keeping the Clans in line is you, and if you are gone—”
“All right. You have made your point.”
“Have I? I have not heard you foreswearing any further rescue attempts.”
“When would I have done so? You have not ceased your yammering.”
“Very well,” she said. She folded her arms and waited.
“If I may ask: how did you know about this one? Soldiers were waiting for me when I was on the road, before I’d even left the city limits of Perriz. How did you dispatch them?”
“You were hardly subtle about it. You stormed about your keep, yelling that you were going to go after your sister. And the Firedraques have eyes and ears everywhere.”
“So my mistake was in my own yammering.”
“Yes. Which means that there is naught to stop you from trying to go off on another such fool endeavor and this time eluding detection through the simple method of keeping your big Mandraque mouth shut. Nothing save your word of honor, which I am still awaiting.”
He growled. “I will not,” he said, “go running off on my own to try and save Norda.”
“Good,” said Evanna with visible relief. “That is what I needed to hear.”
“And that is what you have heard.”
“It was a stupid idea to begin with. Where did you think you were going to go, anyway? How were you going to find her? You had no means of trailing her. She was airborne and long gone.”
“Well,” said Arren calmly, “I was figuring I would find a Traveler and beat the information out of him.”
“Brilliant plan.”
“Thank you.”
“I was being sarcastic.”
“I know. But I know that you have disdain for most Mandraques, and so will take my compliments wherever and whenever I can get them.”
“As you wish. And by the way, Kinklash,” and she stepped in close to him and further straightened her spine so that she was practically a head taller than he. “If you ever raise a fist to me again, I will shove it up your bung hole. Is that clear?”
He inclined his head slightly. “Abundantly.”
He bowed deeply to her and took his leave, knowing all the while that his word of honor be damned, and the rest of the Clans be damned, he was going to go after Norda. If all the Mandraques left in the Damned World embarked upon a great war to end all wars and annihilated each other, leaving nothing behind but scorched ground, then Arren Kinklash—who had spent so many years manipulating situations to gain the amount of power he currently enjoyed—would not have cared.
Norda was all that mattered.
All that mattered.
the vastly waters
I.
Jepp had never seen the Vastly Waters. Not really. Not in anything save her dreams. Naturally she had wondered how it was possible that she could see something in her dreams that she had never experienced in real life and have that dream imagery be anything remotely accurate. In fact, she had assumed that whatever the Vastly Waters did look like, it was somehow very much removed from her dream image of it.
As it turned out, she was right.
The Vastly Waters were far greater, far more amazing, than anything she could possibly have dreamt or even conceived.
First of all, the water seemed to go on and on forever. She knew that most of the Damned World was water, but the knowledge of that didn’t begin to approximate the astonishment of seeing it for herself. She had seen great plains, true, stained with Mandraque blood. But even plains had features to them, mountains and shrubs and holes. The Vastly Waters, on the other hand, were featureless. The surface wasn’t smooth. There were steady waves that caused the ship to bob constantly. For the first two days, Jepp had had a difficult time adapting to the unusual sensation. She had staggered around the deck of the ship, gripped the rail, vomited violently and repeatedly, and kept falling over. Any food that she had attempted to eat and keep down wound up being evicted back into the waters. By the third day, though, Jepp was managing to keep down simple broth, and by the fifth day she was walking around the deck with confidence, matching the swaying of the vessel with a rolling gait that enabled her to keep her feet. She was rather proud of herself, having developed that particular skill set.
The second thing that was amazing to her were all the physical sensations. The salt air stung her nostrils and yet also invigorated her. And the wind, gods, the wind was amazing. She loved standing at the front of the ship and just let the wind blow her long black hair around while droplets of water sprayed in her face and that wonderful smell would just pervade her senses.
Jepp became aware of the presence at her shoulder and turned to look.
The Traveler was standing there. It was her Traveler. She wasn’t quite sure how she knew he was hers, but she did.
There were three of them on the ship. Two of them seemed involved primarily in the running of the vessel. One was operating a wheel that appeared to control the direction in which the ship was going. The other tended to sails and occasionally engaged in activities that appeared related to navigation. They never spoke to each other, or at least if they did, they did not do so when Jepp was around.
The third Traveler had the sole responsibility of attendin
g to Jepp.
He had not spoken to her. For that matter, knowing that he was, in fact, a “he” was more conjecture on her part than anything else. He had simply stayed right nearby her the entire time they had been on the ship. Perhaps he had feared that, given the slightest opportunity, she would throw herself into the Vastly Waters rather than endure one more minute in their presence. It actually had been an option that she had considered. Even the Mandraques, in whose company she had spent much of her life—even the inestimable Mandraque known simply as the Greatness—had spoken of the Travelers in uneasy whispers and talked about how certain death waited for anyone who looked upon them for too long, or at all. So Jepp, a mere human woman, would be a very likely candidate for suicide rather than endure the sustained presence of even one Traveler, much less three. And she was on a sailing vessel where, aside from the sparsely decorated quarters below where she slept, there was nowhere to hide from them.
Jepp had, in fact, been utterly terrified when the Travelers had first descended upon the Bottom Feeders and snatched her from their grasp. On one level their timing could not have been better. Her presence among the Bottom Feeders had reached a flashpoint. The clan’s leader, Zerena Foux, was insisting that she be forced to leave immediately while Zerena’s son, Karsen, was squaring off against his mother and demanding that Jepp be allowed to stay. As if Zerena’s prayers had been answered, the Travelers had suddenly come riding up on their draquons and whisked her away. She had screamed and kept screaming until her throat was sore. She also came to the conclusion that the screaming wasn’t doing her any good and she was starting to feel a bit foolish making all that noise for no return on her expended energies. Obviously the Travelers had no intention of harming her; otherwise they simply would have done so and gotten it over with. And so she had quieted down and decided to wait and see what happened next.
During the entire journey to the boat, not a single Traveler had spoken to her. When they had stopped, it had been briefly and apparently for her convenience rather than theirs. They seemed to have no need for sustenance or sleep. They had provided her with some sort of food that she had never seen, wafers that one would have thought would not be remotely filling and yet miraculously when she ate one she wasn’t hungry for many hours after. There was a stockpile on the boat that they were now on.
