To my surprise he turned away suddenly and cursed. “Another damned idiot!”
“What?” I was shocked.
“You’re hiring on with the Harvest ship, aren’t you?” he said harshly. I was amazed by the bitterness in his voice. “I heard rumour of one leaving this year. Bound for adventure, looking to make your fortune from gathering lansip leaves, maybe steal a little dragon gold on the side, if the creatures even exist? And you a grown woman! That makes three of you on this boat, and not one with the sense the Lady gave lettuce. You’ll never get past the Storms.” He growled his words, gripping the tiller. “And so pass a parcel of idiots, and the world well rid of the lot of you. If you don’t mind, milady, I’ve work to do. There is room for you to wait at the bow rail.”
I waited for him to thaw, sitting no more than a foot from him, but he steadfastly ignored me. Eventually I gave up. I pondered his words, his vehemence all that day. It was not until the sun began to go down that I dared approach him again. At twilight we had become used to taking a drop of ale together. The other passengers had gone to their bunks with the sun. I went to him as he stood at the rail that encompassed the forward part of the deck and held out a tankard.
“Come, goodman Joss—shame to part so,” I said as gently as I could.
He looked at me, the twilight glow lighting his dark eyes.
“Aye. So it would be,” he said gruffly. He took the tankard and made room for me at the Tailing.
We were silent as the light faded from the sky, watching the twilight follow the sun. He was hanging the running lamps from their hooks when I asked quietly, “Who did you lose on a Harvest ship, Joss?”
“Never you mind,” he growled. Silence fell again. There were no clouds—it would be a clear night, mercifully. The first stars twinkled as they rejoiced once more at overcoming the day.
“We’ll come into Corli at the second hour after dawn,” he said as he stood in the gathering darkness. “You’ll have plenty of time to get to your precious ship.”
“Thank you, Joss,” I said, looking not at him but at the water. “And I thank you as well for your company these last weeks. You have lightened my heart with your friendship, and I will not forget you.”
I was not even certain he was still there when I heard him say softly, “Nor I you. Go with care, Lanen Maransdatter. The Storms are deadly and the Dragons are real, whatever anyone may say, and none who go to that cursed place come back unchanged if they come back at all. My grandfather told of his grandsire’s wealth gained from harvesting lansip, and I lost my father and my brother both to those damned ships. Whether Storms or Dragons took them I know not nor care, but I hate that isle and curse every ship that sets out for it.”
I heard the door of his tiny cabin in the stern shut quietly. Joss’s bitterness stung my heart. I knew that note of helpless anger, I had sung it often enough myself—but there was nothing I could do save commit his anger to the Lady. Surely, as the laughing Girl of the Waters, she would know and move to ease the sorrow of the brother she bore on her back .
As for my own heart, it was full of his other words. The Dragons are real, whatever anyone may say. Those words had my soul singing so I could hardly breathe. They are real! I repeated to myself, over and over as the boat slid rapidly towards Corli. I am going to the Dragon Isle at last, and they are real!
I fell asleep with Dragons dancing in my heart.
It started sprinkling just after dawn—and kept raining on and off all morning. We came into Corli in the middle of a shower. There was just enough wind and rain to make the little riverboat horribly uncomfortable for the last half hour. All the other passengers were huddled under the oiled cloth. The young ones were sick, the elders well on the way.
I am almost ashamed to admit that I recall feeling wonderful. I was out on the deck, at the bow railing, wrapped in my cloak and an oiled cloth, breathing in Corli with the rain, riding the surge of the water like a galloping horse. For the last few days we had passed more and more villages along the riverbank, and for the last half hour there had been a solid rank of houses beside the water on either side. Now we were passing a crowd of small boats, and came shooting down on the current of the Kai into the true harbor of Corli.
I took one look and gasped, turned away, overwhelmed.
Before me stretched a vast great plain of water.
I taunted myself into some semblance of courage and turned my face again to the sea to learn what lay before me.
Water. As far as the eye could see, water. There were what looked like tiny spurs of land to the left and to the right, but before me the water seemed to stretch into infinity. I fell back from the rail, shrinking into myself. I was terrified, I wanted to hide below the deck in the face of this immensity. It seemed alive, as if some great being dwelt beyond sight under those dark waters and breathed out its essence in words no one could understand.
I firmly believe that forcing myself to look again at the sea, just that small arm of the sea in Corli Harbour, was the hardest thing I had done in my life up to that time. All the tales true and false—that have attached to my name since never mention the fact that my first glimpse of the sea reduced me to a terrified, shivering wretch, huddled against the rail of Joss’s little riverboat for protection, turning my head away from the deep, the vast, infinite unknown.
We came to rest with a bump at a small pier, like twenty’ other small piers around it. It was still raining.
Joss leaned down and shouted to the others below that we had arrived. My five fellow travellers climbed out of the dark and into the rain, and were not pleased about it. They grumbled as they assembled their bags, they grumbled as they left the little boat that had been our home for three weeks. Joss managed a civil farewell to them all.
I waited until the others had gone, tiling my time to collect my few belongings and pack them carefully. I dragged my pack up the few rungs of the ladder, shouldered it with a grunt and went over to Joss, who stood with his back to me.
I took a deep breath for courage, then went to him and put my hand on his arm. I spoke quietly, the light rain making a small silence around us as I spoke.
“Joss, I have wanted to leave my home and travel all my life and never had the chance before now. I thank you for bringing me here, even if you are right and I go to my doom. You cannot bear the burden for every soul that joins the Harvest.
He shook my hand off his arm but did not turn round.
“I am not your father or your brother, Joss. I do not seek wealth from the lansip trees. I am going to talk with the Dragons, if I can, and find out why they do not live with us, and see if I can change their minds.”
“You go on a fool’s errand, Lanen,” said Joss to the sea.
“Then my errand and I are well suited,” I said with a laugh. “At least wish me good fortune.”
“You will make your own fortune, good or ill, whatever I may say.”
I sighed. “Farewell then, Joss Riverman,” I said sadly. “The Lady bless thee.’”
“And may she lead thee to safe harbor in the end, Lanen Maransdatter,” replied Joss. His face was still to the sea, his rain-soaked back to me. “I will not curse the sailing of this ship, for it will bear thee and thy dreams. Fare well, Lanen, and may the wind and waves be kind to thee.”
I stepped onto the pier, surprised at the weight of my pack, surprised to find that the land seemed to rock as the water had. I laughed at myself, threw the long wet braid of my hair over my shoulder and set out for the center of the harbor.
I learned later that it is the custom of seafaring men never to watch a friend out of sight, as that would mean a long separation. Years after he told me that he had been on the verge of begging me to stay, for I was the first soul he had trusted in many years—but he knew I followed a dream and would not stay for a chance—met friend.
Lighthearted in my ignorance, I all but danced my way down the quayside as I sought out the Harvest ship.
VI
CORL
I AND AWAY
Corli Harbour sits near the mouth of the great river Kai, where waters collect from every corner of Kalmar to mingle in a glorious rush and flow in a torrent into the bay. The warm swift southern current, brushing up the coast, then sweeps away the silt, leaving a natural harbour and meeting place for trade and shipping. The old saying “If you want to know anything, go to Corli” comes from the Merchants and traders who fill the wharves year—round with the sights and smells of Far away. (The rest of the saying is “If you want to know everything, go to Sorun.” It refers to the Silent Service, based in Sorun but found everywhere in Kolmar—when they fail. It is said that enough silver will buy any information you might want, but that is another story.)
In Corli you will find goods from all the kingdoms in their wondrous variety, like the fair at Illara in large; but that is not the only reason Corli is renowned. It is from Corli that the great Merchant ships set out west and north over the sea to the Dragon Isle. Lansip grows there wild, it is said there are endless forests of the stuff, but it will grow nowhere else. The seedlings and young trees brought back in the past always withered and died, the seeds failed to sprout.
If lansip were not so powerful; none would even consider the deadly journey. But even weak lansip tea is a sovereign remedy for many ailments, from headache to heart’s sorrow, and when it is concentrated into a liquor it has the power to give back lost years. They tell the tale of a fabulously wealthy Merchant in his seventh decade who bought a full Harvest, every leaf, and drank all the liquor that was distilled from it. He passed through middle age and into youth, until the day he drank the last of his lansip. He was found dead of shock, with the look and the body of a youth in his early twenties.
When, rarely, the Harvesters find late fruit on the trees, it is brought back with care, most valuable of all—for that fruit, eaten without its bitter skin, can heal all wounds save death alone. The Harvest journeys are said to have been the founding of several of the Merchant Houses, and certainly kept the older ones wealthy.
However, despite the enticements of the Merchants—Harvesters are paid the weight of the leaves they bring back in silver—Harvest ships had always set out shorthanded. Few in those days feared the True Dragons, for most considered them no more than legend, but the Storms were real and known deadly, and in a hundred and thirty years before we set out none had returned of all the ships that had essayed the passage.
If I’d had any sense, I’d have been terrified. I couldn’t wait to go.
I know it sounds strange, but I hardly remember the first time I saw Corli itself. It is in my memory little more than a jumble of impressions. I know it was wet, and that I was lost after I left loss’s boat. I think I considered asking directions, but decided instead that I wouldn’t mind being lost for a while.
A few moments stand out from the mist. I remember leaving the quay and wondering towards the harbour, getting wetter with each step. There was an inn with a tire where I had soup, and the landlady gave me a cloth to dry myself. I waited there until the rain stopped. The next thing I remember is being at the dock, seeing the great ships for the first time and being amazed at the size of them. To my eyes, used only to loss’s little riverboat, they looked huge, their sails like furled wings gathered onto the yards.
Unfortunately, I remember very well what happened when I got to the harbour. I went to the first dock I came to and asked where I might find the Harvest ship. I drew any number of blank looks and a few lewd remarks, so I walked on along the pier. I needn’t have bothered to ask. Fifteen minutes’ gawping walk from that first ship, I heard a crier. After selling the horses in Illara I knew enough to admire his lung power. Then I managed to understand what he was saying.
“Come aaall ye, come aaall ye! Sail for the Harvest! Sail in three days’ time for the Dragon Isle! Silver for leaves! Silver for leaves! Silver for all the leaves you can carry! Come aaall ye, come aaall ye!”
I hesitated a moment before approaching him. I had meant to go up and mention Bors’s name, but decided in the end I would rather not be indebted to him if I could help it. And I noted that for all the crier’s enticements he was being given a wide berth by the passing sailors. Apparently lansip was not as real to them as death by drowning in the Storms.
The moment I came close enough for speech he dropped the foghorn of his voice to a more bearable level. “Come to sign on as Harvester?”
“That I am. What are the terms?”
“Same for everyone, unless ye’ve been to sea before.”
“No, I haven’t.”
He grinned, and the sight wasn’t for the fainthearted. He had more gaps than teeth. “I never asked,” he said. “Ye’ve not the look.” Then in a practiced singsong he recited, “Terms is silver, weight for weight, for all the lansip leaves ye gather. We provide passage, bags for the leaves and half your rations—and ye’ll work for that half, let me tell you. You supply your own bedding, clothes—and get a waterproof or ye’ll regret it—and the other half of your provisions. If ye disobey orders we’ll not answer for your safety.” For the first time his voice softened the merest touch as he added, “And ye must know that no Harvest ship has returned in a hundred and thirty years. There’s rumour the Storms are weakening near to nothing this year; but all in all we’ve no better than one chance in two of coming back alive. Consider it well ere ye decide.”
Ass that I was, I barely paused for breath. “I’ve decided. I’m coming.”
He signed me on with no further argument. He gave me a list of the items I would need for the voyage and pointed me to a scribe nearby. With the infinite smugness of the slightly educated I thanked him and said I could read for myself. He nodded and said, “Then you’ll have read that you signed on as assistant crew from this minute. Take the day to find your gear and be here at sunset, you’ll sleep on the ship and take up your duties from eight bells at the change.”
He might just as well have been a dog barking for all I understood him. “What change? Did you say eight bells? When is—”
“Midnight, ye useless thing. Now hop to it, get your gear into a sea chest and get on board before the sun’s down. Move!” he yelled, his voice rising to its former level. He turned from me and began to cry again his enticements for Harvest workers.
I left a bit dazed—part from shock at what I’d done, part from the sheer volume—and turned towards the town. Thankfully most of what I needed I found in a series of shops near the harbour.
I’m afraid I spent a small fortune in Corli. I know I was badly cheated in some places, but I really didn’t care. I found a small, strong sea chest, some heavy tunics and stout leggings (they were not at all surprised by my clothing in Corli, even in those days), and as recommended I purchased that curious and smelly garment sailors call a tarpaulin. It stank of tar and I wrapped it in my old blanket (though on the journey I wore it seven days out of seven and would not have traded it for its weight in solid silver). I got myself a new pair of good boots, some extra bedding, rations and a small luxury—dried dates and figs from the southern reaches of the South Kingdom, since even I had heard of the poor rations at sea. I packed away my old clothes, leaving my skirts and my fine new cloak at the bottom of the chest and everything else on top where l could reach it. I spent what little time remained to me wandering about Corli Harbour, becoming accustomed to the smell of fish and salty air, watching the sea in fascination.
I reported as ordered at sun set. I carried my belongings on board in the fading light, jostled from behind by my fellow Harvesters, directed by the regular crew, who barely tolerated us. I stared all around me as I was led to my “berth” belowdecks—a tiny space in which to sling a too—short hammock and a smaller space in which to stow my gear—and told to sleep while I could. It was only just after sunset. I managed perhaps two hours’ sleep before we were all roused by a loud voice calling something I couldn’t understand, but which by the movements of my fellows obviously meant “Get out of bed and get to work.”
> It was eight bells at the change. Midnight. We all worked in the steamy hold, hard as ever I had worked on the farm, scrubbing the floors—they called it swabbing the decks—preparing the ship for I knew not what. Come dawn—about six bells in the dawn watch, or seven in the morning on land—I found out. We were all hurried back up to the main deck and put to work loading cattle and what I judged to be not near enough hay to feed them. What they were there for I could not even guess. For a brief while I worried that I had been fooled and that this was a trading ship, but soon there were more canvas sacks to be loaded into the hold than I had ever imagined existed. They were new and surprisingly good quality, and I eventually realised that they were waiting to be filled with lansip leaves. .
My heart beat absurdly fast as I worked. The very touch of the rough canvas thrilled me. I was living my dream at last, and even the terror of the journey had no power over me.
For the next two days, with sleep snatched between watches, all I remember thinking was that if this was a dream I wouldn’t mind waking. I’d had no idea. When we weren’t scrubbing or sleeping, we were learning about the ship and its workings. I had never imagined such strange terms in my life, still less thought I would need to know them. The ship’s Master had us practicing every waking moment until the movements began to feel familiar. Surprising how quickly such things come to seem normal.
My next clear memory is of the dark before dawn—five bells in the dawn watch, so late in the year—the day we were to sail. The sky was just beginning to lighten with the promise of morning. The smell of the sea, ever present in the town, was stronger yet at the dockside. The gulls cried their eternal longing, other birds fought with them for the foul bits of fish the incoming fishermen spilled on the dock. A light breeze blew from the water, blowing away the smell of the land altogether. It was clean and sharp with salt.
We had gained steadily in numbers since I came on board, but there were still a number of empty hammocks, so we all had plenty to do. There was a lot of cursing by the Master as we raw beginners fumbled with a rope (which I was beginning to think of as a line, but could never call a sheet without giggling) and despite all our practice nearly tripped each other up trying to follow orders. He was a hard taskmaster, but even I could guess that our lives would soon depend on knowing what he wanted done and doing it as swiftly as possible. Still, I managed to glimpse the gangplank being hauled on board and the last line cast off from shore. It all went very quickly. We were madly busy as we left our anchorage and I felt the ship begin to move. We were on our way.
[Lanen Kaelar 01] - Song in the Silence Page 10
