The Book of Snow & Silence

by Zoe Marriott

  The Captain of the vessel – Volin was his name, I remembered – waited for me by the giant ship’s wheel. He was a tall, barrel-chested man with ruddy, freckled skin and the most peculiar beard: wildly curly, and a sort of pale orange-ish colour, even though the hair that could be seen under his black peaked cap was the characteristic Silingan brown-gold.

  I had met him three times. The first, when I was carefully and officiously handed onto the ship by the entourage who had escorted me to the coast, I had barely begun my study of Silingan and understood only one in three of his words. The last two, I had been too sick to do more than brusquely refuse his offers to dine in the Captain’s cabin, and close the door in his face. This time, after nearly eight weeks of study and with the sea calm, I would do better.

  “Good afternoon, Captain.” I acknowledged his deep bow with a polite nod, concentrating on the unfamiliar rounded vowels and flat, sharp consonants. The uneven stresses were giving me some trouble too, but I went on, reasoning that it was better to practise on him than on anyone more important. “My ladies tell me that land has been sighted. How long do you estimate it will be before the ship reaches the shore?”

  The Captain stared at me wordlessly for a moment in apparent surprise.

  “Your Royal Highness? You – speak Silingan?”

  I didn’t allow my expression to change. “I have studied it as best as I could in my cabin, Sir. I hope you find me understandable.”

  He blinked. “More than understandable. Do you speak many languages?”

  “Six with what I would dare call fluency – but that includes Yamarri, of course. A handful more, enough to speak and understand, but not write. My Mother – ” I broke off, feigning a cough to conceal the lurch of remembered shame and grief. “The Queen thought it important that I have the facility to learn.”

  She had thought it important for the future head of state. Had she known my eventual fate, she would most likely not have bothered to encourage my interest in linguistics. What did a minor foreign princess need so many languages for? It was likely that the only tongues I would speak for the rest of my life were Yamarri and Silingan. Yamarri, probably, with decreasing frequency...

  Aramin only spoke Yamarri and Ulmenni, the mountain dialect. And that last not very well. When she was little, she had wanted to learn, but my Mother had always shooed her away, telling her that my tutors must focus on me. When she grew older she had been too busy with friends and music and parties and riding to attend even to the lessons she was offered. But she had always been so charming and loveable that no one really minded. I wondered if Mother minded now. If it irked her that her new heir was so unprepared for the role in almost every way. That Aramin lacked every skill I had worked so hard to perfect.

  But I knew the answer, of course.

  If it were otherwise, Aramin would be here. And I would be there. Where I belonged.

  Seeking to distract myself, I repeated my question, “Are we within sight of land at last?”

  Still looking a little dazed for some reason – perhaps my accent was difficult to understand – the Captain bowed to me again and cleared his throat, gesturing to my left with one gloved hand. “Not land as such, no. Well, look for yourself, Princess.”

  I turned reluctantly into the harsh wind, grasping at my hood to hold it in place. And then stared, letting the hood fall, heedless of the freezing onslaught on my newly exposed skin.

  “Are those – they are – ?” My new Silingan vocabulary failed me and I was grateful when Volin jumped in.

  “Icebergs, Princess. That is the Numinast, in our old tongue. The ice fields of Silinga.”

  2

  A field of icebergs? More like a – a forest, or a labyrinth. The milky grey sea proliferated with great floating chunks of ice: blue, white, blue-white, jade green. Some were striped. Some as large as the very ship that carried us. They were jagged, ragged, swirling and cracked, twisted as if the sea and the wind had sculpted them from blasts of flying foam, and the cold had frozen them in place while they were still in motion. They extended as far as my admittedly nearsighted gaze could follow them, seemingly anchored somehow deep beneath the lapping waves. Though the sun was well hidden in the clouds and the light was dim, still each iceberg had a strange inner glow – a sort of blue-ish or green light that emanated from deep within. It was eerie.

  “They mark the beginning of the Inland Sea that separates our largest island from the three smaller ones,” the Captain explained. “In the summer they shrink, but each winter they return, as great as ever – one of the symbols of the indomitable will of our nation. No enemy ship has ever navigated the Numinast without sinking. They are either crushed between the shifting walls of ice or run aground on the spikes that lurk beneath the waves."

  “And we are to navigate it?” I asked faintly.

  The Captain smiled, moving as if to pat my arm, and only drawing back when Ane gracefully blocked him with a minute shift in her stance. Good girl.

  “Never fear. We’ve dropped anchor here and signalled to the mainland with magnesium flares – you will have heard them, I think?”

  The lightning and thunder in my dream. I kept my expression immobile and simply nodded.

  He went on, “One of our iron-hulls, with a Royal Ice Breaker aboard, will come to meet us. The Ice Breaker will use his magic to clear a path through the field, and lead us safely back through it.”

  Sereh made a small noise of shock. She was the only one of the ladies who spoke passable Silingan herself. It was the reason she had been selected to come. Without looking, I reached out to grasp her hand: reassurance and warning for both of us. My own lip wanted to curl and I bit the lower one again to stop it.

  ‘Magic’. I had read about it in my books and tried to prepare myself, but now I was forced to confront it. They truly believed in such heretical things here.

  In Yamarr it had long been understood that all the extraordinary Blessings possessed by certain humans were a product of our sacred connection with the Triple Gods. There was no such thing as ‘magic’, no trickery or supernatural forces. It was a natural ability, born to some just as a beautiful singing voice or strength or intelligence were given to others. Children with such a divine ability were taken by the Whisperers – our religious order – and educated and trained to dedicate their abilities to the service of the Gods and the realm. They healed, researched, advised. They used their talents to make discoveries in medicine, agriculture, and science that glorified the Triple Gods, and passed their skills onto the next generation. My own chief tutors had been from the order of Whisperers, and it was on the advice of one of the order that my Father, a promising young scholar, had been chosen to pair with my Mother and create the next generation of the Royal family. Whisperers were humanity’s only real link to the Gods.

  The Silingans, I reminded myself, did not worship the Triple Gods. They had only one deity. Morogana, they called him – for they had even given him a gender. The Warrior Sun. A god of war.

  Too late to go back now.

  The Captain was regarding us with a crinkled brow, perhaps sensing something of our shock but not understanding it. Seeking to distract him and Sereh, I let my gaze wander back to the water. Before I could make some remark about the icebergs or the weather I saw something that truly did distract me. Letting go of Sereh’s hand I stepped closer to the rail, pointing down.

  “What is that, Captain? A fish of some kind?”

  Volin’s frown deepened as he moved closer to see what I was talking about. My ladies were successfully diverted as well, clustering around me to stare down at the massive, dark forms shimmering into view through the milky waves.

  Larger by far than any animal I had ever seen on land, the sleek forms were as black as onyx – though I glimpsed striking white markings as they darted through the water. Each one had a triangle shaped fin on its back and a long, elegant tail. They swam around each other, diving and flipping in intricate patterns, as if involved in some private gam
e. As we watched, one of them seemed to somersault in the water – a breathtaking move for such a large animal – and then leaped right out of the waves in a graceful arc that had all of us gasping aloud. As it splashed spectacularly back down to its fellows, I couldn’t help noticing that its mouth, which had gaped open in a kind of predatory grin as it jumped, was large enough to swallow at least one or two of us, if it so wished.

  The sounds of their play echoed through the hull of the ship: sharp hoots and yips, long, ululating moans and deep grunts.

  “Are they – singing then?” Ane asked me. “Like birds?”

  I had no answers, but I found, to my surprise, that I would have liked to learn. One of the animals had a great, rippling scar running down its black-skinned side, making a triangular notch in the fin on its back. I wondered if its fellows shunned it for its imperfection. They didn’t seem to.

  They are only animals, and know no better.

  “What are they?” I repeated Ane’s question to the Captain in Silingan.

  He didn’t answer. I looked away from the creatures circling the boat, and saw that many of the crew had abandoned their tasks to gather at the rails too. Their faces as they stared at the creatures held none of the curiosity or awe of my ladies’ expressions; I thought they seemed unhappy. Anxious.

  “Whales,” the Captain answered finally. His face and voice held a new shade of grimness. “We call them killer whales, or orcas. The great predators of the sea. And a very bad omen indeed.”

  “Bad – omen?” Sereh said, puzzled. “What is that word?”

  “They are harbingers. A warning. The orcas only surface near our ships when a storm is approaching,” Volin told her, squinting up at the sky, his attention clearly elsewhere. “A serious storm. I’m afraid we will not make landfall today after all. I’d advise you ladies to get below decks – ”

  There was a shout from the top of the mast. Like dancing puppets we all turned to look up. With some difficulty I made out a tiny figure, fearlessly braced on one of the horizontal wooden struts that held up the sails. It shouted again and this time I made out the words: “Ship ahoy!”

  “What? That’s far too soon, no ship is that fast – ” The Captain broke off, his face turning horribly white under the freckles. “What ship?” he suddenly bellowed, loud enough to make Ane and Sereh flinch away from him.

  “It’s The Ice Blade, Captain!”

  Volin swore viciously – so viciously that I only understood about half the words. To my amusement, Sereh, who had obviously understood at least some of the same words, stepped protectively in front of me. This seemed to recall him to our presence and he cleared his throat, his cheeks turning mottled purple. It was an improvement on the ghastly paleness, but not entirely flattering.

  “Is there something wrong, Captain?” I asked mildly, pressing Sereh aside.

  “My sincere apologies, your Royal Highness,” he said, clearing his throat. “I was taken unawares. The Ice Blade is the fastest iron-hull in our fleet. It is the Prince’s ship.”

  Don’t blush. Don’t flinch. Control yourself. Control. I swallowed, the thundering in my ears making it impossible to know if my voice sounded normal as I spoke: “His Royal Highness the Crown Prince? Prince Uldarana?”

  “Yes. And right at the worst possible time,” he finished in a mutter, staring down at the dark forms of the killer whales again. But I wasn’t listening anymore. The man to whom I would soon be engaged was coming to meet me.

  Too late to change your mind now. Too late to go back.

  Sereh began rapidly whispering to the other two Yamarri women, translating for them. They broke into excited smiles.

  A smile of any kind had never been further from my lips. Oh Gods, oh merciful Triple Gods, it was happening now. He was coming here, now. What was I supposed to do? Control, Theoai, control...

  The Captain was excusing himself. Despite my efforts my face must have reflected a little – only a little, surely – of my inner turmoil. Sereh tentatively took my arm, and when I didn’t reject the touch Elo and Ane moved closer, surrounding me with rippling coloured silks and gentle voices.

  “Remember, he will be just as nervous as you are,” Sereh said. “But he is eager to see you! He’s come all this way just to see you a little earlier! That can only be a good sign.”

  Elo nodded eagerly. Ane added, “This also means your meeting will be less formal. You might even have a chance to talk to him alone, if we can manage it.”

  I didn’t want to talk to him alone. I didn’t want him to be eager to meet me. I didn’t want any of this. The words tried to tear free of my tightly-pressed lips in a child’s howl of denial. Make him go away!

  Again, my expression must have betrayed me. Sereh made a gentle cooing noise and stroked my arm, her large amber eyes filled with genuine concern. The two younger ones exchanged an alarmed look: what do you do when your Princess is panicking?

  What indeed? What was I doing right now? Where was my pride? My spine? If I allowed myself to wallow in my own weakness I was heading for another episode, medicine or no medicine. Abruptly I was exasperated with myself and shamed by my own cowardice.

  You chose this, I reminded myself. No one forced it on you. You sacrificed everything you had left for this chance. The chance to earn back a crown. The chance to be Queen, even if not of your own realm. Stop whining and whimpering and act like a Queen!

  I forced my face back into my best semblance of serenity. I straightened my back and lifted my chin. “Do I look pale?” I asked. “Has the wind disarranged my hair?”

  Sereh gave me a warm smile of approval. “Not at all. You look charming.”

  “Very well then. Find me somewhere to sit that is out of everyone’s way, and – we shall await Prince Uldarana’s arrival.”

  What approaches is the prize you sought, Theoai. Do not dread it. Do not fear it. Seize it!

  The crew scurried to and fro on their peculiar tasks, tying things down, folding up the sails, in preparation for the arrival of both storm and Prince. Sereh bullied a folding chair out of one of the officers for my use, and positioned it in a corner. I sat, folded my hands, and tried to focus. Not on anything in particular, but just on what I could see and hear in this moment. On being present in my body, as the Whisperers had taught me.

  The sky was growing darker. The days were short in this part of the world in the winter season. A glance at the clouds showed they were deepening from grey to a faintly purple shade I had never seen before. It was rather pretty and entirely unlike the boiling, sulphurous yellow masses of storm clouds back home. The wind was dropping too, a welcome relief for my chapped lips and frozen ears. Perhaps the Captain was wrong and the orcas had simply been in a playful mood today. I hoped so. If the ship began rocking and swaying as it had done during the last storm, it would be out of my power to make a good impression on the Crown Prince. I would be more likely to beg him for a merciful death.

  But the sounds of sea and wind continued to quiet as the song of the killer whales resonated through the hull of the ship. I could feel the vibrations in the soles of my feet. The sounds were not exactly beautiful; they were too alien, too eerie for that. Their song sounded more like a language I did not understand, or like the echo of voices in another room, too far away to make out the meaning of the words.

  There was another cry from the mast. A strange ship appeared at the mouth of the dark river that flowed between two jagged icebergs.

  The new vessel had a single mast with a square, crimson sail. The fact that it had a sail was very nearly all it had in common with Volin’s ship. The Ice Blade was long and narrow, and sat low in the water like a river barge. There was a sort of tent of red cloth at the back, but other than that there was no shelter aboard at all, not even a planked deck. Instead, almost the entire bottom of the ship was taken up with rowing benches. Six benches on the craft, six men to a bench, eighteen oars churning through the water on each side, bringing it gliding to the side of our ship in near silenc
e. As it came closer I could make out the strange figurehead that reared up above the rowers, a long necked serpent with glittering green-painted scales and bared fangs behind red lips.

  A man stood at the dragon’s side, one arm slung around its neck as if to aid his balance. He wore a belted robe of a similar shape to those donned by the Whisperers at home, but rather than undyed linen it was fashioned of some rich purple cloth, trimmed with grey fur. Long dark hair, hair that a Whisperer would have bound back modestly, streamed away from his pale, narrow face. I couldn’t make out his features, only the straight line of his strong brows, but something gave me an impression of strain, of immense, even painful effort.

  “Is that the Prince?” Elo asked, in a hushed voice. “He’s older than I expected – ”

  “No,” Sereh cut her off tersely. “That’s their magician.”

  Elo and Ane made scandalised faces. I hoped mine was less revealing.

  Within moments the strange, narrow ship had come abreast of Captain Volin’s larger vessel. Lines were tossed across and tied up by the efficient sailors, and a wide gangplank lowered by Volin’s men. There were shouts from the crew, thuds and squeaks from ropes and sails, and the ever-present slapping noises from the sea. Yet beneath that, everything seemed to grow more and more still. Even the orcas had fallen silent.

  A group of men appeared at the top of the gangplank.

  Without thinking I stood, pulling my ladies in my wake as I moved toward the newcomers stepping gingerly onto the rocking deck. My gaze swept over them searchingly, then desperately, seeking in vain a face that matched the palm sized official portrait, painstakingly painted on translucent porcelain to better capture the glow of life, that had been presented to me at the opening of betrothal negotiations.

  The painted Prince had a handsome face. A little rounded, as expected of a man a year my junior in age. He had reddish gold hair that made a high widow’s peak on his forehead. A faint cleft in the chin. Eyes of a pale shade that might have been blue or grey, and which, in the painting, seemed to smile.