Kushiels Dart

by Jacqueline Carey

Page 60

 

  Gunter's steading.

  And because there was nothing else to do, except die, I sang, then, a song of Gunter's steading: a hearth-song, one of those the women had taught me, Hedwig and the others, a song of waiting, and longing, of a handsome thane dying young, in a welter of blood and sorrow, of reaping and sowing and harvest, of old age come early, and weaving by the fireside, while the snows of winter pile deep at the door.

  I am not Thelesis de Mornay, at whose voice all present fall silent, listening. But I have a gift for language, that Delaunay taught to me. These songs I had committed to memory, scrawled by burnt twig next to the hearth-fire, never recorded by men. They were the homely songs of Skaldi women, to which no scholar ever paid heed. And I sang them, then, though the wind tore the words from my lips, for the Master of the Straits, whose face moved over the waters, impossibly vast and terrible.

  And he listened, and the waters grew calm, the awesome features sinking back into the rippling waves.

  No one, ever, had brought these songs to the sea before.

  I kept singing, while the seas grew tranquil, and the waves lapped at the sides of the ship, and Joscelin's hand was beneath my arm, keeping me upright while my voice grew ragged. Those sailors quailing beneath the onslaught stirred, creeping onto deck. I sang, hoarsely, of children born and fir trees giving forth new growth, until Quintilius Rousse roused himself with a shake.

  "Do you accept our toll?" he cried.

  The waves themselves shuddered, a face forming on their surface, benign and complacent, yet vast, so vast. Its mouth could have swallowed our ship whole.

  "YESSSSS . . . " came the reply, whispered and dreadful. "YOU MAY PASS. "

  And it was gone.

  The withdrawal of resistance came like a blow, the restoration of calm, water dissipating into mere waves, rippled by a western breeze. The skies cleared; it was not even dusk. I drew in a great breath, my throat rasping.

  "Is it done?" I asked Quintilius Rousse hoarsely, trusting to Joscelin to keep me upright.

  "It is done," he confirmed, his blue eyes darting left and right, scarce trusting to the evidence they saw. He looked at me then with something like fear. "Did Delaunay teach you that, then, to soothe Elder Brother's craving?"

  I laughed at that, my voice cracking with exhaustion and hysteria. "No," I whispered, leaning on Joscelin's vambraced arm. "Those are the songs of Skaldi women, whose husbands and brothers may yet slaughter us all. "

  And with that, I collapsed.

  When I awoke, I was lying in a dark cabin, enmeshed in a hammock as if in a hempen cradle, swaying. A single lamp lit the darkness, its flame trimmed low. A familiar figure drowsed beside it, sitting in a chair.

  "Hyacinthe," I whispered.

  He started, and lifted his head, white grin reassuring. "Did you think you'd lost me?"

  "I wasn't sure. " I struggled to sit upright, then gave up, resigning myself to the hammock. "I saw at least one go over. "

  "Four. " He said it quietly, no longer smiling. "It would have been more, if not for Jean Marchand. He made us lash ourselves to whatever we could. "

  "You saw it, then. " My voice was hoarse still. It is something, to sing down the sea. Hyacinthe nodded, a faint movement in the shadows.

  "I saw it. "

  "Where's Joscelin?"

  "Above. " Hyacinthe yawned. "He wanted to see the stars, to gain his bearings. He's not vomiting anymore, at least. "

  I began to laugh, then stopped. It hurt my throat. "We owe him all our lives. "

  "You sang. " He looked at me curiously through the darkness.

  "He made me. He remembered the songs. Gunter's steading. " I lay back, exhausted again. "I never thought I'd be grateful to the Skaldi. "

  "All knowledge is worth having," Hyacinthe said, quoting Delaunay, whom I had quoted to him. "Even this. Even the dromonde. " Rising, he smoothed my hair back from my brow and kissed me. "Go to sleep," he said, and blew out the lamp.

  SIXTY-EIGHT

  The following day dawned as calm and bright as one might wish, as if in apology for the Master of the Straits' dreadful storm. We had turned northward in the night, rounding the lower tip of Alba, and I could see her green coastline lying off our starboard bow, hazy in the distance.

  "Where do we make landfall?" I asked Quintilius Rousse, standing on deck with him. The wind tugged at my cloak, but it seemed milder than yesterday, with less of a biting chill. I felt more myself, and thanked Blessed Elua for the thousandth time that I healed quickly.

  "That," the Admiral said dryly, "is a very good question. " He looked haggard and tired, having gotten but a few hours sleep, delegating the wheel to his helmsman once he'd determined we were well and truly clear of danger. He swept one brawny arm toward the coast. "There, in all its glory, lies Alba. Where Ysandre's deposed Cruarch bides is another matter. "

  "I thought you knew," I said, dismayed once more. "You sought him before, you said. Among the Dalriada. "

  "I know where the Dalriada lie. " Rousse turned to spit, then remembered my presence, and refrained. "On the land that juts out nearest to Eire. Our sources said that's where Drustan mab Necthana fled. But it's a sizeable kingdom. "

  "How do we even know it's true?"

  Rousse shrugged. "Delaunay said it was, and Thelesis de Mornay. They had some system of exchange, across the waters, with Alban loyalists. Folk that Thelesis had known, during her exile. Then the messages stopped coming, and they reckoned Maelcon the Usurper caught them. That's when I tried the coast. But I never caught sight of any Pictish Prince. "

  And I had doubted, when he called it a fool's errand. I sat down on a spar near his feet, thinking. In the prow, Joscelin was doing his Cassiline exercises, silhouetted against the sky. Sunlight flashed from his steel. He had found his sea-legs, it seemed.

  "How long until we reach the kingdom of the Dalriada?" I asked.

  "A day, no more. " Quintilius Rousse shrugged again. "Then we take our chances, I reckon, and hope they can lead us to the Cruithne. "

  I was not entirely sure I liked his plan. I'd doubts enough about my own skill with the tongue—it is one thing to learn a language on paper, with tutors who speak one's own language, and another to deal with native speakers—and I wasn't sure the Dalriada spoke the same Cruithne I had learned. Eire is its own island, and separate from Alba; if their folk had established a foothold on Alba, would they speak a dialect I recognized? Or somewhat altogether different? The scholars do not say, for the armies of Tiberium never ventured so far before being ousted by Cinhil Ru. And if it were so . . . how could I make them understand? Ysandre's ring, Drus-tan mab Necthana's pledge, would mean naught to them.

  So I mulled over the problem, until it came together in my mind. All knowledge is worth having. "Hyacinthe," I said. "Mayhap he can help. He can speak the dromonde, and tell us where to land. "

  "You believe it?" Quintilius Rousse glanced at me sidelong, profound doubt in his blue gaze. "It's enough that we come in a single ship, I think. Even Delaunay wasn't so credible, lass, and he could ferret out truth in the strangest of places. "

  Resting my chin in my hands, I watched the waves pass. "I know. But my lord Admiral. . . when I was but thirteen, his mother spoke the dromonde for me, unbidden. While I was trying to get at the truth of Delaunay's history. She told me I would rue the day I learned it. "

  "And you did, I suppose," Rousse said gruffly, when I ventured no more.

  "There were two days. " It was hypnotic, watching the sliding waves, unchanging, never the same. "I learned half of it the day Melisande Shah-rizai contracted me for the Longest Night, and used me to flush out your messenger, my lord, whose liege led d'Aiglemort's men to Delaunay. I learned that he had been beloved of Prince Rolande. And I learned the balance of it the day he was killed, and all of the household with him, including Alcuin, who was like a brother to me. That was the day I learned that he was oat
h-sworn to protect Ysandre de la Courcel, which Alcuin told us, dying. Yes, my lord, I rue those days. "

  Quintilius Rousse was silent for a moment, tending to the wheel. "Anyone could say as much," he said finally. " 'Tis dangerous, to chase after buried secrets. "

  "It is," I agreed. "But she spoke the dromonde twice. The second time, she said, 'Do not discount the Cullach Gorrym. ' Do you know what that means, my lord?"

  Rousse paused, then shook his head, ruddy locks fraying in the wind.

  "Neither did she," I said. "It means the Black Boar, in Cruithne. And there is no reason, no reason at all, my lord, why she should have known those words, or linked them to me. " I rose, stretching out my joints. "When we are in sight of the kingdom of Dalriada, then, will you let Hyacinthe speak?"

  "Those were his mother's words. " Quintilius Rousse's voice was rough, though I could see he believed, a little. No one could pass the Master of the Straits and not come to believe in things unseen. "Did the lad ever speak you true?"

  "Not me," I answered truthfully. "He fears it, to speak for friends. But he spoke it for Melisande, once. "

  "What did he tell her?" The Admiral's hands lay slack on the wheel, caught up despite himself. All sailors love a good tale, I have learned. He looked at me with sharp curiosity.

  "That which yields," I said, feeling a chill despite the mild wind and hugging my elbows, "is not always weak. "

  I walked away, then, close-wrapped in my velvet cloak, salt-stained now, a gift of the Due de Morhban, feeling Rousse's sharp gaze still at my back. An easy enough prophecy, a skeptic might say; but not if one is that which yields. I made my way across the wooden decks, polished to a high gleam—Quintilius Rousse abided no idle hands on his ship—to find Hyacinthe trying his luck at fishing. He glanced up at me, boasting.

  "Phedre, look! Three to one, I've caught. " He dangled a string offish at me, bright silvery bodies jerking and twisting, drowning in dry air. "We had a wager, Remy and I," he added, nodding toward the sailor beside him, who looked more amused than not.

  "Very nice. " I inspected his fish cursorily. "Hyacinthe . . . If I asked you to see where the Long Road we travel touches land once more, could you do it?"

  His black eyes gleamed wickedly in the sunlight, and he grasped the largest of the fish, offering it to me with both hands. "For you, O Star of the Evening, anything. Are you sure you don't want to ask your Cassiline? He may be jealous of such bounty. "

  I laughed, despite myself. "I'll risk it. "

  For a day and another night, then, we made our way up the coast of Alba, tacking against the slow winds. Our third day broke misty and strange, becalming us, until even the Courcel pennant hung limp from the tallest mast. Rousse set his men to oars, then, cursing them, and we moved torturously slow, the green coast appearing and receding out of the mists.

  "Now, if ever," Quintilius Rousse said grimly, calling me on deck. "Bring on the Tsingano lad, Phedre no Delaunay. Let him point the way. "

  There was no mockery in Hyacinthe now. He walked slowly to the prow of the ship, his face raised to the mists that held us thick-clasped. His head turned from side to side, like a hunting dog casting about for a scent, sight-blinded, all his senses elsewhere. The sailors watched him closely, having decided he was lucky—no few had had the ill fortune of dicing with him, I learned later—and Quintilius Rousse, in all his doubt, held his breath.

  "I cannot see it," Hyacinthe whispered, arms blundering outward in the thick mists. "Phedre, I cannot see our road. "

  I went to him, then; they left us alone, muttering. Joscelin watched silently, offering no comment.

  "You can, Hyacinthe. I know you can," I said, taking his arm. "It's only mist! What's that to the veils of what-might-be?"

  "It is vrajna. " He shivered, cold beneath my grasp. "They were right, Manoj was right, this is no business for men. "

  Waves lapped at the sides of our ship, little waves, moving us nowhere. We were becalmed. The rowers had paused.

  "Prince of Travellers," I said. "The Long Road will lead us home. Let it show the way. "

  Hyacinthe shivered again, his black gaze blurred and fearful. "No. You don't understand. The Long Road goes on and on. There is no home for us, only the journey. "

  "You are half D'Angeline!" I raised my voice unintending, shaking him. "Hyacinthe! Elua's blood in your veins, to ground you home, and Tsingani, to show the way. You can see it, you have to! Where is the Cullach Gorrym?"

  His head turned, this way and that, dampness beading on his black ringlets. "I cannot see it," he repeated, shuddering. "It is vrajnal They were right. I should never have looked, never. Men were not meant to part the veils. Now this mist is sent to veil us all, for my sin. "

  I stood there, my fingers digging into his arm, and cast my gaze about. Up, upward, where the sun rode faint above the mists, a white disk. The ship's three masts rose, bobbing, to disappear in greyness. "If you cannot see through it," I said fiercely, "then see over it!"

  Hyacinthe looked at me slowly, then up at the tallest mast, the crow's nest lost in the mists. "Up there?" he asked, his voice full of fear. "You want me to look from up there?"

  "Your great-grandmother," I said deliberately, "gave me a riddle. What did Anasztaizia see, through the veils of time, to teach her son the dromonde? A horse-drawn wagon and a seat by the kumpania's fire, or a mist-locked ship carrying a ring for a Queen's betrothed? It is yours to answer. "

  He looked for a long time without speaking.

  And then he began to climb.

  For uncountable minutes we were all bound in mist-wreathed silence, staring into the greyness where Hyacinthe had disappeared, far overhead. The ship rocked gently, muffled waves lapping. Then his voice came, faint and disembodied, a single lonely cry. "There!"

  It might have been the depths of the ocean he pointed to for all any of us could see. Quintilius Rousse cursed, fumbling his way back toward the helm. "Get a relay!" he roared, setting his sailors to jumping. "You! And you!" He pointed. "Move! Get up that rigging! Marchand, call the beat, get the oarsmen to put their backs to it! We follow the Tsingano's heading!"

  All at once, the ship was scrambling into motion, men hurrying hither and thither, carrying out Rousse's orders. "Two points to port!" the call came, shouted down the rigging. "And a light in the prow, Admiral!"

  The mighty ship turned slowly, nosing through the mist. Far forward, a lantern kindled, a single sailor holding it aloft at the very prow. Down came the shouted orders, and Rousse at the helm jostled the ship into position, until the lantern was aligned with Hyacinthe's pointing finger high in the crow's-nest, unseen by those of us below.

  "That's it, lads!" he cried. "Now row! Out oars!"

  Belowdecks, the steady beat of a drum sounded, Jean Marchand's voice rising in counterpoint. Two rows of oars pulled in unison, digging into the sea. The ship began to move forward, gaining speed, travelling blind through the mists.

  I did not need to be a sailor to guess how dangerous it was, so close to a strange, unseen coast. I joined Joscelin, and we stood together watching Quintilius Rousse man the helm, his scarred face alight with reckless desperation, having cast his lot. How long we sailed thusly, I cannot say; it seemed the better part of a day, though I think it no more than an hour.

  Then came another cry, and a change of direction. On Hyacinthe's lead, we turned our prow toward land, invisible before us . . . but, the last time glimpsed, close by. The Admiral's face grew grim as he held the course, white-knuckled. For the first time all day, a wind arose, sudden and unexpected, filling our sails. The rowers put up their oars, resting, as we raced before the wind like a bird on the wing.

  Out of the mists, and into sunlight, gleaming on the waters, heading straight into a narrow, rocky bay that cut deep into the shoreline.

  A great cheer arose, dwarfing in sound the one that they'd given when first we set sail. High overhead, Hyacinthe clutched the railing of the crow's
-nest, weak with his efforts.

  Before us lay landfall, a stony beach, with green hills leading down to it, a bright silver river snaking through the green.

  And on the beach, what looked suspiciously like a reception party.

  Fully armed and awaiting us.

  SIXTY-NINE

  "Drop anchor!" Quintilius Rousse's roar split the sudden brightness, as sails were lowered and lashed with alacrity, the rowers dug in the oars, the ship slowing in the backwash of water they churned. Hyacinthe descended the rigging on shaking legs. With a mighty clang, the anchor was loosed, enormous links of chain rattling through the winch. The ship came to anchor in the deep waters of the bay, broadside to the shore, the Courcel swan fluttering from her mast. Quintilius Rousse muttered under his breath, reaching into his purse; a gold coin he drew out, tossing it overboard in a high arc. It glittered in the sun, and fell with a splash. It is a sailor's superstition, to pay tribute to the Lord of the Deep after a dangerous journey.

  And then all of us found places along the length of the ship, staring landward.

  It was a small enough party, no more than a dozen men, in bright woolen plaids. But they waved broadswords in the air, no mistake, sun flashing off steel.

  "What do you make of that?" Rousse asked, pointing and squinting.

  I followed his line of sight. Two figures, in the forefront, smaller than the others. The larger was still, unlike the others, dark-haired; the smallest leaped about, brandishing a spear. Gauging the weapon against the size of the men's swords . . . "A child," I said, "my lord Admiral. Two, perhaps. "

  His reddish brows drew down in a scowl. "You're the Queen's em-missary. What do we do?"

  I gathered my cloak around me, clutching briefly at Ysandre's ring. "We go to meet them," I said firmly. "Bring six men, my lord, skilled at arms. I will take Hyacinthe and Joscelin. "

  "We'll be outnumbered," he said bleakly.