Last of the Wilds

by Trudi Canavan

  To Reivan’s surprise, the crewman returned with several chisels and mallets. She guessed that if a ship needed repair in some isolated place, the entire crew were expected to help in the work, and so they carried enough tools for all.

  The two Elai had swum closer. Four more heads had appeared farther away.

  “Demonstrate how they are used,” Imenja ordered.

  The crewman cast about, then grabbed a bucket, placed it between his knees, and began chipping away at the wood. Imenja turned to the Elai.

  “I will give you these tools. Use them to break the bottom of the raider ship. Water will flow in and the ship will sink.”

  “But we’d never catch up with it,” an Elai protested.

  “You will if you come aboard,” she told them. “My ship is faster than theirs.”

  The two Elai vanished under the water then reappeared among the distant four. Several minutes passed, then four of the heads disappeared and, a moment later, reappeared beside the ship.

  “We will come with you,” one said.

  As crew threw ropes over the sides for the Elai to climb, Reivan turned to smile at Imenja.

  “I can’t believe you convinced them to come aboard,” she murmured.

  “They’re young and, like Imi, frustrated by being cooped up in their crowded city so much of the time,” Imenja explained quietly.

  “Where are the others?” Reivan asked, looking out to where the two remaining Elai had been.

  “They’ll follow at a distance, in case this proves to be a trick.” As the Elai reached the deck she stepped forward to greet them, drawing their attention to the raider ship on the horizon and telling them she would catch it in an hour or two. She then introduced Reivan to them.

  The Elai warriors struggled to stay balanced on the rocking of the ship. If they were intimidated by Imenja, they hid it well. The crewman handed over the chisels and mallets. The Elai held them confidently and Reivan concluded she had been right: they knew how to use them.

  The ship suddenly lurched forward. Reivan hadn’t noticed the sails being unfurled. Now ropes and mast creaked as the wind in the sails increased. The crew stopped and exchanged surprised looks, but the Elai appeared to accept this change without question.

  They won’t have boarded a ship before, she reminded herself. This improbable wind is just another bit of strangeness.

  Ahead, the raiders were bearing down on the merchant ship, which was too heavy and slow to outrun its pursuer. Every move in the distant struggle was laborious and deliberate.

  “Have they seen us?” Reivan asked.

  “Yes,” Imenja replied. “They think they can rob the merchant and get away before we arrive. And no Pentadrian ships have ever attacked them before.”

  The closer they came to the raider ship and its intended victim, the faster they seemed to travel. Suddenly the raiders veered away from the merchant ship.

  “They’ve realized we’re travelling faster than they first thought,” Imenja murmured. “Now the chase begins.”

  Time stretched out. They passed the merchant vessel close enough to see the confused and frightened crew watching them. Imenja raised a hand to them, then turned her attention back to the raiders.

  The distance between them shortened steadily. When they were close enough to see the men on board, the raider ship abruptly—or as quickly as a vessel could manage—turned about.

  “They have decided to fight,” Imenja said. She spun around to face the Elai. “Now is your chance to strike your enemy. Take care. Once they realize what you are doing they will shoot arrows in the water.”

  The warriors nodded, then, without speaking a word, moved to the rail and dove out into the water.

  “Stay by me, Reivan,” Imenja said quietly.

  The air thrummed with the sound of approaching arrows. Imenja darted to the side of the ship and spread her arms. The arrows bounced off an invisible barrier.

  “This hardly seems fair,” Reivan muttered. “They can’t possibly defeat you.”

  Imenja laughed. “Would you have me stand back and let my people die for the sake of a fair fight?”

  “Of course not,” Reivan replied.

  “Be assured these are thieves and murderers. We do not kill innocent men.”

  The raider ship passed a few strides away. A few grappling hooks were thrown, but Imenja’s barrier blocked them and they fell down into the water. Reivan looked down, but she could not see far beneath the surface.

  “How are the Elai doing?” she asked.

  Imenja chuckled. “They’re enjoying themselves. I cannot tell if they’re making any progress because they don’t know themselves. The raiders are worried, though. They can hear the tapping.”

  A man moved to the railing of the raider ship. He was dressed well, and gold glittered on his hands and chest.

  “The raider captain,” Reivan guessed.

  “Yes. A Skilled one.”

  The man raised his arms and the air rippled. Imenja laughed quietly.

  “It does seem unfair,” she admitted. She glanced at the crew, who were holding bows at the ready. “Fire!”

  Before the arrows met their target the raider ship lurched in the water. A few raiders scurried out of the hull. Their panicked shouts sent a chill down Reivan’s spine. The sea began to nibble at the sides of ship, sucking it down. Her stomach sank as the raiders began to fight each other for a place on the small row boat. The raider captain abandoned his magical attack on Imenja to stake his place on the little vessel.

  The ship tipped. Water spilled over the deck, then claimed it. Bubbles of air rose as the vessel vanished into the depths. A chill ran over Reivan’s skin as she saw men thrashing in the water, clearly unable to swim. They soon disappeared. Then she realized that those who were swimming confidently were going down too, pulled beneath the surface by shadowy attackers.

  Reivan shuddered and looked away. The desperate pleas and shouts of anger dwindled. An ominous silence descended and she heard Imenja sigh.

  “It’s over. No survivors. And the Elai did most of it themselves.”

  “No survivors?” Reivan turned to see the little row boat floating upside down. “What happened to the captain?”

  “Our sea-folk friends took care of him.”

  Two dark heads suddenly appeared close by. The white teeth of the Elai warriors flashed as they grinned.

  “Bravely done,” Imenja called. “You gave us almost no chance to attack them ourselves! You’ve brought down a raider ship all by yourselves!”

  “We couldn’t have caught them without your help,” one of the warriors called back.

  “No, but they saw us coming,” she told him. “You could have easily snuck up on them underwater.”

  “Do you want the cutters back?”

  She shook her head. “Keep them.”

  Another dark head appeared. The warrior held up a gold goblet. “Look. Their ship is full of it.”

  “Stolen from merchants,” Imenja told them. “It is yours now. So should be the treasure on any raider ship you sink.”

  The warriors’ grins widened.

  “But take care to be sure the ships you sink are raiders,” she warned. “If you sink a trader ship there are landwalkers who would seek to punish your people for the crime. Powerful landwalkers with powerful magic. They would make raiders seem as dangerous as children, and my people could do nothing to stop them.”

  The grins had faded. Imenja raised a hand in farewell. “Well done, warriors of Elai. The sea is a little safer today, thanks to you. Go celebrate your victory with your people.”

  “Yes!” the warrior with the goblet agreed.

  “Farewell, then,” one of the warriors called. “Have a safe journey.”

  “Many thanks for your help!”

  “Goodbye!”

  The fourth Elai surfaced, gold chains around his neck. He looked around, saw his fellow warriors swimming away, and dove after them.

  Imenja turned and gave the orde
r for the journey to resume.

  “Not too fast,” she told the captain quietly. “When word of this reaches the Elai king, I don’t want us to be so far away that an invite to return to his land can’t reach me.” The captain nodded. She looked at Reivan and smiled wryly. “That is,” she murmured, “if he doesn’t take exception to me urging a few young, naïve warriors to sink a raider ship.”

  45

  Every night since Emerahl had entered the swamp, the local people had passed on a message to her. First there had been “follow the blood of the earth.” That had been obvious, since the red mud that stained some of the tributaries could hardly be missed. Once all the water was the same color “head for the flat mountain” had kept her moving in the same direction. Not that she could go in a straight line. She had to wind between islands as small as waterlogged tussocks to large hillocks of solid ground, at the same time avoiding water too shallow for her boat to cross. This morning she had been struggling to “fight the fastest current,” which, to her relief, followed a channel more than deep enough for her boat to move along without its hull scraping through mud.

  Once the ground had become solid enough to support more than tussocky grass, the vegetation had grown tall, lush and dense. Trees grew thin and high, and creepers roped them loosely together. When they reached heights too ambitious for the sodden soil they slumped against each other or toppled completely, their enormous root systems flaring out of the soggy ground.

  Imposing spires of rock occasionally appeared. Some were broad, some thin, and all were draped with vegetation. Once she had passed a spire that had fallen against its neighbor. The top half of the gap between them had been filled with the web of a spider the size of her hand.

  It was beautiful and yet utterly inhospitable.

  And there are no signs of caves, Emerahl thought. There’s just not enough rock around. I guess I have a long way to go.

  Even as the thought passed through her mind she saw that she was wrong. The river had turned and before her was a wall of rock barely higher than the trees. At the base of it the water had washed out shallow hollows—none large enough to be a cave, but there was potential for it.

  Her heart began to beat a little faster. The river continued to follow this low cliff. She resisted the temptation to push the boat at a greater speed. There were still snags and shallows hidden beneath the opaque red water.

  The wall undulated, luring the river into a winding path. After over an hour of following its twists and turns, she rounded a corner and let out a sigh of satisfaction.

  The river widened ahead, forming a large pool before a latticework of hollows and caves. Ripples in the surface of the pool revealed the path of the current she was following. It led directly to a larger cave entrance. Emerahl followed it. Just before she reached the cave she glanced up at the sky and smiled grimly to herself.

  Caves. Why do we immortals always end up in caves?

  The muted light of the swamp forest quickly faded. Emerahl created a spark of light and sent it before her. The roof of the cave dropped until it was so low the mast would have scraped it, had she not taken it down the previous day to stop it tangling in overhanging vines. Her light revealed openings to either side leading into a maze of natural, half-drowned rooms and passages.

  She followed the current deeper into the wall of rock. There were no turns, just the constant ripple of water. The air was heavy with moisture and the silence was intense.

  Suddenly the roof ahead curved up out of the reach of her light, and walls and columns on either side ended. She slowed and approached this void cautiously, brightening her light until it revealed a large cavern. Only the ripples from her boat’s passage disturbed the still water. The roof was a smooth dome. At the far side she could see a ledge just above the level of the water.

  And on the ledge stood a large pottery pitcher.

  I guess that’s where I’m supposed to disembark, she thought.

  She directed the boat to the ledge, grabbed the mooring line and stepped off. The pitcher was full of clear water. Emerahl looked around. There were two cave entrances nearby. Above the larger one was a symbol—two small circles joined with a line.

  Feeling a tug on the mooring line, Emerahl turned to see that her boat was drifting away in the current. Casting about, she realized there was nothing to tie the line to. She looked down at the pitcher, looped the line around it and stepped back, ready to grab it if the pot began to move. The line pulled tight, but the pitcher remained standing. Emerahl nudged it. It seemed secure enough. Stepping away, she approached the cave marked by the symbol. She moved her light through. It illuminated a small room beyond.

  The room was round. The walls were painted in an elaborate pattern of dots. Another pitcher full of water stood in the center. From the ceiling moisture dripped into the vessel.

  “Who are you?”

  The voice spoke in a whisper, in a long-dead language, and she could not judge what direction it had come from. It sounded as if two people had spoken, but that might just be an echo effect of the room.

  Emerahl considered what name to give. “I am…” They might not know her real name, she realized suddenly. “I am The Hag.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “To meet you,” she replied.

  “Then drink and be welcome.”

  Emerahl regarded the pitcher suspiciously. The water was so clear she could see the base of the pot inside. Was there anything here to fear? Surely The Gull would not send her into a trap. No, she was just being her usual overcautious self. The invitation was probably a ritual of good manners. Dipping a hand in the water, she lifted some to her lips and sipped.

  Immediately her mouth began to burn. She gasped and backed away, as if that would stop the pain. The sensation began to spread. She touched her face again, alarmed to find that it was swelling rapidly.

  “What…?” she tried to say, but her swollen lips could not form words.

  The Gull said his friend would ignore me if he or she didn’t want to meet me, not kill me! Why would he…? Why would they…?

  Shut up, she told herself. You’ve been poisoned! Deal with it.

  Backing out of the room, she staggered to her boat and collapsed into it. A lethargy was spreading through her body. She had no strength left to cut the mooring line.

  Closing her eyes, she sent her mind inward.

  The poison’s effect was spreading from her mouth, throat and stomach. She halted its progress by blocking the pathways it was taking. Pushing as much as possible back into her throat, she forced it and the liquids it had mingled with out.

  Spitting it out, she sent her mind after poison that had managed to contaminate her blood. A burning sensation led her mind through organs and limbs. She saw that it was too dilute to do much damage. Speeding her heart, she filtered the poison out through the waste organs, gathering it into a little droplet, which she guided out of her body.

  Taking three deep breaths, she opened her eyes and sat up.

  “Congratulations, Emerahl the Hag. You passed the test,” a female voice said.

  “Surely you could have come up with something a little more…polite,” Emerahl replied, scowling.

  A laugh echoed through the cavern. Male and young. So there are two of them, she mused. The voice held no malice, but plenty of irony. She still could not judge where it had come from.

  “If we could have, we would have,” the man replied. “Please forgive us, Emerahl. We had to be sure you were who you said you were.”

  Emerahl rose and stepped out of the boat. “I’d have preferred a riddle.”

  The man laughed again. “Would you? I find them annoying and pretentious.”

  She looked around. “I don’t even know who you are, though I have a few ideas. How am I to test you?”

  “Come through the other cave,” a woman replied.

  Emerahl moved to the entrance and paused.

  “Don’t worry. We do not have any more tests for you.”
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br />   Even so, Emerahl kept her barrier strong as she stepped into the room beyond. It was empty. An irregular stairway led upward. She climbed slowly.

  She emerged in the center of a large cavern. The floor was uneven, and there were holes here and there. On some of the higher levels cushions had been arranged, woven in bright colors. Alcoves had been carved into the walls, holding a variety of homely objects including reed baskets, pottery bowls and wooden statues. There was even a vase of flowers.

  “Welcome, Emerahl. Or do you prefer The Hag?” a woman said from behind her.

  Emerahl turned. A man and a woman sat within two alcoves on the back wall, both pale-haired, handsome and simply dressed. They were so alike they had to be related, confirming her suspicions about their identity.

  “You are The Twins,” she said.

  The man grinned broadly, while the woman’s smile was dignified and almost shy. The sides of their faces wrinkled, drawing Emerahl’s attention to scars that ran down their faces, necks and shoulders.

  Scars? If they are immortals, they should not have scars.

  Then she noticed that the scars, on the woman’s left side, matched those of the man’s, on his right side, and a wave of realization swept over Emerahl. These two had once been joined. The scars were deliberate, perhaps a reminder of their former union.

  “We are,” the woman replied. “I am Tamun.”

  “And I am Surim.”

  “Sun and Moon,” Emerahl translated. “In ancient Velian.”

  “Yes. Our parents thought it might bring luck.”

  “Did it?”

  The pair exchanged a glance, then Surim shrugged. “We grew to be unexpectedly Gifted. Some consider that lucky.”

  “Somewhat,” Tamun agreed, smiling faintly. She looked at Emerahl and grew serious. “Are we forgiven for our little test? There are some tests only an immortal can pass, and we needed to be sure.”

  Emerahl spread her hands. “I guess I might have done the same, if I feared deception.”

  Tamun nodded. “We have heard reports of you from time to time over the centuries. Despite our rude welcome, we have been looking forward to meeting you.”