by Teri Mclaren
"No, no. We will feast in my lodge. You will honor my homecoming with your appetites." Wiggulf laughed. "Frijan, let us bring our guests to a bountiful table. Tell the guards to fish for a feast. The hall will be merry tonight."
"But Father-we have so little. How-?" Frijan began.
"The table of a generous person will never be bare, daughter. We will have plenty." Wiggulf hushed her. "If nothing else, my girl, there seems to be an abundance of crabs!"
Saelin woke up with a fiddler crab on his face. And a few hundred more dancing on his chest.
He lay sprawled upon one of the old bridge pilings, the one closest to the beach. Saelin sat up abruptly, and when the crabs scurried to find their holes, the one on his face dove for the nearest long, thin nostril. Saelin slapped hard at the crab, then recoiled in pain as he smacked his sunburned face, still tender with the cuts from Claria's combs. The assassin bellowed and snorted until the hapless crab was evicted, then sat back down to think about all of the ways he could kill Riolla and get away with it. The sun was going down, and the waves on the Silver Sea had quieted to gentle swells.
"By Nin's empty glass, I must have been here all day," Saelin muttered aloud, taking another swipe at the curious crabs, who had ventured forth sideways from their holes once it seemed safe again. They instantly pulled back into their small dark tunnels, brandishing their blue-and-red claws behind them. But Saelin could still see their little gleaming blue eyes, held high on stalks above their heads. "Stay there, or I'll have you all for dinner!" he threatened.
Instantly, his stomach reminded him that he had not eaten since yesterday. Time to try for the other shore, before he was stuck here all night with the sea fog cold and wet upon him. His outer robes were long gone, shucked against the deadly pull of the cauldron. If he stayed here, he knew he would freeze to death. He looked at the beach and the water between. There was nothing for it.
Saelin removed his short tunic, wound it into a tight ball, and slung it around one shoulder and onto his bare back in hopes of reducing the drag of the water as he swam. He gritted his teeth, smoothed his dark mustache, and dove into the cold sea, thinking about the little music box he had found and left in the sedan chair, wondering if it had survived Riolla's crossing.
Visions of how much kohli it would bring again filled his head: how he would spend it raqa bars, recounting for his guild members how he had never yet lost a single head he'd been sent for. The memory of Cheyne's incredible escape from their first encounter burned in his mind with each stroke toward the shore. And that woman's combs! His freshly opened cuts stung with the salty water. They would probably scar his handsome face… He would bring those combs back as a trophy-perhaps he would even kill the digger with them after he had dispatched the girl.
By the time he reached the shoreline, he had convinced himself that he could find the little clock and had changed his mind about Riolla. But not about Cheyne.
Far down the beach, lavin pulled himself from the swirling surf, clutching in his good hand a waxed linen-bound bundle, red ribbon still tied around it, that he had pulled from the wreckage of Riolla's sedan chair.
"What is that, Muje?" said Doulos, coughing up more of the salty seawater.
"It looks like a little clock-very old. It seems to be dry, despite its recent treatment. Sort of like us. Thank you for your help in the water-I would never have made it without you. Where did you learn to swim so well, Doulos?"
lavin sat back on his haunches and gave the chroni-clave a small shake. When he was satisfied that it had remained watertight, he tried to get it to work. "Oh. It needs a key," he said, turning it over.
"I learned to swim in the Sumifan River, Muje. During the wet months, when I was not the old king's carrier, I worked my birds on the river. When we were children, before he left, my brother Rafek and 1 had twelve cormorants, and they fished for us. The prince sold the fish for much kohli."
Doulos's eyes followed the flight of a waterbird to the far side of the Silver Sea. "I miss my birds, but my friend will care for them now," said Doulos, spotting and retrieving one of the drowned ores' spears, which had washed up a few feet away. "Muje, lost things always find their way home. If there is a key to your clock, we can find it." Doulos smiled. lavin smiled back, humoring him.
"It's a remarkable piece. Probably…" Javin wiped at the smudge on the bottom of the clock. It did not come off. Doulos waited patiently for him to finish. "Probably someone loved it," the archaeologist improvised. The smudge looked like a glyph. In fact, it looked like the same glyph that was on Cheyne's amulet.
"Muje, look… your hand." Doulos frowned.
Javin put the chroniclave down. The scorpion sting had flared again badly, despite the cold seawater and the drawing action of the salt. The wound was turning black and would have to be lanced again before they could go on. Javin took out his knife, shoved it hard into the sand several times, then struck his firestone against a rock. He held the knife over the firestone, and slowly put its heated point to the swollen sore.
When favin came to, Doulos was pouring water over his face with a shell. "Don't worry, Muje. It has been only a little while. But the assassin passed not fifty feet away from us, moving toward the mountain. He must be trying to catch up with his party. You should rest a while. They are taking an easy road; the Schreefa is now on her own feet." He chuckled. "She's taking the old caravan route, I think, so your son must still be going that way. It is probably overgrown, but far more passable than the forest."
"I know that route, Doulos. Come on. We're losing the light. I'll be all right. We have to get to Cheyne."
14
As the odd group walked upriver toward the selkies' lodge, Og dropped back a bit and fell in beside Wiggulf.
"Urn, sire, I was wondering if you could tell me just a bit more accurately when you think the, ah, orcess you left on the bridge piling will be arriving at your lodge to be reunited with her father…" he whispered nervously, thinking Yob could probably still hear him. Wiggulf turned and smiled, his large front teeth white against the shadows of the darkening forest.
"Oh yes, of course. Well, I would suppose her to be coming soon, unless the guards meet trouble. I take it you do not return her affections."
"I have been promised to another for many years," Og said delicately, as Yob's left ear twitched a bit in his direction. "I could never break that vow."
"I see," said Wiggulf, his bright eyes twinkling.
"Soon, you say? When might you be reckoning as soon, sire?" Og waited for more information, but the old selkie held his peace, an odd smile upon his lips. The songmage gave up and caught back up with Cheyne and Claria.
"She's coming. What are we going to do? You know what kind of trouble Womba can be. If she sees me, she'll never let me go. You have to protect me," he pleaded. Cheyne shook his head.
"Og, you have just sung us over the sea, turned a rash of vipers away, and brought Yob back to life. What can we do to protect you? You are holding half of your power again, in case you hadn't noticed," said Cheyne wearily.
It occurred to Og only then that Wiggulf had not asked for the water sapphire to be returned. Even more strangely, Og noted that he had not thought once about stealing the gem for himself. He opened his hand and looked at the stone.
"Oh. So I do," he said quietly.
They walked the next mile in companionable silence, watching the woods for unwanted company, though Wiggulf had agreed with Cheyne that it was unlikely Rotapan would follow them until he could find reinforcements, now that Og had the staff. But Riolla was very resourceful. And Wiggulf was quick to recount that she had long ago allied herself with Drufalden, the queen of the cold country, and the seIkies' other main enemy.
They stopped on a rise about a mile from the lodge. The sentry, a man with skin the color of copper and a head of short, blond hair, saluted Frijan readily, but had to be told his king was also present.
"Forgive me, sire, and be welcomed." Somewhat shaken by Wiggulf s change
d appearance, it was all the young guard could do to sheath his coral knife and lower his bow. "It has been many tides since you were home. There has been much activity here this day. We have watched as a party of three travelers passed on the old caravan road, and then two more came in stealth behind them. The first group appeared to be going toward the queen's mountain, the last seemed to be following them. All wore their hoods low and walked on foot. We could not give them names, though one, strangely, resembled the Wyrvil king himself."
"Thank you, Dunsan. We are bound for the lodge. Send ahead to them," said Wiggulf. "Watch well, my friend. You are the very image of your father, you know."
"Safe waters, sire," said Dunsan heartily, his eyes already back upon the road.
Wiggulf led them on without comment, his thoughts his own counsel in the early gloaming. The forest seemed to grow more dense the closer they came to the lodge, and a light mist swirled among the trees. The nightbirds flew from branch to branch, awaiting the small prey that scurried before the rustle of many tired and noisy feet.
"What do you think Riolla is up to?" Claria whispered to Cheyne.
"Would you credit my words if I told you that I truly do not know? I'm sure it has something to do with the totem, but I know no more."
Claria pulled out her combs and rearranged her hair. "What about your family? Are you alone?" she offered.
"What about them? Javin is all I have. He's just a foster father. Not the real thing. And right now, he has enough to concern him with worrying about me ever finding anything else about who I am."
Claria said in amazement, "You don't know who your family is? You don't have a name? But you are foreign- surely you have a name from your home country."
"Did I introduce myself with one? No, I have no name. No home country, either. That's why I'm going to the Sarrazan forest. The elves-"
"That's your final destination? Cheyne, there are no maps of the Borderlands. That place is so strange that time itself seems to bend around it. The elves come out of the forest only to trade their wares. What makes you think you will find them when they don't want to be found?"
"I have seen one in Sumifa. They are the only ones who might know."
"That's absurd. There haven't been elves in Sumifa since-"
"I know, since before the Wandering." Cheyne sighed, recalling receiving the same reply during his futile search for the tall elf in the city. "But I did see one, and if he isn't in Sumifa any longer, at least I know he came from the Sarrazan forest. As I said, the elvish potters are the ones who will know."
"Know what?"
"About the last glyph on the totem I found at the dig. They still know the language. They use it on their wares as decoration."
"The totem… that's your quest, isn't it? You think the totem is your real family's." The picture of her chroniclave and its matching glyph flashed in her mind for the first time since she had opened Kalkuk's crate. "What has this got to do with the Armageddon Clock? I thought that's what we were after."
"That's probably what Riolla is after. That's what Og is after, I suppose it's what even you are after. I told you back in Sumifa that I was no treasure hunter."
Claria backed off. "So you did. Fair enough. I never thought you really meant it, though. I've never known a man who would swim oceans and wrestle vipers and tramp across deserts for anything that he couldn't spend. You are a very unusual man, Cheyne… forgive me."
"It's all right. Sorry you won't get what you came for."
"I have no name, either," she went on, ignoring his last comment. "I was about to have one-Maceo would have given me his. I would have been queen for the rest of my days. He told me so, and I believed it would have been true. People would have respected me, would have had me to tea and named their children after me. I wouldn't have had to lift a hand- Neffians everywhere. But now that won't happen."
"If that was your only choice, I wouldn't be too sorry if I were you."
"How would you know what it's like to live in Sumifa without a name? How would you know what that feels like? People won't look at you, won't meet your eyes. They talk about you as though you weren't in the room, if they let you in the room to begin with."
"I just meant that you seem like someone who needs more out of life than to be waited on."
"Oh… like what?"
"Like a regular challenge, something that would make your talents shine, keep your mind sharp. You handle those combs like an assassin handles blades. You don't run from a fight-in fact, I'd bet you go looking for them sometimes, don't you? A woman like that doesn't sit still and be waited on very well."
Claria turned her head from him, letting the darkness hide how flattered she really was. Something about this cool-headed outlander confused her, made her think of herself differently than the way she had planned her life. Trouble was, she rather liked it. Though she had crossed the desert, been attacked by hostiles, and swam against time and tide to save her life, she had never had a better time in all her city-living days. Cheyne wasn't hard to look at, either. And he was right. Thoughts of herself as the queen of the citadel were somehow less appealing out here. She considered all that she might have had with Maceo, against what she had now-the only thing she truly owned, the chroniclave. It didn't seem so uneven anymore. As she turned the possibilities of what the matching glyph on the chroniclave's base might mean, one thing was becoming very clear. She would have to tell Cheyne about it, whether it meant giving up her inheritance or not.
"I have something to tell you…" she began weakly, but he did not hear her.
"Look, that must be the floating city." He pointed through the trees at what looked like a marooned forest, piles of timber and branches stuck on a bit of rock in the sluggish stream. And along the water's edges, bits of debris tilted and bunched, frozen in an icy, haphazard hedge.
Wiggulf stopped to take in the sight of his home. Then he began to cry. "What has happened to it?"
"The ice queen has frozen the mother waters, Father. Barely a trickle of the mighty stream that once flowed under our feet in the lodge remains liquid. Our people are starving for fish and have taken to hunting the forest, instead-I tried to tell you how little food we have. But you are home now. All that will change," said Frijan.
"It looks to me like the river is still pretty high," said OgWiggulf shook his head slowly. "Not a tenth of it remains passable. None of the rock used to show. Where the stream passes under the lodge, there-that is the way all of it once was." He halted them at the icy shoreline and waited for the guard to appear.
Cheyne found himself fighting to focus on the misty island in the middle of the river, but after awhile, if he persisted in looking at just the same place, it took more definite form. He could make out what looked like a log jam, huge trees cut down and hauled into place to form a sort of floating barrier. A very effective one, he thought. If people tried to walk out on that, falling would be inevitable, and if the cold water didn't kill them, the disturbed logs banging together could easily crush swimmers before they ever got to the lodge. Then from the mist itself, Cheyne thought, six more selkies appeared before them and saluted Frijan.
"Your king is home. Clear the way for him and his guests," she commanded, and they immediately dove under the icy logjam, disappearing in the dark waters. In a few moments, the timbers parted, and several huge otters bobbed and swam in the wake.
"Go, ore. They will see that you don't drown, fust lie back and relax," said Wiggulf.
Yob obeyed, having little strength to do otherwise. The otters caught him from underneath and ferried him somewhat roughly to the lodge, but his head never sank below the waterline.
"Can't you do some magic here, Og? I don't want to dip into that water again." Claria stood frowning at the river's edge.
"I'm a little worn out, if you please. And I haven't had a drink since before we left Sumifa," said Og, his eyes bleary and tired behind his huge, sun-blistered nose.
"Are there no rafts?" asked Cheyne.
&nb
sp; "We keep nothing around that would provide access to our lodge by our enemies. Unfortunately, it discomfits our friends as well. It will be a quick crossing, though the water will be unnaturally cold," said Frijan to the others. "Concentrate on your breathing and know that we will be there to bear you up should you falter."
Claria set her jaw and went next, under her own power, then Og with Cheyne's help. Wiggulf and Frijan brought up the rear, visible only as sleek, dark streaks under the low fog.
As the cold, black water swirled around his head, Cheyne felt rinsed of the layers of salt from the seawa-ter, his skin soothed by the river's gentle current. But for Og clinging to his back, he could almost have fallen asleep, sinking down into frigid peace, forgetting why he had ever wanted to be anywhere else. At length, Claria brushed against him, and he reached numbly for the rock that appeared in front of him.
"Cheyne, are you all right?" She crawled up after him onto the river-worn boulder.
"I think so. Yes." He shook his head, clearing it, his thoughts coming sharper and faster again. A few seconds passed before Wiggulf and Frijan appeared from behind them.
"You did well. Despite our best efforts, the water is still fouled with deathsleep from Drufalden's cold heart. Let's get inside where the fires are. You're all shaking," said Frijan, climbing over the smooth rocks to a wooden platform.
Og slung off his pack and dripped steadily, regard2 1 6
Teri McLaren
ing the selkie's blue-and-purple earring, which he still clutched tightly in his hand.
"I might be able to help you," the songmage managed to stutter, despite his chattering teeth. "But I'll need to ask to keep your stone," he added quietly, his eyes upon Wiggulf.
"My daughter knows the state of our affairs with Drufalden far better than I at this time, Ogwater. I must defer to her judgment."
Frijan shrugged, pointing to the doorway. "When Drufalden's heart thaws, the river will be warm and the fish will return. Until then, we suffer her icy curse. And we need the stone. I can never give it up."
