Hatu had purchased a sleeping mat in a panelled-off area of this inn, shared by strangers and with no real privacy. He slept next to the dead captain’s chest, which he’d placed against the wall.
During the night, Hatu awakened twice, and both times found himself pressed against the sea trunk, dagger in hand, in a room undisturbed save for snoring. He had willed himself back to restfulness using the mind-calming exercises taught to him as a child.
His sleep had been troubled since the witches who had called themselves Sisters of the Deep had freed him, but these disturbing dreams were different from the nightmares and sleep terrors he had experienced during childhood. He remembered no coherent images or memories upon awakening, just a nearly overwhelming sense of approaching doom coupled with a deep feeling of hopelessness. The visions had lessened while he was aboard the Isabela, as hard work brought Hatu a numb, deep sleep, only slightly troubled by terrors.
He’d used what coin he had left to buy a rude breakfast of porridge, half an apple, and a slice of cheese, keeping a hard bread roll for later in the day, and was now lingering over his coffee. It left a sharp aftertaste, but it was bracing and he needed to stay awake until the chest was aboard. If the Sasa Muti sailed at evening tide, he would only be in the way, or put to work, if he arrived more than an hour before they put out to sea.
The inn had two floors of common space and Hatu’s table was on a balcony overlooking the harbour. He had never visited this port before, as his stints as a sailor had been short, if intense. There was no man in service to the masters of Coaltachin who could not pass as a common sailor, even if it was as a poor one; it was a vital skill for an island nation. If you weren’t crew, you were a passenger, and passengers were objects of curiosity. Crew were part of the ship and hardly noticed, especially on short haulers with constant turnover. Sailing provided an easy way for agents of the nation to move between the hundreds of important islands in the region.
Hatu was savoring the nature of this city, if savouring was the right word. He had travelled enough to realise that all ports smelled basically the same: sea salt on the breeze, a damp mix of mildew, rotting fish, and sewage. Cheap inns, rarely cleaned, added the reek of spilled alcohol, unwashed bodies, piss and shit, and a general mouldiness. But the scent of each city also had its own signature, and Halazane held a hint of spices in the air, as it appeared to be a nexus for traders from the surrounding islands. One of the few things that took away Hatu’s frustration and anger was his delight in discovering new things. He knew that all information was potentially useful, even if its use wasn’t immediately apparent.
One of the things that every boy and girl raised on the home island took for granted was the training they received in many different trades and traditions. An agent of the Quelli Nascosti might need to pass as a servant, a travelling pedlar, or a skilled worker, and every child still in training was a potential sicari. Hatu, not yet seventeen years of age, could masquerade as an apprentice in several trades; he knew leather working and dyeing, smithing and weaving. The beauty of being a young agent with modest skills was the ability to seek work in several trades and use the excuse of poor training from an untalented former master.
Hatu sighed as he wrestled with his memories. Trying to reconcile what he now thought of as his normal memories with the visions he had endured since that witch was in his mind struck him hard, a struggle with no obvious outcome, but the conflict was oddly intriguing, too. He felt things he could put no name to, yet they left him with a sense of approaching change, as if what he had glimpsed of his earliest memories was somehow at the root of his lifelong frustrations. Somewhere there was an answer, something that would make sense out of the things he had battled against since he was a toddler. It was a faint hope, but whatever happened in the future, something had changed. The feeling he had that something was closed off had changed abruptly, and he was now curious as to what he would find inside.
Hatu took a measured breath. It would take time to understand, and who knew how much of that he would have. He had to reach home, see whichever master was present, and give a full accounting of his days since leaving Numerset. He attempted to order the events in his mind, beginning with the assassination of the unnamed merchant – unnamed to him, at least; he accepted that he might never know why the man was killed.
He also knew that the news he carried might not earn him any thanks from the masters, especially Kugal when he learned that Hatu had survived and his favourite grandson, Donte, hadn’t. It didn’t matter that Hatu felt his loss, too; the masters and captains rarely showed concern for their underlings. Even Master Kugal’s displays of affection for his only remaining grandson, Donte, had been spare.
Thinking of Donte made Hatu think of Hava, and he couldn’t help but sigh. Now that his friend was gone, he missed Hava more than ever, and in a way he had never felt before. She had intruded on his thoughts at the oddest moments since the Isabela had rescued him. He took a deep slow breath and attempted to put her out of his mind, and stem the growing ache inside.
He failed.
His memory returned to the first time he had seen her; she had been the most pugnacious girl in his group, unafraid to confront anyone, even boys twice her size. Even at that first sight of her, he had been drawn to her; something in her manner touched him, as if he’d found someone who could understand him.
When not being instructed, students on Coaltachin were left to their own devices, which meant establishing a pecking order. Hava stood out because she was a little taller, thinner, and had unusual auburn hair, so she attracted bullies. She quickly established that she could take care of herself, and after receiving a couple of bloodied noses and one broken arm, the larger boys left her alone. She quickly attracted attention among the girls and extended her protection to them as needed, though otherwise she had just two friends, Donte and him. It had always been the three of them.
Hatu had his own unique appearance to deal with, and while he was not the most gifted fighter among the boys, when his anger did surface, he could become deadly. He’d almost beaten a larger boy to death with his bare hands until pulled away by one of the instructors. After that, the other boys gave him a wide berth. Donte could be an instigator at times, but he seemed to sense when Hatu was approaching the limit of his patience and could intervene, even if he couldn’t see any limits for himself. Hava had the ability to calm him like no other, to make him forget his sometimes senseless anger.
Several significant things happened during that time in his life: he started to realise that he was treated slightly differently from the other students and he had grown somewhat isolated because of the distance that difference created.
And he had become even more aware of Hava.
The sense of alienation and his changing feelings for one of his two best friends caused him hours of fretting, as Matron Naniana used to call his low-level, constant worry. She would chide, or attempt to joke him out of it, but all she succeeded in doing was forcing Hatu to hide his feelings even deeper.
The special treatment he received, his not fully understanding his place, those were the concerns that nettled him most. The loss of Donte had made it worse, and now he felt Hava’s absence as a constant pain that was impossible to ignore unless he was busy. Hatu looked down and discovered he was tightly gripping the rail of the balcony, and he willed himself to slowly let it go.
Sipping the last of his coffee, he observed the market below and the harbourside beyond it. Hatu was nearly seventeen years old, and almost counted a man by most nations on Garn, but he’d travelled and seen more than perhaps nine out of ten of the people he now looked down at. Some might have been merchants or sailors who’d travelled among these islands, perhaps even to the east coast of South Tembria, but he had been further than that twice before his sixteenth birthday, whatever day that might have been. He had been told he was an orphan, and his birthday had been arbitrarily placed on the sixth day of the Month of the Falling Stars in the Coaltachin cale
ndar, so tradition and passages associated with age could be observed. It was probably close enough to his true day of birth, so there was little difference. Still, it was just another thing about himself that Hatu would have liked to know. Then he recognised a bit of irony, perhaps even humour, in that; like many who travelled, he had to reconcile the local year, month, and day to his native calendar and found often he was days off by the time he returned home. He could return on what he thought was his birthday only to discover it had occurred days before, so what did the date on the calendar matter?
He sighed as he tried to let go of all the perplexing thoughts in his head and looked down at his empty coffee mug. He didn’t want any more, so he put it down next to the small pot and decided what to do with the rest of his day. Sitting around getting angry over things he could not control was pointless. Longing for the sight of Hava was even more pointless. He might never lay eyes on her again.
The chest sitting at Hatu’s feet had precluded any sort of exploration of the city; wandering around with it on his shoulder would attract too much unwanted attention. A porter on his way to the docks carrying a burden was unremarkable, so his choices were fairly obvious: to waste the day in this inn and deepen his frustration and anger, or to get to the ship early. He sighed with resignation as he took one last long look at the city below. He was acquainted with street life enough to know it was unlikely that he’d find something diverting or unusual enough in Halazane to warrant the effort of losing it.
He gazed at the tableau of the busy market and harbour before him. Hatu had seen a dozen or more others like it during his five years of missions, and they blurred in his recollection; he was uncertain if he could name them, let alone recall anything memorable about most of them. There had been one market that held a stall where spiced meat on a skewer would be carved off and eaten on a bed of rice, covered with a wonderful brown sauce. He suddenly felt angry that he couldn’t identify the place, as he might never have the chance to eat that dish again.
The realization was disappointing, but the anger that came with it was all too familiar. Hatu closed his eyes for a moment and remembered one of the exercises taught him by Master Kugal to calm him. Many situations demanded calm, no matter what was occurring; his life could even depend on it.
His wariness about being put to work on the ship was finally overcome by boredom. Hatu hoisted the chest onto his shoulder, glad it was small and not burdened with heavy contents, and made his way down the stairs to the street leading to the harbour.
He wended his way through the market, noticing small differences in the style of garments, food, and jewellery offered, as well as the array of tools and weapons. He saw a light silk scarf with a clever print pattern and wondered if Hava might like it.
Hava! He could not keep his mind from returning to her. He needed to get aboard that ship and get to work.
She dogged his thoughts, haunted his dreams, and he was unable to stop it. He even recalled the first time she aroused him, to his utter embarrassment, and how Donte dared any of the other boys to make fun of his stiff flesh. Hatu had just knelt down in the cold stream, hiding as best he could.
Male and female students had bathed together in streams near the village for as long as Hatu could remember, or occasionally at one of the communal bathhouses. It was a pleasure everyone looked forward to, for bathing was sometimes impossible for days at a time, and itchy skin and the smell of sour clothing often became a constant companion. Hatu had seen Hava and the other girls naked many times, but that time had been different. Even when just remembering, he still felt the embarrassment.
It had happened during the time his body started to change, when he began to see hair under his arms and around his cock; he had looked for a beard, but it was late in coming, as he was fair. One day the changes were something to simply ignore, and the next he was suddenly painfully aware of how differently girls were looking at him, especially Hava. Since they were little more than babies, he had never been shy around her, and along with Donte she was the closest person in the world to him, so the change had almost made him burst into tears of frustration, for he didn’t understand it and couldn’t talk to her about it.
When he broached the subject with the matrons, they told him to speak to the male instructors, but they had only told him about sex. No one had understood that he wanted to speak about feelings.
That frustration confused things even more, as it always did for Hatu, and made it even harder to speak of how he felt with anyone, even Donte, and especially Hava. That reticence began to change how he behaved with her.
As he dodged through the growing crowds, his mind went back to another day, after his shoulders had started to broaden, his voice to deepen, and when his appreciation of girls had completely changed.
They had been undergoing combat training. The students of the Quelli Nascosti were grounded in every hand-to-hand combat style known, both the traditional and less-than-traditional ones. Using everyday objects as weapons had earned Hatu and the others a good deal of minor injuries. He didn’t mind; instead he learned and became one of the best impromptu fighters in his class.
That day they had been training in stick fighting, a fair foundation for hand weapons of all kinds. Hatu had been paired with Hava for the third round and she defeated him soundly. Donte took him aside and said, ‘What is going on with you? It’s not that she’s beating you; I know she’s good.’ He glanced at Hava as she took up a position before her next opponent. ‘It’s that she’s beating you so easily.’
‘I don’t know,’ Hatu had admitted, his voice revealing his frustration.
Donte had taken a long moment to study his friend, then his eyes widened and he looked from Hatu to Hava and back again. Finally he had said, ‘Ah, now I see. We’ll talk later.’
As the day had worn on, they’d progressed from stick fighting to hand-to-hand combat, which always resulted in skinned knuckles, black eyes, bloody noses, and a general bad mood among the students. The instructors had paired Hava and Hatu once more, and with an easy block, she stepped inside his guard and hit him so that he lost his footing and landed hard, striking the back of his head on the stones sharply enough to daze him.
He didn’t remember getting to his feet or moving to lean against a wall but suddenly found himself there, faint lights dancing in his vision. He vaguely recalled Donte saying, ‘You walked into that one. She’s making you a crazy man.’
Hatu would never admit to Donte that he was right, but he knew it was true. Something about Hava now made his chest constrict and his stomach hurt; it made him want to laugh and cry at the same time. He did not understand the feelings, and as was the case with everything in Hatu’s life, what he didn’t understand simply angered him.
Donte had finished his talk with Hatu by saying, ‘You can’t have her. You know the rules. So forget it, think of her as your sister! Get your mind right.’
From that day on, any fighting or other contests with Hava were hit and miss. Sometimes he could, as Donte said, get his mind right and win. And other days, it was as if he were trying to move through water, hip deep, or run uphill on sand, and she would always be one move ahead of him. There seemed no obvious pattern, so Hatu was convinced it was about focus; when he wasn’t mentally ready, she knew him well enough to sense it and take advantage. He repressed a slight smile at the realization that the older they got, the more aware he was of her as a woman, the more often she took advantage and beat him. For she was gifted enough he had to be totally engaged in the contest to best her. In reality, there was not that big a difference between their combat skills. And, grudgingly, he conceded she was a better archer than he was.
Hatu felt grief rising as his thoughts shifted from Hava to Donte, and on the heels of grief would come anger, so he pushed the memories away and turned his attention back to his immediate surroundings. He had become lost in his reverie for several blocks and that was a gross violation of his training.
Abruptly, Hatu realised he w
as being stalked through the market. Highly trained, despite being lost in thought over a girl, he realised he’d already seen the man dressed in a blue jacket and black floppy hat in the crowd, and he now kept a steady pace off to Hatu’s left, flanking him. The market was a maze of pathways with stalls set up in a rough set of lanes across the square. Hatu made a sudden turn between two stalls and turned again suddenly on the next pathway through the market, then stepped behind a table on which a variety of charms were displayed. He saw the man who had followed him continue on past, missing Hatu’s second turn.
Hatu doubled back the way he had come and took an indirect course to the harbour, checking regularly to see if he was again being followed. He reached the dock and found the Sasa Muti.
He climbed the gangplank and waited at the top to be noticed. A sailor finally took note of him and said, ‘What’s it then?’
‘I was told to come here by Costa.’
The man looked a bit curious but said, ‘Wait.’
Hatu’s wait was a short one as Costa soon emerged from the companionway in the stern. The Sasa Muti was a square-rigged, two-masted lateen. He let his gaze travel from the high and long stern castle to the stout prow; she was a deepwater sailer. Amidst the shallow-draught coast huggers, she stood out like a swan in a school of ducks. Whatever curiosity Hatu might have had about her being in a relatively shallow port left when Costa said, ‘Where have you been?’ He didn’t wait for an answer as he motioned for a nearby sailor to take the chest Hatu carried. ‘My cabin,’ he instructed the man. Unlike before, the broad-shouldered man wasn’t wearing the clothing of a common sailor, but was dressed in well-made, but not ostentatious, garb: fine trousers and tunic, well-cared-for riding boots, and an over-vest of black leather.
King of Ashes [Book One] Page 28
