The Ship of Tears_The Legend of the Nine_Part One

by T. J. Garrett

  He shook off the thought; the witches had the lier’sinn, it would not take long to arrange escorts and secure travel through the Cistern.

  You are too distrustful, he told himself. Gyna has never seen you wrong. Just settle down, or you will be no use to anyone.

  “Thank you, Gyna,” he said, voice as calm as he could manage without grimacing. “Three days will have to do.”

  Aleria clapped her hands together. “Good, that’s settled. Now, I suggest we organise provisions for our journey. A small pack of dried fish each should suffice.” She eyed Gyan, then Cal. “Maybe a large pack for you two. We’ll do an inventory after dinner and leave for Lop first thing. How does that sound?”

  “Are you coming?” Daric asked. He could not keep the surprise from his voice.

  “Of course I am. My days of guarding the Rainstone are over – ‘that ship has sailed’? Is that the saying you use? Besides, with the Karakin loose, you will need all the help you can get. Another Oracle on your side will not harm your prospects.”

  “I don’t know,” Daric said. “If Brea finds out I’ve dragged you into my fight…”

  “Oh, she already knows,” Aleria said. “And it is not just your fight, Colonel Re’adh. Once those monsters get off that island, there will be no hiding from them. No, it is high time we started building alliances. It will take a joint effort to defeat this enemy.”

  Daric felt his lip crease up into a grin.

  At least someone has a plan, he thought.

  “Go on then,” Aleria said. “Why are you all just standing there? Hop to it.”

  Again, Daric laughed. Yes, one hundred and fifty or not, he could have kissed the woman.

  CHAPTER 8

  The Tandrian Blade

  “All right, that’s enough,” Daric said, after banging on the door for the sixth time. “Where are they, Gyna? You said they would be here to meet us.”

  They were outside the temple, the one above the Cistern, the beach at their back, the pristine courtyard to their right. There was no sign of any Ulroch, never mind the so-called priest Gyna had promised would be there to meet them.

  “Maybe they are busy,” Brin said. Brea’s father was wearing plain travel clothes. He was carrying a long staff that reminded Daric of the one Olam had and was being surprisingly talkative, considering Daric had not heard the man say more than ten words in all the time he had been in Kunadi. “Deal or not, they don’t want us using their Cistern,” Brin went on. “I doubt they would need much of an excuse to find something else to do.”

  “Doing what?” Cal asked. “And they can’t all be busy.” He gestured with a sweeping arm, taking in the courtyard and the temple grounds to the west. “Where is everyone? Other than the man outside that inn, I have not seen a single Ulroch, priest or otherwise.”

  “It is morning,” Gyna said. “I told you, they pray in the mornings. Just wait a while, someone will be along.”

  Gyan and Aleria were the only two not standing under the portico by the big door. Nana, who had not long since regain her strength after the stabbing at the hands of that Kel’madden trooper, was leaning against the wide frame. Cal, for what must have been the tenth time, was trying to force the door open. Brin was standing behind the woodsman, eyeing the courtyard like some lookout at a burglary, and Daric was sitting on his pack, taking advantage of the shade beneath the portico.

  “We should go to the inn,” Nana said. “Come back in an hour. If Gyna is right, they will likely be upset if we disturb their prayers.”

  “What about a back door?” Brin said. “There must be more than one way to this temple.”

  “And what do we do if we get inside?” Nana said. “We can’t use the Cistern without one of the Ulroch opening the gateway. You’ll just be making them angry – they’ll likely throw us out and forget they ever agreed to help. No, better we wait.”

  It was interesting how Nana only ever argued a point after Brin had said something, Daric noticed. Stranger, the man himself seemed not to notice. Gyna did, she shot Daric a knowing grin, then nodded at the Toyan with a comical just-listen-to-her look on her face.

  Daric returned her grin. It was nice to see a little romance blossoming, he thought, a pleasant change from all the strife they had experienced of late – even if Brin was old enough to be Nana’s father. Nice thought, yes, but this was not getting them any closer to Whitecliff.

  “Nana is right,” he said. “We can’t risk them going back on the deal. We will go to the inn, come back in an hour or two.”

  Gyan nodded her agreement. “Besides, Ban and Lyduk won’t reach the border until tomorrow night at the earliest. We gain nothing by rushing.”

  Daric sighed. He had forgotten about that. Even if they went straight to the tower this minute, they would still have to wait at least a day before the dragons caught up with them, then maybe another half-day while Ban and Lyduk rested from their flight north.

  Stop grinding your teeth at things you can’t control, he told himself. We’ll get there when we get there.

  And that was the problem, was it not? He wanted to get there today.

  Daric gathered his pack and turned toward the road…

  Then stopped when he heard the door open behind him.

  Brin was the closest. “Hello?” he said. He was looking through the gap the door made in the frame. “Anybody there?”

  “Young man,” a deep voice said. “If you thought there was nobody here, then why have you been knocking this past half hour?”

  The huge door swung open, and the tallest Ulroch Daric had yet seen stood in the frame. The top of her head almost brushed at the lintel. Brin’s shoulder barely came up to her knee. She was dressed in the long robes of a priestess and was holding a staff the length of a barge pole in one enormous hand. Her dark eyes took in the scene. She did not look happy.

  Abruptly, Gyna pulled Brin away and knelt before the giant. “Your pardon, Magryn, we did not know—”

  “Well, that much is obvious, Gyna. Why are you south of the canyon? I thought you were studying those tunnels. What has that woman got you doing now? Stand up, child. You are giving me neck ache.”

  Gyna stood. Tall as she was, her shoulder barely reached Magryn’s waist.

  “We are on our way to rescue a friend from deep peril,” Gyna said. She gestured toward Daric. “An evil man has kidnapped Colonel Re’adh’s wife. They are holding her just outside Whitecliff. Ranyr has agreed to grant us passage as far as the Belkyn.”

  “Has he now?” Magryn said, looking Daric up and down. “And when did the Cisterns become a tool for the humans?”

  Daric felt his heart sink in his chest. She was not going to let them through; the gods-cursed priestess was going to turn them away. Why had he agreed to this? Cal had already told him the Ulroch had closed the temple. Why had he not listened to his first instinct and forced Aleria to send him through Arenthenia?

  His mind flashed to thoughts of the dragons. Could Gyna call them back? And if so, how much more time would that add to their journey?

  “Our need is great, Magryn,” Gyna said. “We would not have asked were it not.”

  Magryn looked unimpressed. “And why not send word to the palace? Whitecliff is but a two-day ride on a fast horse. Why must you attend to this deed, Colonel Re’adh?”

  “Because the palace cannot risk conflict with Lord Breen,” Daric said, voice flat. “They are too weak from the siege to chance a civil war.”

  His voice was quiet, barely loud enough to carry. He sat down on a stone wall, the crushing weight of dread twisting his gut. Magryn was not going to let him use the Cistern, and there was nothing he could do to force her hand.

  “Lord Breen?” Magryn said. She glanced at Gyna, then down at Daric. “And are you going to rescue your wife? Nothing about the other?”

  “The other what?” Daric asked.

  Magryn gave no answer. Instead, she about-faced and marched back into the temple. “Come with me,” she shouted without looking b
ack.

  At Magryn’s nod, another Ulroch joined their group. Daric thought he was this Ranyr Gyna had mentioned. Whoever he was, he said nothing as they all followed Magryn down a long passageway.

  “Where are we going?” Daric whispered to Gyna.

  The half-Ulroch shrugged. “I’ve never been this far. To tell you the truth, I did not think the temple went this deep.”

  “Deep?” Daric said. He could not remember having gone down any steps.

  “We are inside the hills, those which run west of the beast toward the cliffs.”

  “Doesn’t look like any tunnel I’ve ever seen,” Brin said.

  He was right; the passage had not changed. The same light colour bricks, the same ceiling, the same tiled floor; someone had gone to a lot of trouble to make this tunnel look like the rest of the temple.

  It was getting colder, though, and their echoing footsteps were louder than they had been.

  Daric was just about to ask how much further they had to go, when he saw a white stone arch loom up in the distance.

  They passed through the arch and entered a wide cavern.

  “Well, this looks familiar,” Daric said.

  He was looking at the walls; they were covered in the same childish paintings as those he had seen under the Belkyn Tower. Pictures of men chasing huge bull-like creatures, a group gathered around what was maybe a fire, more worshipping before a round altar. As Daric scanned the walls, he noticed not all the images were paintings; some were chiselled out of the stone, then coloured in. One image, on the far wall, was maybe three spans high. It depicted a sun with straight beams of yellow light filling a sky full of weird birds…

  Only they were not birds; they were dragons, thousands of them.

  “Did that really happen?” he asked Magryn.

  “Yes,” she said. “Three thousand years ago, when the dragon clans fled Cabash.”

  “What were they fleeing from,” Brin asked, and Nana added, “More dragons?”

  “Never mind what they were fleeing from,” Magryn said. “That is not why we are here. Now, pay attention.”

  They were standing in front of a plinth which looked remarkably like one of the altars from the wall painting. Magryn stood on one side, Daric and his group on the other.

  The plinth had been built for an Ulroch’s height, but despite its size, Daric could see the bowl carved into the top. There were also carvings of what looked like pyramids, only flat. Whoever had carved them did not understand perspective.

  Magryn cleared her throat. “There is something odd going on in Whitecliff,” she said.

  Daric stifled a laugh. “You don’t need to tell me that.” He remembered rescuing the seaguards from the stocks, being chased by those fanatics, and escaping through the portal Gialyn had made. Yes, there was something odd all right; half the town was crazy, and it was all Lord Breen’s doing. And now his wife was stuck in the middle of it.

  Magryn gave him a flat look. “Is there something you wish to add, Colonel?”

  Daric raised his hands. “No, nothing. Sorry.”

  “As I was saying,” Magryn went on, “there is something odd going on around Whitecliff. Odd, and likely dangerous, or we would not have felt it this far south.” She gestured toward Ranyr, “Some of us believe there is a tear in the Balance, others say one of the Ventriarchs has decided to make themselves known. Either way, it spells trouble for Aleras, which means trouble for the rest of Moyathair. For as I am sure you are all aware, what happens in Aleras rarely stays in Aleras. To that—”

  “Bar’deth,” Cal said, voice almost a whisper.

  Again, Magryn sighed. “And you, Master Woodsman, do you have something to add?”

  “Only that I received a message not twelve hours ago, speaking of an Ambieth Raic travelling west from Eiras. He has three of the Godstone shards – I’m betting that would be enough to cause your tear.”

  Magryn folded her arms. She appeared suddenly angry. “And how, by all the gods, would an Ambieth Raic come by a single Godstone shard, never mind three of them?”

  “He stole them, of course. Like I said, he’s a Raic.”

  Magryn looked like she was chewing the inside of her cheek as she regarded the Cren. It was strange seeing someone look down at Cal from such a great height. Yes, Gyan was a head taller, but Magryn was more than twice his height.

  “I do not think your Raic caused our tear,” Magryn finally said. “Whatever caused the imbalance has been in place for some months, and you say this Raic is just now travelling west?”

  Cal nodded.

  “Then your Raic is a problem for later; the Whitecliff issue must be our priority.”

  She fumbled around inside the altar, then seemed to pull something – a lever? Behind her, part of the wall first dropped back, then slid to the side. The door it made was tiny, no bigger than a kennel trap.

  Magryn turned to Daric. “You are small,” she said. “Go in there. You will find an iron box no bigger than a loaf of bread. Bring it out here. And mind my words, touch nothing else.”

  Daric looked at the gap in the wall. Yes, he was small, relatively, but even he would have to crawl through the dark opening. “Maybe Nana should go,” he said. “She’s smaller than me, and I might knock something…”

  Magryn was shaking her head. “You are the one in need of it; you must be the one to go in and get it.”

  “Get what?”

  Magryn said nothing.

  “All right,” Daric said. “If that’s the way it has to be.”

  He made his way over to the opening and crawled inside, his shoulder scraping against the stone. Why a room in an Ulroch temple had such a tiny door was beyond him.

  Once through, he moved to the side, hoping the light from the outer chamber would light his way. But as it happened, there was no need; the walls were glowing.

  “This again,” Daric whispered. “It’s just like that chamber under the black pool.”

  The room was full of dusty old boxes, many covered in gossamer thin cobwebs. Most were small, no bigger than a flint case. There were two the size of travel chest and one no bigger than a large loaf of bread.

  “I guess you are the one,” he told the box.

  But he was still on his knees, and when he picked up the loaf-sized box, the small one on top of it slipped down. Daric managed to grab the little box before he hit the hard floor. It opened in his hand, and a delicate pendant rolled onto his palm. The pendant was warm, and shone brighter than the light in the small room would suggest it might.

  As Daric watched, tiny tendrils unwrapped themselves from the pendant and made eight thin legs. Doing a good impression of a spider, the pendant raced up Darics arm. He let out a yell as the pendant tangled itself in his hair.

  “What is happening in there?” Magryn said.

  “Nothing,” Daric said. “I just banged my ankle. I see the box; I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “Hurry up,” Magryn said. “And remember, don’t touch anything else. There are dangers in there you would not believe.”

  “Now she tells me,” Daric whispered.

  He tried to untangle the pendant from his hair, but it was stuck fast. In fact, it was spreading. Daric could feel the tendrils reaching across his scalp. Frantically, he tried to pull the pendant free, forcing his nails up and under the small, flat orb, but the more he pulled, the more those tendrils wound themselves into his hair. At this rate, he would have to shave it all off.

  “Have you found it yet?” Magryn shouted. Her voice was loud; she must be kneeling in front of the door. “Hurry it up, Colonel, we don’t have all day.”

  “I’m coming,” he said.

  It was no good; he would have to take care of the pendant later. Meanwhile, he brushed his hair down, pulled up his collar – the pendant had secured itself to the nape of his neck, just above his hairline – and grabbed the loaf-sized box.

  “I’m here,” he said.

  Magryn was at the door. She was kneeling. He waite
d for her to move before leaving the small room. He did not want her looking directly down at where the pendant was.

  That done, he stood and handed her the box.

  “Took you long enough,” she said. “What kept you?”

  “As I said, I hit my ankle.”

  Magryn shot him a suspicious glare. “And you didn’t touch anything other than this box? Because I will know if you have.”

  “Nope,” Daric lied. “Not a thing. Other than what I hit with my ankle, of course.” He could not help patting down the hair at the nape of his neck.

  Magryn did not look convinced, but said no more. Box in hand – a very big hand; the box looked like a tup-stick case – she walked over to the altar. Placing the box where the carved bowl would be – had she not covered it with her cloak – she beckoned them forward, arranging everyone, so they were in a half circle with the altar in the middle.

  After taking a steadying breath – she looked suddenly nervous – she said, “You are to tell no one of what you see here. You may take the knife with you, but you will tell no one you have it. Even should someone already appear to know, you admit nothing, not even to another Ulroch. Do you understand?”

  Daric had not heard much beyond her saying there was a knife in the box, but he followed the other’s example with a sincere nod.

  “Are you going to give us a Tandrian blade?” Aleria asked. “Because if you are, I should be the one to keep it.”

  “You keep it,” Magryn said, “you use it. Is this woman you seek to rescue your daughter?”

  “No,” Aleria said.

  “Then you cannot wield the blade, Oracle. Only blood can spill blood with a Tandrian blade. If you tried, you would fail, and likely kill yourself in the process.”

  “Maybe so,” Aleria said. “But I’d just as soon keep a hand on it until needed. No one here can control their dreams the way I can; it would be dangerous to give it to the colonel.”

  “Not if the blade remains inside the box.”

  Aleria shrugged. “Still,” she said, “I would be hap—”

  “Oh, for the gods…” Daric said. “Be quiet, Aleria. We haven’t even seen the thing yet.”