"I still don't understand why we're carrying this thing across the desert," Allette said.
"Have you ever tried to make a boat out of sand?" Thundegar asked.
Allette didn't respond at first. "I flew over this place, and I don't see how this canoe could possibly be of use. This is craziness."
"You flew over the Jaga once, and you know all its secrets? Be happy for the shade," Thundegar said, again refusing to explain the canoe. It infuriated Allette, but she could get no more from him, and she saved her air. Sweat stung her eyes, and she cursed under her breath. What irritated her most was the fact that they had somehow found the strength to do it, proving her wrong. It had seemed impossible, but Thundegar had insisted they could do it, so they had. Most of the sandy desert was behind them, and ahead lay a dry, cracked landscape. Behind, as if teasing them, the sound of thunder echoed. The rains had come to the Heights days ago, yet none of that precious moisture fell on this parched landscape that so desperately needed it. This added to her frustration as much as anything.
After a bad step, the rough-hewn oar strapped across her shoulders along with her two staves smacked her in the back of the head, and she thought she might scream. Why couldn't it rain here? And why were they still carrying this useless canoe across the desert? Again the land threatened to turn her ankle, and Allette saw that they had reached the ends of the massive expanse of broken land that looked like cracklature. Their progress was slowed further, and now Allette's neck ached from trying to watch her footing.
Looking at Thundegar's back, she asked herself why she was following this crazy old man, asked herself why she didn't just go back and try to sneak her way on to a dragon flight. She'd seen the worst the forest and desert had to offer, and she could go wherever it was she chose. The power of the land spoke to her, and she could sense its awareness of her arrival. Here, where the land was but a husk, she could feel little, but there was nonetheless something there: anticipation. Even with all her complaints, the sight of Thundegar, walking before her in the shade of the canoe yet still wearing that ridiculous hat made her smile. He'd asked if she wanted one, and even offered to show her how to make one for herself, but that had been after he had showed her how to cut the canoe out of a downed tree, and she'd been in no mood for any of his suggestions. Why did one need a hat if they were carrying a canoe?
"This'll do just fine," Thundegar said unexpectedly. Groaning as they did, they lowered the canoe to the sun-tortured land. Rastas quickly lay beside it, trying to stay within whatever shade it provided. "Come on, you crazy cat, get in the boat," Thundegar said, and he stretched a blanket over a section of the canoe to provide a meager amount of shade. Rastas did as he was told, which showed Allette just how unhappy the cat really was. The desert was quite obviously a bad place for a cat. All of this contributed to the sour feeling in Allette's gut. What were they doing out here? Adding to her worry, Thundegar unstrapped his oar and staves from his back and climbed into the canoe. With his oar over his knees, he pulled his hat down over his face. "You might as well get some sleep," he said. "You'll need all the energy you can get for later."
Allette grunted. Of course she'd need her energy; she would, after all, have to carry their useless canoe. And how was she to sleep with the sun in her eyes. At that moment, she questioned the wisdom of ignoring Thundegar's lesson in hat making. Now that she had the desire for a hat, she had no raw materials. Glumly she acknowledged that she couldn't make a hat out of sand either. The admission did little to improve her mood. In the end, she settled into the bottom of the boat and squeezed her head under the blanket where Rastas lay. He gave her a dubious look when she first pushed her way into the space he already occupied, but he gave a resigned huff and shifted himself to make room for her. The heat was still unbearable, but at least the sun was out of her eyes and not causing the skin on her face to burn any further. Never would she have guessed just how powerful the sun could be in the desert; it was as if Vestra shone more brightly there and would scald any who chose to defy him.
Thoughts of the gods were not something Allette had ever been comfortable with. Her father had always cast offerings to them into the sea, but that had seemed more ritual than observance. Now she felt the light of the sun god as if it were fire and she reconsidered. What if the gods were real after all? What if the comets were more than just beautiful? She'd always loved to watch them in the skies, and they rewarded her by coming in larger and larger numbers. It was hard to look into the night sky without seeing a comet these days, and Allette pondered the legends of the goddess while trying at the same time to find sleep. Rest was impossible to find, though. She was hot and sweaty and cramped, and even if she'd been comfortable, the flurry of thoughts and emotions that filled her would not be denied. In the quiet of her mind, the thoughts pounded against her resolve, and she nearly cried.
The sun went down of its own accord and mostly unnoticed. Allette had entered a world of half sleep and half worry, and though she was not entirely conscious, she was somehow still aware of her surroundings. Around her came the sound of something that her soul recognized instinctively. Like an old friend, it called to her, softly at first then more loudly. When Allette came awake, she found herself lying supine in the bottom of the canoe, Rastas's rear end pressed against her face, and one of his paws rested on her nose. Above her, the skies were alive with a slight moon, stars, and dozens of comets, casting plenty of light to see by and plenty of light to be reflected by the unexpected miracle around them. Allette watched in awe as water bubbled up from the ground as if by magic. She shifted her eyes over to Thundegar, who still slept. The sound of his snoring was perhaps the only thing that convinced her he was not casting some spell. She'd heard of such things before, but she had never thought to see such a thing for herself. Water sprang from the land, a true treasure indeed.
It took only a few more minutes until the water began to gather around them, and sooner than Allette would have imagined, the canoe began to drift. Even more amazing and terrifying were the other things that now moved in the water. It seemed unfathomable that anything could have been living in that dried-out place, but just as the water had sprung from nowhere, so did life. Thundegar finally came awake when something large slammed into them.
"Oh. Well. It's begun then, has it?" he asked.
"Uh, yeah," Allette said.
"Keep your hands in the boat. Don't touch the water if you don't absolutely have to. These things haven't eaten in months."
That thought struck Allette with terror. She'd always dealt with the fear of drowning at sea; it was what had kept her alive for most of her life. The thought of hungry monsters surrounding her was perhaps the most frightening thing she'd ever experienced. In that instant, she was so grateful for their canoe that she could find no words. Never would she have guessed such a thing was possible. Had they come without a canoe, then they would have already traveled farther, but this lake would have suddenly sprung up around them filled with danger.
"Once it's deeper, it'll be less dangerous, but only by a small margin," Thundegar said. "If you end up in the water, try not to panic. Be sure not to tip the canoe over in your effort to get back in. You understand me?"
"Yes, sir," Allette said.
"The cat needs to stay in the canoe. You hear that, cat? Stay in the boat."
Rastas gave the man a look that said he was no fool. Allette wasn't certain what talking to the cat would accomplish, but he seemed to have no interest in going into the water on his own, and that was enough for her. The growing lake grew deeper by the hour, and Thundegar guided them around areas where the surface churned. This became increasingly difficult as the night wore on, and when the moon reached its zenith, Allette dipped her paddle in the water, uncertain it would come back out. A riot of activity filled the still only waist-deep expanse.
"How did you know?" Allette asked, now in awe of this man who had saved them from near certain death.
"About the water?" he asked, turning to grin a
t her.
"Yes," she said softly, afraid to let the fish and whatever else was in that muddy slurry know she was there. Long, sleek bodies erupted sporadically from churning water, and she'd no desire to know what those things were.
Thundegar just shrugged. "Happens every year."
Allette flushed. She was a fool. In this place she knew nothing. Here she was but a child, and that shamed her. Always before she'd been strong. Even when she'd failed, she had failed with strength. "I'm sorry I didn't trust you."
Thundegar laughed. "So you've considered what it would be like to be swimming right now?"
"I have."
"I won't belabor the point then," he said, and she silently thanked him for it; she was embarrassed enough. "You see that big comet there, the one with the streaks of red and green in its tail?"
"Yes."
"Just behind its tail there's a star. It used to be brighter, but you can still see it," Thundegar said. "That's what we're aiming for."
"Yes, sir."
"Things are going to change a great deal around here in a hurry. The water is just the beginning."
Allette didn't like the sound of that. She also didn't like knowing just how wrong she had been. It shook her confidence and made her wonder if she could trust her own instincts in the middle of all this land. The water here was a mixed blessing; it gave them an easier route in what Allette now knew was the perfect mode of transportation in this new lake. The nighttime air cooled, and the water seemed to draw the heat out of everything. Allette went from feeling as if she'd been in an oven all day to shivering from the sudden damp cold. Rastas curled up between her legs and shared his warmth with her, which helped. Sudden changes in weather were something Allette clearly understood, and she just did her best to take advantage of the cool. She put her oar back in the water and rowed with renewed vigor.
"Good," Thundegar said. "You're correct to want to cross as swiftly as possible. Things will become more difficult as we go."
The man failed to elaborate on his warnings, which annoyed Allette to a certain extent. There had been no reason to be secretive about the water, and there was no cause to hold back details on how things might become so much more difficult for them in the future. Would it not be better if she were prepared for whatever threat awaited? Part of her wanted to admit that he had taught her a powerful lesson in his secrecy and that perhaps she hadn't yet earned his confidence. Perhaps she was not yet worthy of knowing whatever it was he so obviously held back.
When Vestra announced his coming in the false dawn, Allette saw something she hadn't expected, at least not so soon, yet there it was: a tangled mass of white and green. Floating in gathering clumps were colonies of sprouting greenery. At the first blush of light, the plants seemed to reach for the sun, yearning for the only god that had graced the skies of Godsland for thousands of years. This god they all knew, this god was predictable and reliable. Istra was a fickle goddess, and her light brought with it great uncertainty. Perhaps she had never given the gods true consideration, she thought, and it occurred to her that she would now learn of them whether she wanted to or not. Choice was no longer hers, ignorance no longer an option.
While Thundegar slept, Allette rowed, aiming for a spot in the sky she hoped was where the star had been. She was aided in that by the same thing that concerned her so much now. The bloom had continued to gain momentum as the sun fed the ravenous blanket of greenery. The floating masses grew larger and denser, and the way ahead looked as if it were entirely blocked, and only when she pushed them farther into the growing tangle of new growth was she able to find a way that was clear. Behind her was a trail left in the carpet of green that was straight and narrow, though farther back, nearly out of her vision, she thought she could see the vegetation closing back in.
Still she paddled in a dreamlike state, not quite certain all she was seeing was real. Flowers bloomed and insects danced amid the eruption of life. It assaulted Allette's senses, and she continued to paddle even after Thundegar awoke and could have taken over. Together they made better time, and Allette rowed in a trance. Eventually she felt hands around her wrists. Her arms had stopped moving, perhaps some time ago, she didn't know. Thundegar pried the oar from her hands and laid it in the bottom of the boat. Darkness had come again, and Thundegar bade her to sleep. She was unable to argue.
* * *
Standing at the prow of the Maker's Mark, Becker Dan wondered at the course his life had taken and how quickly he might find the end of his days. With no coin and no real plan, the faith his crewman had in him was waning, and it was only a matter of time before Mord made them a better offer. Honor can stand up to greed for only so long, and he had to admit that wanting to get paid for your labors was hardly greed. Still, it felt like a betrayal. The captain must be turning in his grave, if he was truly dead. Becker could find no other explanation that made any sense. From all the evidence he could find, it appeared the captain had gambled in a big way and lost.
This was a big part of Becker's problem. The man they had all looked up to had let them down. At the least, Captain Kilbor had betrayed their trust, and this made it increasingly difficult to muster loyalty. Becker would forever be seen as second to the man who had betrayed them. Most knew Mord was a greedy scoundrel unworthy of complete trust, yet all knew him to be ruthlessly efficient. A man such as Mord could fill your coin purse if you didn't mind his methods. Becker knew he would need to go along with Mord for a time. Eventually he would find a way off the ship. The next time they came even close to civilization, he would leave the Maker's Mark behind. The ship had been his home and his life, but if he didn't escape, she would also be the death of him. If the crew decided to follow Mord, then Becker would quickly find himself on the long end of a short plank.
At that moment, though, there was little to do but sail. The familiar rhythm calmed the men and gave Becker a chance to think. Plans formed in his mind, and he contemplated their weaknesses and what he must do to prepare. Of all the seas he'd sailed in his life, these were perhaps the most treacherous. As if to prove his point, he saw the lookout scrambling down the mast from the crow's nest. They had been sailing under an order of silence, and the man was breathing hard by the time he reached where Becker stood. At least the men still came to him, Becker thought. Mord moved to his side, and the lookout addressed him when he spoke. Becker frowned.
"Ship in the distance, due west," he said, "black as night and limping under partial sail."
Making a ship look wounded was an old trick used to draw pirates, and Becker immediately suspected a trick. "It could very well be a trap," he said before Mord could speak. The other man cast him a baleful glare.
"There's always risk," Mord said. "That is why most cowards don't become sailors."
The hook had been baited, but Becker wasn't biting. Fighting with the man would only force the crew to finally decide where their loyalties rested, and Becker wasn't certain how he'd fare.
"Let's see if she can outrun us," Becker said before he lost control completely. "Full sail."
Given a task and the prospect of financial gain, the crew moved with alacrity. Mord muttered something under his breath, and Becker didn't ask him to repeat himself. All he had to do was survive long enough to make his escape. He could no longer trust anyone, and he could tell no one, which pained his noble heart, but those loyal to him would have to forgive him. His departure would send a clear message, and those with good sense would follow. If they were lucky, they might even cross paths again. It was a great big world, though, and Becker thought it might be best for him to get lost in it. A single trip to Maiden Bay and he'd have enough coin to live a comfortable life. He'd known this day would come eventually; he just hadn't known it would come so soon.
"We're making time on them, sir," the lookout called down, freed from the command of silence, and the crew responded with a cheer.
Becker looked at the ship more closely, the details becoming clearer as they gained on the ship. The lookout
had been right when he'd said the ship was black as night. The shapes that moved on deck were nearly as dark, and some didn't look human. Becker's blood went cold. Perhaps his chance to escape with his life was already past. The wind shifted and a foul smell reached his nose, making him gag.
"I don't think this is a ship we want to overtake," Becker said, and Mord glared at him. Perhaps the man was blind and unable to smell. "The only thing we'll find on that ship is death."
Mord spit on the deck. "Coward," he said.
The moment had come. The will of the crew would be tested, and Becker knew when it began how it would end.
"Do you want to run away from this wounded ship?" Mord asked his crewmates. "Or do you want to see what's in their hold?" The crew raised a cry after the latter, and Becker was about to open his mouth to speak when Mord gave the order, "Bring us up alongside her!"
In truth, he need not have given the order since their current course would do just that, but the fact that no one questioned his order was of the most significance. The balance of power had shifted aboard the Maker's Mark, and Becker Dan's days were numbered. He swallowed hard after acknowledging that the number was far too small. With agonizing steadiness, the Maker's Mark closed the gap on the damaged ship. The smell grew stronger, and Becker started to hear complaints from the crew. At least not everyone aboard was a fool.
"Monsters!" the lookout cried.
"Death," Becker said.
"Land!" the lookout called next.
From out of the mists materialized the towering green islands, rounded and worn and covered in vegetation. The other ship was headed straight for the closely packed islands. It looked as if there were winding inlets and sheltered coves all along the vertical shores. Nowhere did he see beaches or gentle slopes; most of what he saw was sheer cliffs. Seabirds crashed into the waters around them, and some swooped across the deck, usually with silvery fish in their beaks. The image of it was burned into Becker's memory.
The Balance of Power (Godsland Series: Books Four, Five, and Six) Page 59
