by D. H. Dunn
Tanira was pointing her other knife in Nima’s direction, her gaze fixed on Val.
“Halt this beast Valaen, Tanira said, “Or the next one goes through her throat. Do not test me, for I am the End of the Line.”
Chapter 15
Val kept most of his attention on Nima as he knelt, keeping pressure on her wound, while his heart pounded in his chest. He had torn his shirt for a bandage, wrapping Nima’s leg in it and trying to stop the flow of blood. Nima had pulled the knife out on her own, casting it into the deck of the canoe.
Had he not grabbed two of his mother’s healing compresses before they had left Caenola, Nima would likely be dead or dying. Underneath the makeshift bandage, he could only hope the mixture would close the wound before she bled to death.
Nima leaned into him as he held her, drifting in and out of consciousness and gritting her teeth, either in anger or in pain, perhaps both. Val’s headcrystal blazed with intensity, painting her pale face in a crimson sheen that painted her cheeks.
Val looked up at the approaching Thartark ship, fear pounding through him at the sight.
It may or may not have been the Emissary’s vessel, but it looked the same as the one he had seen docked in Caenola just a few days prior. With its dark wood and patched together sails, it forced itself upon the water unlike the whales and Caenola’s harmony with the sea.
Tanira stood at the back of their canoe, one knife still trained on Nima. She seemed a statue, barely moving save to keep her balance and repeat the same refrain over and over while they waited for the Thartark ship to catch up to them.
“Guard the Line. Honor the Line. Trust the Line,” she paused, then repeated it. Her eyes darted around the boat, yet her voice was passionless as she continued to recite.
Val had left the exhausted whale to its own course and it had quickly come to rest, swimming along in a restful state after having expended so much energy. Through his crystal he could sense the beast’s emotions of concern and curiosity, but Val had no energy left to push his communication through with the whale.
What Tanira wanted, what changed her direction, or what she might offer the Thartark, he had no answers for.
Behind Tanira the Thartark vessel towered over them, having caught up with the resting mistwhale swiftly. Tanira kept one hand still with a knife pointed in their direction while she stole glances at the ship.
“Whatever you wanted,” Val yelled at Tanira over the sound of the waves and flapping of the ship’s huge sails, “I hope this was worth it to you!”
Tanira’s flat expression gave no indication she heard him.
The vessel cast a dark shadow as it pulled even with the whale. Val was able to keep the beast steady, putting one hand on the mistwhale’s skin while keeping the other on Nima’s leg.
A figure appeared over the side of the ship, cast in silhouette .
When Val saw his first Thartark, he thought them like gnarled trees come to life. That image returned to him as the light caught the Thartark. Long, thin arms and legs attached to a tall, narrow body, the Thartark were tall but looked as if the wind could unseat them. Val knew this was not the case, the Thartark seemed to be all muscle underneath their dry, tough skin. Their faces were long and covered with the same bark, their mouths and eyes almost undetectable at times. Their heads had thick, green masses of hair that were pulled taut in braids that stuck in odd directions like branches.
“Caenolan.” The Thartark looked at him, giving no glance to Nima or Tanira. His voice was raspy and low, and again sounded the same as every other member of the race he had heard speak.
“What further offense? You approach, then allow capture?” As they had in all his other interactions with them, this Thartark seemed to speak using as few words as possible, as if the very act of speaking with him was painful.
“You address me,” Tanira said, stepping to the middle of the canoe.
The Thartark did not turn his head, but his upper body twisted in the woman’s direction.
“I have brought these two here, forced them to halt their vessel. I wish to trade.”
“Trade?” the Thartark asked. “Explain value.”
Val cleared his throat to speak, Tanira silencing him with a glare. He watched her as he struggled with his emotions. Every fiber of his being was at odds with his heritage. He wanted to stand, to attack.
If only he knew how. Yet even if he did, there was no way he could oppose Tanira and still protect Nima.
“The Caenolan is high placed, the son of an Elder,” Tanira said. “The woman is a stranger to this world and may have great magic.”
The Thartark twisted his body behind himself, his torso bending out of sight. Val heard a second voice, but he could not understand what was being said. After a moment, the Thartark bent himself back into view.
“I am Riss Hann,” he said. “Highpoint of the vessel. Parley may continue. Your cost?”
Val had never heard a Thartark identify himself before, the Emissary was always simply called by his title. The guards and sailors on his ship never came ashore to Caenola.
Tanira bowed slightly, quickly drawing the shape of a triangle on her head. “There is a light coming from your isle. The Pillar, I am told you call it.”
Val detected another slight breaking in the woman’s voice as she called up. The finger of her free hand remained on her forehead, tracing. “That is my cost. I seek access to this Pillar.”
“The Pillar is hot,” Riss Hann said. “A place of pain. A place forbidden. No one desires access.”
“No one but me,” Tanira said. “These are my terms. I know of your interactions with the Caenolans. I suspect you have no other ready source of the oil you need. I further suspect you fear these people, fear what they might do if they rise up against you.”
Riss Hann said nothing to this, though Val could see a tremble pass through him, like a breeze through the forest. Tanira had been right! The Thartark had lied about having another source, and they did fear them, just has his father had thought. The crystal on his head began to glow brighter.
“This Caenolan is your opportunity to learn more, to craft more plans to keep access to the oil you need.”
Still the Thartark did not speak, though two more of the strange creatures now appeared beside him.
“All I ask,” Tanira shouted, “is access to a place that means nothing to you, that you fear. If however, you do not desire this man--” she stopped twirling her weapon, pointing it straight at Val.
“Cease,” Riss Hann said, throwing up his hand quickly. “Acceptable terms. We will transport you.”
The other two Thartark shambled forward, and a rope ladder was lowered down to them, Val’s mind racing with the dark possibilities it represented.
They might torture him, either for information or to exact revenge for his father’s crimes. He might be forced to watch as they laid further siege to his people, more retribution.
There was much they could do to him before they finally killed him. And Nima would be beyond his care, both of them betrayed by their trust in the End of the Line.
A woman they had laughed with as they fled a charging grun, who had helped Val gain the confidence to try rescuing the Scrye. Who had claimed to be their friend.
Yet she now led them both into the heart of his people’s enemy, bartering with their lives, using them for leverage.
As the Thartark began to descend the rope ladder, Val was certain he would never see Caenola again. His fate and judgement were now secure. A failure, no different than his father.
Chapter 16
Below decks on the Thartark vessel, Val sat on the uncomfortable wooden chair he had been tied to, staring at the three tall, thin creatures standing before him.
Val felt the vessel leaning sharply to port. He was not an experienced sailor like Zelquan, but be had spent enough time at sea to know they were turning, likely heading back to the Thartark’s island.
Everything itched. His scales felt like they we
re peeling in the dry air, his skin becoming a mosaic of irritating sensations. He could hear the water just outside the ship, smell the salt. The sea was just beyond his grasp, but it might as well have been in another world.
He tried to reach out with his senses to the mistwhale that had brought them this far, but his crystal could find no sign of the beast. He could only hope it made it away from the vessel, that the Thartark had allowed it to escape unharmed.
The wooden walls of the room were similar to the rest of the ship’s construction. Planks were haphazardly nailed together, gaps overfilled with pitch that leaked down the hull in a sticky mess.
One of the Thartark stood directly in front of him, he thought this might be Riss Hann, the captain of the vessel. Two others stood behind the lead, all looking identical to Val. They were all unclothed, they all had the same bark-like skin, and long, twisted limbs.
“Again. What is the Insistence?”
Val’s jaw still hurt from the last time he was asked this question and did not answer, and he was sure the Thartark was about to hit him again. The more he was exposed to the race so feared by his people, the more rigid and unimaginative they seemed.
His created lie of something called an ‘Insistence,’ blurted out during his first beating, was working even better than he had hoped. The Thartark accepted this lie and its value immediately, and were now determined to learn more of it.
A mixture of pride and shame filled him as he practiced the deception. Lying, the value of which had been taught to him so eloquently by Tanira, might now be helping him stay alive.
Not that it was helping Nima. She had been unconscious when they had brought them onboard, still alive and bandaged. He had to cling to that for now, and remind himself that he could not help anyone if he was dead.
The rough hand of Riss Hann came at him again, Val learning to roll with the blow. It hurt, but he was growing numb to the experience. They could hurt him, but they couldn’t yet afford to kill him. That could gain him time.
He tested the bonds of his wrists behind him, but the knot was taut, and the ropes well made.
The two Thartark behind Riss shifted their torsos with the movement of the boat, the effect hypnotic. The captain just kept staring at him, waiting to see if this blow would elicit more cooperation from Val than the last five had.
The salt air came in from the many small viewing holes cut in the side of the ship, the familiar scent helping to counteract the effect of the heat. He could feel his scales drying from the temperature, his eyes felt like they were covered in dust. Far more than any of the physical attacks from the Thartark, the environment itself was wearing him down.
“Take him above deck,” Riss said, twisting his torso before moving to the left and out of Val’s view. He supposed the creature had decided Val was not going to give them any more information, though it was impossible to see that thought process happening on those expressionless faces. One of the two Thartark walked out with their captain, the second reaching behind Val to untie him from the chair.
His legs tingled with renewed circulation as he stood. The shifting of the deck had increased, Val suspecting they were getting closer to the Thartark Island and whatever fate awaited them next. A fresh burst of hot air came in from the viewing holes, drying his mouth and eyes even more.
He expected to be led back above, where he hoped he could see Nima and check on her wounds, but the Thartark retrieved a small cup from a nearby table. The creature offered it to Val with one grey-brown, dry hand, features staying expressionless.
Val poured most of the water into his mouth before even considering if there might be some other substance in the cup. The fresh, cool water ran down his throat, bringing immediate relief to his dusty interior. He took a small amount on his palm and rubbed it all over his face, lessening the pain in his scales.
“Thank you,” Val said, his voice hoarse.
The Thartark took the cup back and motioned for Val to exit the room. Val studied the creature for a moment, noting that it had what looked like moss growing in several small patterns on its shoulders, the left one shaped almost like a star.
Had the other Thartark had moss growing on them? He wasn’t sure. Before, they had all looked alike, even this one.
Riss Hann, if it had been him, had not ordered this one to give Val water. Had this moss-shouldered Thartark performed this act of kindness on its own? Did it even see it as an act of kindness?
Val walked toward the wooden stairs leading above decks, the mossy Thartark behind him, more confused about his people’s enemy than ever.
Tanira watched the waves of sea roll by, looking out through the porthole from a bench she brought to, below the main deck. Around her, the Thartark worked the innards of the vessel, several manning lookout points while others steered the rudder or worked ropes leading to the sails. All of them stayed below decks and out of the sun.
She kept one finger tracing on her forehead, which brought her breathing steady. Helping her fight against the images that kept trying to push back into her mind.
Nima’s look of betrayal. Val’s shock at her actions. The blood.
Her finger pressed hard against her skin, the pattern painful as she repeated her ritual again. If she felt shame, it should be for feeling guilt, not for her actions.
She had done as she needed to do. As her people needed her to do.
She could hear her father’s words in her mind as she traced the triangle, his deep, powerful voice saying the first lines of the refrain, her small child’s voice uttering the second.
Guard the Line.
I will keep it secret.
The Thartark creatures eyed her as they passed by, and she did the same. Her alliance with them was an uneasy one at best, and she was sure they were gauging her capabilities, just as she was doing the same to them.
If everything went as planned, she might end up fighting them. They seemed like tall, thin walking trees to her, but she could sense the deceptive strength in their narrow limbs. Still, they were slow, and she saw no evidence of combat training or experience. If all they ever faced were Caenolans, she supposed they didn’t need it.
Even if she didn’t fight them, most of them would end up dead anyway. If her goals were reached and her father’s research true, once she secured the artifact from the Spire.
Without the Marker, the island itself would be destroyed.
More lives upon her shoulders, but this task was hers because she could bear the cost.
The Line had led her this far, and the signs had all been correct. She twitched her finger nervously at the thought of finishing her mission, of completing the plans that stretched across generations.
The Pillar should lead her to Sessgrenimath’s marker, then the path back to the temple would be clear. There was much to do, and still much Line ahead of her.
Somewhere else on this ship, Nima and Val were cursing her. The look in Nima’s eyes, as Tanira’s hand was pulled back to throw her dagger, it had been similar to the look of the guards in Kater’s fortress. She’d killed one before he even saw her, but the second knew.
He had looked in her eyes and he knew he was being killed by his own kind, by a fellow Rakhum.
It was for the larger benefit. If only there had been a way to explain, maybe the blood wouldn’t have flown from his neck and into the vision she saw when she slept. Maybe if he knew his death would be helping free his own people from millennia under the feet of the Manad Vhan.
Maybe then his eyes would not have looked so haunted. Yet haunted or not, he had barred her path, blocked her access to one of the key artifacts in his mission.
Kater’s Helm. One of the butcher’s greatest secrets, and critical to the Line’s plan to undoing his people and saving the Rakhum.
The Helm had been an element of secret schemes of Kater’s, ones the butcher of Nalam Wast had revealed to almost no one, plans that were as mad as he was.
But he had trusted her father Garantika with them, never
guessing the Line would be placed so close to him.
Now the Helm was in a satchel on her back, waiting for the Marker, the next portion of her mission. The next step in the liberation of her people, and the punishment of the race that had inflicted Kater and Upala upon them.
Generations of Rakhum men and woman had lived their lives so she could follow the Line into Kater’s fortress, escaping with the Helm through his secret portal to Sirapothi.
She could not allow any one to bar her way.
Honor the Line.
For the Line is long.
Nima’s eyes had held that same haunted look as the guard she had killed, but they had contained more. A look of betrayal and disappointment that kept worming its way back into Tanira’s thoughts.
There had been a moment when the Line may have been broken, up on the higher reaches of the mountain Varesta. Tanira’s own foolishness had come close to squandering the work of hundreds before her, and dooming all Rakhum who came after.
A simple misjudged stone, a slipped pebble under her boot was all it had taken, and the Line had nearly ended.
Nima had saved her, kept the Line from being dashed in blood and failure on the rocks of the mountain.
That mattered none, she reminded herself. It meant nothing. Perhaps Nima’s actions were divine providence, a sign of Sessgrenimath on this Mount Varesta, the most important place in Sirapothi.
Perhaps in the end it was simply luck, or the actions of a small person who meant well, just as the guard in Kater’s fortress had meant well. Tanira’s life was not about small actions, it was about large ones.
Ahead of her lay the largest actions any Rakhum had ever faced, and all Rakhum and Manad Vhan would know of her success.
Trust the Line.
For it will end our suffering.
Nima’s anger, her betrayal, the look in her eyes. They were a small pebble on the scale, as immaterial as Tanira’s own feelings were. The finger that trembled as it painfully traced the symbol was not her own, any more than the hand that threw the dagger.
