Given to the Earth

by Mindy McGinnis

  “Oh, and one cow,” he adds.

  CHAPTER 98

  Ank

  It has fallen to me to monitor the small boats as they go out, carrying passengers and what few belongings are deemed necessary. Vincent has chosen poorly in setting me to this task. Perhaps purposely, I think, as a Stillean child passes by me, a housekitten tucked under her chin. She looks as if she’ll take my eyes out if I tell her to leave it, and so I wave her on, whispering in her ear that she might at least tuck it under her cloak so that I appear to be doing my duty.

  I earn a smile, and then the next problem slides under my nose, a Hyllenian shepherd whose trousers are lined with short staffs, his gait as awkward as any Feneen. I bid him a good day as he tries to sit down before the oarsmen push away. My own people line the shore, Silt Walkers wading in to their chests, welcoming the touch of water. The Stilleans watch them warily, and I decide that I will take Hadduk up on his offer to join the Pietra on the third ship. They, at least, know the value of my people.

  Each sail snaps in the wind, white breakers wetting new wood as the bows sink closer to the waterline, each rowboat adding people and things—a cat here, a cane there—and still they will leave these shores with empty space on their decks.

  My Feneen have known pain and rejection, death and suffering, the long looks of those who would not have them come near. Almost to the last, they have elected to go, only the oldest among us choosing to die on the land they’ve known rather than on water strange to them. Nilana gave me a dark look and a thorough tongue-lashing after our last council, letting me know in no uncertain terms that I am not old, and she’ll drag me on board herself if she has to. I did not ask how she would do this with no arms and no legs, for I know she would find a way.

  “What’s this?” I ask a young Pietra, his face still hard and heavy with the Lithos training he will never finish.

  “A piece of the Stone Shore, sir,” he says, answering with a straight spine, his eye fixed on a point at the horizon. “I would take it with me.”

  “All right, then.” I wave him on, allowing also the Hygodean who sneaks a braid of waterleaf rue long enough that it trails well past her cloak.

  “I’ve a chair back home I’m rather fond of,” Hadduk says, joining me. “Might I run and get it? The desk too?”

  “As if you’ve written a line in your life,” I say, waving on a Hyllenian girl who pushes a wheelbarrow full of pots.

  “Fiverberry, coilweed, waterleaf rue, nilflower”—the Scribe attending the passenger line counts off her plants, pinching his nose at the last—“and rankflower.”

  “The king said these was necessary,” the girl says, nerves getting the best of her as the Scribe runs his finger down the list of allowed possessions.

  “They are,” I say, waving her into the boat and signaling for the oarsmen to shove off before the Scribe has finished checking.

  “I think . . .” His voice fades in thought as he runs his finger down a column. “A moment please, I think we may have reached the limit for nil—”

  I take his quill and throw it into the sea, the feather sinking in the wake of the rowboat.

  CHAPTER 99

  Khosa

  She can hear her husband but make out no words, the low drone of his voice familiar enough that she knows when he rejoices and—more likely—despairs. The practiced thud of hammers outside the window has continued whether the sun hangs in the sky or the moon, each one driving a nail through her skull as well as the hull of a ship.

  Khosa feels as if there is nothing left of her teeth, that surely she has ground them to a fine powder that only coats her lips. Yet she presses her tongue against them, still there. The pounding work from outdoors has ceased, but she hardly notices, for the one inside her head continues. There is nothing left in her world but the bright point in her mind and the pressure of answering it, and if she cannot go to the sea soon, the wall she plasters herself against for comfort may wear her brains for decoration.

  Finally she hears Vincent’s voice, the only words she has heard in a while also being the only ones she wished for.

  “Khosa,” he says. “It is time.”

  CHAPTER 100

  Vincent

  Vincent knows well the strength in his wife, has held her against a dance and had the bruises to show for it. So when it is time to take her to the sea, both Merryl and Rook accompany him. It takes both of them to tear her away from the wall, the only way to reach the hall and head for the outdoors. Khosa fights, screaming in senseless agony, hands to her head, fingers digging bloody furrows into her skin. Vincent leads them, holding the chamber door open as they rush her toward the turn, where her lashing ceases, her screams now whimpers.

  “Khosa,” Vincent says, forehead against hers, her skin slick with sweat. “We’re putting you in a rowboat to take you to a ship. Can you walk?”

  She nods and they escort her down the corridor, one guard on each side of the queen, gloved hands on her elbows. Vincent leads them only to find that his wife’s steps soon clip the back of his feet, though her legs could barely hold her moments ago. He turns to warn Merryl and Rook to keep a good grip on her, should a dance be taking hold, but finds instead that his Khosa’s eyes are clear, her body under her control. She smiles, reaching for him, and he nods for Merryl to release her.

  Khosa grabs his hand and breaks into a run, their feet kicking up sand and her hair streaming behind her as she runs for the boat, cracking her shin on the side as she jumps in. Vincent barely clears it himself in his haste to stop her, for Khosa is crawling to the fore of the boat, stopping just short of the water’s edge.

  “Row!” she screams at the oarsmen, hands in her hair again, fingers digging for the pain. Vincent himself grabs an oar as they push away from land, his back straining. He can feel Khosa against him, relaxing with every stroke.

  CHAPTER 101

  Khosa

  The Hyllenian crew and Stillean passengers are on deck to welcome the queen of Stille, not the maddened thing that climbs the ladder from the rowboat and emerges to run past them, hair damp with sea spray flowing behind her. Khosa runs the length of the deck, knocking aside a young Hyllenian who sits coiling a rope, not pausing when Vincent yells for her and the deck sharpens into the bowsprit.

  Each step lessens the pressure in her head, the needle boring its way from her skull pulling back with every stride. She lost her shoes in the sand of the beach, and as she edges her way onto the bowsprit, she can feel the wood on her bare feet and see the water below. It does not call to her as she feared, but the horizon has not lost its pull, and she slides toward it, arms out for balance as she answers.

  “Khosa!”

  She turns not at his voice, but the desperation she hears there, as if her pain has burrowed into him.

  “I’m fine, Vincent,” she manages to say, voice hoarse with disuse. The faces of everyone gathered to watch tell her they think otherwise, but Khosa is past caring. She eases herself to sit on the prow, legs dangling, the drop to the water far enough that she would regret it before she hit. Her husband edges toward her, though his feet are unsteady and his hands shaking.

  “Stay back,” she tells him, gently. “You have no reason to be out here.”

  “But I do,” he insists, eyes on her. He slides his way toward her, carefully bringing himself to sit, their legs touching. “Winlan did build a cabin for us, you know,” he says.

  She laughs, for the first time in so long that it takes them both by surprise. Vincent’s smile—something also unseen for a while—answers her, lips stretching the burnt side of his face.

  “I can’t.” She shakes her head, an action that would have been unthinkable on land only moments before. “I must go toward it, or . . .”

  “All right,” Vincent says immediately, eyeing the bloodied tracks her fingernails have made in her temples, the bald spots of scalp where she tore her hair away. “I’ll s
ee if Winlan can build some sort of—”

  “There will be no more delays on my account.” Khosa cuts him off. “Vincent, we must go.”

  He searches her face and sees nothing but determination. “You can’t very well sail lashed to the prow without everyone thinking you’ve lost your mind.”

  “And I can’t take one step back toward Stille without them knowing for sure I have, because it will have left my skull,” she shoots back at him.

  Vincent sits, legs kicking alongside hers as those watching lose interest and begin to file back to their own beds. If they can be called that, Khosa thinks, remembering the braided hammocks hanging three high in the ship’s belly.

  Her hand finds her husband’s, and she squeezes. “I have an idea.”

  CHAPTER 102

  Ank

  I doubt any queen has ever arrived in her land hanging from the front of a ship, but Khosa has said it must be, and so it will be. Pand and Unda have feet as sure as any of their Hygodean goats, and they skip back and forth across the bowsprit, eager to please and glad to help. Khosa’s netting is hung before the sun is high, the woman who will be our compass resting easily for the first time in days, swayed into sleep by the rocking of the ship and a light breeze.

  “She’s fine, Vincent,” I tell him, resting a hand on his shoulder as he peers over the railing. “What else is left to do?”

  I look to our stoneward, where the Pietra and Feneen line their ship, Hadduk and Nilana among them. To our lee, the Hygodean ship that carries their village, though Winlan and his family have chosen to remain with the Stilleans. I can understand why, as shoulders brush together on both the others. Though ours carries the Hyllenians who survived the Pietran attack and all of Sawhen that chose to come, there is space enough for Unda to spin on the deck, her little skirts floating around her.

  “What else?” Vincent asks, repeating my question. “The Scribes have brought all the histories aboard; the larder is well stocked, I’m assured. All the passengers are here, and . . .” He fades away, as if searching for one more thing to do.

  “Vincent,” I say, “it’s time to go.”

  “Not yet,” he says to me, headed for the ladder. I follow, helping him row. We reach the shore and head for the great hall, where Dissa and the Curator look over the last scroll left on shore.

  “Mother,” Vincent says, and Dissa looks up, a small line forming between her eyebrows. “Khosa is on board safely, the last of the guards as well.”

  “Very well,” she says, going to him. Her arms close around his neck, and he leans into her shoulder. Only then do I realize.

  “You’re not coming,” I say, disbelief ringing in my voice.

  “No,” she confirms. “The queen of Stille is on board her ship, and someone must remain for those who choose to stay.”

  “Mother,” Vincent says weakly, pulling away from her, “there is room yet. Do not make me walk away from you.”

  “Vincent,” Dissa replies calmly, palm against his burnt face, “the young and the bold will find their place in this new land. I am neither, and would only fade slowly.”

  He nods briskly, squeezes her once, and turns on his heel, not looking back to see if I follow.

  “You may not be young,” I say to her. “But you are bold, much and more so than any who stand on that deck.”

  “I am,” Dissa agrees, her chin rising as she speaks to me. “And what will the people of Stille say as their king grows into manhood, his face never resembling mine? Better for it to be only a faded memory to them.”

  “I will shadow his steps and keep care of him as a brother should,” I tell her.

  Dissa sighs, eyes on Vincent’s retreating back. “He has watched his father die, burned one mother, and abandoned another, all for the sake of a kingdom he never wanted to lead.”

  “He will be remembered among the best of the kings,” I say.

  “Yes,” she says. “He certainly will.”

  CHAPTER 103

  Vincent

  The ships are unanchored as the sun rises, a breeze filling the sails. The Stillean ship leads, Khosa pointing the way. Pand delicately balances on the prow and watches her, shouting directions to the rest of the Hygodean crew. The other two ships follow in their course, each one lined with nervous passengers, some of them already retching into the sea.

  Vincent looks to Stille, its once strong walls now crumbled, pristine beaches littered with burnt remnants of a failed ship and deserted belongings for which there was no room on the rowboats. Some who chose to stay have come to stand on the sand, silver hair and bald heads shining in the morning sun. High on the wall, a flash catches his eye and he sees his mother, the crown of Stille once more perched on her head.

  She raises a hand to him, and he does so in return, putting it down only when he can no longer see her through his tears.

  CHAPTER 104

  The Forest of Drennen

  An old woman lies down, her speckled skin blending with the ground. The trees have all fallen, their roots dried and dead. A Tangata, ancient skin lined with new scars torn by Hadundun leaves, curls next to her, as they give the last of their body heat to each other.

  Deep in the Forest of Drennen, the last Indiri dies.

  CHAPTER 105

  The Stone Shore

  The cliffs go first, shearing away from the earth as if cut by a blade, the sea finally swallowing what it has lapped at for time out of mind. Lure lines fall like a web in a strong wind, and Witt’s castle crumbles as if it were made of sand. A crevasse opens, salt water flowing into it and soaking Hadundun roots filled with old blood. The earth tears like paper all the way to the Plains of Dunkai, which shudder and sink. The fingers of water go deeper, until they have covered all.

  CHAPTER 106

  Stille

  Dissa is in the great hall when the castle collapses, her crown buried in her skull for eternity by the crash of a ceiling tile. Madda’s turret falls, and the scent of nilflower fills the air for a moment, until all smells of salt.

  CHAPTER 107

  Khosa

  Khosa rests in her hammock, the spray of the sea coating her skin, for once a comfort and not a curse. The sun shines, and she smiles up at Pand as he passes her a handful of bread.

  “Feeling well this morning?” he asks.

  “I am,” she says, the words ringing true. Four suns of good sailing have brought her much relief. Though the pain is still present, it is now only an insistent pressure that tells her which way to point the ship. Her early-light illness even seems calmer under the sway of the sea, something that most of the other Stilleans cannot claim. The rocking of the water has sent most of them to their hammocks with buckets, or to hang over the railing.

  The Pietran ship has fared no better, and Khosa has a fine view of its side streaked with whatever food its passengers have lost, much to the amusement of the Hygodeans who prowl their ship with the confidence of Tangata in treetops.

  “Khosa,” calls a small voice from the deck, and she lifts her head to see Unda, dress billowing around her small ankles. “Will you come inside for the storm?”

  “Storm?” she asks, and Unda points to the horizon where a gray line can be seen. The bread Pand is holding falls from his hand to land on Khosa’s face. She brushes it away, and a type of bird she’s never seen before swoops to snatch it from the air before it lands in the sea.

  “That’s not a storm, sister,” Pand says. “That’s land.”

  CHAPTER 108

  Vincent

  The cry goes up, bringing everyone to the deck and hope to their faces. All three ships are full of people, hands lining the railing as they lean into one another for a better look as the sun climbs higher.

  Vincent never doubted his wife and her conviction that the dance would lead them here, but to see it with his own eyes brings a relief that fills his throat, bringing tears. Ank claps a hand on his shoulder, squ
eezing.

  “You’ve done it, Vincent,” he says. “You’ve brought your people to safety.”

  “Not quite yet,” Winlan warns. “We’ll need to send a scouting party ahead, make sure there is nothing that would take a child for its meal.”

  “Or a large man,” Ank adds. “We don’t know what might call this place home.”

  “Or who,” Winlan agrees, eyeing the shore for signs of life.

  Suddenly Unda screams Khosa’s name, and Vincent hears a splash.

  CHAPTER 109

  Khosa

  Khosa hits the water, her dress billowing around her head. Yet she feels no fear, for the sea exists not to pull her under but to push her forward, where she is being led. The land calls her and she goes, the tide carrying her to the shore where she emerges, dripping. She gets to her feet, the pull not receding.

  Khosa is drawn, sprinting into the woods, strange trees slapping against her arms and marking her face, her limbs awkward with the roll of the sea now that they are on land. She tumbles to her knees, the pain once again a piercing, clawing thing that will find its way out.

  She screams, as it feels like something inside of her breaks, and she retches. A tide of seawater flows from her nose and mouth, her very eyes leak brine. It streaks from her ears, staining her hair as the last Given loses what has passed to her from Medalli, one of the Three Sisters. It leaves her body, taking with it the pain, the tense set of her muscles as she prepares to fight her dance at any given moment. It leaves her, flowing into the ground that it was meant to return to.