Kheda drew a deep breath. 'So this is farewell, my wife, until the thousand-oyster isle, that is.'
'Farewell, my husband.' Janne turned abruptly towards the gate, lifting the latch and sliding through it. Birut's voice approached, concern lost in the solid clunk of ebony on stone and the rattle of the handle.
Kheda slid down to sit at the base of the lofty tower, struggling not to yield to the doubts suddenly clustering round him.
How long to leave it before escaping the confines of the enclosure? Long enough to avoid being seen by Janne's departing escort but not so late that some labourer in the sailer fields or some child sent to gather firewood raises a hue and cry after this unknown man profaning the sanctity of the tower of silence. Then it's into the forest and head for the heights, for the passes that will take you over to the northern side of the island, to the trading beaches and passage north. How am I to secure that?
'How am I to do this?' The knife in his hand had been as long as his forearm but had still looked entirely inadequate to Kheda, faced with the thick brindled belly hide of the dead water ox.
'Think it through,' Daish Reik had said firmly. 'Decide what you must do first. Do that and then you'll see the next step.'
Hunting for dappled deer, they had surprised the water ox drowsing where a stream formed a pool around a stubborn rock in its path. Daish Reik would never have chosen such a quarry with the children in the party but now it was roused, the beast was far too dangerous to leave. He had shouted at Kheda to get all the boys into the trees, Agas already throwing hunting spears to the other swordsmen. The warriors had fanned out into a half circle, the broad leaf-shaped spearheads held low, as the ox lumbered out of the water brandishing its vicious, down-curved horns, incongruously draped with a tendril of the waterpepper weed it had been browsing on.
Two men and Agas had challenged the beast with shouts and taunts. It had charged them, the force somewhat dissipated by its inability to chose a target, but it had still sent one of the men flying with a great buffet of its brutal head. His valour had served its purpose when Daish Reik had driven his spear into its back, in between the animal's angular shoulder blades, deep into its vitals. Its knees had buckled, bowels voiding, collapsing even as it still sought to gore the fallen swordsman.
'Kheda, deal with it.' Daish Reik had abandoned the ox as soon as he was sure it was dead, turning to salve the horrifying bruises on the man's chest, tearing up his own tunic to wrap his broken ribs. 'That's too much meat to leave for the jungle cats.'
Which was why Kheda had stood before the massive, stinking, steaming carcass.
'How am I to do this?'
How was he to get the leathery hide off without ruining it? How was he to gut it without puncturing the endless loops and pouches of its entrails? How was he to read any signs in the heavy, slippery liver before the sheen that reflected the unseen future dried in the heat? How was he supposed to direct the other boys in butchering something that weighed as much as all of them put together? Where were they going to find the perfume leaves to smoke this much meat?
'Decide what you must do first. Do that and then you'll see the next step.'
Tense, waiting until the sounds of Janne's departure had subsided, Kheda lifted the latch of the gate and slipped out of the silent tower's precinct.
First things first. Which means you want a tunic and a belt to hang Telouet's sword on, since the one Daish Reik made for you from the water ox's hide is back in Derasulla.
Chapter Ten
Was he going to find what he was looking for here? Or was he going to end up chasing his tail again like some serpent maddened by the heat? After so many frustrations, it was almost enough to make Dev spare a prayer to the gods of his childhood. Not quite enough. After all, they'd never answered him.
Dev hauled on the rope to spill wind from the Amigal's triangular sail, pushing the tiller away as he did so. The lithe little ship turned through a narrow channel cut between two gaunt islets of bare, crumbling stone. Rocky hummocks of veined and fluted coral rose to within a finger's width of the sea's surface, the frothing gullies between them thick with vicious prongs of jagged sea thorn.
'Can you lend us a hand?' A light galley slightly bigger than the Amigal was wedged firmly on a reef. Her embarrassed master shouted over the noise of the breaking waves, his exasperated rowers slumped idle over their oars.
'I told you it was too late in the day to make the passage with this much cargo weighing us down,' the helmsman said with unnecessary recrimination.
'High tide will float you off before morning.' Dev held to his course. If they'd lost the best of the market for whatever they were carrying, that wasn't his problem.
He grinned as the deft Amigal sped through the narrow passage to waters suddenly crystal clear over white sand spangled with bright blue seastars and giant clams gaping up at him, sinister green lips crinkled in the deep. Scanning the broad bay girt by fawn-flanked peaks, he looked for any ships he recognised among those who'd thought it worth their while to negotiate the tortuous maze of stony spikes and fans of corals to claim Taer Badul's protection. Besides, Taer Badul's swift triremes would be about their usual business of forcibly discouraging any traders seeking alternatives to the few anchorages the warlord permitted.
There were certainly more ships than expected, when anyone with any sense should be heading for home or a friendly landing and shelter from the imminent rains. Dev studied the beach, a slim curve of white above the aquamarine waters with the Taer settlement no more than a line of sturdy huts built high on stilts against storm surges. Beyond, a narrow tangle of nut palms and perfume bushes soon yielded to the naked screes of the mountains, which the setting sun was gilding with a spurious beauty. Taer Badul's designated trading beach offered precious little welcome to anyone thinking of jumping ship to find a foothold in a new domain. Which made it all the more surprising that the sand was crowded with men, women and children, gathered around cook fires or huddled beneath rough shelters of ragged cloth and green wood in some vain attempt to escape the heavy heat.
Satisfaction warmed Dev. Someone here should be able to tell him more than vague rumours of ill-defined misfortune stalking the southern reaches. People didn't uproot their entire lives lightly, not in the Archipelago. Better yet, the Amigal had a hold full of things to loosen tongues. He spared a moment of regret for the loss of Taryu and Ekkai. There were always those who preferred willing flesh to warming liquor. Well, that was past praying for, so he'd just have to do the best he could with what he had.
He coaxed the Amigal past the tall sterns of substantial galleys swinging lazily at their anchors, carefully summoning an invisible touch of wind to give him just a little more steerage now that the calm of dusk approached. Pennants fluttered on the sternposts, permission to travel Taer Badul's waters prominently displayed and many others besides. Dev carefully studied the galleys. There had to be one he'd done business with somewhere. After a handful of strangers, he recognised a bold design on a part-furled mainsail. Not the one he was looking for but good enough to make a start. Good enough to be one of those random coincidences the Aldabreshi seized on as proof that they were reading their omens right, living cleanly or whatever else they wanted to know.
'Hello the Spotted Loal,' he called out boldly.
'Hello yourself.' A rower leaned over the fat-bellied galley's rail. 'Do I know you?'
'Lots of people know me and the Amigal, pal.' Dev favoured him with a cheery grin. 'Ask your shipmaster if he remembers Dev.' More importantly, with any luck, he'd also remember the deceptively smooth Caladhrian red wine the Amigal carried, so effective for encouraging tipsy confidences. Dev maintained his smile with some effort. It was about time he won some useful information about these rumours of magic, in return for all the precious liquor he'd squandered up till now.
'Where are you come from?' The crewman hefted a pole; ready to fend off, as Dev drifted close to the galley's steering oars.
'Barbak, looking to
swing north to Galcan waters if I can make it before the rains.' Dev patted his belt where he now wore a dagger with the straight and narrow double-edged blade and ornamented thumb ring that Barbak weaponsmiths favoured. That was a plausible voyage to excuse any ignorance of local concerns. He slid the Amigal skilfully under the galley's stern. 'How about yourselves?'
'Up from the Tule domain,' the crewman said rather more tersely. 'And heading north as soon as we're rested and fully watered.'
'I'd like to make myself known to your shipmaster again,' Dev remarked genially. 'Is he aboard?' There was just enough space between the Spotted Loal and the huge galley anchored beside it for the Amigal to slide through.
Dev leaned into the tiller and turned the boat's prow out to the bay. The sail caught the fading breeze and pushed the Amigal back towards the steeply sloping beach. Dev slipped a rope loop around the tiller to hold it steady and ran to the prow to drop an anchor. It dragged through the sand and corals, slowing the boat. As soon as Dev felt the stern brush the beach, he tied the rope off. Hastily lowering the sail as he passed, he hurried back to the stern to jump ashore with a second anchor. Not daring to use any hint of magic under the galley men's inquisitive gaze, he muttered an obscenity under his breath. Landings like this had been a cursed sight easier with Ekkai and Taryu to set struggling with the heavy anchors.
'He's ashore, the shipmaster.' The galley man watched as Dev pounded his anchor's spear-like flukes deep into the sand. Another man joined him and they exchanged a few words. Diving smoothly from the galley's stern, the rower swam ashore, wiping water from his eyes as he approached Dev.
'Our rowing master reckons he knows your ship. He says you can share our fire and whatever's in the pot.' He jerked his head towards a cluster of men up beyond the high-water mark. 'I'm Jailan.'
'I'm obliged to you.' As they walked along the beach, Dev watched warily for anyone wearing weapons and armour. If hints of unknown dangers were coming up from the south, it was a safe bet there'd be chary eyes all around the beach and Taer Badul's swordsmen had an intolerant attitude to visitors at the best of times. Dev didn't want to do anything to draw suspicion his way, not with the temptations secreted in the Amigal's hold. A faint frisson of danger stiffened his spine and he welcomed the rush of blood in his veins.
Men from the galley had pulled weathered logs into a rough circle around a long-established fire pit lined with cracked and blackened stones. Wary faces looked up to see who was approaching, judgement grudgingly reserved when they realised Dev was following in Jailan's wake. Dev kept his face neutral but in no sense humble. Cowering hounds had their throats ripped out at least as often as they saved themselves by grovelling.
'There's Master Uten,' Jailan nodded.
The shipmaster squatted on a solid round of nut palm wood weathered to much the same colour and texture as his own face. A burly man with a close-trimmed beard, his long wiry hair was braided with colourful cord trimmed with small gold and silver tokens: animals and leaves, fanciful depictions of the constellations and a few mainland coins. He was deep in conversation with a man whose uncut, uncombed beard, ragged clothes and faintly distracted air made it immediately apparent he was a soothsayer.
'Take a seat.' Jailan gestured to the logs around the fire. Dev did as he was bid, trying not to make it obvious he was curious to hear the soothsayer's low words. The seer was pouring small amounts from various bottles into a gourd resting between his crossed legs. He re-stoppered each bottle carefully and replaced it in a scarred chest with much-repaired brass bindings. His clothes showed the same kind of wear; washed almost colourless, patched trousers and a mismatched tunic. One of those charlatans who felt a sham of honest poverty rather than a confident air of prosperity would win trust and more handouts from the gullible, Dev concluded.
More crewmen arrived, carrying fresh fruit and flat sailer bread still warmly fragrant from some islander's charcoal oven. A thin-faced man slipped through them, to throw himself to his knees before the galley's master, scrawny arms reaching out. 'I beg you. If I could—'
'I told you no!' The shipmaster kicked sand into the supplicant's face with a roar of fury. 'Get rid of this crotch louse!'
Jailan hastened to oblige, dragging the man away by arms and hair, his scrabbling legs digging futile gouges in the beach. Other rowers grabbed a handhold wherever they could and flung the hapless petitioner back towards a woman cowering in the meagre shade of a stunted perfume tree, wide-eyed, hungry children clinging to her soiled skirts.
'Who's this?' His conversation with the soothsayer interrupted, the shipmaster turned a sour eye on Dev. 'We're not looking to take on any more crew.'
'That's lucky,' said Dev agreeably. 'I prefer to let the wind work for me, not haul on someone else's oar.'
'This is Dev, trader, sails a one-master called the Amigal. Gyllen said you'd run across him before.' Jailan bent over the battered cook pot hanging over the fire. 'What's for dinner?'
'Fish stew,' the shipmaster replied without enthusiasm, his attention still on Dev. 'What do you trade in?'
'This and that, information among other things.' Dev grinned affably. 'I might have some seasoning for your stew if you tell me what that was all about.' He jerked his head towards the wretched family still cowering by the perfume tree. 'Or why I keep hearing I shouldn't be going south.'
'Dev? Of the Amigal? The shipmaster nodded slowly, recollection kindling a spark in his eyes. He spared the soothsayer a perfunctory nod. 'What are you waiting for? Go on, do your best by us.'
The soothsayer handed the shipmaster the yellow gourd. 'Swirl it round and then pour it out.'
Master Uten cast the liquid out so vigorously that the closest rowers had their feet anointed.
'Do not move!' The soothsayer's commanding voice kept them rooted to the ground, even though the noxious reek of his concoction was making Dev's eyes water.
'What do you see?' the shipmaster demanded.
'I see a sea flower,' intoned the soothsayer solemnly. 'And a squid.'
Dev studied the sand along with everyone else but, try as he might, he could see nothing but random splatters of dark sludge with flies fastening thirstily on them.
'The sea flower drifts through the ocean, seemingly insignificant yet trailing poison tentacles in its wake,' continued the soothsayer. 'As for the squid, there are said to be beasts beyond the western reaches with bodies longer than the biggest galleys, which spin whirlpools in the deeps to draw ships down into their maw.' He looked up sharply. 'We are all at risk of being sucked into dangerous waters, into perilous times. Certainly anyone sailing south risks meeting great peril, coming upon them all unseen, unexpected.' Then, startling everyone, he leaned forward to sweep away the stained sand, scattering the image. 'The rains will bring new luck, to wash away this stain on our futures.'
'If they ever arrive,' grunted the shipmaster. 'The Greater Moon's waxing and we've had no more than a couple of wettings. Bring me weather guidance in the morning and that might be worth something to put in your bowl.'
'I believe I've already earned some consideration,' said the soothsayer, affronted. His gaze slid towards the bubbling cook pot.
'I don't think so,' the shipmaster glowered.
Dev watched with open amusement as the seer gathered up his trappings and his injured dignity and stalked away. These last days before the rains were always good for a few entertaining fights, with every temper so frayed by the incessant heat.
'Well now.' The shipmaster's tone warmed as he glanced around his oarsmen. 'I do remember Dev, now I think on it. And I reckon we've all earned a little relaxation after the pull we made to get here. Dev's the man to supply it, if anyone's got news that he might find of interest.' The unspoken command in his words was plain.
'I've just shipped in from the western reaches,' one man began diffidently. 'There was word of sea serpents beaching themselves in the Sier domain.'
'You never said, 'remarked one of his shipmates with surprise.
The man shrugged. 'Didn't know what to make of it, nor yet if it might be true.'
'I don't see anyone making up such a tale.' Shipmaster Uten shot a challenging look at Dev.
'It would be a curious thing,' nodded Dev in apparent agreement. 'Anyone else heard of such oddities?'
'They're saying there's magic loose in the southern reaches.' A younger man volunteered this, half laughing, half looking for reassurance. 'You can ask what you like for a good talisman, I heard.'
'I heard it was warfare.' An older man beside him wasn't amused. 'Nearly as bad.'
'Which do you suppose it is?' Dev looked at the shipmaster. 'Certainty's worth more than guesses.'
The shipmaster turned to pick out a sombre face in the circle. 'Ruil, you joined us from a ship coming from the Tule domain. What was the word on the wind thereabouts?'
'I don't know about words on the wind.' The man licked cautious lips, sweat on his forehead gleaming in the low sun. 'But there was certainly smoke.'
'How so?' Dev didn't have to feign interest at that.
At his shipmaster's nod, Ruil continued thoughtfully. 'It looked like cloud at first but too high up and with no hint of rain. You could taste the char in the back of your throat. Some days it was thicker than others, like fog, only not. Some days, it was all but gone but then it came back. Three babies died around the anchorage in the same night, them and an old woman, and the spokesman's grandsire. There wasn't a mark of illness on them but they were dead all the same. Tule Reth decreed it an ill omen and that no ships from the southerly reaches were allowed to land. That's when I decided to come north.'
'That sounds more like pestilence than warfare or magic' Dev looked sceptical.
'Tule Reth wouldn't let ships coming out of the southern reaches land but he let them pass.' Ruil shook his head obstinately. 'If he thought they could be carrying some disease, he'd have set his triremes sinking any that reached his sea lanes. It was wickedness in the wind, not sickness.'
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