by Barb Hendee
Chane shook his head and hands, trying to clear some of the seawater, and he turned his gaze south.
"Are we far enough?" he asked. "Will she sense us?"
Welstiel stared off along the shore. "Yes, we are safe from detection… if Magiere survived."
He sounded less than certain, which brought Chane pleasure at first. If Magiere were dead, Welstiel would suffer, perhaps never finding his coveted treasure. Anything that wounded Welstiel was now sweet to Chane, but he quickly lost the taste of it.
If Magiere had not survived, what chance could Wynn have?
"Check now!" Chane hissed. "Get out that damned dish of yours!"
Welstiel turned with a sharp glance. "My exact intention."
He crouched, opening his waterlogged pack, and drew out the domed brass plate, shaking it several times to scatter clinging droplets of water. With his back turned, he drew his dagger. Chane could not see anything as Welstiel chanted softly.
Welstiel lifted his head, facing south and away for Chane.
"She lives… and she is a short distance away."
These words only made Chane burn silently.
"But that says nothing," Welstiel added, "concerning your little sage."
Chane could not go see for himself-not without being detected and hunted. Not without Welstiel's protection, or rather that of his ring of nothing. And the situation could grow even worse if the ferals came after him or were discovered. He wanted those creatures nowhere near Wynn-if she lived.
Dawn was half a night off, but they would travel no farther. The mortals would sleep, and tomorrow at dusk, Welstiel would verify which direction Magiere had taken.
"I will find us a camp," Chane hissed and stalked off into the trees.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Sgaile awoke groggy and weak at the first streaks of dawn, but he remained silent until the others began to stir. To his surprise, the fire was still burning-someone had fed it regularly during the night. He sat up and found Osha squatting beyond the circle of bedrolls, keeping vigil.
Sgaile said nothing, though he wondered if he had been too harsh on his young student the night before.
His breeches were still damp, but his tunic and boots were reasonably dry by the fire. As the crew roused, daylight brought a sense of greater safety, and some wandered closer to the beach. Soon they had cookfires burning while others searched for wild berries or sea life along the beach's rock jetties. He watched their quiet attendance to necessities, until the hkomas approached.
The man's burns looked worse in the morning light. He made no mention of pain, but Sgaile knew better.
"We will travel the coastline," the hkomas said. "The forest here is dense, and we are too near human lands. We will be safer the farther north we go, though we must keep to the shore for our ships to find us."
Sgaile agreed but hesitated. "I travel south with my charges, as required by guardianship."
The hkomas's amber eyes flickered in surprise. All an'Croan respected the tradition of guardianship, but perhaps the hkomas thought Sgaile's protection of his own people should take precedence. With a frown, he turned away toward the beach.
Sgaile sighed and looked about to check on his charges. Wynn was again dressed in her loose elven clothing with the pant legs rolled up. She and Osha foraged for berries with the crew, while Magiere and Leshil inventoried the belongings they had salvaged before abandoning ship. Thankfully they had also retrieved the gifts of the Chein'as.
Strangest of all, Magiere had the dagger tucked into her belt at the small of her back. Its hilt was complete with leather strapping over the living wood that Sgaile had requested from the ship's hkoeda. He wondered how and when she had retrieved it.
Chap scrambled among the crew who were digging for clams. He sniffed about the beach, barking loudly now and then. At his call, crewmen came to dig where he stood. This morning, Sgaile's people did not seem to mind humans, half-bloods, or a wayward majay-hi in their midst. He was about to join in the foraging when the hkomas's young steward cautiously approached him.
"I am called Avranvard," she said.
"I know who you are," Sgaile replied and finished pulling on his boots.
The girl's eyes widened briefly. "May I speak with you… Sgailsheilleache?"
He stopped, suddenly uncomfortable. Something in this young woman's tense manner troubled him.
"Of course," he answered.
She gestured toward the clearing's edge, away from the camp. "In private."
He had little strength left for intrigue, but he followed her beyond earshot. At first she would not look him in the eye.
"I must come with you on your journey."
Sgaile's discomfort increased. "Your place is with your crew and hkomas. But do not fear. One of our ships will come for all of you."
Avranvard shook her head. "I am not concerned for my safety. I… I was sent by Most Aged Father to watch the humans and report."
"That is impossible," he stated flatly. "You are not Anmaglahk."
"I will be," she answered and finally raised her eyes to his. "Most Aged Father sent me-gave me this purpose. I must come with you."
She was so plainspoken and steadfast that Sgaile almost believed her. He felt the blood drain from his face. How could Most Aged Father place an untrained girl in this position? And why send someone to report on those under Sgaile's guardianship… as if he could not be trusted?
Avranvard's young face grew troubled. "Sgailsheilleache?"
He glared down at her until she began to fidget.
"Listen carefully," he said, exerting calm into his voice. "You will remain with your crew and make your way with them back to our lands. Do otherwise, and I will expose you to your hkomas. Do you understand?"
"But… I have a purpose… from Most Aged Father! There is another-"
"You will serve no purpose at all," Sgaile cut in sharply, "should your hkomas and all the seafaring clans learn of your subterfuge among them. Your duty is to your hkomas and crew!"
He grabbed her by the wrist, prepared to haul her back to camp, but she broke free before he took three steps. She shifted toward the beach, watching him with a pained shake of her head as if her world had turned over and was not as it should be.
Sgaile remained silent and stern. Avranvard turned and ran.
He had no patience left for hero worship or shattered illusions. Perhaps now he understood why Brot'an'duive and other caste elders so often shied from the people. An'Croan saw their protectors in the garb of the Anmaglahk, but they knew little of what that life required.
And now he, too, was left in ignorance.
Sgaile had tried to ignore the growing animosity between Most Aged Father and Brot'an'duive. It seemed both had expectations for his current purpose-and neither had fully related these to him. He did not know who to trust, and this left him reeling.
All Anmaglahk must trust in each other, or their people would suffer from the discord.
He scanned the beach, spotting the hkomas near the hidden skiffs. The man must still be wondering why two anmaglahk would abandon a stranded crew for humans and a half-blood. But Sgaile had no time for guilt-driven explanations, as he headed over.
"Your steward is more traumatized by the death of your ship than the rest of your crew," he began. "Keep her close, and be certain she remains under watch for a few days."
The hkomas studied him and then slowly turned sad eyes to the empty sea.
"I never thought to see any Pairvanean, who blessed my clan, murdered by humans. Yes, Avranvard is young, and such a loss might be worse for her… I will watch over her."
Sgaile nodded with gratitude and walked back toward the campfire, but the exchange did nothing to ease his mind.
Magiere and Leshil had finished repacking and stood talking quietly. Leshil had suffered only minor scorches on his face and hands. In all other respects, he was well enough, but Sgaile remembered the state of Magiere's gloves. She no longer wore them.
Her
bare hands were pale and unblemished-with no sign of burns.
Sgaile looked up quickly at her face, but she did not seem to notice. Dressed in breeches, hauberk, and coat, she hefted one pack.
"Can we get started?" she asked.
"Yes," he said, still staring at her.
Magiere returned her habitual scowl. "What?"
"Nothing."
A tall elven sailor hurried upslope, stopping in front of Sgaile.
"The hkomas says you go south… with the humans." And before Sgaile could respond, the sailor pulled off his thick cloak and held it out. "Take this and my gloves. I will not need them, as our people will come for us."
The cloak was deep brown, not dark shifting green-gray. Sgaile's exhaustion mounted at this sacrifice. The sailor did not know him; the man saw only a revered member of the Anmaglahk.
"I cannot."
"Please," the man said. "Do me this honor."
Sgaile almost flinched. His thoughts slipped once to a strange lesson his own jeoin, his teacher, had once told him.
What are we beyond how our people see us?
Young and ignorant, and still full of awe for his teacher, Sgaile had been unable to think of an answer. Years later, he overheard Brot'an'duive reiterate this lesson to a handful of new caste initiates, all still years away from seeking out their own jeoin.
We are more, we are less, Brot'an'duive admonished, and we are nothing but silence and shadow. All we can do is accept their hope in us with the humility it deserves.
This was the truth behind the litany of Anmaglahk-in silence and in shadows.
To serve, and not to place oneself above or below that service, no matter what shape or form it took. To be the silence of peace that surrounds duty, and the one who guards it from within the shadows.
Sgaile slowly reached out and grasped the cloak and gloves. "Thank you."
The sailor smiled with great relief and headed back for the beach. But the man's reverent act of kindness left Sgaile more burdened-more uncertain.
He wanted to slip away with his word-wood and speak to Most Aged Father, to somehow understand the patriarch's sudden lack of faith in him. Then he thought on Brot'an'duive's silent scheming and the Chein'as's gifts given to Leshil-Leshiarelaohk, so named by the ancestors. And a majay-hi, like those of ancient times, had thrown itself into the lives of a half-blood and a pale monster of a woman.
Stretched between too many paths, Sgaile had to choose one to follow.
"Are we going or not?" Magiere demanded.
Sgaile turned toward the beach. "Chap, it is time!"
Not long ago, the thought of calling a sacred majay-hi by a personal name would have shocked him.
Chap loped upslope, looking over Magiere and Leshil as Wynn and Osha joined them as well. The majay-hi glanced at the cookfires burning along the beach, where the crew prepared a good catch of clams. He released a groaning whine.
"We will find breakfast along the way," Sgaile assured him.
Chap grumbled and trotted off, and Magiere followed. As Leshil stepped in behind her, Sgaile noticed the tips of the Chein'as's winged blades peeking from his pack. Leshil's continued discomfort regarding the weapons was clear.
"May I wear your old blades?" Sgaile asked cautiously. "The new ones should take their place, and you will walk more easily with less weight."
Leshil cast a narrow-eyed glance over one shoulder. "Why don't you wear the new ones?"
It was more of a challenge than a question.
"I could not." Sgaile shook his head. "They were given to you."
"Oh, just do it, already!" Magiere snapped at Leshil. "You're the one who insisted I accept the dagger."
"They don't fit my sheaths," Leshil argued.
"I can make alterations," Sgaile countered, "while we walk."
For all the bitter ire in Magiere's voice, none showed on her face as she looked intently at Leshil.
"They're only weapons-nothing more," she said. "You choose what to do with them."
"Fine!" Leshil growled and dropped his pack. He jerked the tie straps of his old blades, pulled the gifted ones from his pack, and thrust both sets at Sgaile.
Sgaile took them, and Leshil hoisted his pack and pushed past Magiere after Chap.
Sgaile slipped Leshil's old blades from their sheaths. He handed both sets of blades to Osha, and, as they walked along the shore, he drew a stiletto and began altering the sheaths.
As he worked, he pondered this next leg of their journey-born not from hope but determination. He was tired of Magiere's and Leshil's ill-mannered petulance. Their mood proved infectious, and Sgaile grumbled under his breath as he cut leather.
By midday, Hkuan'duv was pacing the deck.
Avranvard had not contacted him at dawn, and he had called for anchor, not knowing how far ahead the other ship might be. Soon his concern gave way to open worry.
Danvarfij leaned with one hip against the rail-wall, watching him. "Can you not contact her instead?"
"No… I cannot risk revealing her presence, even to that ship's hkoeda and hkomas."
"Then cease stomping on the Pairvanean's back," she said. "You will disturb it."
He glared at her calm face, her skin like tea tinted with goat's milk. "Something is wrong."
"I know we cannot be seen," she returned, "but neither can we lose track of their ship."
"Inform the hkomas," he said. "But make certain our pace is cautious."
Danvarfij pushed off the rail-wall and headed for the aftcastle.
Hkuan'duv turned his gaze down the coast, feeling trapped by the constraints of his purpose. He was not accustomed to hiding from his people or those of his own caste.
Kurhkage emerged from the hatch below the forecastle, followed by A'harhk'nis. As always, the latter appeared deceptively spindly in his oversized cloak. Kurhkage fixed his one eye upon Hkuan'duv.
"We are moving," he said. "Have you received communication?"
Hkuan'duv shook his head. "We must attempt to locate the ship ourselves."
Danvarfij rejoined them, and all four headed up to the bow, scanning the waters ahead. Several crew members glanced at them, but no one spoke. The hkomas's strained voice rose in orders to his crew.
A'harhk'nis looked up into the rigging. "I should relieve the lookout and watch for myself."
His voice was so quiet that it was difficult to hear, but Hkuan'duv agreed. "Yes. Good."
A'harhk'nis stepped upon the rail-wall, snatched the rope ladder to the mainmast, and clambered upward.
His sharp eyes might be no better than those of a seasoned crewman, but should they close too quickly upon the other ship, Hkuan'duv felt more secure in A'harhk'nis's judgment. But as the day wore on, no word came from above.
"What if the girl was discovered?" Kurhkage asked. "What would Sgailsheilleache do?"
Hkuan'duv turned away from the prow, not wanting to answer. Indeed, what would he himself do if one of his own caste were sent to spy on him? He did not wish to even think about it. He must focus on his purpose, for the sake of his people.
"Greimasg'ah!" A'harhk'nis called from high above. "Look to the beach!"
Hkuan'duv turned to lean upon the shoreward rail-wall.
Even at this distance, their hair glowed in the afternoon sun. Tall figures moved up the coastline and became distinct as they approached. He realized he was looking at an an'Croan ship's crew, but why were they ashore, and where was their Pairvanean?
"Are there outsiders with them?" Hkuan'duv called up.
"No… I see only an'Croan."
Amid the captain's call and the crew's shouts, they began preparing a skiff. Several people onshore saw the oncoming ship. They waved their arms and cloaks in the air.
Hkuan'duv leaped down the forecastle stairs, closing on the skiff being lowered over the side.
"A'harhk'nis, come down," he shouted.
He scanned the sea, but saw no sign of the other Pairvanean. What had become of Sgailsheilleache, Osha… and the
humans?
As the ship came to anchor, Hkuan'duv stepped to the rail-wall gate, taking up the skiff's anchoring line. The hkomas rushed in and jerked it from his hand.
"This is no longer your concern," he said. "Our people are stranded. They take precedence over this pursuit of yours."
Hkuan'duv almost let anger get the better of him. But the hkomas was correct, his harsh tone justified, and who could blame him? Anmaglahk had taken polite control of his vessel, and they trailed their own people like a pack of skulking Ylladon.
"I must know what happened," Hkuan'duv explained, "and as quickly as possible."
"Then you are welcome to accompany my crew, Greimasg'ah."
The hkomas's hard words clearly implied who was now in charge.
"You may ask your questions," the hkomas added, "so long as you do not impinge upon the well-being of those left stranded."
Hkuan'duv nodded slowly. He gestured to his team to wait on board and descended quickly into the skiff.
As the small boat closed upon the shore, two of the exhausted land-bound crew waded out to guide it in. Hkuan'duv saw burns and other injuries among those stranded, and the knot in his stomach tightened. He counted heads, and by a quick estimate, a fourth of a standard cargo vessel crew was missing. A middle-aged man in a brown head scarf came closer. His face and arm were badly burned.
"Anmaglahk?" he breathed in surprise. "How did you reach us so quickly? Did Sgailsheilleache send word?"
"You are the hkomas?" Hkuan'duv asked. "Where is your ship? Where is Sgailsheilleache?"
The questions sounded cold even to Hkuan'duv.
"We came upon and pursued a Ylladon ship, after hearing of a settlement raid." His voice faltered. "They turned on us with no regard for their own vessel… and burned the Pairvanean."
Hkuan'duv blinked in chilled disbelief.
"Our hkoeda sent a swimmer," the hkomas added. "Which sent the Ylladon to bottom."
"You had swimmers on a cargo vessel?" Hkuan'duv asked, and then waved off the question before the hkomas answered. "What of Sgailsheilleache?"
The hkomas scowled, not expecting this exchange. "He left with the humans and a majay-hi, traveling south along the coast."
