Ember laid aside the chits, undressed and climbed into the bath, wondering again why Sharra had not named the Stormsong as one of the ships that would be travelling to Myrmidor. One possibility was that the ship was to go to Myrmidor via the Sheanna isles, in which case maybe Revel could be prevailed upon to get them aboard another ship.
Ember found her own reactions interesting. Instead of falling into despair at the knowledge that the original plan might have to be abandoned, the absence of dark Ember and the memory of the previous night made her resilient and hopeful.
She climbed out of the water, towelled herself briskly then unwrapped the new parcel from Berya. Other than the altered dresses, it contained underwear and a small bag of toiletries, including a stick with stiff bristles, which she decided must be a toothbrush. Of the two dresses in the package, Ember chose to wear the green because it differed most in style and colour from what she had worn as both visionweaver and songmaker. A narrow, pale-green cotton dress, it fell straight from the shoulders, and was worn under a dark-mustard over-dress embroidered at the edges in yellow flowers. There was also a double veil in pale and darker yellow. She decided not to bother sleeving her hair again because the long veil dulled its fire to reddish brown. Lastly, she bundled her accumulated belongings up in the cloth from Berya’s parcels, regretting that she had not asked for a proper bag. But at least in arriving with these at the storage house, she would truly seem to have reason to be there.
The square of light from the window had all but crawled across the floor by the time she was ready to go, and she began to fret because everything had taken longer than she had intended; she had yet to make her farewells and summon a carriage to take her to the Silver Aspi, which the chit had named as the nightshelter nearest the storage house. She glanced regretfully at her untouched tray, took up a small kalinda fruit and slipped it into her pocket before dragging her bundle downstairs.
Catching sight of her, Anousha came bustling from behind her counter, exclaiming that Ember should have called for help to carry the bags down. She offered a drink of her finest cirul but Ember refused, saying she had to leave at once. The older woman looked regretful. ‘Sharra went rushing off a little time ago, I do not know where. But it will break her heart not to say goodbye and thank you for all that you have done.’
‘You will give her my farewells and good wishes,’ Ember said, wondering if Sharra had gone straight to the dressmaker or to the songmaker academy to register herself for an audition.
‘You will go to the piers?’ Anousha asked and Ember nodded, thinking there was little harm in saying so, though it did suddenly make her wonder why the second chit had so insistently instructed her not to go to the ship directly.
‘There is a carriage always standing without,’ Anousha said and dispatched a hovering boy to have the driver bring it to the front door. She helped Ember carry her bags out and, as the driver stowed them, said, ‘Lady, let me thank you again. I fear I did not treat you with the courtesy you deserved when you arrived. It has been hard for me and I fear that I have let myself become hard, too. Your songs reminded me of what I once was …’
‘I understand that Sharra is precious to you,’ Ember said gently. ‘Tell her … Tell her to sing well.’ She ignored the woman’s look of puzzlement and allowed herself to be helped into the carriage by the driver. ‘Do you know of the Silver Aspi nightshelter down near the water?’ Ember asked softly enough that Anousha would not hear.
The man nodded and climbed into his seat.
‘Farewell, Songmaker. May the Song always flow through you!’ Anousha cried.
Before Ember could respond, the carriage jerked forward and the curtain fell closed. Ember sat back into her seat with a sigh. No matter what happened now, she was at least acting rather than waiting.
Ember became aware that the carriage was making very slow progress and, peering through the curtain, she saw that they had entered a street crowded with other carriages; the Keltan equivalent of a traffic jam! She could tell by the scent in the air, so different from the salty tang of the sea on her own world, that they were not far from the water. Even so, she was biting her nails with impatience when the carriage finally came to a decisive halt, and she heard the driver dismounting. Handing her out, he apologised for the delay.
‘Can not expect much else on the eve of the Aden festival,’ he said tolerantly. They were directly outside a dingy building pressed on either side by much larger and equally dingy buildings. A board hammered unceremoniously to the wall beside the door showed the universal nightshelter symbol, and beneath it in spidery white script were the words The Silver Aspi. ‘Are you sure this is the place, Lady? Perhaps you mean The White Aspi which is some streets from here, and an excellent nightshelter …’
‘This is fine,’ Ember assured him, reflecting that she must look conservative and respectable, given the man’s solicitous tone. She paid him generously, and returned the coin pouch to the a’luwtha bag slung across her back under her cloak. Ember realised that everything looked suddenly dingy and she glanced up, expecting to see clouds obscuring Kalinda, but instead, the whole sky was purple tinged with a gauzy haze that cast a strange light over people’s faces. She wondered what it boded, if anything. Neither the weather on Keltor nor the temperature of the islands seemed to be ruled by any of the natural laws that operated on her world. Indeed, intriguingly, she had once been told that in order to understand Keltan weather, one would need to be a philosopher.
If she reached Darkfall in time to be healed, she suddenly thought, she would make a point of learning what governed the weather on Keltor. It struck her with a shock that this was the first time she had contemplated what she might do after Darkfall, which of course meant after she had been healed.
A man carrying an enormous woven basket bumped into Ember and brought her out of her reverie. ‘Idiot,’ she muttered of herself. She almost laughed when the basket carrier turned back and gave her an outraged look. Then she realised with a stab of alarm that Kalinda was low in the sky.
At the third attempt, a man directed her to a building just down the street, and she struggled to the open door with her unwieldy bundles. There was just enough light inside to make out high, deep shelves running away into the distance, piled with boxes and parcels, which made her feel that she was at least in the right spot, though the building seemed deserted. She lifted the heavier green veil and squinted through the lighter one underneath, wishing she had managed to get here earlier. She was beginning to be afraid that even if she did find Revel, it would be too late to set off, for Vespians would not do so after night descended. She was trying to find something that looked like a desk or an office when she caught a movement down the end of one of the aisles. Then a hand descended on her shoulder.
‘You left it late enough’ Revel snapped. ‘I was just about to leave. Why did you ignore my first message?’
‘I … I did not get either of them until a few hours ago …’ Ember stammered, startled by the glittering anger in the eyes of the shipmistress.
‘I will whip that runner I sent. I instructed him to tell Anousha the matter was important.’ Revel snarled. Ember opened her mouth to explain, then decided that this was not the moment. ‘I am afraid I cannot delay my departure for the Fomhikan, but I advise you to take the chance to travel while you may. The Stormsong will depart at first light tomorrow, but we do not go direct to Myrmidor.’
‘I cannot go by the Sheanna isles,’ Ember cried, and she heard the dismay in her voice.
Revel looked impatient and suddenly preoccupied. ‘We will call in at Iridom, but only long enough to drop an urgent cargo. We will then continue on to Myrmidor. By my calculations, it will occasion a delay of no more than half a day.’ Seeing her downcast expression, Revel scowled. ‘I am afraid you will either have to endure the altered journey, or stay here and seek another ship. Friendbinding or no, it would not serve any of us if I tried to insist on rejecting the journey plan I have been assigned. It would immedi
ately be wondered why I wanted to avoid Iridom. Then it would be remembered that I had just come from Ramidan.’
Ember told herself that the delay was small and she and Bleyd were safer to be aboard the Stormsong than any other ship. ‘We will travel with you,’ Ember decided, thinking of Faylian. Surely it was better to be aboard the Stormsong than to be trying to find another ship.
‘We?’ Revel echoed. ‘But surely the Fomhikan is not fit to travel?’
‘I was at the healing hall yesterday and the soulweaver Faylian offered to make sure he was able to travel by today.’
A strange look crossed the nut-brown features. ‘Faylian? How did she know that you were here?’
‘She dreamed it, she said. She came because she wanted to warn us to leave Vespi quickly. She said we were in danger here and that we would cause trouble for Vespi.’
Revel’s lips twisted. ‘Do not delude yourself that Faylian cares about your welfare, or for Vespi, for all she was Vespian before she became a soulweaver. These days her sole allegiance is to the misty isle, and soulweavers have more to do than to concern themselves with ordinary people whose lives just happen to be affected by every decision made by the misty isle.’ Her voice had developed a hectic note and she collected herself and bent to take up the two largest of Ember’s bundles. ‘But come. Enough time has been wasted here. I will take you onto the ship now and we can speak further later. There are various people delivering cargo at this time, as well as supplies, and we will act as if you are such a one, fussing about the disposition of fragile parcels. When you get below, you will slip into the cabin and wait quietly there until we leave.’
‘What about …’
‘I will collect the Fomhikan,’ Revel snapped, giving Ember a warning look, for two men had appeared carrying packages. They made their way the short distance to the pier with Revel leading the way, carrying her bags and forging a path through the growing crowd of people. Revel had been correct in saying no one was likely to mark her boarding, for the ship seethed with men and women and packages. As they moved across the deck, the shipmistress interrupted an improvised discussion about the fragility of possessions, to murmur that they were about to pass the only other assigned passenger.
Ember stared at a striking young woman speaking with a short, stocky older man, and wondered which of the pair was to travel with them. She was surprised that Revel had accepted an additional passenger, but perhaps it had been no more her choice than the route ahead. The young woman looked to be little more than her own age. Her close-cropped, pitch black hair and a tight-fitting body suit revealed that she was Acanthan. Ember had not met any Acanthans, but she was well aware that the sept had spawned the infamous Draaka cult. The older man did not look to be Acanthan and Ember hoped that he would be their passenger.
As soon as they were below deck, Revel dropped her polite pretence and ushered Ember to the cabin she had previously shared with Bleyd. Ember felt a sense of homecoming, which merely showed her how rootless her existence had been since coming to Keltor. There was no lantern lit but she did not dare to light one nor open the porthole, for Revel had said tersely that the cabin must seem empty until their departure the following morning.
There was nothing to do but lie down, and Ember removed her shoes, one veil and her over-dress, then loosened the laces on the underdress. She might as well enjoy the bed for a little while, since Bleyd would soon enough be occupying it again. She did not imagine she would sleep, having slept for so long, but the tensions of the day and a residue of weariness from the performance the previous night had tired her more than she realised and before long she drowsed, rocked by the wavelets and dimly registering the sound of voices and the occasional thud on the deck above.
Gradually she sank into a deeper sleep and segued. She found herself watching the red-haired woman she had come to think of as Shenavyre, walking about her green clearing. As in other dreams of the woman, she was singing in a voice of such unearthly sweetness and purity that every molecule of Ember ached at the beauty of it. Then she realised that, whereas before, she had merely observed the woman, this time, she knew what was to come in the dream, so that she felt a strong sense of foreboding even as the woman sang. She looked up anxiously but there was nothing in the sky. Her unease forced her to do what she had not done in her other dreams, and that was to come out into the open. She wanted to warn the woman. Shenavyre turned and her song faltered when she saw that she was not alone. Ember noticed, as she came hesitantly nearer, that although Shenavyre did look like her superficially, their expressions were so utterly different as to make it clear they were not the same person. Her own face did not have this woman’s glowing vivacity, her tender brow, slightly furrowed with curiosity, this sweetly curving smile. Most of all, the kindness she saw in Shenavyre’s face was absent from her eyes and mouth. This woman, Ember thought in a dazed way, looked like she might have looked if she had spent her entire life making music, not for herself and her death to come, but for the joy of offering something beautiful to the world.
‘Come out. Do not be afraid,’ Shenavyre invited, holding out her hands. ‘I will not harm you.’
Ember stepped out and was chilled to see Shenavyre’s expression of kind welcome transformed into a mask of terror. It was as if, in looking at Ember, she looked upon the face of all her nightmares. Ember tried to speak, but the dream Shenavyre backed away, her face twisting in repulsed pity. Then Ember glanced down and she saw that her hands were not hands, but animal paws, black-furred and claw-tipped.
‘I am a monster,’ she thought in dreamy horror, and screamed.
And woke to darkness.
She had no memory of sitting, and yet she was bolt upright. There were noises outside and Ember hastily pulled her veil straight and donned her over-dress.
Let it be Bleyd, she thought.
It was. Mysel used a huge elbow to open the door, and laid him gently on the bed. A lantern had been lit in the passage now, and its light shone into the room, illuminating it dimly. There were bruise-black rings under eyes that looked, to her, over bright, and his skin had a pallid, unhealthy look except for two hectic spots of colour high on his cheeks. He looked so awful that she could not help but wonder if Faylian had lied about hastening Bleyd’s healing in order to get them off Vespi.
‘It is good to see you again … sister,’ Bleyd whispered, then he fainted clean away as if the energy required to speak those few words had drained him.
Mysel pulled the covers over him, saying in his soft, gruff voice, ‘Healers said he needed rest more than anything else.’ He went to the door, then seemed to hesitate on the threshold. ‘Maybe you should come on deck and watch the departure … Ordinary travellers always do that.’ His glance met Ember’s briefly through the single thin veil and something in his faded blue eyes, and in the emphasis he had given to the word ‘ordinary’, told her that he had guessed some, if not all, that was going on.
Mysel was gone before Ember could think of a sensible response. She fetched a lantern from the hallway after listening at the door to be sure no one was moving about outside in the passage. Bringing it to hang on a hook on the bedpost, she was relieved to see that, although Bleyd did look exhausted almost unto death, the wounds on his face were closed.
She realised that she was cold and pulled on the grey cloak. It had a hood and she pulled this up over the veil before opening the door and mounting the nearest steps to go back up on deck. She stumbled slightly at the top, because her blind eye made it difficult to judge distances. It was bitter cold on deck and she cuddled the cloak to her, marvelling at the pale lilac shade of the pre-dawn sky above the sea.
The Acanthan girl whom she had seen upon her arrival was at the top of the gangplank, wrapped in a dark cloak and waving to someone out of sight. Ember crossed to the edge of the ship, positioning herself carefully behind a great coil of ropes so that anyone glancing up would not immediately see her. She looked down. The older man she had seen the night before stood on the dec
k looking sombre, and Ember wondered if he and the Acanthan girl had spent the whole night talking together. The piers were all but deserted now, except for the few shipmen or women hurrying about.
Suddenly the wind shifted and the yellow pennants of the Stormsong snapped and danced overheard as if in anticipation of the journey. Now Ember could hear the gruff voice of the man farewelling the young Acanthan woman: ‘… sure you will not come with me, Hella? He would be glad to see you.’
‘There is no place for me there. I have made up my mind that I must learn what I am made for.’
‘She will be there, too,’ the man called gently, coming close to the side of the ship. ‘She would never be holding it against you.’
‘Perhaps. Lev, I am sorry for my harsh words to her, but in the end she lied to me, and friends do not lie to one another. Like my brother, she did not choose to confide in me.’
‘Sometimes a body has no choice worth mentioning,’ Lev called up softly.
‘There is always a choice,’ the girl said with finality. ‘I want to be with people who trust me. Just tell my brother that I will deliver his messages faithfully or die in the attempt.’ There was a bitterness in her tone.
‘Will you joke of such things, lass?’ Lev called in soft reproof.
One of the shipfolk began hammering the central mast, the signal that the ship was to depart. Ember was startled because it was still not full light.
Ember moved along the deck, and saw that Revel was down on the pier with a man who was shaking his head and tapping a chit. He wore the black knotted tie of Vespian officialdom about his upper arm, and they were clearly arguing. Finally the man obviously washed his hands of whatever was being discussed and the pair parted with simple Keltan salutes. The shipmistress ran up the gangplank lightly, signalling a hovering young shipwoman that it should be hauled aboard. Then she bade another shipman to sound the signal for casting away. The man obeyed and, as the other shipfolk ran about the deck, Ember thought that they looked taken aback at the commands to make ready to cast off. Several looked at the horizon where Kalinda had yet to appear, and shook their heads, but no one disobeyed. In moments, the ship was released from its bindings and they began to drift. They were some distance from the shore before Kalinda rose, and Ember all but felt the relief of the superstitious shipfolk at finding they had not been swept to the Void.
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