by Kirby Crow
"Like a deer, leaving the others alive to tell whatever lies they wished about his death,” Liall stated flatly.
Scarlet stared at him. What did Liall expect, that he should have slain them all? He began to say that it was pure chance that the soldiers would let down their guard, that he had his leg bent at the knee, that they in their arrogance did not bother to search him and that his new dagger had been so well concealed in the top of his boot. But he could not say this without renouncing what Deva had given him, and he could not tell Liall the truth. Liall did not believe in gods.
"I ... it's like you said,” Scarlet mumbled miserably. “I'm no warrior. I ran."
Liall watched Scarlet for several moments, unspeaking. “An ambush,” he decided, bringing his hand down on his knee as if pronouncing a verdict. “Those soldiers would have hurt you badly, if not killed you outright. They would have sold you to the Minh at least. You did the right thing."
"I know that,” Scarlet replied irritably. “My older brother was taken by the Minh when he was a boy. You don't need to lesson me."
It irked Scarlet that Liall appeared to be passing judgment, even if the Kasiri had found him innocent. Also, he did not want Liall to know how much it bothered him to kill Cadan. Yes, the pig deserved it, but Scarlet still hated how the death made him feel.
Liall looked mildly stunned. “Your brother? I did not know.” The matter appeared to trouble him greatly. “What was his name?"
"Gedda,” he said, adding hastily; “But it happened a long time ago, before I remember."
"Oh.” Liall paused, thinking. “So ... you were telling the truth last night. Your arrival in Volkovoi had nothing to do with me? I suppose going into the Bledlands was out of the question for you?"
Scarlet shrugged and grabbed one of the packs to start rearranging things. “Of course."
"Why?"
Scarlet allowed himself a moment of exasperation. “Deva, you can be dense sometimes! I had enough trouble keeping myself fed with a whole skin on my back in a land that supposedly has law and rule and decent roads. How well do you think I'd fare in the Bled? And, not entirely beside the point, I don't know how to do anything that the Bledlanders consider useful, like raiding or robbing, so they'd only think I was good for one thing. The same thing you thought I was good for when we met."
Liall's gaze flickered.
"I thought I'd take my chances across the Channel,” he went on. “It seemed like the only choice at the time."
"Where did you plan to go?” Liall growled. “There are very few Hilurin in Khet. You would stick out like a raven in a flock of doves. If the Flower Prince put a bounty on you, you would be captured very quickly there."
"I know. I thought ... maybe beyond the Salt Lands?” He knew he sounded ridiculous even before the words were out, and his voice became snappish. “What else could I do? There's only so many points to the compass. It was either sail to Arbyss or travel east where the Minh would have taken me for their slave or stay where I was and hang."
"You forgot north."
"I'm going north!” he snarled.
A ghost of a smile touched Liall's face, and Scarlet avoided looking at him. He feared he would lose his temper even more and say something truly unwise.
Scarlet examined the room critically. “Only one bed,” he said needlessly. It had a large bunk suited to the crew's size, with a thick, feather-stuffed mattress covering the rope frame. He remembered the embrace he had shared with Liall in the inn and wondered if Liall would now want more from him. The thought did not frighten him as it would once have.
Liall shrugged. Apparently, the solitary bunk was no surprise. “And this probably the best they have."
"I'll take the floor,” he volunteered selflessly.
Liall snorted. “Do not be a fool. What else are beds for, but to keep the chill of the ground or the deck from reaching a man's bones? And it is going to get very cold, red-coat: colder than you can imagine. You would have lung fever within a week if you were going further than Ankar with me. No, we will both sleep in the bed."
It was the sensible choice, and he was no longer opposed to being close to Liall, but ... “The crew will think—"
"What, that you're my slut? They already think that."
He was appalled. “They never."
Liall shook his head, sighing. “My uninformed pedlar, however unfair or arrogant you think me, I assure you, my people are much worse. Living in Byzantur has mellowed me somewhat and disabused me of several bigotries. Listen then, and learn; even a short voyage on this ship will be very hard for you. Rshani do not care for outsiders. In fact, they hold contempt for anyone not of their blood and heritage, for the whole world, perhaps. No Rshani takes a lenilyn, an outlander, as a friend. Lenilyn are good to serve, only. Therefore, they will think you my servant, or rather, they see your youth and how pretty your face is and assume what is only natural to assume."
Scarlet's knuckles turned white as he gripped the leather pack. “That I'm a whore."
Liall's face was closed, as if he were holding back a secret, but Scarlet was not shrewd enough to riddle what it was. “Yes."
Yes, and you must swallow it, lad, for what else can you do? Prove them wrong? What use? Whore or servant or friend, you'll still be nothing to them.
It was Scaja's wisdom in his head. Scarlet ached with missing his father, but he decided that the best way to honor Scaja's memory was not to add shame to embarrassment. He got to his feet, squared his shoulders and began to drag items from the pack and place them around the cabin. There was a small table, also bolted to the floor, with a strange, raised rim on its surface. The rim would prevent any items from sliding off in rough seas. Rather clever, when one thought about it. Another low chest with a heavy lid had been provided, and Scarlet began stowing their belongings in there.
"I don't care what the crew thinks,” Scarlet said coldly. “As for myself, I think they could use a bath. Several."
Liall slapped his leg, chuckling. “Mariners are mariners, whether Rshani or Hilurin. They all stink."
"This is one mariner who is not going to stink,” he declared. “Not with all this water around us."
"It is only water for now. It turns to ice when we leave the Channel and join the northern waters, which you will not see."
"Don't bet on it."
Liall chuckled again and stretched out on the bunk, placing his Morturii knives within reach on the floor. His boots stuck out only a little at the end, so it was a large bunk indeed. Liall wrapped his cloak more tightly around him and sighed.
"I'm just going to close my eyes for a minute,” he said, then yawned. “Wake me if anyone knocks. And do not venture outside the cabin."
Scarlet opened his mouth to object, and then reasoned that he had made enough objections for one morning. He would save some for later. Liall was watching him, one pale blue eye still open to see what he would do.
"I do have my knives,” Scarlet reminded him mildly. “I can defend myself."
"I know."
"And I am no child to be minded by you."
"No."
"I won't leave the cabin."
"Good."
"And I'm not sleeping in that bunk until I have your promise that you'll stay on your side of it,” he added mischievously.
Liall yawned. “Given,” he said easily, and Scarlet was unwillingly disappointed. He had wanted more of an argument on that point, considering how ardently Liall had pursued him in the beginning. It was not that he objected to waiting, it was just unexpected. After the way his world had turned upside down, Scarlet suddenly felt a keen desire for events he could anticipate.
Liall closed his eyes. In a few minutes, he began to snore softly. Scarlet resisted the temptation to watch him sleep.
* * * *
The day passed quickly while Liall napped and Scarlet lounged in the cabin, seated on the one large wooden chair, which—unlike the table—was not bolted to the floor. Scarlet felt no small measure of unea
se about the unknown journey ahead, mingled with a thrill of excitement in his heart: new places, new people, new wonders to see! The promise of fresh horizons never failed to fascinate and distract him. This time, it was a little different, not because he was afraid, but because he felt he had not really chosen this journey. He chose Liall, yes, but the rest seemed more like fate than choice. He wished he had not had to kill Cadan and forsake Byzantur. That was useless wishing, though. It was either his neck or Cadan's, and Scarlet very much wanted to live.
These thoughts occupied Scarlet throughout the day. Liall woke perhaps four hours past noon, yawning and stretching, seeming much recovered from the beating the bravos had given him. They shared a hunk of waybread and some water from the flask Liall carried in his coat. Liall promised to get more from the common barrels stored in the hold, but warned Scarlet that they would have to boil it before drinking.
"It is a ship, Scarlet, not an inn. These men are used to living rough and are somewhat more careless with cleanliness than I would trust my health to. Or yours."
Scarlet was eager to be out on the deck and watch the shore grow smaller as the ship began to make its way northward through the Channel: a long, open body of water between Byzantur and Khet, so wide that one could not see land from one shore to the other. The Channel ran from the warm southern waters of the Serpent Sea to the frozen ice floes of Norl Uhn, the great North Sea. Liall assured Scarlet that it was not wise to go out on deck, so Scarlet sat there grumbling until Liall heaved an exasperated sigh and promised to let him go above that evening, so long as he did not go alone.
By late afternoon, though, Scarlet had changed his mind. He had not been very hungry all day and the pitch and roll of the ship was making him queasy. He opened the porthole and stood gazing at the waves and the tiny brown sliver of shoreline. Fresh air made him feel a little better, and he began thinking again, about the way the crew had regarded Liall. All these mariners were fair-haired, but none of them had truly white hair like Liall, nor his manners and bearing, which was like a cocksure lord, certain of his elevated place in the world. All of the crew respected Liall, especially the young mariner with the pale, flowing hair who had served as lookout at the port.
That same young mariner came by an hour before dusk while Scarlet was still at the porthole and Liall was again reclining on the bunk. The mariner was a big, handsome man, perhaps five years or so older than Scarlet, and he looked at Liall with clear worship in his gaze. Scarlet was invisible to him for the most part, which was at least a change from the looks given to him by the others. Even the captain had glared at him in dislike. The mariner exchanged words with Liall and left.
"What was that about?"
"Hm? Oh, nothing. Good wishes from the captain, an invitation to dinner later. He was only being polite."
"To you."
"I told you this would not be easy."
True as rain, he had, and here they were not a day away from land and already he was complaining. I'm the one who decided to come with him, he told himself. It won't be that bad.
Scarlet had thought he knew what it would be like on board ship, but that was proven false by the end of the first day. His body had never much liked traveling over water, and he had always experienced a faint nausea when sailing from Patra to Lysia, or even rafting down the Skein River to the Sea Road. By the time the sunset was bloodying the sky, he was hanging over the rail and vomiting into the waves, his strong pedlar's legs turned to rubber beneath him. His weakness was all the more galling because Liall walked sure-footed and without discomfort, while he could only clutch at solid wood and haul his leaden body along. The mariners were surly and unfriendly. The only time Scarlet heard laughter, they were laughing at him: pitiable land dweller, puking his guts out.
"It will pass,” Liall said kindly as he helped Scarlet off the main deck. Scarlet struggled against the assistance, mumbling that he could do it himself. Liall ignored his protests and steered the little Hilurin forcibly into the cabin, which had looked comfortable at first but now seemed close and stifling.
"The crew,” he moaned, but Liall shrugged.
"A merchant crew of illiterate thugs. Why should you care what they think?"
"Right,” he agreed, heaving. There was a bucket near the bunk, and Liall held a cup of water to his lips.
"Rinse out your mouth and spit."
He did and the retching eased. “I think I hate boats."
Liall uncorked a small, brown flask. “It is not a boat, but a ship."
"What's the word for it in your language?"
"Undi'rrla."
Scarlet repeated it and cursed them all, and Liall smiled. “Well, your wit is unshaken if not your legs. It is a good sign. Now; I need you to drink this remedy. It will not taste pleasant, but you must keep it down."
He was not joking. The red syrup from the flask Liall had produced tasted worse than anything Scarlet had ever known, and if Liall had not held a cup of water to his lips immediately after, it would have come right back up.
Liall gave him a warning glance. “I would not,” he advised. “You will only have to swallow it again."
Scarlet tried, swallowing repeatedly and drinking more water, but after a few moments, his stomach rebelled and he hung over the side of the bunk. He looked at the flask Liall held with something like horror.
Liall sighed and shook his head. “No, we will not try it again immediately. In a little while. Next time, hold your nose when you swallow."
Scarlet lay miserably on his side while Liall carried out the bucket to empty. A clean one soon appeared and he held on to the edge of the bunk, trying to lie still. Liall tossed a thick, padded blanket on the floor for himself and left the bunk to serve as a sickbed. Wise of him, Scarlet though blearily. He managed to sleep, chased by unpleasant dreams. Morning brought no relief, either. He started the day off by staggering out of the cabin for a piss, his vision blurry and his head feeling like it was stuffed with wool. He also could not hear very well over the high whine in his ears. The mariners on deck smirked at him as he made his way back, and Liall was awake in the cabin, waiting with the horrible syrup. He did manage to keep it down, but was so miserable afterwards that Liall stayed beside him, wiping his face with a wet cloth.
"You must try to eat something."
He shook his head weakly. “I can't."
"You must,” Liall insisted, and pressed a hard chunk of waybread into his hand.
Scarlet sighed. There was sense in that. The oily bread was flat and tasteless, as always. He nibbled at it.
Liall nodded approvingly. “And you must drink, too, or else you really will be ill. If the water disagrees with you, we will try che."
Cold water made him feel worse. “Che,” he said weakly.
Liall wiped his face again. “Che it is,” he said, then felt Scarlet's forehead with the back of his hand. He frowned. “Odd. You should not have a fever. You should not be ill this long, either.” He rose from the bunk and rummaged in his pack until he found a packet of green che scented with rose. “I will return shortly."
Scarlet nodded and closed his eyes, for even the dim light in the cabin seemed to spear his pupils like shards of ice. To his surprise, he slept again and woke to Liall sliding an arm beneath his shoulders.
His stomach had settled and there was no more of that kind of sickness, though the fever persisted and so did the blurriness of vision and the weak feeling in his legs, so he sipped at the hot che that Liall brought and closed his eyes. The ship rode the waves, lulling him to sleep, but he woke in the middle of the night drenched in sweat clear through to the mattress.
Liall was alarmed and offered him water, forcing him to drink it when he refused, but the water did not make him feel any better, and he sweated out at least as much as he was made to drink. Still, Liall refused to spare him.
* * * *
Scarlet was not sure when the second day passed into the third; the fever made it hard to remember. Between terrible fever dreams whe
re Cadan cut off his limbs one by one, and the sinister, ponderous sound of the waves crashing against the hull, it was one long nightmare.
Liall became more ruthless on the third day, forcing Scarlet to sit up and drink bitter che while removing the sweat-soaked clothes from him. Scarlet shrank from Liall in embarrassment when the man bathed his bare skin with strong liquor diluted with water, his long hands competent and brisk.
Liall shook his head in annoyance. “You do not have the leisure of modesty at the moment, little one. Come, you must drink,” he said, pouring yet another cup of che. “We must get this fever down, or you will die."
At that moment, it was an attractive idea. Then Scarlet dimly realized that they must be nearing Morturii by now. “Aren't you s'posed to be puttin’ me ashore?” he slurred.
Liall gaped at Scarlet in astonishment. “In your condition? Alone with no one to tend you? I would be kinder to throw you overboard."
Scarlet almost asked Liall if he would, but sleep claimed him and the morning slipped away in a reddish haze until the older mariner named Mautan, who served as first mate and also as curae to his fellows, came in at Liall's request. The man poked at Scarlet's skin and pinched his jaw cruelly to make him open his mouth so he could peer in at Scarlet's tongue, which earned the man a sharp rebuke from Liall. The mariner stepped back, shook his head and spoke long in an incomprehensible language. Liall's mouth went thin.
"What is it?” Scarlet asked, muzzy with sickness and not really caring. There seemed to be clouds filling the cabin.
"You are very ill,” Liall said, his tone uncommonly gentle. “This fellow is telling me what to do for you."
Throw me overboard, he thought and closed his eyes again, for the clouds had begun to take on the shape of ghouls and fanged dragons. When the mariner left, Liall sat beside him on the bunk.
"Can you hear me? Mautan says you are not seasick, but have picked up a fever from that filthy port. Did you eat anything at all there?"
