by Robin Hobb
Tellur, a slender green serpent, dared to protest. "We have sought such a one, to no avail. We grow weary. How long, Maulkin, must we wander and yearn? You have mustered a mighty tangle, yet many as we are, we are few compared to what we once were. Have they all perished, the other tangles that should be swarming now? Are we all that is left of our people? Must we, too, die as wanderers? Can it be, perhaps, that there is no river, no home to return to?" He sang his sorrow and despair.
Maulkin did not lie to them. "Perhaps. It may be we shall perish, and our kind be no more. But we shall not go without a struggle. One last time we shall seek One Who Remembers, but this time we shall bend all our efforts to that quest. We shall find a guide, or we shall die trying."
"Then we shall die." His voice was cold and dead, like thick ice cracking. The white serpent wove his way to the center of the serpents, to twine himself insultingly before Maulkin. Shreever's mane stood out in horror. He was provoking Maulkin to kill him. His insolent postures invited death. All waited for judgment to fall on him.
But Maulkin held back. He himself wove his body in a larger pattern, one that encompassed the white's insults, forbidding the others to act against him. He spoke no word, though his mane stood up and leaked a pale trail of toxins in the water as he swam. The silence and the poisons became a web around the white serpent. The white's movements slowed; he hung as motionless as a serpent could be. Maulkin had asked him no questions, yet he answered angrily.
"Because I have spoken with She Who Remembers. I was wild and mindless, as much a beast as any of the dumb ones who now follow you. But she caught me and she held me fast and she forced her memories on me until I choked on them." He spun in a swift vicious circle as if he would attack himself. Faster and faster he went. "Her memories were poison! Poison! More toxic than anything that ever flowed from a mane. When I recall what we have been, what we should be now and compare it to what we have become… I gag. I would disgorge this foul life we still embrace!"
Maulkin had not paused in his silent, weaving dance. His movements formed a barrier between the white and the serpents that hung listening.
"It is too late." The white trumpeted each word clearly. "Too many seasons have passed. Our time for changing has come and gone a score of times. Her memories are of a world long gone! Even if we could find the river to the cocooning grounds, there is no one to help us make our casts. They are all dead." He began to speak faster, his words gushing like a running river. "No parents wait to secrete their memories into our windings. We would come out of our metamorphosis as ignorant as we went in. She gave me her memories, and I tell you, they were not enough! I recognize little here, and what I do recall lies wrong. If we are doomed to perish, then let us lose our voices and our minds before we die. Her memories are not worth the agony I carry." His erect mane suddenly released a cloud of numbing toxins. He plunged his own face into it.
Maulkin struck, as swift as if he were taking prey. His golden eyes flashed as he wrapped the white and snatched him away from his own poison. "Enough!" he roared. His words were angry but his voice was not. The foolish white struggled, but Maulkin squeezed him as if he were a dolphin. "You are but one! You cannot decide for the whole tangle, or for the whole race. You have a duty, and you will do it before you take your own silly, senseless life." Maulkin released a cloud of his own toxins. The white serpent's angrily spinning scarlet eyes slowed and became a dull maroon. His jaws gaped open lazily as the toxins did their work. Maulkin spoke gently. "You will guide us to She Who Remembers. We have already absorbed some memories from a silver provider. If need be, we can take more. With what we shall gain from She Who Remembers, it may be enough." Unwillingly, he added, "What other choice have we?"
Kennit balanced before his mirror, turning his face from side to side before his reflection. A sheen of lemon oil gleamed on his hair and trimmed beard. His moustache curled elegantly, but without pretense. Immaculate white lace cascaded down his chest and from the cuffs of his deep blue jacket. Even the leather of his stump cup had been polished to a high gloss. Heavy silver earrings dangled. He looked, he reflected, like a man ready to go courting. In a sense, he was.
He had not slept well last night after his conversation with the ship. His damned charm had kept him awake, whispering and tittering, urging him to accept the dragon's terms. That very urging unnerved Kennit the most. Dare he trust the damned thing? Dare he ignore it? He had tossed and turned, and when Etta had come to join him in his bed, even her gentle rubbing of his neck and back could not lull him to sleep. As dawn grayed the sky, he had finally dozed off. When he awakened, it was to discover this determination in himself. He would win the ship back to him, all over again. This time, at least, he would not have her attraction to Wintrow to overcome.
He knew little of dragons, so he had focused on what he did know. She was female. So he would groom his plumage, offer gifts and see what it bought him. Satisfied with his appearance, he turned back to his bed and surveyed the trove there. A belt of silver rings decorated with lapis lazuli would be offered as a bracelet. If it pleased her, he had two silver bracelets that could be refitted as earrings for her. Etta would not miss them. A heavy flask held a quantity of wisteria oil. It had probably been bound to a Chalcedean perfumery. He had no idea what other sensory items might delight her. If these treasures left her unmoved, he would think of other tacks to take. But win her he would. He slipped his offerings into a velvet bag and tied it to his belt.
He moved best with his hands free. He did not wish to appear awkward before her.
He encountered Etta in the hall outside his cabin, her arms heavy with fresh linens. Her gaze roved over him, so that he felt almost affronted by her frank appraisal, and yet the approval that shone in her eyes assured him he had succeeded in his preparations. "Well!" she observed, almost saucily. A smile touched her lips.
"I go to speak to the ship," he told her gruffly. "Let no one disturb us."
"I shall pass the word immediately," she agreed. Then, her smile widening, she dared to add, "You are wise to go thus. It will please her."
"What would you know of such things?" he observed as he stumped past her.
"I had words with her this morning. She was passing civil with me, and spoke openly of her admiration for you. Let her see you admire her as well, and it will tickle her vanity. Dragon she may be, yet she is female enough that we understand one another." She paused, then added, "She says we are to call her Bolt, as in lightning bolt. The name fits her very well. Light and power shine from her."
Kennit halted. He turned back to face her. "What has brought about this new alliance?" he asked her uneasily.
Etta cocked her head and looked thoughtful. "She is different, now. That is all I can say." She smiled suddenly. "I think she likes me. She said we could be like sisters."
He hoped he concealed his surprise. "She said that?"
The whore stood clutching the linens to her bosom and smiling. "She said it would take both of us for you to realize your ambitions."
"Ah," he said, and turned and stumped away. The ship had won her. Just like that, with a kind word or two? It did not seem likely to him. Etta was not a woman easily swayed. What had the dragon offered her? Power? Wealth? But an even more pressing question was why. Why did the dragon seek to ally herself with the whore?
He found himself hurrying and deliberately slowed. He should not meet the dragon in haste. Calm down. Court her leisurely. Win her over, and then her friendship with Etta will be no threat.
As soon as he came out on the deck, he sensed a transformation. Aloft, the men were working a sail change, bandying jests as they did so. Jola shouted another command, and the men sprang to it. One man slipped, and then caught himself by one brawny arm. He laughed aloud and hauled himself up again. From the figurehead came a cry of delight at his skill. In an instant, Kennit knew the sailor had not slipped at all. He was showing off for the figurehead. She had the entire crew displaying their seamanship for her approval. They c
avorted like schoolboys for her attention.
"What have you done, to affect them so?" he greeted her.
She chuckled warmly and glanced back at him over one bare shoulder. "It takes so little to beguile them. A smile, a word, a challenge to see if they cannot raise a sail more swiftly. A little attention, a very little attention, and they vie for more."
"I am surprised you deign them worthy of your notice at all. Last night, you seemed to have small use for any human being."
She let his words slip by her. "I have promised them prey, before tomorrow sunset. But only if they can match their skills to my senses. There is a merchant vessel, not too far hence. She carries spices from the Mangardor Islands. We shall soon catch her up, if they keep my canvas tight."
So she had accepted her new body, it seemed. He chose not to comment on that. "You can see this ship, beyond the horizon?"
"I do not need to. The wind brought me her scent. Cloves and sandal-wood, Hasian pepper and sticks of kimoree. The smells of Mangardor Island itself; only a ship with a rich cargo could have brought such scents so far north. We should sight her soon."
"You can truly smell so keenly?"
A hunter's smile curled her lips. "The prey is not so far ahead. She picks her way through those islands. If your eyes were as keen as mine, you could pick her out." Then the smile faded from her face. "I know these waters as a ship. Yet as a dragon, I do not. All is vastly changed from when I last took wing. It is familiar and yet not." She frowned. "Do you know the Mangardor Islands?"
Kennit shrugged. "I know the Mangardor Rocks. They are a hazard in fog, and in some tides, they are exposed just enough to tear the bottom out of any ship that ventures near."
A long troubled silence followed his words. "So," she said quietly at last. "Either the oceans of the world have risen, or the lands I knew have sunk. I wonder what remains of my home." She paused. "Yet Others' Island, as you call it, seemed but little changed. So some of my world remains as it was. That is a puzzle to me, one I can only resolve when I return home."
"Home?" He tried to make the question casual. "And where is that?"
"Home is an eventuality. It is nothing for you to trouble yourself about just now," she told him. She smiled, but her voice had cooled.
"Might that be the thing you will want, when you want it?" he pressed.
"It might be. Or it might not. I'll let you know." She paused. "After all, I have not yet heard you say that you agree to my terms."
Carefully, carefully. "I am not a hasty man. I would still like to know more of what they are."
She laughed aloud. "Such a silly topic for us to discuss. You agree. Because you have even less choice than I do in the life we must share. What else is there for us, if not each other? You bring me gifts, don't you? That is more correct than you know. But I shall not even wait for you to present them before I reveal that I am a far richer trove than you imagined you could ever win. Dream larger, Kennit, than you have ever dreamt before. Dream of a ship that can summon serpents from the deep to aid us. They are mine to command. What would you have them do? Halt a ship and despoil it? Escort another ship safely wherever it wishes to go? Guide you through a fog? Guard the harbor of your city from any that might threaten it? Dream large, and larger still, Kennit. And then accept whatever terms I offer."
He cleared his throat. His mouth had gone dry. "You extend too much," he said baldly. "What can you want, what can I give you worthy of what you offer?"
She chuckled. "I shall tell you, if you cannot see it for yourself. You are the breath of my body, Kennit. I rely on you and your crew to move. If I must be trapped inside this hulk, then I must have a bold captain to give me wings, even if they are only of canvas. I require a captain who understands the joy of the hunt, and the quest for power. I need you, Kennit. Agree." Her voice dropped lower and softer. "Agree."
He took a breath. "I agree."
She threw back her head and laughed. It was like bells ringing. The very wind seemed to blow stronger in excitement at the sound.
Kennit leaned on her railing. Elation rose in him. He could scarcely believe his dreams were all within his grasp. He groped for something to say. "Wintrow will be very disappointed. Poor boy."
The ship nodded with a small sigh. "He deserves some happiness. Shall we send him back to his monastery?"
"I think it is the wisest course," Kennit concurred. He covered his surprise that she would suggest it. "Still, it will be hard for me to see him go. It has torn my heart, to see his beauty so destroyed. He was a very comely youth."
"He will be happier in his monastery, I am sure. A monk has little need of a smooth skin. Still… shall we heal him anyway, as a parting gift? A reminder to carry with him, always, of how we shaped him?" Bolt smiled, showing white teeth.
Kennit was incredulous. "This, too, you can do?"
The ship smiled conspiratorially. "This, too, you can do. Far more effective, don't you think? Go to his cabin now. Lay on your hands and wish him well. I shall guide you in the rest."
A strange lethargy had come over Wintrow. From attempting to meditate, his mind had sunk deeper and deeper into an abstract abyss. Suspended there, he wondered distantly what was happening to him. Had he finally mastered a deeper state of consciousness? Dimly, he was aware of the door opening.
He felt Kennit's hands on his chest. Wintrow struggled to open his eyes, but could not. He could not awaken. Something held him under like a smothering hand. He heard voices, Kennit speaking and Etta replying. Gankis said something quietly. Wintrow fought to be awake, but the harder he struggled, the more the world receded. Exhausted, he hovered. Tendrils of awareness reached him. Warmth flowed out from Kennit's spread hand. It suffused his skin, then seeped deep into his body. Kennit spoke softly, encouraging him. The fires of Wintrow's life force suddenly blazed up. To his consciousness, it was as if a candle suddenly roared with the light and heat of a bonfire. He began to pant as if he were running an uphill race. His heart labored to keep up with the rushing of his breath. Stop, he wanted to beg Kennit, please stop, but no words escaped him. He screamed his plea into his own darkness.
He could hear. He could hear the startled gasps and cries of awe of those who watched outside him. He recognized the voices of crewmates. "Look, you can see him change!"
"Even his hair is growing."
"It's a miracle. The cap'n's healing him."
His body's reserves were burned recklessly; he sensed that years of his life were consumed by this act, but could not defy it. The rejuvenating skin itched wildly, but he could not twitch a muscle. His own body was beyond his control. He managed a whimper, far back in his throat. It was ignored. The healing devoured him from the inside out. It was killing him. The world retreated. He floated small in the dark.
After a time, he was aware that Kennit's hands were gone. The painful pounding of his heart subsided. Someone spoke at a great distance. Kennit's voice reverberated with pride and exhaustion.
"There. Leave him to rest now. For the next few days, he will probably only awaken to eat and then sleep deeply again. Let no one be alarmed by this. It is a necessary part of the healing." He heard the pirate's deep ragged breath. "I must rest, too. This has cost me, but he deserved no less."
It was early evening when Kennit awoke. For a time, he lay still, savoring his elation. His sleep had completely restored him. Wintrow was healed, by his hands. Never had he felt so powerful as he had while his hands rested on Wintrow and his will healed the boy's skin. Those of his crew who had witnessed it regarded him with deep awe. The entire coast of the Cursed Shores was his for the plucking. Etta fair shone with love and admiration for him. When he opened his eyes and regarded the charm strapped to his wrist, even that small countenance was smiling wolfishly at him. For one perfectly balanced instant, all was well in his world.
"I am happy," Kennit said aloud. He grinned to hear himself say such foreign words.
A wind was rising. He listened to it whistle past the ship's canvas
, and wondered. He had seen no sign of a storm arising. Nor did the ship rock as if beset by a wind. Had the dragon power over such things as a rising storm, too?
He rose hastily, seized his crutch and went out on deck. The wind that stirred his hair was fair and steady. No storm clouds threatened, and the waves were rhythmic and even. Yet, even as he stood looking about, the sound of a rising wind came again to his ears. He hurried toward the source.
To his astonishment, the entire crew was mustered around the foredeck. They parted to make way for him in awe-stricken silence. He limped through them and forced himself up the ladder to the foredeck. As he gained his feet, the sound of the rising wind came again. This time he saw the source.
Bolt sang. He could not see her face. Her head was thrown back so that her long hair cascaded over her shoulders. The silver and lapis of his gift shone against the foaming black curls. She sang with a voice like a rising wind, and then with the sound of waves slashed by wind. Her voice ranged from a deep rush to a high whistling that no human throat and lips could have produced. It was the wind's song given voice, and it stirred him as no human music ever had. It spoke deep within him in the language of the sea itself, and Kennit recognized his mother tongue.
Then another voice joined hers, winding pure notes around and through Bolt's sea song. Every head turned. A profound silence stilled every human voice on the ship. Wonder replaced the first flash of fear that seized Kennit. She, too, was as beautiful as his ship. He saw that now. The green-gold serpent rose swaying from the depths, her jaws stretched wide in song.
WINTER
CHAPTER TWELVE
