“On the other hand,” put in Fager, “there were some nights we did not see the lights—when it stormed or when they did not shine above.”
“Even so,” responded Frizian, “no two nights running did that occur, yet when it did we held station, sailing a triangular course, waiting until the boreal lights did shine down on that position. And given the range that the plumes are seen…” All eyes swung to Alamar.
The elder nodded. “If Durlok were on the track and had called down a plume, I do not think that Jinnarin would have missed it. Recall, the first one she saw came down some two hundred miles away. Ha! She would have seen any others, and that’s a fact!”
Jatu slowly shook his head. “Be that as it may, the ocean is a wide place, and the Black Mage could easily sail past us during the day—and certainly at night—without us ever seeing him. And if he did not draw down a plume while we were in range, well then…”
All fell silent and after a moment Aravan asked, “Has any aught else to add concerning whether or no he sails the same track?” He glanced about the table at the mute company, none saying a word. Aravan then pointed to the jade castle in Thol. “Did Durlok fare inland when he reached the Realm of Thol?”
Alamar glanced up at Bokar and then back to the map. “It is possible that Durlok is compelled to continue along a given track to gather plumes. Stranger constraints have been known to bind the workings of certain castings.”
“If so,” mused Aravan, “then he would need a place to harbor his ship, and this coast is riddled with fjords and coves. It will take long to search them all out.”
“But, Captain,” put in Frizian, “perhaps he sent the ship elsewhere, while he alone, or with a small following, landed and trekked inland.”
Jatu jerked a thumb in the direction of the nearby harbor town. “Forget not, however, that the people of Havnstad saw no galley nor any other ship of late. And had Durlok landed, surely someone would have seen it. This town is closest to where we think his track would bring him.”
Alamar shook his head. “He is a Mage, a Black One, but a Mage still. And if he had wished to land unseen, he could have managed it.”
Frizian sighed. “Given our position and the date when he rammed us, if he did go straight from here to the coast of Thol and land—and go on—then he is deep within that Realm by now.”
Again a silence fell on the group. Once more Aravan asked for additional comments, and when none was forthcoming, he said, “Very well, let us now consider whether or no Durlok is in the Boreal Sea. What say ye?”
Bokar looked at the map. “Even though it is not on the track, the Black Mage could have turned north and east, sailing along the coast and past the island of Leut and into the Boreal. It would give him another”—Bokar gauged the distance—“thirty-six hundred miles of ocean. And the aurora shines above it as well.”
Aravan pursed his lips. “The Boreal at this time of year is even more fickle than the Northern Sea, and savage storms and great greybeards rage across its ’spanse, trying to drag all to their doom.” He turned to Alamar. “Would Durlok risk such?”
Alamar shrugged, a nettled look on his face.
Frizian said, “Too, there is the suck of the Great Maelstrom there by the Seabanes, yet any captain worth his salt can easily avoid that Kraken-infested maw.”
Scanning the faces at the table, none had anything to add, and so Aravan pointed to the flint spheroid southeast of Rwn. “What say ye of this?”
“It’s where Farrix saw the plumes,” said Jinnarin.
Fager spoke: “There is an old saying: thieves oft return to the place of the stealing. And who can deny that this Durlok comes like a thief in the night. Regardless, as Lady Jinnarin said, it’s where Farrix saw more than one plume come down.”
Jatu leaned forward on his hands. “Even so, we were anchored along the southeast coast of Rwn for nearly a month and in all that time no plume fell nearby. And when finally Lady Jinnarin saw the others, they were on a track that fared north of Rwn.”
Alamar nodded but added, “Again I say, castings are nearly always hemmed in by constraints. It could be that in the year when Farrix saw the plumes, well, perhaps southeast of Rwn was one of the few places—or even the only place—where conditions were right for drawing them down.”
“Damn!” exclaimed Bokar, slamming his fist to the table, jolting the tokko pieces. “No matter where we look, it is the same tale, full of could be’s and might be’s and do not know’s!”
Frizian nodded sharply, agreeing wholeheartedly with the Dwarf, and he pointed at the malachite eagle marking the Polar Sea. “Captain, the Polar Sea, where it is not locked in ice, is even worse this time of year than the Boreal. And in spite of the fact that the northern lights shine strongly there, the Armsmaster is right, and I say that the might be’s and could be’s of the Polar Sea are no better nor worse than the others—probably worse, now that I think of it.”
“Aye,” chimed in Fager. He pointed at the carnelian miter. “And what was said about Thol could as well be said about the western continent.”
Aravan looked about the table, then at Aylis, the seeress yet distracted, pondering. “Chieran,” he said, then, “Chieran,” louder.
“Wha-what?” She looked up and about. “Oh, my onyx throne.” She reached down and touched the piece. “I put it here because the lights reach farther south at this time of year. I think that perhaps Farrix saw Durlok on a different track, one which runs below Rwn. It occurred to me that Durlok may have moved to a new path, and that’s why we didn’t see him or any plumes when we ran along the northerly reach.”
A murmur of agreement muttered ‘round the table, but Jatu added, “Still, Lady Aylis, it is but speculation, as has been all said here this night, just as full of could be’s and might be’s and don’t know’s. Even so, your offering seems a shade more apt than other conjectures this night.”
Aylis held up a palm in demurral. “Oh no, I disagree—the most likely course is that suggested by Jinnarin.” Aylis pointed, and all eyes followed her outstretched finger to find the crystal castle sitting off the map at the edge of the table.
“So, Daughter, you think that Durlok has turned tail and run home, eh?”
“I don’t believe that we can claim that he has ‘turned tail,’ Father, but this I do know: we could sail the wide seas forever and never discover Durlok. Yet can we find his home…”
“She is right, Captain!” growled Bokar. “The best place to snare a vulture is in its nest.”
“And that’s where we will find Farrix,” added Jinnarin, “or so I think.”
Alamar turned to Aravan. “Tell me, my lad, just what have you discovered concerning the location of pale green seas?”
Aravan smiled at being called “lad” by Alamar, though no one else seemed to note it, for had he been a mortal, Aravan appeared to be no more than twenty-five or thirty years old, whereas Alamar seemed ancient by like comparison. But as to which of the two was eldest in reality…
Aravan stepped to the chart cabinet and hauled out several of the drawings. “None seems promising,” he said, unrolling a map and laying it atop the one on the table, weighting the corners down. He pointed. “Here, we have a green sea in this long cusp at the northwest marge of the Great Gulf, yet there are no islands within.”
Aravan unrolled a second map and laid it atop the other two. “Here in the Avagon are the Islands of Stone, frequented by pirates. The waters thereabouts are aquamarine. Yet I know of no crystal castle therein. Too, the islands are quite close together, separated by a maze of channels running among them rather than by wide ’spanses as Jinnarin’s dream would have.”
A third map was laid out. “This is the Sindhu Sea. Here and here are pale green waters surrounding islands, yet these are well peopled, and traders ply this route. Again, no crystal castle sits therein.”
On the fourth map, Aravan pointed out island group after island group. “These are the wide waters of the Bright Sea, where rings of cor
al islands abound. They have white beaches and lucid waters, yet all are set low in the sea and are covered with palm trees; none corresponds to the craggy isle described by Jinnarin and Aylis.”
Aravan unrolled a fifth map. “Here we have the Ramanian Archipelago on the rim of the Jinga Sea, green waters about. Yet once again all these islands are well-known and no crystal castle stands above any of the shores.
“There are many other archipelagos, but none with pale green waters.
“Hence, of all the places I have examined, none seems to be an acceptable candidate for none matches the dream.”
Alamar cleared his throat. “Again I say, dreams are misleading. It could be that the waters are not truly pale green. It could be that the crystal castle represents something else entirely. It could be that the island is not an island at all, but a place that lies upon a continental shore, or even far inland.”
Bokar ground his teeth in frustration. “More could be’s and might be’s and do not know’s.”
Alamar shook his head. “Indeed, Dwarf. What we need is less speculation and more information.”
Aylis took a deep breath. “I agree, Father, and that’s why I must walk Jinnarin’s dream again.”
“What?” exploded Jinnarin, aghast.
Alamar looked at her wide-eyed, and Aravan’s face fell grim.
“I said,” responded Aylis, “that I must walk your—”
“Oh no you don’t,” interrupted Jinnarin.
“Daughter—”
“Chieran—”
Aylis raised her voice above the clamor. “It is the only way!”
Jinnarin strode back and forth across the table. “Oh no, Aylis, I have already killed one person. I’ll not have the blood of another on my hands.”
Aylis reached out and blocked her path, the Pysk stopping and looking up at the seeress. “Jinnarin, you are not responsible for Ontah’s death. Instead it is Durlok who—”
“It’s my dream!” shouted Jinnarin.
“No it isn’t,” gritted Aylis. “It is a sending! Whose? Farrix’s, we think. But Durlok has done something to make it into a thing of dread. How? I cannot say, yet he is behind this just as certain as he is behind the plumes and the hideous sacrifice we found. So, Jinnarin, take not this guilt upon yourself; instead, place the blame where it rightfully belongs—at the feet of a Black Mage.”
Jinnarin turned to Alamar, appeal in her eyes. But Alamar slowly shook his head, though his face was drained of blood. “I cannot stop her, Pysk. I will not even try. She is her own person, and I would not have it be otherwise. What she proposes to do is fraught with danger, yet she has the right of it: the only way for us to gather more information is for her to walk your dream again. Unless she does so, we may never discover Durlok’s schemes.”
“I don’t care about Durlok!” Jinnarin cried and spun away, turning to Jatu.
The big black Man turned up his hands. “Unless she walks your dream, tiny one, we may never find your Farrix.”
Tears welled in Jinnarin’s eyes, and she turned to Aravan.
For what seemed to be endless moments he did nought but look at her, his face bleak. At last he spoke, his voice but a whisper: “The choice is thine and hers alone, Lady Jinnarin. None else here can make it for either of ye. It is thine alone to choose, and if thou choose to do so, it is hers and thine to do. She will not walk in thy dream without thy permission; she will not enter without thy leave.”
In the swaying lantern light, Jinnarin turned to Aylis. As shadows shifted to and fro, long did Jinnarin look into the face of the seeress. At last the Pysk nodded, and that but once.
Aylis let out the breath she discovered she was holding. “Good. I will go.”
At these words, Jinnarin fell to her knees and buried her face in her hands and wept as if her world had come to an end.
CHAPTER 22
Phantasms
Winter, 1E9574–75
[The Present]
The next morning, Quartermaster Roku, along with a crew of sailors and an escort of armed Dwarves, made ready to row across the harbor to the town of Havnstad, there to arrange for the replenishment of the ship’s store of fresh water and to restock their reserve of supplies. “’Ware,” called Bokar down to Kelek, his second in command in one of the gigs, “this town has just paid tribute to raiders. Some will be touchy, and belike to act before they think.”
As Kelek acknowledged the warning, Jatu standing at Bokar’s side murmured, “On the other hand, they are chary of warriors armed and armored; I think the townsfolk will act as they did yester—overpolite and eager to please, so as not to upset a fierce foe. Unless there be a hothead or two, Roku and Kelek and the others will see no belligerence this day, just as we did not. Too, since they’ve just paid tribute, their coffers run low, and they will be eager for our business.”
As the gigs rowed away, Aravan and Frizian came to join Bokar and Jatu. Without preamble Aravan said, “When Roku and the others return, I am of a mind to set sail on a westerly course running south of Rwn.”
Jatu smiled. “Following the route suggested by Lady Aylis, eh?’
“Aye, Jatu, it is as thou said: her offering seems more apt than all our other conjectures.”
Frizian blew out his breath, white in the chill air. “What about her dreamwalk, Captain?”
Aravan glanced at the morning Sun and took a deep breath. “Lady Aylis believes that she may begin walking dreams with Lady Jinnarin within a sevenday.”
“Why wait, Captain?”
“There is more to dreamwalking than we know, Frizian, yet can the Lady Aylis teach Lady Jinnarin the lore of it, mayhap it will increase their chances of evading the peril within the sending, for in that dream deadly dangers lie.”
“Argh!” growled Bokar. “Give me something I can see, something I can bury cold steel in. That is the foe I would fight. Not some dream phantom!”
Aravan held up a hand. “Bokar, thou name a dream phantom, yet we know not what foe lies within.”
Bokar’s eyes narrowed. “A giant phantom spider, Captain, was it not?”
“Lady Aylis does not deem the spider slew Ontah. ‘Twas something else altogether.”
“Durlok!” exclaimed Frizian.
Bokar’s eyes widened. “The Black Mage? Think you he is somehow within the dream itself?”
Frizian turned up his hands, but Aravan said, “If one can walk a dream, then so might another.”
A pall of silence fell upon the group. At last Frizian said, “Captain, I’ll tell the Men to make ready to get underway when Roku returns.”
As Aravan nodded and Frizian turned to go, Bokar gritted, “And I’ll keep the warband ready, in case these craven Havnstaders decide to pull some underhanded trick.”
Now Bokar stepped away, and Jatu said quietly, “Captain, he is spoiling for a fight. If we don’t find action soon…”
“Nay, Jatu, worry not about Bokar. He is well disciplined, as is all his band. Yet thou hast the right of it: he is spoiling for a fight, and I pity those he finally faces if it comes to combat.”
Below decks, Aylis and Jinnarin sat in darkened quarters, a single candle illumining the room, daylight blocked from showing through the cloth-covered porthole. Aylis sat on the floor, her back against a wall, Jinnarin on the bunk, her back against the opposite wall. “Breathe deeply and relax,” murmured Aylis. “Look at the candle flame; concentrate on it until all else fades from view. Then close your eyes and let the image of the flame remain. Slowly it will begin to wane, and as it does so, picture a peaceful scene—a stream, a glade, a quiet dell, a field of nodding flowers. Let your mind float free from your body and enter what you envision. Once you have entered…” And as the Eroean slowly and gently rocked to and fro, Jinnarin began a journey into peaceful meditation, Aylis her learned guide.
Roku returned from the port town in mid afternoon, a small flotilla following. Bokar and his warband stood wary guard as goods were passed up from the merchants’ boats, the townsfo
lk aboard them marvelling over the cut of the Elvenship. Dried vegetables and fruits, grain, flour, slabs of cured meat, dried fish, kegs of pickled cabbage, jerky, barrels of water, keglets of rum and wine, wheels of cheese, more: all were passed up and over the rail, some winched aboard in nets. And when all had been laded and the boats were away, Frizian had Reydeau pipe the silks, and the Eroean weighed anchor and majestically sailed out from the harbor, running easily against the incoming tide.
South fared the Eroean for a full day, running with the wind abeam. Then westerly she turned into the blow and began tacking a zigzag path. Another day followed and then another one after until altogether a week had fled, and still westerly she drove, beating windward, sailing the waters above Gelen and below Rwn and on beyond Atala. And all that time though the boreal lights shone, no plumes in the night did they spy. Nor during that time in the daylight hours was any galley seen. And day after day in a darkened cabin Aylis quietly led Jinnarin into the secrets of drifting free, of meditation, of consciously walking a dream.
Aylis lay with Aravan, her head on his breast, he stroking her hair, she listening to the beat of his heart. “I think we are ready,” she said after a while.
“When, chieran?”
“Tomorrow we begin.”
“So soon?”
“Yes.”
“And Jinnarin?”
“She is as ready as I was at the same stage of learning, love. She has mastered both light and deep meditation. Too, Ontah’s
Aravan lay quietly for a while, then said, “She learned quickly, neh?”
“Yes. Ontah marvelled over how swiftly I learned, but he would have been just as pleased with Jinnarin.”
Voyage of the Fox Rider Page 31
