Cloak of the Two Winds

by Jack Massa

"She's right," Draven laid a hand on Eben's shoulder. "It's better to do both."

  Eben ceased struggling and stared at the floor, defeated.

  "We'll do what Brinda suggests," Lonn said. "But first we must raise the klarn spirit. There’s only four of us, but that’s better than nothing."

  "No time," Brinda was picking up her weapons. "Karrol will be out of sight by the time we finish. You three raise the spirit and send it to the rest of us—to Glyssa too."

  She fastened on her cape and headed for the entrance. "Karrol, wait for me," she called as she ran outside.

  When she was gone, Lonn, Draven and Eben stared at each other, stunned. The chaos and terror of what had happened settled on them now, and for a moment they were overwhelmed, paralyzed.

  Finally, Lonn shook himself. "We must hurry."

  They finished dressing. Lonn went to fetch the ceremonial cup. The men lined up at the door flap and hastily performed the rite, pouring libations and calling the klarn spirit to wake and come into them. Each of them picked up two spears, and Eben added words to send the spirit also to Brinda, Karrol, and Glyssa.

  They armed themselves with swords and knives, and each took a quiver that held three spears. Though the journey might be long they took no food, only small water flasks tucked in their shirts. The furs and weapons encumbered them already, but they dared not leave those behind.

  "With luck we'll return in a day or two," Draven said to the bostulls. "If not, someone will come by and find you. You'll be looked after, so don't worry."

  "I wish you good fortune," Kizier said.

  "We'll need it," Lonn muttered.

  The Iruks tramped outside, into the brilliance of sunlight and snow. Karrol and Brinda had already skated out to sea. Lonn peered for a moment before spotting them, tiny specks receding in the glimmering distance.

  Eben volunteered to go inland, to apprise the village elders of what had happened and to ask them to take the windbringers if his klarn did not return. He bid his mates good hunting and marched over the rise toward the center of the isle. Lonn and Draven stepped and skidded down the slope to where the dojuk had been moored.

  The witchlight made the sea ice gleam even more brightly than the snow-covered land. Lonn and Draven sat at the edge of the trench and took the skates from their belts. The double blades of ivory fit snugly against the soles of their boots, but Lonn's fingers were stiff, their movements inept. He was still fumbling with the straps when Draven stood, muttered his farewell and skated off. He would circle the island to the east, leaving Lonn the western leg.

  Alone in the huge silence, Lonn fought down a rising surge of futility and despair. He swore and tugged at the leather straps and finally got them tied. He rose clumsily and started off, skating inside the trench. The vapory sealight hovered about his ankles. Momentarily, the effortless gliding made him feel a little better.

  The snow that fell during the squall had been transformed by the glowing enchantment of the sea into hard, skateable ice. This change took time, the radiant power seeping up, melting and then refreezing the snowfall. The trench could only have been formed by an interruption of this change, the layer of new snow cleared away so the dojuk could ride the solid ice beneath.

  How strong a wind would be needed to move so much snow? Lonn shook his head. How could he and his mates hope to fight an enemy with such power?

  A hundred yards from shore he stopped and turned. Ilga was a white hump rising from the pale blue luminescence of the sea-ice. Here and there dark details could be discerned, a wall of rock too steep for the snow to cling to, the two brown domes of the lodge house, only partly covered in white. Farther inland, columns of gray smoke drifted up from the chimneys of the village.

  Skating east, Draven had already circled out of sight. Lonn stepped from the trench and started west.

  The orange sun was past the top of the sky when Lonn and Draven skated back to the shore in front of the lodge house. They had met on the far side of the island, then circled back together. Eben stood on the beach waiting for them.

  "No boats," Lonn told him. "We follow Karrol and Brinda on skates."

  "And hope for the best," Draven added.

  As soon as Eben had his skates on they headed out to sea. The trench ran straight and level, the smooth ice within perfect for skating. The Iruks lengthened their strides. Bent low, they swung their arms, gaining speed with every stroke. A gust of wind blew up behind them, moaning in their ears.

  After a while Lonn glanced back and saw that Ilga was gone, lost in the shimmering blue-white veil that hung upon the world. There were other islands off to his right, but none could be made out in the brilliance. It was like a dream, he thought, this mad flight on skates out to sea, in an icy trench that could not have been made by nature, with the same maddening vista everywhere. It was much like the weird, incomprehensible dreams that haunted him sometimes.

  His empty belly rumbled with hunger. His legs in their fur leggings were drenched in sweat. He wished he could discard the heavy cape at least, but he knew he would need it later, in the freezing night.

  The cold breeze remained steady in the south. This at least was fortunate. So long as a southerly blew there was little chance of a meltwind.

  The mates kept skating, pushing the measured strides into their legs. In Second Winter, when ice was constant and there was often little wind for sailing, the Iruks were accustomed to skating long hauls from island to island, or making a circuit of many days on their skates, seeking the breathing holes of the sea lion herds. Lonn, Draven, and Eben were in such a long-distance rhythm now. They kept up the pace without faltering as the faint sun wheeled down through the afternoon sky.

  The track was growing more shallow. The farther north the dojuk had travelled, the less snow there'd been to clear away. By sundown the trench had risen almost to the level of the surrounding ice.

  There was still no sign of Karrol and Brinda.

  Daylight faded and the fiery constellations appeared overhead. Weak from hunger, thighs and backs straining, the Iruks pushed on. Their strides were ragged now, and slower. Only iron determination kept their exhausted legs moving.

  Then Lonn's skate hit a nick in the ice and he fell sprawling. He slid a distance on his belly before his mates could pick him up. He tasted blood in his mouth and spit it out.

  "Easy," Draven said.

  But Lonn yanked free and skated off again. "I'm all right."

  "There's no track anymore," Draven said, pulling even.

  "We're keeping the same direction," Lonn answered. "We have to keep going."

  "I know."

  But the ache in Lonn's legs was growing sharper, and he wondered how long he could fight it. Karrol and Brinda came this far, he told himself, and farther. Still, it seemed hopeless. Even if they found Glyssa now they'd have no strength to help her.

  A while later Eben skidded to a halt, doubled over and clutching his belly. Lonn and Draven stopped and skated back to him.

  "Keep going," Eben said. "I'll catch up with you."

  Lonn glanced at Draven, who shook his head despondently.

  They had pushed themselves all day, putting only a few swallows of water in their stomachs. Eben's wiry frame carried less muscle than the others', but it would not be long before they too went down with cramps. Besides, if they left Eben here alone there was little doubt but he would freeze.

  "Get moving!" Eben cried angrily.

  "No," Lonn knelt and embraced him. "What's left of the klarn must stay together. We'll go on in the morning."

  "It may be too late in the morning." Eben tried to rise, then fell back wincing.

  "It may be too late already," Lonn said. "We won't leave you."

  Draven bent over and wrapped an arm around each of their shoulders. Eben shook with weeping. "Please go," he said. "I don't want my weakness to cost us losing Glyssa."

  "No. It's my fault," Lonn answered. "My dreaming started it all."

  "Stop it!" Draven shouted. "I could b
lame myself too. When Glyssa tried to warn us, I was the one who laughed at her. And Lonn, we all agreed to follow your dream and sail to Dekyll. We could have refused. We all did what we thought was best at the time. What is the good of blaming ourselves now? None of us can go farther, Eben."

  Tears of remorse filled Lonn's eyes. "Our klarn is broken, Draven."

  "No," Draven hugged him. "We'll go on tomorrow. We'll find our mates."

  The three Iruks huddled close, murmuring consolations to one another. At Draven's suggestion Eben took out two spears and beat them together. They chanted to the spirits of the wind and the ice, begging them to keep the meltwind away and to protect their absent klarnmates.

  Afterward they lay down close together, sharing the warmth of their capes, and soon fell asleep.

  Lonn's first awareness was of dread, creeping through his belly, unattached to any thought. Next he felt numbing cold against his back. He tried to move and discovered massive, aching stiffness in every joint and muscle. And he remembered.

  Lonn opened his eyes, pulled the wool and fur away from his face. It was daylight, the sun low in the east. With a groan he unwrapped himself from the capes and struggled to his feet. Draven and Eben rose slowly beside him.

  Lonn scanned the bright panorama of ice and sky and detected no movement anywhere. Then he realized the source of his dread. A warm breeze blew on his face—from the north. The weather had changed.

  "If the wind picks up now we're finished," Eben muttered.

  "What should we do?" Draven asked feebly.

  "We could turn back," Eben said. "Try and make it to land. Bru Isle can't be too many leagues southeast of here. If we turn back, we'll likely be giving up our mates. If we go on, we'll probably be giving up ourselves too."

  "We have to go on," Lonn said, searching their eyes for affirmation.

  Both of them gave it, nodding soberly.

  They drank a little water, then picked up their capes and quivers. Lonn hoisted the quiver on his back, grimacing at the pain.

  "A sail!" Eben pointed to the south.

  Lonn peered into the shining distance. A glint of motion caught his eye—a speck, barely visible. "Should we make for it?" he asked.

  "Of course." Draven was skating already, calling back to his mates. "If they're friendly they'll take us on board. If not, we'll make them wish they'd been friendly."

  Lonn and Eben started after him, forcing movement from their deadened legs.

  As the craft drew closer Lonn could see it was no dojuk, but a large vessel. It was sailing toward them, beating against the northerly breeze. Then the craft came about, fore-and-aft rig turning sideways to the Iruks.

  Lonn's belly cringed with a new dread.

  It was the Larthangan, the witch's ship.

  Five

  The Iruks skidded to a stop on the shining ice. The witch's vessel, still a half-mile downwind, was sailing from the same direction as they had skated.

  "She's come from Ilga," Draven surmised. "She found our lodge house and got the story from the windbringer. Now she's hunting her cloak."

  "Or else she never found Ilga, and she's still hunting the pirates who robbed her," Eben said. "Either way, we won't get a friendly greeting."

  Lonn grunted. "If it's a choice between her displeasure and a meltwind ..."

  Draven and Eben shrugged their agreement. They set off toward the ship.

  A few hundred yards away the coaster changed tacks, aiming slightly to the Iruks' left as it angled into the wind. As the vessel drew closer, Lonn could hear the scrape of its iron runners on the ice. The three mates waved their arms and shouted.

  In response the coaster veered, pointing upwind to slow—pointing now straight at the Iruks. They had to shuffle aside as the ship hurtled down on them, a tilting, ungainly behemoth.

  A gray-clad figure hailed the Iruks from the high foredeck. By the slim shape and blowing gold hair Lonn recognized the witch of Larthang. She called to them through a megaphone.

  "Come aboard if you can. We've slowed for you, but we'll not be stopping."

  The bow rushed past the skaters as the witch shouted to them. Encumbered and weary as they were, the Iruks dashed for the ship. The first runner slid by as they approached. Lonn and his mates just had time to stop, get their timing and pounce on the second runner.

  Then they were crouching on the two-foot-wide runner top, streaming along in the rushing wind, the ice flashing inches below. Holding a precarious balance, they sat down and unstrapped their skate-blades, then tied them to their belts.

  The coaster was cutting off-wind again, increasing speed. The Iruks inched their way along the runner top to a curved iron beam, one of two that connected runner to hull. When the coaster sailed on soft water these beams were drawn up into the belly of the ship, the runners fitting snugly midway up the hull. Lonn was familiar with similar equipment on Tathian ships, though he didn't understand the exact details of the mechanism. At present he was just grateful that the beams were fashioned with rungs, to serve as curved ladders. He and his mates climbed up the beam one behind the next, watching out for each other as best they could. The ice was a dizzying blur below their hands and feet. Once the ship hit a bump and Eben nearly fell. He was saved by grabbing Lonn's ankle above him, and by Draven who steadied him from below.

  Lonn first, and then the others, reached the narrow ledge halfway up the ship's side. A short length of ladder, of stout rope with wooden rungs, had been dropped for them. The Iruks clambered up the ladder and heaved themselves over the rail, spilling onto the deck where they lay panting and exhausted.

  The girl-like witch, Captain Troneck, and a number of sailors had assembled on the deck to confront the Iruks. Lonn looked up at them for some moments, before achingly climbing to his feet. His mates rose beside him.

  The men of Larthang, lean and cold-looking in their wool coats and hats, regarded the Iruks with open hostility. They had armed themselves with ice-axes, knives, and belaying pins.

  The witch stood before them, in a long coat of gray fur, her hands folded in the wide sleeves. She was taller than Lonn had thought, fully his own height or better. Her sea-blue eyes stared into his eyes and seemed to pierce through to his brain.

  "I am Amlina, a deepshaper of Larthang," she said. "This ship is under my hire and command."

  "I am Lonn," his voice grated. "This is Eben, Draven. We are Iruks of ..."

  "You are three of the pirates who robbed me. I know this already, as I know that the Cloak of the Two Winds was stolen from you in turn—along with your iceboat and one of your crew."

  "If you know who we are," Eben said, "why have you taken us on board?"

  "Why do you suppose?" Amlina retorted. "To imprison you in glass beads to wear around my neck? To turn you into fish and watch you drown in the air? Don't worry. I haven't the time or inclination for such amusements. No. Kizier the windbringer convinced me to take you on board. For some reason, he believes there is worth in you Iruks, and that you might bring me good luck, though so far you've brought me only evil."

  "And you accept his opinion." Draven smiled winningly.

  "I consider it remotely possible he is correct."

  "He is wise, this windbringer," Lonn said, grasping at the opportunity. "You seek your treasure, we seek our mates. There's no reason we shouldn't join forces now and help each other."

  "Oh, indeed?" Amlina said. "I can help you by letting you stay on board, thus preventing your imminent drowning. How can you help me?"

  "As fighters," Draven answered readily. "Your ship plainly needs protection. It would never have fallen prey to one hunting boat if you'd had a few warriors aboard."

  "Besides," Eben said, "we know the seas and islands of this region, and you do not."

  "I doubt the Cloak of the Two Winds will be in this region for long," Amlina replied. "Your other point, however, has some merit. I was forced to leave Nyssan without acquiring suitable bodyguards. Not that you are exactly suitable."

  "
We are Iruks," Lonn threw back his shoulders. "None are better with spear or sword."

  "That may be so," Amlina said. "Still, I must decide for myself whether to take you into my service. This evening I will put the question to the Deepmind. You will have my decision in the morning. Meantime, you'll be given food and water. But to assure that you'll cause no trouble, I must take your weapons and chain you to the mainmast."

  "No." Lonn and Eben gripped their sword hilts.

  "There's no need to chain us.'" Draven held up his hands. "We won't harm anyone."

  "It must be done," Amlina insisted. "You've butchered two men of this crew already. The others understandably disfavor having you on board. I won't have their safety threatened, nor their efficiency impaired because they're worried about having their throats cut."

  At a gesture from the witch the Larthangans started forward. In a blur of motion, the Iruks drew their swords. The crewmen halted.

  "We've never been chained in our lives," Lonn declared. "We'll not have it now."

  "You cannot fight me," Amlina said quietly. "Put down your weapons."

  "Never."

  "Put down your weapons."

  Her voice, still soft, reverberated with a tone of irresistible command. Her eyes seemed to grow larger, until they filled Lonn's vision and burned inside his skull. Against his will, the sword drooped, then slipped from his fingers. Three swords rang dully as they struck the deck.

  "Bring them," Amlina said.

  Dazed by her witchery, the Iruks hardly resisted as the crewmen grabbed them. Their arms were pinned back, their knives and spears taken. Lonn tried to twist free, but his deadened arms were held fast. With Troneck supervising, the prisoners were half-marched, half-dragged to the mainmast.

  Amlina was fixing a ring of chain, shoulder high on the mast, with numerous tether chains attached. Lonn's weak struggles ceased for a moment, stilled by amazement.

  The chain was gold and extremely fine—jeweler's chain. The tethers ended not in iron manacles but in delicate bracelets of gold filigree.

  Then Lonn's amazement passed, replaced by panic. He gave a roar of defiance, kicked one of the sailors and almost tore loose.