Ivin watched as she curled into its cushions, pulling a blanket over head.
He looked to Nostrolum and shrugged. They’d gone from one cage to another, but this one was more cluttered.
He set his drink down and picked up Loduma’s sword, testing its weight.
Nostrolum snickered, poked a claw through the air. “Zeshu Mue.”
Ivin figured the man was right, it was a dainty thing. He tossed it aside and went to the cat’s pile of weapons. Most were crude, but sharp. He turned and glanced at the sword hanging in the wall. More an arming sword with cup hilt than the swipe and poke rapier of Loduma’s, it might suit his tastes. He pulled the blade from the sheath on the wall and whistled. Fine patterned steel, and a maker’s mark that reminded him of a horned bull’s head.
Ivin tested its weight and balance; a fine weapon. He smiled at Nostrolum. “He won’t mind if I borrow it.” He lifted the sheath from its resting place and returned the blade to its home. He glanced around the room, saddened he didn’t spot armor or a shield. But you never know what could hide in all these trunks. “What say we make a mess, Nostrolum.”
The cat followed him to a trunk, staring at him with quizzical eyes and twitching whiskers. Ivin threw open a trunk and reached inside, tossing things to the side.
Nostrolum’s fangs showed with his smile. “Mess.”
41
Converted Souls
Dance and prance, sing and swing,
the colorful life of mortals, mingles blurred,
tints and hues of immortality unkind in kind,
chewing the rind of the whistling fruit,
seed swallowed, mind hollowed, thoughts furrowed,
straight rows unable to jump.
–Tomes of the Touched
Meliu sat up from her sleep sometime around midday and stared at Ivin. He stared back. “What?”
“We need to get off this boat.”
She glanced to the floor where he and Nostrolum had strewn piles of clothes, ranging from hats to billowing, down-filled pants; anything remaining in the Ar-Bdein’s trunks or wardrobe was an accident of an errant toss. Then she spotted the Ilu-Silvstro. “What the hells were you boys doing?”
Nostrolum sat sprawled in a chair, tail brooming the ground in languid swipes. He wore a broad-rimmed hat with a ruby-red feather stuck from its band: Beautiful plumage and long as Ivin’s forearm. He’d also squeezed into a long coat, but its buttons stretched and his muscles threatened the stitches.
Ivin couldn’t resist. “It’s a disguise.”
She buried her face in a palm and giggled. “Not only would his mother recognize him, he’d humiliate her for generations.”
Nostrolum stood, and a seam ripped. He removed his hat with a flourish and bowed deep, sending two buttons clattering to the floor.
“Boys. Seriously, we can’t ride this boat all the way to town no matter how we dress.”
Nostrolum flopped in his chair. “Sedolin meara.” He nodded with a sage expression, as if they should understand what he said and be impressed. For a giant cat trapped in a world of men, he kept one hells of a sense of humor.
Ivin said, “Getting off the boat is easy. Splash!” Nostrolum’s attitude was wearing off on him.
“I’d prefer the rowboat hanging from the side of the cabin.”
“Sure, if you like things simple.”
“We could force them to take us to shore, or we slip away after dark with the boat. They wouldn’t know we’re gone until morning, maybe later.”
“Just how far you think we’re going to sneak with Nostrolum with us?”
“I expect he’ll go his own way.”
Ivin sighed. The saying was an old one, but appropriate considering the subject. “He’s got a wax cat’s chance in the hells of making it home, wherever that is.”
“Whatever chance he has it’s better alone than with us. What lore I know of his people… They’re survivors.”
Ivin nodded, but felt bad they couldn’t help more. “So, just how do we sneak off this barge?”
Meliu stood and stretched, wandered to a window and lifted their curtain for a peep. Not a Tek was within ten paces of the cabin. “Come midnight, we walk straight out this door, take the boat, and head for shore.”
Ivin didn’t bother to question her plan, accepting what she said was what she meant. “My turn for a nap.”
Midnight came, and Meliu was true to her word. She opened the door and stepped outside, but when Ivin followed, the boat looked like it’d been cut in twain, the rear having floated away. It didn’t take more than a flicker to a realize a wall of Dark stood between them and the Teks so no one could see them.
She led them around the cabin’s edge and pointed to a rowboat tied to a hinged arm. Ivin grabbed a handle and pulled to swing the boat toward the water, but the contraption squawked and he stopped. Nostrolum tapped his shoulder, and when he moved the cat stepped beneath the boat, long arms reaching up to a take a grip with claws digging. He nodded to the rope.
Ivin shrugged, and Nostrolum gestured to cut the rope before replacing his hand to the hull. Ivin slipped the knife from his belt and within a dozen swipes the rope severed. Nostrolum held the craft aloft without budging, stepped to the edge of the barge, and kneeled before leaning to lay on his back, the boat on top of him. He squirmed, and in flickers, the boat sat on the deck with little more than a soft knock of sound. He leaped to his feet, grabbed one side while Ivin took the other, and they slipped it into inky dark waters. Just lifting half the rowboat reinforced how thankful he was the man turned out to be friendly.
Meliu eased into the boat with a smile and Ivin followed. Nostrolum braced, then let go the barge, spinning his body to land beside them with such a grace the hull rocked no more than if tapped by a passing log. Looking back, the wall of Dark disappeared, then the whole boat, as a new Dark rose between them and the Teks.
Ivin split the water with oars, silent, creating drag enough for the Ar-Bdein’s boat drifted ahead of them. They waited several wicks before rowing to shore.
It was jubilation to set foot on dry ground as a free man. Free of chains, free of the tower, free of Bdein, and free of Tek in general. But joy faded fast. “Now what?”
“Now we wait for morning.”
Nostrolum waved his hands in front of them, tapped them both with a finger, then pointed south. “Vaermu.”
Meliu said, “I think he wants us to come with him.” She shook her head and pointed. “We must go north.”
His nod was solemn, and he placed a hand on their shoulders. “Ivin. Meliu. Gostelium finshol.” He stared hard at Ivin, then Meliu, shook their shoulders. “Gostelium finshol.”
Ivin did his best to say it right. “Gostelium finshol?”
He eyeballed Meliu. “Gostelium Finshol.” He pointed south.
She repeated his words. “Gostelium Finshol.”
Nostrolum let go of their shoulders and tapped his head with a finger. “Gostelium finshol.” And he smiled, glancing north, then south, before his gaze returned to them. “Himusin belor.”
Ivin didn’t know much Hidreng, but these words he’d heard before. He didn’t know their exact meaning, but he knew it was goodbye. “Himusin belor.”
Nostrolum smiled before turning and walking south along the river’s bank.
“What do you think he meant by Gostelium finshol?”
Meliu shook her head. “I haven’t a clue, but I think he meant for us to remember it.”
Ivin vowed never to forget.
They slept in the rowboat after dragging it a dozen strides into tall grass, or rather, after Ivin drug it into the tall grass. Meliu admitted she’d been little use, despite his assurances otherwise. The sun rose with them pressed together in the “U” of the hull. She’d spent all of her remembered life sleeping alone; she held memories of sleeping in her parents’ bed as a toddler fearful of the night, but she wondered if those were false memories of a child’s fancy. Perhaps dreams. Wakening by Ivin’s side
, the press of his warmth… she’d never allowed people to touch her, not on her shoulder or head, nowhere, but of a sudden she’d let a man she once believed her enemy to be the touchstone of hope in the future.
She squirmed, fearful of such notions, but her head knocked a board, and she relaxed, surrendering to the peace a moment longer. But just a moment.
Meliu rolled her arm free, punched his shoulder. “Wake up, you oaf.” Ivin groaned and tried to roll, crushing her against the side of the hull. “All right, you bastard, you’ve got five flickers before I bite your ear off.”
Ivin reached for the hull’s edge and pulled himself to sitting, shooting her a glare. “Considering how many times I took your elbows last night, you might go soft on your threats.”
“Snoring lug.”
He stood and stretched. “Won’t get an argument on that account. So! We don’t have no doors to walk straight through, so what’s the plan this time?”
She crawled from the boat, stiff everywhere she figured she could be. “Much as I’d prefer land beneath my feet, the boat would be quicker with this current. And save the soles of our shoes.”
Ivin asked, “How far out you think we are?”
“I swear, with old maps, sometimes distances depended upon the mood of the cartographer… Two days by boat? Four or five on foot?”
“We’d be straw targets for archers floating down this river.”
“Not necessarily. Easier for my prayers to disappear us on the water.”
Ivin considered, thinking back to her practicing what she called “bending light” at the Tower. It made sense with the river as a simpler background. “Faster, safer… but, sore shoulders.” He grabbed the boat and drug it to the river’s edge. Meliu pushed on the opposite end and within a wick the boat bobbed with Ivin rowing them to the middle of the river. The waterway wasn’t wide enough to keep them from arrow range, but at least it’d take a skilled shot.
Meliu smiled: Life on a boat was more pleasant once she wasn’t worried about getting caught praying to cure her wave-sickness. She didn’t love the water, but at least she wasn’t hanging over the edge spilling her breakfast.
Ivin guided them down the river, and when Meliu spotted a log floating twenty paces to their side, she prayed to Elinwe for Light. She focused on the log, it’s shape, and the texture of the river. When she unleashed the Light trickling through her body, the log wavered as a mirage, then disappeared. She pointed and Ivin smiled.
“You’re good.”
It wasn’t perfect. She spread her focus to the log’s wake before smiling with a wink. “Better than good.” She released her prayer and sat staring down river.
It was midday before her eyes noted anything ahead, and she prayed for vision. The horizon grew closer, and she saw buildings and docks. Way too soon to be the town we want. Then she spotted the Archer’s Eye.
“Pull the oars and lay down.” The slosh of oars ceased, and she leaned low, eyes ahead. She prayed for Light and loosed the power to surround them, eyes checking every foot of their invisible shield. The world quivered in all directions, signaling the prayer’s power was at work.
The last time she’d used Light to hide had been near the Crack of Burdenis, which turned out a disaster, attracting Shadows far as she could tell. But unsuspecting human eyes should be easy to fool. All they needed was silence and a clear path.
Meliu scanned the Archer’s Eye as they passed, but her mirage blurred eyes couldn’t pick out anyone by name. She assumed one man to be the Ar-Bdein but there was no way to be certain. Within a few tense wicks they’d passed their enemy and the village, and as civilization passed over the horizon she released her prayer.
She slapped Ivin’s foot, and he sat up. “Godsdamn! That was fun.” Ivin smirked and didn’t a say a word, but she assumed he thought her crazy.
They took turns guiding the boat down river, napping as they could. With the Ar-Bdein in their wake, she didn’t bother hiding from other boats as they passed, nor from the handful of villages along the banks. Well rested during the day, they stayed on the water at night, with adequate moon and stars to navigate the middle of the currents. Midday she noticed several trails of smoke on the horizon and kicked Ivin’s snoozing feet to wake him.
“We should head for shore, maybe.”
He sat up. “Gomjon?”
“Likely as not, I’d wager. Not so cold they should need fires.”
“Forges?”
“The dead?”
Ivin blanched and stood, rocking the boat. “Give me the oars.”
They traded seats and Ivin guided them to the eastern bank, and they again drug the boat into tall grass, but this time she hoped to never see the thing again. They moved inland and climbed a steep, rocky rise a couple hundred strides from the river’s banks. A dirt road followed the river north from here. Sneaking might draw more attention than two casual travelers, so they walked in the open.
“Remember now, you’re snake bit.”
Ivin grunted with a grin. “A small price to pay to share your bed.”
“You’d be cuter without a sense of humor.”
But all mirth ended as they drew closer to the town’s walls. The fires blazed outside in fields already harvested, and the fuel was corpses. Her throat seized, her mind fighting the urge to blame herself for this terror.
Ivin said, “The Rot travels fast, just as the histories spoke.”
She exhaled. “Yes. They might let us in the gates… but if the Ar-Bdein is right, they won’t be letting no one out.” She stopped in her tracks. “If we’ve got any shot of finding a ship out of here… If we’re where I think we are, we should head for the coast, the Parapet Straits, and come toward town from the east.”
Ivin angled northeast from the road and walked. “Hoping to find a ship anchored outside town? Outside quarantine?”
“A ship on lockdown ain’t going to do us a whisper of good.” The Choerkin had a decent head on his shoulders, for a warrior.
They walked the rolling plain around the town for more than a candle before reaching a rocky bluff leading to the shore of the Parapet Straits. “A walled town where the Straits meet the Sesuun River… we’re right where we need to be.”
Ivin grunted as a Hidreng wagon rolled by, then when the Teks were out of earshot he pointed west. “At least a dozen ships anchored in the Strait.”
Meliu nodded, but was less optimistic. “Gomjon isn’t deep harbor, larger ships would need to sit off shore, no matter what.” But she led them west anyhow.
They were halfway to town when Ivin pointed again. “That ship there, the cog.”
She eyeballed the one she thought he pointed at; squat, with a single mast in its middle, bare of adornment except for a green flag fluttering. It was difficult to guess from this distance, but she’d make it sixty to seventy feet long. “One with the Hidreng flag?”
“The enclosed aft and forecastles, you can bet on private cabins for three or four underneath them. The captain and navigator at least, and often one for the owner of the vessel. Folks on the docks called them ‘Gentlemen’s Cogs.’ Damned fine ships for cargo, and the castles suit them for war in a pinch. I’ve watched a thousand ships make dock at the Watch, never once saw a Tek cog built up like that one. It’s Silone… Clan Emudar I’d wager.”
Meliu stared, but didn’t know what the hells he was talking about. She took his word for it. “Flying Hidreng colors?”
“Could explain how few Emudar we’ve seen, if Thon seized and boarded their ships.”
“Or they converted to the Hokandite. Or both.”
“Either way, it’s a chance for friendly faces.”
They plodded along, lost in thought. The notion gave her hope, wrong headed as it might end up being. “We’ll see about contact, but we remain Hidreng travelers until we know what we’re dealing with.”
Ivin grunted.
They rounded a bend heading into Gomjon and the situation pieced together fast. The gates were closed, two dozen
or more tents pitched outside, and rowboats sat grounded on the beach with armed men guarding them.
They strode close enough for the guards to notice her theatrics. She huffed and tromped a foot to the ground, staring at the gate. “The Hawk be kind, what has happened here?” She was back to being the spoiled daughter of a rich merchant.
A soldier approached, a tasseled helm on his head and spear and shield in his hands. The ends of his mustache danced at the middle of his chest as he spoke. “A killer disease, m’lady. No one’s in or out of Gomjon without cause, or writ from Sin Medor.”
She covered her mouth. “Oh, dear. That makes my wagon’s broken axle seem… paltry.”
“I recommend turning to leave, lass. There’s nothing worth the risk within these walls, unless you’ve kin.”
“No, thank the Hokandite. Thank you, sir.” She curtsied and spun a circle. “I declare, father will have my hide if we don’t reach Inster before he leaves. Come, Tulk. Let’s see if we might find passage north.”
Ivin grunted and followed as she struck purposeful strides to the beach. There was one man guarding the rowboats who wasn’t like the others: Tall and blond, with a sword dangling at his hip that most Hidreng would find crude in its size. But she didn’t make way for him right off.
She spoke first to a guard a few boats from her destination. “Is your ship headed Inster way? Today?”
The Tek shook his head. “Kulkar.”
“A pity. And you, sir?” she asked as she reached the next boat.
“Aye, headed that direction but not for a day or three.”
“Mmm, all fails, I may be back.”
She didn’t get the question from her lips before the next man answered. “No, miss.”
So she reached the Silone man and tossed her hair, a sneer making her lips ugly. “And you, you’re a northern barbarian. But I’m in need, which way you headed?”
The sailor gazed down at her. “Nowhere, miss.”
Trail of Pyres Page 39
