Seeing Dante, Larsin's face went slack with relief. "You're alive. Thank the gods."
Dante drew his sword, throwing his scabbard aside. "If I'd died, it would have been on your hands. So let the gods know who to blame—Niles Ardner."
The older man's mouth fell open. He held an arm out to his side. "How did you find out?"
"One of the sailors knew my real father. And unlike everyone on this damned island, people elsewhere are capable of telling the truth."
"You'll get no more lies from me. Larsin Galand fell in battle with the Tauren. My plan was desperate. But it was the only way I knew how to save our people."
"I'm starting to think they don't deserve saving."
"You want my life?" Niles tugged down the collar of his shirt, exposing his tanned, wrinkled throat. "Go ahead and take it."
Dante's hand flexed on the hilt of his sword. He could imagine the feel of his arm lifting, wheeling the sword across the air and into the softness of the man's neck. Yet something stopped him. It certainly wasn't mercy—this deceiver deserved death, and probably one worse than Dante could have delivered with his sword. Though several people were watching from the shore and from the food stall in a shaded square uphill, he wasn't all that concerned about the publicity of it, either. He had no intention of living with these people. If they came for him in the jungle, he'd cut them down easily enough.
The problem was that he had no intention of staying on the island. Somehow, he would find a cure. Niles Ardner had been able to convince everyone in Kandak to bolster his lie. A man like that could be very useful.
And if he wasn't? Then Dante could always water the jungle with his blood on a later day.
He pointed his sword at Niles' neck. "You will help me find a cure. And to get away from this island forever."
The man inclined his head, careful not to slice his chin on the blade. "I can't promise I can find a cure any more than I can promise to cut down the moon like a coconut. But I swear I'll do everything I can to get you home." He gave Dante an arch look. "And I'll even repeat that vow after you've lowered your sword."
Dante picked up his sheath and put away his weapon. "I've read what little is recorded of the island's history. Your people once left here without worries. All we have to do is rediscover what they knew."
"Back up a ways," Blays said. "What exactly do you need a cure for? Didn't the shells do the trick?"
"There is no cure. That's why you have to go back to the Sword of the South. Before you catch the ronone sickness, too."
"Let me get this straight. You want me to leave you here to die?"
"I won't die. Not as long as we have a supply of shells. But there's no telling when I'll find my way out of here."
Blays glanced up at a cardinal peeping away on a branch. "Then it sounds like it'll go much faster if I'm here too."
Dante threw his arms wide. "There's no reason to put yourself at risk! What if you get trapped here, too?"
"Nah, I have faith you'll figure this out. Don't you?"
"And what would Minn say about this decision?"
Blays set his hands on his hips. "First off, that is a low blow. Second, inasmuch as Minn loves me, it's because I'm the kind of man who doesn't turn tail and run when my friends are in trouble. If I start doing that now, she'd probably leave me."
"I highly doubt that's how she'd look at it."
"Well, she's not here to ask, is she? And I know her much better than you do. Hence you'll have to take my word."
"It seems to me," Niles said, "that if he wants—"
"Shut up," Dante said. "No one asked for your opinion on this. Blays, I know you think you're being noble, but this has crossed the idiot line. Perhaps you've spent so much time beyond that line that you no longer recognize it. But this idea is so dumb it couldn't feed itself without the help of a team of three servants and a guidebook. I want you to go back to the boat and I want you to do it right now."
Blays took a half step to his right, placing himself entirely within the shade. "If that's how you feel about it, I'll go, then. And I'll take my idea with me."
"What idea?"
"The one that's a thousand times better than anything you'll ever come up with."
"So tell me it. And then go to the boat."
"It's really a good idea," Blays said. "But there's no guarantee it'll work. Which is exactly why you need me around. If you get into trouble trying it alone, and fail, then you might spend ten years searching for something else as good. So I won't give it to you unless I'm here to help see it through."
Dante took a rag from his pocket and dabbed sweat from his brow. "If you're that set on this, I don't see how I can kick you out of here. So out with it."
"All right then. You said the histories say the people here used to be able to come and go as they please, right?"
"The older ones, yes. But that seemed to stop at least five hundred years ago."
"That's when the old ways were lost," Niles said. "And no living soul remembers."
"Not a problem," Blays said. "Because we're not going to ask the living. We're going to ask the dead."
Dante laughed, slowly at first, then with increasing heart. "You're right. That's good. That's very, very good."
"You want to travel into the Mists," Winden said. "As they do at the Dreaming Peaks."
"Is there anything stopping us?"
"Yes and no. Anyone can visit the Mists. But doing so, it's not that simple."
"Sure it is," Blays said. "We chew some leaves, go on a magical journey, and ask the old folks how to get the hell away from their beautiful, lovely island."
"Saving our ancestors from the Mists is our most sacred act. We may not even be allowed beyond the Pastlands. The monks may need to go in our stead, but the Peaks have been captured."
"Enough," Niles said. "No more lies."
"We're talking about the Dreaming Peaks!"
"We're talking about saving Dante's life. And if he's able to find a cure for the ronone? We wouldn't be bound here any longer. If the Tauren try to destroy us, we can sail away."
Winden's face went stony. "But this is our homeland."
Niles laughed bitterly. "Is it? And if it's a choice between dying on our homeland, and living in a new land, would you really choose the point of a sword?"
"If we tell them, and the townsfolk learn of it, we'll be dead either way."
"I'm not a monster, Winden! And neither are you. We can save Kandak and set Dante free. If our people want to kill us for that, then we'll be waiting for them in the Mists."
They glared at each other. After three seconds, Winden gritted her teeth. "This is the way you want it? Then this is the way we will do it."
"It's a long story," Niles said to them. "Let's find a place to sit down. Somewhere a little more quiet."
He led them a long ways down the beach to a spot in the sand shaded by a roof of overhanging trees. Fallen pods and leaves coated the sand. He swept them away with his sandaled feet, clearing a spot to sit.
"What I'm about to tell you is our deepest truth," Niles said. "It's forbidden to outsiders, rixaka or not. Not even all of our own people know it. By telling you, I can be put to death. I don't say these things to impress you, or to make myself look selfless. I think we're well past that point."
Blays chuckled. Dante didn't. Niles went on. "I'm telling you this because, if we're doing this, there are things you need to know about the Dreamers and the Mists. And so that if anyone asks, you know to keep quiet. And pretend your head's as empty as a faded shell. Got me?"
"Empty-headed is Dante's specialty," Blays said. "As for myself, I'll swear the sky is green if that's what it takes to get us out of here."
"Understood," Dante said to Niles.
The older man leaned forward, hands clasped in his lap. "Five hundred years ago, the Plagued Islands weren't much more than a legend in Mallon. In so much open sea, Mallish galleys were more often lost than able to make it here. And those who stayed too long ca
ught the ronone. Rowing back to Bressel, half the crew would drop dead before making it home. Some ships lost so many men they didn't have the crew to go on. Officers would pack themselves into the longboats and leave the oarsmen to starve. The few who returned told such harrowing tales that only the mad considered braving the trip to the south.
"But the survivors also brought back accounts of riches. Plants and herbs that could cure all manner of ailment. And the shaden, which could turn an ordinary nethermancer into a legend. The king at the time, Jordas of Highhill, poured rivers of silver into his Plagued Islands ventures. Along with funding voyages, he offered a hefty bounty to the captain who found safe passage. But he met with no success. Twenty years later, with Mallon teetering on the brink of bankruptcy, King Jordas earned a dagger in his back, and the woman who ordered his death took his throne.
"Her name was Freda. To separate herself from Jordas' failure, the only interest she took in the islands was to denounce them as a deathtrap. Thing is, if old Jordas had lasted a little longer, his investment might well have saved him. After twenty years of trial by fire—or, more aptly, trial by water—Bressel's captains were starting to experiment with sails. The new sloops they produced were too small to deal with ocean storms, let alone the Mill and its Current. But the ships gained use anyway. Much cheaper to crew a little sailing vessel along the coasts than to maintain a hulking galley full of slaves.
"Ten years into Queen Freda's reign, a woman named Halley Dane arrived in Bressel. The Danes were a noble house. More than wealthy enough to leave each of their children with an estate of their own. Rather than splitting his holdings in this manner, however, the Lord Dane only passed his land to his five sons. Halley was provided with a modest inheritance, but it wouldn't be enough to live out her days on.
"So she hatched a plan. Moving to Bressel, she commission the construction of a much larger sailing vessel. Her goal: to take it to the Plagued Islands and amass a fortune so vast it would shame her neglectful father's ghost. Two years later, the Windsplitter was finished. It was the first carrack in Mallon. But Halley's wealth was exhausted. She'd have the funds for one trip, and no more.
"The Windsplitter sailed south. Past the Mill and into the Current. It reached the islands. Halley didn't stay long, but she was able to befriend the people she met here, who were known as the Dresh. And when the Windsplitter returned, bore such treasures that Captain Halley nearly recouped everything she'd sunk into her ship. Within two years, she had three more vessels. Within five, she had enough silver to buy herself a title, along with her father's manor from her eldest brother, who'd fallen into rough tides."
A man was walking down the beach toward them. Niles paused to sip from his waterskin, nodding as the man walked by. Once the wanderer was around a bend in the beach, Niles went on.
"But when you land a fish of that size, the gulls come out to grab what scraps they can catch. Others began to travel to the Plagued Islands. They were far less savvy than Halley. Some got into fights with the Dresh. And the sailors brought disease back to Bressel. Queen Freda used this as an excuse to seize the trade lanes. She banned all travel to the islands. When Halley and the other captains continued to smuggle in their goods, Freda put together a grand expedition. Its goal was to capture the islands and build forts on its harbors, ensuring that only those who flew the crown's colors could do business there.
"Her armada sailed forth. A score of ships bearing two thousand men. The Dresh fought back, but as usual, they were divided. One after another, each town fell. But the invasion had a hell of a time with the Tauren, along with the Kandeans. During the fighting, infrastructure was destroyed. Including the small shaden farms both groups had managed to cultivate across generations. Meanwhile, the conquerers set up their forts. Soon, they all developed ronone. And they began to need shells, too."
"Oh hell," Blays said.
Niles gave him a grim look. "See where this is going, do you?"
"In this case, I hope I'm much dumber than I think. Please, go on."
"Well, it wasn't long before the shaden dwindled. At first, Freda's conquerers had the locals collecting them, but as they returned with fewer and fewer shells, the Mallish started harvesting them instead. Soon, there weren't enough to go around. Bet you can guess who got the cure and who got nothing.
"Some of the Mallish chose to sail back to Bressel. They died to a man. The Dresh fared little better. Between the invasion, the poxes brought by the Mallish, and the ronone, almost every native islander died. The few that didn't became servants, or married into the Mallish. Within a generation, their entire people had vanished. And the Mallish invaders were trapped here to live atop the graves of those they'd slaughtered.
"A year after the first expedition, Queen Freda sent a second mission to learn what had happened. The stranded soldiers warned the newcomers away. Told them that plagues cursed whoever traveled here. Trade ceased. Over time, the Mallish survivors became the Dresh. Adopted their clothes, their ways, their harvesting, even what remained of their speech. And we made lying into a virtue. Because that was the only way to hide the horror of what we'd done."
With his story complete, Niles took a deep breath, eyes downcast.
"This is all very extraordinary," Dante said. "But I'm not sure what it has to do with us."
"Winden told you what the Dreamers are up to, didn't she?"
"They travel into the Mists. To rescue the dead who have been condemned as liars by Kaval."
Niles smiled with half his mouth. "That's the story we tell the rixen. Truth is, the Dreamers don't go into the Mists to rescue our people. They travel there to beg forgiveness from the islanders we killed. We believe that, when every single Dresh has forgiven us, they'll teach us how to lift the curse of the ronone."
Dante drew back his head. "The Dreamers have been working on that for hundreds of years, haven't they? We know virtually nothing about this place. How do you expect us to do what your people can't?"
"I don't. The dead wouldn't give a damn and a half about you. I'm telling you this so you understand what you're walking into. The people you want to speak to? They see us as mass murderers. It'll be harder to pry anything out of them than it is to talk the bones out of a live fish."
"I'm sensing a problem beyond the whole angry ghosts issue," Blays said. "According to what you said, the Dresh suffered the ronone, too. So assuming we can get any of them to talk, why do you think they'll know anything about the cure?"
"Because as recently as two or three hundred years before the Mallish arrived, the Dresh sailed freely, without the need for shaden. I don't know what caused them to lose their cure. But that's what we're traveling to ask, isn't it?"
Dante frowned heavily. "If it's that simple, why didn't the afflicted Dresh go and ask their ancestors how to lift the ronone?"
Niles lifted his eyebrows a fraction of an inch. "The Dresh's ability to travel into the Mists was very limited. It's said that it was like trying to speak underwater, or to swim in mud. Our Harvesters worked for years to refine the plant until we were able to send the Dreamers all the way in."
"And in almost five hundred years, it's never occurred to your people to ask the older Dresh?"
He laughed. "They'd never tell us that. If we knew how to cure ourselves, we could escape here. And leave our crimes behind."
"It sounds like we'll have no chance of convincing them to spill their secret."
"Don't be too sure," Winden said. "The dead, they don't think like we do. And you're rixen. You won't carry the same stain we do. They might be willing to bargain."
"They're dead," Blays said. "What would they want from us? A fresh delivery of worms?"
"We won't know that until we're inside. And through the Pastlands."
"And those are?"
"They take several forms. They may be a cherished memory. Or a wish made real. This place, it seems to be intended to hold the dead fast. Some spend decades there before moving on to the Mist. Others never leave it."
"Everyone goes into the Pastlands alone. It will be up to each of us to navigate through."
"Rougher than it sounds," Niles said. "Once you're there, you forget everything. If you try to remember, it can come back to you, but if you're too far gone, you may not want it to." He stood, brushing sand from his seat. "But this can wait until we're closer to ready."
"How long will it take us to find and speak to the dead?" Dante said.
"There's no telling. Time's funny on the other side. But I can't see it taking less than a few days."
Before hiking up to the temple where Niles had been sick—which he had accomplished, Dante now knew, simply by not eating any shaden, and letting the ronone advance—Dante wrote two letters. The first was to Olivander. He had acted as steward of the Sealed Citadel before Dante had been ready to take his place as the head of the Council. In the letter, Dante warned him that he would need to reassume that role for the foreseeable future.
The second was to Nak. Nak was the least powerful member of the Council—there were several monks of far lesser title who could command the nether with more fluency—but his limits with the shadows had pushed him to excel as a scholar.
And if Dante couldn't find his own way off of the island, he'd need every bit of Nak's talent to come up with other answers.
Benny had brought the longboat back to the Sword of the South, so Dante borrowed flags from Niles and waved the rowboat back in. Captain Naran himself accompanied the small crew.
He came ashore and looked Dante up and down. "I'm pleased to see you've stepped back from death's door."
"It's only a temporary reprieve," Dante said. "I've got a sickness called ronone. You pick it up by staying here too long, so you should wrap up your business and cast off as soon as possible."
"You mean to stay, then?"
"I mean to find a permanent cure. Which may be a fool's errand, but I happen to be an expert fool. Could you return in one month?"
The Red Sea Page 22
