The Red Sea

by Edward W. Robertson

  Without exchanging a single word, the people in the field followed him. Those along the path joined the flow. By the time Dante and the others reached the village of stone structures, it was deserted.

  "We're off to a great start, Niles," Dante said. "What's your next suggestion? Set their houses on fire?"

  Niles' brows lowered. "I'm doing the best I can."

  To their left, an old woman approached along the sand, supporting her weight on a gnarled cane. Her back was bent like the claws of the bright orange parrot that sat on her shoulder. Her face was heavily wrinkled, but her eyes were lively, contrasting with her utterly plain clothes. She stopped in front of them. Her expression was lightly amused. Closer up, her face appeared to be perfectly symmetrical, right down to the crinkles around her eyes and mouth. She too was small-featured and sharp-jawed. One of the Dresh.

  Niles bowed his head. "Good morning."

  "Is it?" she said. "What are you doing here?"

  Dante stepped forward. "We'd like to speak to your leader, if we could."

  The woman glanced at her parrot, as if sharing a joke. "You're troubling my people. Leave us, please."

  "We would never have disturbed you if it weren't absolutely vital. If you'll let us speak to whoever's in charge here, we won't trouble anyone else."

  Her smile waned. "I ask a second time: leave us."

  "All we need is ten minutes of—"

  The old woman's eyes expanded like pools of oil. Her irises were light brown, overlaid by a braid of darker lines. Dante felt as if he were falling into her pupils, that they were growing and growing until they'd swallow everything: the round little islands, the san fields, the fogs—

  He splashed down into water, plunging below the surface. He thrashed, choking. Salt slipped down his throat. Somehow, he broke into the open, coughing up fluid. The other three bobbed beside him in a calm, warm sea. Banks of clouds surrounded them on all sides.

  "Help!" Dante yelled, pawing at the water, dragged down by his boots, sword, and pack, all of which had accompanied him into the world beyond. "I'm sinking!"

  "Oh, for gods' sake." Blays grabbed his arm and steadied him. "Just move your arms and legs. It's salt water. You have to try to drown."

  "Will yourself to float," Winden said.

  Dante calmed his motions, paddling steadily. "What do you mean, will myself?"

  "The people who stay here have agreed on the same laws of nature we're used to. But these laws, they'll bend. All you have to do is want them to."

  He focused his mind on staying above the water. He rose several inches. After a few moments, he found he hardly had to paddle at all. "What just happened?"

  "Same principle," Niles said. "The old woman willed us away."

  "Let me get this straight. If someone's bothering you, all you have to do is wish it, and they'll drop right into the ocean?"

  "Aye, that's right. When we return to the village, we'll have to will ourselves to stay, or she'll do this again."

  Dante slicked the hair from his face. "Can you will someone to die?"

  "We're already in the land of the dead. There's no second death."

  "But can the dead will us out of the Mists?"

  Niles blew his nose into the water. "I don't think that works. The only way we'll leave is if we fall asleep. It'll still take time for the drug to wear off, but we'll pop back into our bodies next thing we know."

  Blays screwed up his face. "Can you will someone into a volcano? Or a pit of snakes?"

  "Conceivably."

  "And keep them there forever?"

  Niles glanced at Winden. Winden said, "To keep you in such a place, no one could do that by themselves. To overcome your will to such an extreme would require the focus of hundreds of people."

  "Holy shit. Then it is possible?"

  "To keep you there, those hundreds of people would have to constantly think of it, and nothing else. They would share the same hell they put you in. It would never last for long."

  Blays treaded water with casual skill. "Well, if it's a pit of snakes, any amount of time is long enough."

  Dante glanced up, but the fog was so thick he couldn't even find the sun. "How do we get out of here?"

  "It's just as we've been discussing," Niles said. "We will ourselves forward. Back to the town."

  "Well, why didn't you say so?" He closed his eyes and imaged the village of stone buildings. When he opened his eyes, nothing had changed. "One flaw: I'm useless."

  Winden touched his arm. "This willing, it's easiest to pair it with physical motion. Moving the body helps the mind to understand."

  Dante exhaled, chose a random direction, and started swimming, concentrating on keeping his head above water. When this proved simple enough, he began to think about the town. The islands. The pale blue water. He swept forward, crying out in surprise as he gained speed, a chevron of water spraying away from his chest.

  Blays drifted up beside him, stroking cleanly through the neutral water. "This," he said between breaths, "is a very strange place."

  Niles and Winden matched their pace. Within minutes, the fog thinned. A blue hump of land materialized ahead, resolving by the second. Dante soon found himself wading through the shallow breakers onto purple sands. The town was less than a quarter mile to the north.

  "I envisioned the town," he said. "But we wound up outside it. Because they don't want us there?"

  Niles grunted. "Keep your mind on staying put."

  "And if the whole town comes for us?"

  "Then focus on running as fast as you can. And this time, let me do the talking. Don't you realize the old woman was the chieftain?"

  Dante went red. He'd been so annoyed with Niles' presence and awed by the strangeness of the Mists that he'd been acting like a fool. He had to settle down. To let Niles take the lead. The older man was already walking north, shedding water from his clothes with each step. Dante fell in behind him, willing the water to leave his sopping shirt and trousers. It obeyed, leaving a damp trail in his wake.

  The town remained deserted. There were no longer any canoes in the shallows between the islands. As they neared, a middle-aged Dresh woman walked toward them, dimpling the sand with a tall walking staff. A golden-furred monkey loped along beside her, regarding the four of them with human suspicion.

  "I told you to leave us be," the woman said.

  Her voice sounded nearly identical to the old woman's. She had the same symmetrical face, the same light irises shot through with dark brown. With a jolt, Dante realized she was the old woman.

  Niles lowered himself to one knee. "Lord of this land. Forgive our intrusion."

  "I reserve my forgiveness for those who deserve it." The woman was handsome, made moreso by the easy command in her eyes. "I don't know which is worse. That two usurpers have come to us, or that they've brought two outlanders with them."

  Niles blinked at the sand, cheeks flushing. His jaw worked, but he couldn't find any words.

  "We're not any happier to be here," Blays said. "We're trapped on the island. If you don't help us, sooner or later we're going to die, and then you'll never be rid of us."

  The woman leaned on her staff. "You think you'd be allowed here? Have you seen any of the usurpers in our city?"

  "Well, no. But I've been a little distracted by the flying oceans and floating trees."

  "Here's a question for you," Dante said. "Do you want to spend the rest of your time here fighting to keep us out?"

  She smiled tightly. "At least you're more amusing than these weeping toadies." She flicked her hand at Niles, who remained kneeling; her monkey mimicked her gesture. "What do you want?"

  "To learn how to lift the ronone."

  "I am glad to tell you in truth I don't know."

  "Those who came before you knew. You've never asked them about what wiped out your people?"

  "I know the cause: the Mallish."

  Dante tensed his jaw. "But surely you were curious about the sickness."

  "
I'm happy to be dead. Why should I care what killed me? When a bird sings for you, do you ask it why? If so, it's no wonder the birds don't speak to you."

  "Those who came before you knew, didn't they? Couldn't you ask them?"

  She drummed her fingers against her staff. "That would be in my power."

  "Then what can we do to convince you to aid us?"

  "I don't know. Make me an offer, outlander."

  "In my world, I'm a sorcerer. One of the most powerful there is."

  "And this matters to me how?"

  Dante gestured at the air, groping for answers. "I could help your descendants. Heal them, if they're sick. Or build them stone fortresses to keep them safe. Do you know what they're using now? Wooden shacks. At the mercy of fire, storms, enemy attacks."

  "That's because their brains have been made stupid by Mallish blood," she said. Dante would have sworn the monkey chuckled at this. "Besides, I don't care for my descendants' lives. I'd rather they die. The sooner they're brought to the truth, the happier they'll be."

  "I've traveled far. I've seen wondrous things and know many secrets. I can tell you about parts of the world you never knew."

  "And will never see. So what's the point?"

  "Then I could…" he trailed off, shooting a glance at Blays.

  "Don't look at me," Blays said. "She's got a pretty good point."

  Dante turned to Winden. "Please tell me you're more help than he is."

  She pressed her lips together, regarding the sand. "If your god stepped down before you, what would you offer him?"

  "My devotion. I have nothing else."

  The Dresh woman laughed ringingly. "Your devotion interests me about as much as the sand fleas that used to bite my ass."

  She drove her staff into the sand. Her eyes ballooned to the size of plates, then stormheads. Dante willed himself to stay on the beach. As her eyes engulfed him, he launched into a stream of invectives. He was cut off halfway through by the clap of water swallowing him up.

  He shot to the surface of the cloud-wrapped sea. "Son of a bitch!"

  Niles glared at him, water streaming down his goatee. "I told you to hang on!"

  "I tried! It was too slippery."

  "What was? Your attention? The rest of us were doing fine."

  "Then why are you here?"

  "Because we're together," Niles said. "All part of the same dream. The same will. So do your damned job!"

  Dante kicked at the water beneath him. "And you're quite the teacher, aren't you? Such a marvelous leader. No wonder that, now that my father's gone, you're about to lose the entire island to the Tauren."

  A knife appeared in Niles' hand. Dante felt a pang of fear. He reached for the nether. When none came, the fear doubled—and then he remembered Niles couldn't hurt him, either. And he laughed.

  "This arguing," Winden said. "Is it getting us closer to our answers? Or are you two like the south wind: hot air we can only pray will go away?"

  Niles put away the knife, cheeks as flushed as they'd been beneath the Dresh woman's judgment. "You're right. Anger will get us nowhere." He shifted his gaze to Dante. "And you're right, too. I'm not the man your father was. But I was his friend for a very long time. He had more patience than either of us. That's part of why he was such a good leader—and a fine teacher, too."

  "There was a time when I might have cared," Dante said. "The Pastlands cured me of that."

  "Good for you. As for me, I figure I owe him one. I will get you off these islands. Right now, that means getting this right. Are you ready to listen?"

  "If it helps me out of here? Absolutely."

  "Very good." Niles shut his eyes, visibly composing himself. "When you're willing yourself across these waters, or to stay put in the village. What are you doing?"

  "Is this a trick question? I'm willing myself."

  "Are you willing yourself to float right now?"

  "Mostly, I'm willing myself not to punch you. But yes. I'm floating."

  "Look to where your body is in contact with the water," Niles said. "What do you see?"

  Dante dropped his eyes to the sea. "Water."

  "Drop your brattiness for one second and look!"

  He glanced up, startled, then looked back to the water. Light danced around him. At first he thought it was the sun, but that was obscured by the fog. He went still, keeping himself propped up with thought alone. Pure white light ringed him, surrounding his trunk and legs, glowing beneath the waves.

  He'd seen such light before. The last time had been less than two weeks ago in Bressel.

  "This place," Dante said. "It's made out of ether."

  18

  Dante gazed down at the light. Stupefied. Dazzled.

  Beside him, Blays snorted. "This is some big surprise? Doesn't the Cycle claim the whole heavens are made out of ether?"

  "Yes," Dante said. "But I'm controlling it. We all are. Just as we move the nether in our world."

  Niles drifted nearer. "Your will is what shapes it. When you float here, or swim toward the village, or try to stop the woman from tossing you out, this is what you must grab tight."

  Hesitantly, Dante reached for the ether the same way as he would the nether. It came reluctantly, a fraction as readily, but a bit pooled in his hand, shining like mercury lit from within. Now that he called to it, and knew where to look, he saw it everywhere: on the surface of the water, on his clothes and skin, in the tiny droplets of the fog. Everywhere the nether wasn't—rather than hiding in the cracks, like the nether did, ether seemed to line and coat things. Though it was possible that that was simply how it worked in the Mists, where everything was ether.

  He dismissed it, summoned it, and repeated. He felt as feeble as a man taking his first steps after battling off consumption, yet at the same time, he felt impossibly strong, shot through with power. Before this, he'd never so much as seen the ether unless someone else had summoned it. Now that he'd broken through, though? He thought he might be able to do so back in the world as well.

  He continued his practice. Summoning. Releasing. Around him, the others chatted with each other. Bobbing in the middle of the ocean, it was unnerving to divert so much of his attention to the ether, but the water wasn't cold, there was no danger of currents, and as far as he knew, any sharks in the Mists subsisted on wishes and light.

  He'd long ago given up any hope of ever being able to grasp the ether. If he'd been on his own, he could easily have continued his study of it for hours, if not days. Knowing that time was passing slower to his body made that thought even more appealing. If this was a breakthrough, though, he could return to it later. In the meantime, he had a death curse to lift.

  "I'm ready," he said. "This is the last bath we'll take today."

  They swam forward. The ocean rushed past them, its low waves sheened with a light of their own. As they traveled, Dante delved into the ether, feeling its malleability, its ties to this place.

  Land resolved ahead. They'd hardly waded ashore before the Dresh woman emerged from the banyans lining the beach. Three jone trotted beside her, tusks jutting from their maws, heads bullishly thick. This time, she was no older than Dante, her face hard and unlined, her muscles lean and cat-like. She carried a tall spear tipped with a six-inch saw-edged tooth.

  "This is the third time I ask you to leave," she said. "If you come here again, I'll bring my people with me—and you'll spend the next nine years fermenting in an eel's belly."

  Dante moved to face her. "That's how you and your people want to spend your days? Torturing us? Your every second spent trapped with us in our pain?"

  "We're here forever. What does a few years matter to us?"

  "Do you think it matters any more to me? I'm trapped on this island. I'll spend my entire life fighting to get out of here."

  "And it will be wasted."

  Her eyes expanded, filling his vision. Dante reached into the ether in the sand and the air, holding on with everything he had, insisting to the Mists that he stay the
re with his friends on the beach. The Dresh woman's eyes ceased growing. They wavered, flickering like the frenzied beat of a mouse's heart against its ribs, then contracted.

  The woman fell back a step. She cried out, drew back her spear, and slung it at Dante's chest. He asked it not to touch him. Somehow, it wound up behind him, massive tooth buried in the sand, shaft wagging up and down. He was beyond glad he hadn't had to find out how much that would have dream-hurt.

  She pressed her palm to her brow. "Why don't you just die?"

  "It sure would be easier than this," Blays said.

  "All your cares would fall from you like a leaden robe. Do you have any idea what it's like? How free you could be? You see what we have here. Why would you choose to struggle and ache when you know the peace that awaits you?"

  The sun broke free of the mists, warming Dante's skin. A breeze blew off the water, cooling him perfectly. The air in his lungs refreshed him like the first drink of water in the morning. At once, the woman before him was so beautiful it hurt to look at her. By comparison, he felt shabby, shopworn. Why did he fight on? There was no nobility in suffering, was there? If he was bound for this place anyway, why not cut to the chase?

  "Odds are we'll be back here sooner than we'd like," Blays said. "Until then, we've got business in our world."

  "You don't have to." She reached out and touched Blays' face; tines of jealousy pierced Dante's heart. "You can choose death at any time."

  Dante found his voice. "We don't belong here. Not yet. The gods must have created the two worlds for a reason. We'll stay in ours until they decide it's time to take us."

  "Your world exists to make this one feel like a blessing. You can feel it's true, can't you?"

  Blays folded his arms. Steam rose from his sleeves. "Why are you still here? Why not move on to the Worldsea? That's what you're supposed to do, isn't it?"

  She smiled at him. "Hate. Hate for those who flensed us from our land."

  "And we hate the Tauren," Niles said. "That's why we have to go back."

  The woman's smile fell away. She moved before him, gliding, and stuck her finger in his face. "You lie. You tell yourself tonen so you don't have to face the darkness. It isn't the Tauren that propels your struggle."