Nameless: Bones of the Earth I-III

by J. C. Hendee

  “It is not my business,” he pleaded. “Whatever it is!”

  The shirvêsh stepped into the thänæ’s way. “He is correct. Too many already know.”

  “Then one more matters not,” Fiáh’our argued, shouldering past to drag and shove Karras out ahead. “Rouse the lift master and stop wasting the night. Come dawn, the situation could worsen.”

  The shirvêsh ran off grumbling under his breath, but Karras no chance to turn about. In one heavy stride, Fiáh’our’s palm slammed into his back, driving him toward the landing’s far edge and the docked lift.

  Karras barely got out, “But I do not want—”

  “You are coming along, kitten,” Fiáh’our growled.

  At that last word, Karras faltered, and the thänæ's palm slammed his back again.

  Somewhere nearby, the shirvêsh shouted to wake the corpulent lift master. In another five shoves, Karras stumbled onto the bottom of the stone loading ramp and quickly turned before he was shoved again.

  “I do not want to come along!” he shouted.

  The thänæ fixed him with a glare, reached up and back, and gripped the upright haft of his great axe.

  Karras’s eyes and mouth opened wide in dumbstruck fear.

  Fiáh’our pulled that huge weapon over his head, and its upper haft smacked down in his other hand.

  “Get on the lift,” he warned in a growl, “or I’ll hang you over the front like a pelt for the long ride down!”

  Karras fled up the loading ramp. Fumbling the lock-pin for the railing gate, he did not even shut the gate as he rushed over the cargo lift’s planks to the rear rail. Neither did he peer down over the precipice, and he quickly turned about as the thänæ tromped onto the lift.

  Fiáh’our halted inside the open gate, inverted his axe, and its head clunked down. The tips of both great blades bit into the lift’s planks, and he rested his large hands around the axe’s butt spike. His eyes never blinked as he watched only Karras.

  Fortunately, it was not long before Gän’gehtin returned. Locking the gate, the shirvêsh stepped around the thänæ to the left side rail and leaned there below one of the two great gears of the axle upon which the platform would rotate to remain level for the descent. He eyed the thänæ with displeasure and a shallow shake of his head.

  “I had forgotten what trouble you are,” the shirvêsh said.

  Slowly, a rumbling laugh rose out of Fiáh’our. “Then you sit too much in temple. Your memory has dulled… along with your wits.”

  Gän’gehtin huffed, but even at the thänæ’s taunt, he turned his eyes on Karras. And Karras grew ever more panicked.

  The lift’s great gears began to turn, and its steel-shod wheels rolled forward over the landing’s edge into the near vertical stone ruts of the downward track. The cargo platform rocked to stay level as the undercarriage tilted sharply down the sheer mountainside.

  Karras looked upward just before Chemarré vanished from sight.

  It was the least developed of all four settlements of Dhredze Seatt, though large enough. A narrow main street, marked by tall granite pylons with huge glowing crystals, snaked sharply up the peak’s side. Steep, switchback turns cut between varied buildings built in fitted blocks or carved from the mountain’s own stone.

  Somewhere up there in the dark was his home. More than once this night he had sought to avoid that place for differing reasons. He had even mistakenly invoked the aid of the Bäynæ. As the shoreward wind up the mountainside grew worse under the lift’s growing speed, that home was the only place he wanted to be.

  Instead, Karras found himself trapped in a rapid descent toward who knew what with a madman.

  4. A Fall Cometh Before Pride

  Fiáh’our remained before the railing’s gate, even when Karras finally turned away to face into the wind. Gän’gehtin glowered as he also watched the young one. Not in disapproval of Karras himself but rather the young one’s forced intrusion into what would come.

  The young shirvêsh turned that glower upon Fiáh’our, but he ignored his youthful comrade. In truth, he had his own doubts about dragging the young one along, but the Bäynæ had shoved the kitten into his path. Any event that came so quickly after that must have a purpose to suit it. It was not until the lift fell past three smaller stops, which were barely more than pause points along the way versus full settlements, that Fiáh’our stepped to the lift’s rear rail.

  Karras shifted warily away toward the rail’s right corner.

  Fiáh’our ignored this and peered over the edge. They were still too far up to see much of the little port below, other than pinpoints of lantern light one would expect at this time of night.

  “How many?” he asked as Gän’gehtin drew near.

  “More than a dozen, at least, were reported.”

  Surprised by this, Fiáh’our looked to his friend. “That must be one big longboat.”

  “Two sails instead of the typical one,” Gän’gehtin added. “Maybe twelve or more oars. I have… will have never seen one that size among the Maksœín.”

  Fiáh’our had but only grunted in reply.

  “Maksœ’ín Veallaksê?” Karras whispered. “They do not come here… not often.”

  Gän’gehtin eyed the unwilling companion, as did Fiáh’our. Karras fell silent under their scrutiny, though he returned a frightened scowl. There were some things the young one should not know until necessary.

  The Maksœ’ín Veallaksê—“People of the Bear”—or what other humans called Northlanders were one of the oldest known human cultures of the region. They were honorable by their ways, and that counted for something, but the vessel’s description bothered Fiáh’our.

  Many of the Maksœín clans had diverged from their coastal ways. They cut out a life in the harsh inland wilds north of Dhredze Seatt’s peninsula and the Numan nations, the other humans of the region. Fiáh’our had done much good service among the inland Maksœín villages, but there were those clans who still clung to the old ways of the longboat, the hunt and other exploits, including raiding.

  The vessel Gän’gehtin had described was either for long raiding or war, and Fiáh’our would not know which until he saw it firsthand. But by the shirvêsh’s earlier whispers, how had this band gotten its hands on a…

  No, that did not matter. That they now knew whom they had, and those searching for him could not be told, was more important. Gän’gehtin had learned too little by signals tapped out on forged iron pipes running through the mountain between settlements. Why the drums up at Seattâsh—“Old Seatt”—atop the peak had not sounded a general alarm was obvious.

  Any warning would be heard on all sides of the mountain and across the waters, not only by the searchers but also by those below in the longboat. The captive’s family could not be notified that he had been found without complicating the situation.

  It was a mess and would take something sly or bold or both to put it right.

  “Do you remember that morning we went fishing with old Tratna?” Fiáh’our asked.

  Gän’gehtin was silent for a moment. “I may have only been an acolyte then, but I would… not… forget…”

  Even in the dark, Fiáh’our’s friend appeared to pale.

  “It is not a rowboat down there,” Gän’gehtin warned, “and that was not an amusing prank!”

  “I laughed,” Fiáh’our muttered with a smile. “And you escaped unscathed.”

  “The elder shirvêsh did not!” Gän’gehtin returned. “Put that notion out of your head, you clown!”

  While it was true that Tratna, or “Mallet” as humans called him, had screamed for his life, the old high shirvêsh of another temple had been no true danger. Fiáh’our had not wanted to go out in the little boat in the first place. Unable to find a polite way to decline, and in being pushed and pressed, he had done so.

  Old Tratna had prattled out tales all morning long, scaring off all the fish.

  But as to Fiáh’our’s prank, he kept that in the back of
his thoughts, despite Gän’gehtin’s warning. The situation below would have to be studied first to see if such a simple trick might be useful. Then he caught Karras watching him in confused concern.

  In passing through fear, perhaps the young one might take the first step to deserving Skirra. Should she ever agree to marry him, it was to his honor and not the other way around.

  If only Karras were half of what the local Numans thought his name sounded most like: a Carrow or “wily” one, sometimes an errant gamester or gambler. Not a flattering mis-mistranslation for a rughìr name, but it would have been something to build upon.

  As to his name’s true meaning from karrä, a bream or ocean sunfish, that was a stupid name for a rughìr. What had his parents been thinking?

  Fiáh’our did not see a true coward in Karras. If so, he would not have bothered with such a whiny complication. The young one was simply a self-serving, conniving dolt, though it seemed the blessed Bäynæ hoped otherwise. Unlike his Numan miss-name, Karras would never do anything with the outcome at risk unless forced upon him. And so it would be.

  “Suffering enough?” Fiáh’our goaded. “Well, there’s a lesson in that, if you can learn it… to serve something besides yourself. As to true sacrifice, I see that is beyond you.”

  Karras eyed him, likely suspicious of an insult, but that was something to Fiáh’our. Wounded pride could make people change, willing or not.

  Before the young one mustered a retort, the lift lurched, and Fiáh’our grabbed the railing. After a long ride down, they all came to a slow stop at the stone loading ramp behind the little port.

  5. It is Always Worse than You Think

  Karras fumed as he stepped off the lift and down the ramp behind the thänæ. He blinked and squinted, for the wind had lessened only slightly now that they had ceased careening down the mountainside. Fed up with being treated like an ignorant half-wit, he still kept quiet as Gän’gehtin followed behind him. With Fiáh’our in the lead, they were halfway down the path between the little warehouses and the littler shoreline buildings before the thänæ glanced over his shoulder.

  “Keep quiet unless I say otherwise,” the old boar rumbled. “And do as you are told. Lives depend upon it now.”

  Karras clenched his jaw, but at the shirvêsh’s sharp sigh from behind him, he kept his tongue and nodded once to the thänæ. There was still one slim chance along the way to get out of all this, whatever it was. That notion slipped from his thoughts as they reached the dock’s head.

  There stood three elderly ones, from left to right, scrawny, bulky, and saggy in their old age with clothes to match their looks. Likely the port watch, as the one in the middle held a tin lantern. Around them milled a mix of onlookers, some human, Numan and Suman and otherwise, and likely travelers from the local inn roused by the commotion. All present whispered among themselves as they peered and pointed.

  Beyond them, Karras spotted at least a dozen others standing still and silent along the dock. Even by extra lanterns set at some of their feet, he could not be sure who they were or from what clan they came. However, there was no doubting that half or more were clan warriors by their arms and armor. Farther off, he barely made out the longboat tied off sideways at the dock’s end.

  It was bigger than he had imagined, possibly two-thirds the length of his family’s ship, which was moored halfway down to the dock’s left side. And there was his last chance to escape.

  A broad-hulled ocean bark of two tall masts, there had to have someone aboard on watch at all times. If he dashed up its ramp, that someone could help pull up the ramp before the thänæ followed him. But this notion vanished.

  There was no ramp was set down to the dock from his family's ship.

  Perhaps all those on guard along the way had ordered it pulled in. Karras stared toward the dock’s far end as he followed Fiáh’our, and they closed on the trio of the watch. With all that he saw, for a moment he was distracted in worried wondering. Who was on that huge longboat that drew all of this concern?

  “Which one of you mud-brains told them who they had?” Fiáh’our demanded in a low voice.

  All three of the watch, dressed in worn clothing and long woolly cloaks swaying in the wind, stared up at the thänæ. Even if they did not know him, lantern light exposed the thôrhk around his neck. All three swallowed hard, almost in unison, and the middle bulky one quickly pointed at the left scrawny one.

  That one sucked a breath at the betrayal only a blink before Fiáh’our leaned in on him.

  “Sorry, thänæ, I…” the left one stuttered out. “When they came… and said… I did not… but I recognized—”

  “Enough!” Fiáh’our snapped. “You come with me.”

  The left watchman’s jaw dropped, and the other two exchanged relieved, sly smiles.

  “You two, as well,” Fiáh’our added.

  That banished the other pair’s humor and both mumbled, “Yes, thänæ.”

  Fiáh’our waved them in behind as he stepped onward.

  Karras followed at the thänæ’s right side, though he eyed the family ship with the hope that he might yet get aboard. As they neared the first two warriors along the way, both holding stout iron staves and likely part of some clan constabulary, Fiáh’our slowed.

  “Get the gawkers off the waterfront,” he commanded in a low voice. “We need no more eyes on all of this.”

  With only a nod from one, the pair stalked back toward the shore. Fiáh’our headed onward again, leading Karras and the others between the silent, hard-eyed rughìr warriors along the way.

  “Why bring the watch?” Gän’gehtin asked at the thänæ’s other side.

  “Safer than warriors,” Fiáh’our whispered. “These kinds of Maksœín would not flinch from a fight, so best not stir them up for one. But we may need more hands.”

  “Well enough,” Gän’gehtin replied, “but let me take the lead with the longboaters. Better as well if they recognize a shirvêsh, especially from my temple.”

  “What does that have to do with this?” Karras asked.

  Again, all he got was a double-glare from the pair.

  “What did I tell you?” Fiáh’our warned.

  Karras frowned and fell silent, and already they had passed his family’s ship. Though its ramp was up, he spotted one of the family’s retainers, Ionlak, at the near rail and looking toward the dock’s end. By the way the ship and nearby skiffs rode upon the lapping water, the tide had peaked. It was indeed a high one, for the edge of the nearest skiff was almost level with the dock.

  “At least I see no rams lashed to the bow,” Fiáh’our added, peering ahead. “So they are not out warring or pirating. Though what a longboat of that size is doing this far south… hmm.”

  “It came with the other ships,” someone squeaked behind them.

  Fiáh’our halted and turned, forcing Karras to do likewise. All three of the watch stood blinking nervously under their scrutiny.

  “What ships?” Gän’gehtin demanded.

  Again, the bulky and saggy ones pointed at the scrawniest on the left, and that one shrank upon himself as he answered.

  “About dusk, I… I saw them coming up the coast in the distance. Three big ones, huge, maybe smaller ones around them… maybe like that longboat.”

  “Out of the bay… from Malourné?” Gän’gehtin asked.

  “No, farther south. It was too dark when they neared, but by the color of their mast flags, I would guess out of Witeny.”

  “We think they are still anchored in the strait,” added the bulky one with the lantern, and the saggy one nodded. “There were lights out there, earlier, but they did not move on.”

  Fiáh’our glanced up the dock. “Witenon cargo ships with Maksœín escorts? What is happening out here?”

  “How did you know who they had?” Gän’gehtin asked the three.

  Karras sighed as again with the pointing and again the left one answered.

  “When they came in, they said they had pulled a
drowning man from the water. They were… were anxious to be rid of him, at first… fearing he had some sickness.”

  “And?”

  “I did not want that sickness among our people, so I asked to see. One of them went to the bow and held a lantern over a man and pulled him up to sitting. The man… he was pale… or maybe just half-drowned. But at his face, his hair… eyes… I knew he was—”

  “Enough!” Gän’gehtin cut in.

  Fiáh’our grunted, still staring up the dock. “Afraid of plague, and yet when they learned who he was—”

  “Ransom,” Gän’gehtin hissed, “as I said.”

  Fiáh’our scoffed. “No, that is not their way. They trade favors, deeds done, like we barter goods and services. They never ask for specific rewards… only that those served show equitable respect in what is gifted in return. But they did not know at first how big a favor they had done.”

  “And how did you know… him?” Gän’gehtin demanded of the left watchman.

  “I used to work at the bay-side port. Once, I was there when a ship came in from Calm Seatt. It brought some of the family for—”

  Gän’gehtin flashed a hand, silencing the scrawny watchman again.

  All of this made Karras more nervous. Being trapped by the blusterer was bad enough, but plague…

  “There is no doubt,” Gän’gehtin said, turning to Fiáh’our. “Shirvêsh of my temple often tend to such visits. We have to offer something to get him off that vessel. And he is not stricken with some plague.”

  Fiáh’our eyed his companion. “How would you know that?”

  Karras wanted to know as well, but Gän’gehtin did not answer at first.

  “Trust me,” he said, as if it were beyond question. “That is all, other than we must give these brigands whatever they want.”

  The thänæ rumbled in a slow exhale, apparently accepting the shirvêsh’s claim.

  Karras was not so certain.

  “There is another way,” Fiáh’our whispered.