by Peace, Cas
They sat savoring the freezing briny air and listening to the raucous calls of seabirds. Then they turned left and set their mounts’ feet to the track along the cliff top. After half a mile or so, they reached a fork. A well-trodden path led a switchback course down through the cliffs, and this they took. It brought them out onto a wide strand of shingle at the foot of the cliffs, and there before them was the village.
It was a picturesque scene. Stone-built cottages and storage sheds nestled into the base of the cliff face. Gray shale slates covered the roofs and fronted some of the houses. The rest were painted white. The village took advantage of a shallow natural bay to the north of the headland, and the villagers had built jetties out into the water, anchoring them to boulders which had fallen from the cliff face over time. Farther out, adding its own protection from the worst of the winter storms, the tips of a reef curled around, leaving a natural passage through to the open sea. A few small craft sat moored to the jetties, but none of them were manned and the entire village seemed deserted.
Sullyan nudged Drum and made for the nearest house, the door of which opened before she reached it. A thick-waisted woman stood in the doorway, a small girl clasping her skirts, peering out from behind at the three cloaked strangers. The woman eyed Sullyan suspiciously.
“What do you want?”
Sullyan ignored her flat tone. “We are here on King’s business, Goodwife. We need to reach the cleric’s island. Is there anyone here who can help us?”
An expression of scorn entered the woman’s eyes. “You’ll not get there today. All the men are out.”
“All of them?” challenged Sullyan, her tone hard.
The woman narrowed her gaze. “Old Jeriko’s around somewhere, for all the good he’ll do you. You’ll probably find him in the net shed.” She nodded to the ramshackle cluster of buildings and sheds at the far end of the village.
“We thank you,” said Sullyan, turning away as the woman disappeared behind her door. Shaking her head at the manners of fishwives, Sullyan nudged Drum toward the sheds. There was a stout railing nearby and she indicated they should dismount and tie their steeds to the rail. Cal and Tad followed her inside the shed, peering into the interior gloom. They could just make out the bent figure of an elderly man sitting on an upturned lobster pot, sorting through what looked like a hopeless tangle of netting. There were two piles of it at his feet and both piles looked identically useless and ragged.
The man glanced up as they entered the shed. “Who’re you?”
“Are you Jeriko?” Sullyan asked.
“Aye. What’s it to you?”
“We need a boat. We are here at the King’s orders and we need to reach the cleric’s island by nightfall.”
The seamed face creased as the old man parted his lips in a gap-toothed smile. “Ha! I can tell you know nothin’ of the sea, m’lass. Firstly, there’s no one here to take you, and second, there’s not a breath of wind, nor won’t be till tomorrow.”
She held his gaze. “We need no one to take us, thank you, and the wind will be sufficient for our needs. Just tell us which boat we can use.”
Contempt curled Jeriko’s lip. “Didn’t you hear what I just said?”
“I heard you, my friend. Did you not hear me? There is an eighteen-foot sloop moored at the end of the jetty which looks suitable for our needs. We will leave this gold to pay for her hire. Will you pass it on to her owner?”
Sullyan held out a small handful of gold bits toward the old man, who transferred his stare to her hand. “That’s my boat,” he said slowly, “but I don’t go as far as the island these days. Besides, King’s business or no, there’s still no wind!”
Sullyan simply smiled and laid the gold on the table. “You are not required to sail the boat. I can do that for myself. I believe the island is visible from just off the coast. What transit marks do we aim for?”
The old man scooped the gold bits into his weathered palm. They could almost see his thoughts. It was as much as his little craft was worth, and if she was determined to go, what trouble was that to him?
“Very well,” he said, “but don’t say as I didn’t warn you. Someone’ll doubtless tow you back in on the evening tide. You sail northwest out past the entrance to the reef, bear away from the headland directly north, and when you come abreast of the red patch on the cliff face and the beacon fire above you, bear due west out to sea. You’ll see the tip of the island in the distance. Best of luck, you’ll need it.”
“Is there a barn where we can leave the horses?” she asked, thankful to have gained his compliance. Receiving his permission to leave the horses in the neighboring shed and his assurances he’d watch over them, she detailed Tad to see to their comfort whilst she and Cal took their packs and walked down the rickety jetty toward their craft.
It was a sturdy clinker-built sloop, with a square-shaped mainsail and a small headsail. With neither Cal nor Tad having any knowledge of sailing, this small craft should be stable yet light enough for them to handle under Sullyan’s direction. She tossed their packs into the prow of the small ship and bade Cal embark.
He nearly lost his footing as he gingerly entered the boat. “It’s rocking!” he yelped, clutching wildly at the gunwales, which set the craft to yawing even more.
“Stand still, Cal,” she laughed. “You are on the water, what did you expect? Move slowly and carefully and keep to the center, then you will be more stable. Sit on that bench there, in the stern. You will be our steersman.”
Cal groped his cautious way to the bench and sat gratefully, eyeing the length of bouncing craft with a jaundiced eye. Sullyan stepped aboard and loosened the ties holding the mainsail furled along the boom.
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Cal asked as seemingly endless folds of ochre canvas flopped around her feet.
“Of course I do. Do you not trust me?”
He couldn’t say no, and tried to concentrate as she told him the names of the parts of the boat he would be in charge of. Her familiarity seemed to increase his fear, not relieve it. There were an awful lot of unfamiliar terms.
Once Tad joined them in the boat, the young swordsman learned he was to be in charge of the small headsail and sat toward the front of the boat looking as nervous as Cal.
“Now, Cal,” instructed Sullyan, “undo that line from the stern of the boat and push us away from the jetty.”
Cal did as he was told, pushing gingerly at the wood of the jetty. The small craft slid forward a few feet to lie still and calm in the center of the bay. They were aware old Jeriko had come out of his shed to watch them, and even the goodwife stared from behind her cottage window, no doubt anticipating a good laugh at their expense.
A preoccupied Cal didn’t hear Sullyan’s instruction, and had to ask her to repeat it. “What’s a halyard?”
“That rope there.” She pointed. “Pull on it as Tad pulls on this one; it will raise the mainsail. And watch the boom does not catch you. It will swing about until the wind arrives.”
The two men did as they were told and the long wooden beam from which the ochre-colored sail hung rose slowly up the mast. When the sail was taut, Sullyan showed them how to tie the ropes off so the beam was held aloft with no fear of it falling.
Now they had to avoid the swinging boom, the second heavy wooden beam that controlled the sail’s base. “Cal, pull the tiller toward you and hold it there,” Sullyan said. “The wind will come from over your right shoulder and we want the sail to fill from that side. Tad, when you see the mainsail fill, raise that headsail and tie it off as I showed you. Ready?”
The men nodded wordlessly. They had no real idea of what to expect, so how could they say they were ready? All they could do was trust in Sullyan and do as they were bid.
Sullyan sat in the center of the boat and closed her eyes. It wasn’t necessary for her to do this in order to access her psyche, but her companions’ anxiety might distract her if she wasn’t careful. She had to do this just right. Ai
r was a most capricious element and needed all her attention.
Slipping within her consciousness, she attuned her psyche to the element of Air. The day was cloudy, but the cloud cover was thin. Behind this she could feel the next weather front approaching from the east, and there was wind aplenty here. All she need do was encourage it closer. She centered her will and exerted her power.
The zephyr startled Cal. He hadn’t seen it ruffling the water as it came from behind him. The small craft slid gently through the water. “Sullyan!” he called, alarmed by the pressure on the tiller and completely ignorant of what he should do.
Silently, still concentrating on calling Air, Sullyan placed her left hand over Cal’s on the tiller, directing his movement. The prow of the little boat came around until it was pointing toward the gap in the reef. She nodded at Tad and he pulled on the rope to raise the small headsail, and the strengthening breeze filled the ochre canvas with a snap. Tad secured the halyard and grasped the other rope to control the fill of the sail.
The breeze grew stronger by the minute and Sullyan could now afford to spare some of her concentration for instructions. She couldn’t resist turning to wave casually at an open-mouthed Jeriko, who stood dumbfounded on the strand.
Cal and Tad heard her small, triumphant chuckle. “Oh, I just love doing that.”
Their eyes stretched wide at this uncharacteristic mischievousness, and she laughed. “Well, gentlemen, what is the point of all this power if you cannot enjoy its effects once in a while?” She sobered. “Although, as you know, I do not condone showing off.”
They glanced at each other, clearly unsure how to judge her mood. She grinned again and they relaxed, trying to familiarize themselves with the motion of the boat and the complexities of sailing.
The wind Sullyan had called was cold and smelled of snow. The sea was calm and made little wavelets along the sides of the sloop as it slipped through the icy water. Cal sat in the stern, gradually learning how to make small adjustments to the tiller to keep them on course away from the headland. Tad sat in the prow, watching the fill of the headsail and loosening or tightening the sheet that controlled it, according to Sullyan’s instructions.
“Why’s it called a sheet?” he grumbled. “What’s wrong with rope?”
“How many lengths of rope do you see on this craft, Tad?” Sullyan asked pointedly. “They all do a different job. If I told you to heave on that rope, how would you know which one? And on a larger vessel, with more sails, there is even more rope. Of course they all have different names!”
Tad continued to grumble good-naturedly under his breath and Sullyan let him. She knew he was only covering his nervousness, for they were far off the coast by now and nearing the point when they must turn due west. She could see the red patch of sandstone marring the gray of the cliffs and also the fire beacon mounted on top, as Jeriko had said. She could also just make out the tip of the clerics’ island as it rose from the waves.
Attuning herself once more to her psyche, Sullyan checked the state of the wind. They hadn’t seen any other craft so far and she supposed the fishing fleet had allowed the morning tide to take them farther out to sea. She hoped her little wind would not cause them any inconvenience; she didn’t want to disrupt their trade or prevent them from sailing home when they wished.
Her breeze was behaving as she’d hoped. They turned westward, aiming the prow of their vessel toward their destination. Sullyan herself controlled the mainsail and paid out the sheets, allowing the boom to move out at right angles to catch more of the wind from behind them. She was enjoying herself, pleased to find she had forgotten none of the lessons she had learned whilst sailing with the free-traders of Andaryon.
Chapter Eight
Sitting in the stern of the little sloop, Sullyan regarded the island. With the light behind it and fading into the west, the island’s rock was black and stark, adding to its forbidding aspect. Frozen snow lodged in the lower crevices of the sharp-edged surface rock, and ice slicked the smoother stone. Not a sign of green could be seen from the water; no trees, no plants, not even any seabirds. Seemingly barren and lifeless, the sharp pinnacle of rock thrust up from the water and loomed above them.
She wondered why there was no snow covering its highest peaks.
“Where on earth are we going to land?” said Cal, leaning over the gunwales to peer beneath the boom. He had surrendered the tiller to Sullyan now they were closer, and she gave him and Tad instructions on how to alter the sails while she guided their craft nearer to landfall.
“There will be a jetty or landing stage somewhere,” she said, her eyes on the rocks. She was allowing the breeze to die down, just keeping enough to allow her steerage. “The fishermen must put in somewhere when they deliver their supplies.”
“That could be the place,” called Tad from the prow. When they looked, they could see a flattened area of stone just behind a low line of rocks, iron rings sunk into its smoothed sides. Sullyan told Tad and Cal to lower the mainsail and they managed to achieve this without covering everyone in wet canvas. Sullyan concentrated on bringing the vessel alongside the slab of stone without crunching the wood. Despite the generous amount of gold she had given Jeriko, he wouldn’t appreciate his boat being gouged on the rocks.
Tad, stationed at the headsail sheet, released it at her command, allowing it to flap in the wind as the boat lost speed. Cal was instructed to jump ashore and catch the line thrown to him by Tad, then secure the boat to one of the rings. He landed inelegantly, making Sullyan and Tad laugh as he tottered on the stone as if drunk.
He had his revenge when Tad, in an effort to leap stylishly ashore, found that his legs also betrayed him and he staggered into the sharp rock face. Sullyan eyed them both sympathetically. “Your pardon, gentlemen. Did I forget to mention the effect of a sea voyage on your sense of balance? Fear not, the sensation will fade in time.”
Both men directed venomous looks at her as she stepped casually onto land and proceeded to hand out the packs.
Checking the boat was secured against the pull of the tide, Sullyan shouldered her pack. To the left of the landing stage was a rough-hewn set of steps, the only other exit.
The steps were treacherously uneven and slippery with frozen spray. Someone had thoughtfully secured a bight of rope along one side, and they held on to this to steady their ascent. The gradient was steep and unrelenting, but the strenuous exercise helped both Tad and Cal recover their sense of balance.
At the top they were confronted by an iron-barred gate set solidly into the rock. The stair had become increasingly narrow as they ascended, taking on the aspect of an open-roofed tunnel. This gate effectively blocked their onward path and there was no sign of human habitation.
“What now?” panted Cal, leaning against the rock. The ride from the Manor, the stress of the sea voyage, and now this steep climb in the biting cold had sapped their strength. They were ready for a warm fire and some rest. This inhospitable gate did not bode well for their reception.
“We announce our presence.” Sullyan indicated the large brass bell hanging to the right of the gate. Its clapper was wrapped in cloth to keep it from sounding when the wind blew strong, and she reached up to unwind the bundled linen. She rang the bell twice.
Silence followed. They could barely hear the susurration of surf on the rocks far below. Tad stirred as if to sound the bell again, but then they heard footfalls approaching. Sullyan threw back the folds of her cloak to display her rank insignia.
“Who comes to disturb our peace at this hour of the day?” came a scratchy voice from beyond the gate. The light was fading fast and it was difficult to make out the hooded figure that appeared from the gloom.
“I am Colonel Sullyan of the High King’s forces and I have come at the request of Elias of Albia to speak with Cleric Patrio Ruvar,” Sullyan said. “My two companions are Captain Cal Tyler and Swordsman Tad Greylin, also of the King’s forces. May we enter? We have had a long journey and we are tired and col
d.”
The figure moved forward to study Sullyan’s array of rank insignia and battle honors. Apparently satisfied, he drew the bolts. “You come on the back of a strange breeze,” he commented, holding the gate for them. He relocked it once they were through.
“Yet a convenient one, for all that,” she replied. “Frar …?”
The hooded man inclined his head. “Frar Varian. I am the warder of the gate and I must insist you leave your weapons with me. No one goes armed into the presence of our Patrio.”
“Very well, Frar Varian. We mean no offence to your order. We are here purely to ascertain the facts surrounding the death of Baron Reen.”
Varian sighed as he beckoned them toward a stone cottage fifty yards from the gate. Welcoming lamplight glowed in its windows. “Ah yes. That was a sorry business and one we all regret.”
Sullyan followed the man into the warmth of the small dwelling. “Why is that, Frar?”
He turned to face her and cast back the cowl of his robe. Frar Varian was an elderly man of maybe seventy-five years, and his thinning hair had been shaved into a complicated spiral design, symbolizing his initiation into this particular Order of the Wheel. He was thin with sunken cheeks, but his brown eyes were shrewd and sharp. He regarded Sullyan frankly as she divested herself of her weapons.
“Baron Reen was a mightily troubled soul,” said Varian, accepting Sullyan’s sheathed sword and dagger. He laid them respectfully on a wooden rack, showing an unmistakable familiarity with edged steel that narrowed Sullyan’s eyes. “He took some months to settle to his life here and to fully accept his fate. In those early days, we despaired of ever giving him ease or succor. He even refused to participate in our services at first, despite his devout piety.”
Cal’s eyes boggled at this description of the traitorous Reen and he shot Tad a glance. The young swordsman returned the look with raised brows as they too handed their weapons to the elderly Frar. He laid them beside Sullyan’s on the rack.
