They went back to work, the afternoon turning very hot. Even for someone young and fit as Kyric, it was hard labor. Among the Ilven, even the stronger men looked a little worn, but there were few of them. Half the slaves were either old men or girls. They were the ones most at risk at the end of the day, when everyone was tired and it was easy to make a stupid mistake.
Kyric tried to work carefully in the last hour of the day. “There’s been no accidents,” he said to Lerica. “No one has been killed today.”
Suddenly, he very much wanted to end the day that way. He and Lerica began signing to the Ilven, ‘Be safe,’ or, ‘Work with care.’ They began to nod, and pass the word on to their fellows, the pickers calling it up the slope to those at the tables.
Even Ral got caught up in it. He began coaching them, saying, “Watch your step there man. You — pull more to the right.” The Ilven didn’t really understand him, but it kept them on their toes.
And then they were done. No one had died that day.
Kyric stepped a little lighter as they crossed the bridge to the island. “You seem pleased with yourself,” said Lerica.
“I needed a small victory.”
She looked at him with dark, turbulent eyes. “I know. But I need a larger one.”
He stopped and turned to her. “Do you think you’re the only one here who’s angry? I have to swallow my anger all day long.”
“Maybe you need it,” she snapped back, “to give you the courage to do something.”
His grin was almost a snarl. “Anger can’t give you courage. It allows you to do things you wouldn’t otherwise do, but that’s not courage, that’s stupidity.”
They ate in silence that night, Lerica facing away from him. He lay down and closed his eyes as soon as he had finished, but he couldn’t sleep. His mind was racing after the spat with Lerica.
His dreamland quest with Rolirra seemed absurd when he stopped to think about it. He would have this dream where he went to a rainy place, and that would make it rain here. The river would flood, and they would remain safe on this island while Thurlun and his men were washed away. What had he been thinking? Ridiculous. And even if it could be done, what would happen to Aiyan? He had to find a real way out of this, here in the real world.
He rolled onto his side. Maybe Lerica was right. Maybe he needed to stop choking down his anger and let it run.
The night was black. The moon had not yet risen. He felt her kneel behind him and touch him on the shoulder. “I shouldn’t have said that,” she whispered to him. “I’m sorry.”
She lay down, curling up against him, pressing her back into his. It felt wonderful. It might have been arousing had they not been filthy, exhausted, insect bitten, and in irons. They had been under physical strain for the last few days — days full of brutality, fear, and death. Their lives were at risk every moment in this place and they counted on each other. They had seen each other emotionally naked, and all of a sudden lying there back to back seemed far more intimate than any kind of passion.
He lay there, listening to the rhythm of her breathing. It was nice, just leaning against her like that. He closed his eyes.
And opened them. He lay on a gentle slope above the blue spring, his head propped against the roots of an oak. “Rolirra?” He didn’t see her anywhere.
“Up here,” she called from above him. She sat on one of the higher branches of the tree. “A stream runs out of the far side of the pond. It looks like it follows the valley and joins another.”
She swung down to land lightly next to him. “I’m sure this will lead us to where all water flows.”
His shoulder was completely healed. He bathed in the blue water, and then they started down the valley, walking along the banks of the stream. The lush grass rippled in the breeze, along with glowing flowers of a color not found in nature. Everything was unusually bright. The air tasted fresh and the whole valley sparkled with vitality. They walked briskly, with a bounce to their steps.
Rolirra gave him a sidelong glance.
Kyric held up one hand. “I know what you’re going to say: This is too slow. But look how springy the ground is; I can bounce from one long stride to another. Maybe how you walk is the trick to crossing this land.”
At first the bouncing walk didn’t seem much better, but slowly they gained momentum, each bounce just a little longer than the last, the ground just a little more springy with each stride, until each bounce became a long leap. They bounced higher and farther, the momentum building, and soon each step carried them over a furlong.
The stream connected with another, and another, and then to a little river that joined with a larger river. The sun became a glowing orange ball sinking low in the sky. At the apex of a bouncing leap, Kyric looked ahead and saw a great lake with a hundred rivers flowing into it.
Rolirra caught up with him on the next bounce. “Do you see the island?”
A small island rose from the lake a quarter mile offshore. It was five stories high and flat-topped, with vertical granite faces on every side and split in two at the waterline, the crevasse ending about halfway up and giving the island the appearance of the lower portion of a man.
“We must make it to the island on our last bounce,” she said. “Anyone who falls in the water will be lost.”
They started to push off harder with each leap. Each bounce went longer and higher, but the island was coming up fast.
They took their last bounce at the edge of the lake, and Kyric jumped for the island with all that he had. This last spot had a much stronger spring to it and seemed to fling them out over the water. Not only would they easily reach the island, it looked to Kyric that they would go too far.
“We need a headwind,” he called to Rolirra.
“Look for one!”
There was always wind on open bodies of water. He quickly scanned the lake. Ahead of them, the water rippled with the coming gust. Kyric spread his arms wide and let it strike him head-on in a flurry of blows. It slowed them enough. Then the island rose up to meet them, and at the last second Kyric realized that the ground would be hard and they would probably die.
There were trees on the island. Perfect little trees the shape of umbrellas. He hit one on the edge, sliding off and landing spread-eagle on a shorter one and plowing through. The trees weren’t as soft or as flexible as he had hoped.
The fall had knocked the wind out of him, and his head rang a little, but he sat up to find that he had no broken bones. His elbows were scraped raw and his wrist felt sprained, but it looked like he was alright. Rolirra was bleeding from the nose and had some bad bruises. She limped slightly as she came over to him.
“This is one of the walking islands of the inner sea,” she said. “We were lucky to have found it. It could very well carry us to the shores of the rainlands.”
Kyric stood and checked himself for further wounds. “The island walks?”
“Yes, but only at night, and only if we dance.”
Rolirra went about the island as the sun went down, gathering certain stones the color of blood and tangerines, and piling them in the middle of a patch of barren ground. As darkness fell, the sky filled with bright stars and still more were coming out. Tenfold the usual number of stars graced the night, casting a light like the full moon.
Rolirra struck two of the stones together. They sparked and caught fire, and she tossed them on the pile to ignite the others.
“The firestones will burn all night,” she said. “Now we must dance.”
“Can you teach me the steps?”
“No,” she said, slowly circling the fire. “We must discover them together. We must learn the dance of walking to the rainlands.”
He joined her in the firelight, having no idea of what to do. She started moving, turning away from him and stepping toe to heel. Clearly this was to be a dance in the Terrulan fashion.
He tried to imitate Rolirra, who was taking short light steps. Her body quivered a little as she went. Her motions were gen
tle, the steps easy — a pace they could maintain for hours.
They began to experiment with arm movements. Twirling hands and waving fingers. After a while, Rolirra stopped and turned to him with a frown. “We’re not moving.”
“We’re not dancing together.”
She cocked her head at him.
“Where I come from,” he said, “men and women dance together.”
“I’ve never heard of this,” she said. “How is it done?”
“We hold hands.”
A waltz didn’t seem quite right here, so he took one of her hands and led her along as in a promenade. They shuffled some and pranced a little. Kyric tried to imagine how it would feel to be a giant creature of stone, wading in a great lake. When their dance fell into a slow but lilting half skip, they felt the island move
Rolirra nodded and smiled. “This is a better way to dance.”
They circled the fire and the island walked into the night, tilting slightly to one side and then the other in the rhythm of its stride. Soon they were far from the shore. The stars wheeled across the sky and they danced on. It reminded Kyric of another dance beneath the stars with another woman, but he couldn’t see her face or remember her name. It was like a half-forgotten dream.
They had danced long when a roaring sound rose from the waters below. Rolirra stopped and led him to the edge of the cliff. A gigantic whirlpool, large enough to swallow the walking island, spun violently at the center of the lake.
“The place where all water flows,” she said.
“Where does it go?”
“None have dared to pass through it in my lifetime.”
They returned to their dance. They were tired now and there was no joy in it. It began to seem endless. They stopped to rest at one point, but it only made the dance more of a burden when they started again.
“The dawn is not far away,” Rolirra said. “We must dance faster, for the island will sleep when the sun rises.”
Kyric doubled the tempo. It wasn’t long before he felt like he couldn’t go on. He looked at Rolirra and she met his eye. She was near exhaustion as well, but the unspoken covenant he saw there allowed him to push through it. She needed him to keep leading without fail, and if he did his part, she would match him step for step.
They danced on, never looking away from one another. As the stars began to fade, the island shook hard for a moment, and they collapsed to the ground, still holding hands. When the sun came up they saw the island had butted against a shore where dozens of tiny streams cascaded down a long steep slope. At the top of the slope, an ancient pine forest lay on a tableland veiled by rain.
They climbed down from the island, and up a rocky path that followed one of the streams. A thick overcast hung low over the forest. Cresting the slope, they passed into it, and into the rain, the floor of pine needles soft against their bare feet.
“We’ve made it,” Rolirra said.
The rain was cold. They found a place where a huge tree had fallen against an outcropping of stone. A sheet of rough grey moss draped down from one limb, and Kyric tore it away. They found a narrow dry place beneath the fallen tree and lay down there, covering themselves with the blanket of moss, huddling for warmth.
CHAPTER 13: Venom
He awoke with Lerica in his arms, fitted against him like a spoon.
There was almost no light. A thick cover of clouds blotted out the sunrise, and it began to rain, lightly, gently, not much more than a drizzle.
All the Ilven were up at once, looking at him with tired but grateful smiles. They all knew the plan. They signed thanks to him in Cor’el. Quickly surrounding Rolirra, they all spoke at once until she hushed them and told them to stop making a scene.
‘It’s not enough,’ Kyric signed to her. ‘It would take weeks of this to flood the river.’
She nodded. ‘Yes. I must think upon it.’
The Ilven broke into smaller groups, some fetching the cold fish, others washing themselves in the rain.
He turned to find Lerica standing beside him. “So you can really do it. You can call the rain in your sleep like some kind of dream magician.”
She had been privy to his conversation with Rolirra that first night. He had wondered why she never asked him about it.
“It’s not like that,” he said. “It’s not magic — or hell, maybe it is. I don’t know. I think of it as a separate reality that overlaps this one. Rolirra seems able to draw me into it. I don’t even know if I can go there on my own.”
Thurlun didn’t present a slave to Aiyan that morning, instead he strutted about the camp in a leather hat and rattan cane, barking out orders, swatting at the Ilven, harassing the hunters as they gathered provisions and packed the longboat, chiding the sharpshooters about dry powder and keeping their locks covered with oilcloths. All the time with Aiyan’s locket hanging from his belt.
Lerica’s brow darkened. “He’s already given up on his game. This is bad.” She and Kyric stood waiting for the first net to be laid.
As Thurlun crossed the camp, Guppy at his heel, Aiyan stood. “In the end,” he said, “it will bring madness.”
Thurlun stopped and turned. “What?”
Aiyan pointed to the locket. “Only those with the essence of the warrior may bear the flame without harm. When carried by the unworthy, it will burn their spirit.”
Thurlun froze, water dripping from his hat. “Still think you’re better than everyone, do you? You think you’re special because someone gave you a special locket?” He drew his pistols and handed them to Guppy. They were wheel-locks, and Kyric knew from his own pistol that they would fire in the rain.
“You’re going to show me how to open this,” Thurlun said, “But first I’m going to beat the arrogance out of you.”
He stepped forward, raising the cane, and Aiyan took a fighting stance. Even chained to the stump, he would easily take Thurlun’s cane away and thrash him with it.
Thurlun paused. “Do I have to bring those two kids over here and have Guppy hold the pistols to their heads? You will take it, Candy. You will take it indeed.”
Aiyan turned his back as Thurlun struck him furiously with the cane. He covered his head and took it in silence. Everyone had stopped working, and there was only the sound of the blows over the gentle fall of the rain. Aiyan soon dropped to the ground, curling against the stump, protecting himself as well as he could. Thurlun lashed him again and again, and blood began to show through Aiyan’s shirt.
“Back to work,” Ral shouted to the river crew. “Start hauling on that net. We have a catch to get in.” They turned their backs and began to pull.
The sound of the beating went on, the crack of each blow making them cringe now. It went on agonizingly long, and each lash became a horror as they thought the one before had surely been the final stroke. Tears ran down the faces of the Ilven to be lost among raindrops. One of the women sobbed aloud with each crack of the cane.
At last there was a blow and none followed. Kyric looked over his shoulder.
The cane had been reduced to splinters. Thurlun threw it down and whipped Aiyan with the locket and chain. “What the hell is this?” he screamed at Aiyan. “You will open it, Candy! You will open it now!”
Aiyan stayed on the ground. “First you must call me by my name,” he said, his voice husky and strained. “I am Sir Aiyan Dubern.”
Thurlun clutched the locket and tore at it with his fingernails. “Goddess damn it!” he bellowed. He snatched his pistols from Guppy and stomped back to his hut.
Aiyan stayed on the ground for a long time before he picked himself up and sat on the stump. He moved very slowly and swayed a little, as if he felt faint. At length he managed to get his shirt off and let the rain run over his back, his head hanging down between his knees.
“He doesn’t look so good,” Lerica whispered. “He doesn’t even look like he can walk.”
“It looks bad, but he’s had plenty worse.”
The work became more difficult as t
he footing turned slick, and then muddy. It was hardest on the pickers, as they had to drag the rays, wriggling and fighting, up the shallow slope to the tables. At one point Kyric slipped, and slid uncomfortably close to an angel ray’s stinger before Lerica pulled him back.
The accident at the tables happened in the mid-afternoon. Those working at the river heard a shout and a scream, and by the time they stopped and looked it was over. A ray had got loose while they were trying to strap it to a table. Two strap-men had been stung in an instant. One of the pickers tried to re-hook it as it flailed back and forth, but instead had pierced its halo, and the ray covered him and one of the cutters in a spray of venom. The four of them died before anyone could help.
Thurlun came out and went up to the table, spitting out a curse with every step. Tebble was the overseer there, and Thurlun dragged him aside by the collar for a quiet dressing-down. While they were taking the bodies away to be dumped in the swamp, Thurlun came back for a quick conference with Guppy and Ral.
“Four,” said Thurlun, still fuming. “All of them experienced.”
“With the rain and all,” said Ral, “we should probably go back to a one-net operation.”
Guppy shook his head. “Too bad. We were getting half again more halos this way.”
“We can keep running both nets,” Thurlun said “We’ll replace the strap-men from the haulers. One man short on each net won’t make much of a difference.” He glanced at Aiyan, who hadn’t moved all day. “As a matter of fact, make it those two.” He pointed to Kyric and Lerica.
Ral nodded. “And the pickers?”
“The pickers can make do as they are.”
“That leaves someone for a new cutter,” Guppy said with a sigh. “What a shame. That girl was really good at it.”
Thurlun looked the crew of slaves up and down for a moment, not finding what he wanted. “Pull one of the old women off the island,” he said. “Cutting doesn’t require any strength.”
Ral escorted Kyric and Lerica up to the tables. “Remember,” he told them, “get the stinger tied down first. And tell the pickers to keep their hooks in until you have the ray completely secure. When the cutter starts in on the halo, be sure you’re well back.”
The Hidden Fire (Book 2) Page 12
