Rebecca nodded. Without hesitation she threw herself forward, into the sea. I followed her. The surge of the waves grabbed me, pulled me sideways. Kelp caught my legs and the carrysack holding the globe was heavy. I swallowed water, coughed, and nearly panicked. I was going to sink! Then my fingers caught Rebecca’s arm; I gripped it tight, and trod water. Shook my head, blinked hard to clear my eyes, and there to our right was the gray line of the sand. The beacon blazed a welcome.
“Come on,” I said.
Unfortunately, Rebecca could not swim. Of course she can’t, I thought. Where would she have learned?
“Lie still,” I called to her. “Lift your hips and you will float.”
Fortunately, I could swim.
Rebecca lay on her back and stared up at the clouds. Keeping hold of her, I managed to push free of the kelp, and slowly edged us free of the rocks. “You’re doing well,” I panted. Slowly, I began to swim us into shore. “Nearly there.”
I tucked the sack into my tunic, and it settled there, hard and heavy and dragged me down, but I clung grimly to Rebecca, and slowly, slowly we made our way toward the shoreline.
“Not far now,” I said, just as a wave washed over us. Rebecca thrashed and coughed. “Hold your breath! Don’t panic! The waves will carry us into shore.”
Swimming through surf is a strange feeling; sometimes it’s hard to tell where the sky begins and the wave ends. But I held onto Rebecca; I wasn’t going to let her go, would never let her go, until finally, eventually, we floated onto sand. At first I just lay in the froth of the waves, breathing and feeling grateful for the breath and thankful that Rebecca lay beside me in the water, and for a moment it was as though I was Sarah, not Dana, and that I had a child whom I had to save.
The waves hissed in and out, in and out until after a time I gained enough strength to lift my head. Brushing the wet hair from my face, I looked around. It was night. Beside me, Rebecca stirred, and lifted her head also.
“There’s a fire,” she said wonderingly.
I heard footsteps coming down the sand, and I struggled onto all fours. Despite my exhaustion, I had to protect the child.
“Well now,” said a man’s voice. It was gentle and low and slightly amazed. “What have we here?”
“Please,” I said faintly.
Beside me, Rebecca sat up.
The man squatted down beside us. “Hello,” he said to Rebecca.
“Hello.”
“You,” I said, and stopped.
“I think you have something for me,” said the ferryman, and he held out a hand. I pulled the sack from my tunic and passed it to him.
“Thank you,” he said gravely. Carefully, he helped Rebecca onto her feet and wrapped his cloak about her shoulders. “You’re safe now, child,” he said.
“You’ll look after her?” I could feel my heart stuttering. The world was growing dark. But before I left, I needed to be sure that Sarah’s daughter was safe. After all, what is the point of living, if we don’t look after the children?
He nodded. “Of course. Sleep well, Sarah.”
I smiled weakly at Rebecca, at the ferryman, and closed my eyes. So tired. As I drifted into sleep I thought I heard Rebecca sobbing, and the ferryman comforting her.
I lay bound on a bench, chains around my neck, wrists and ankles. Water trickled over stone. This stone chamber seemed lighter – perhaps somewhere there was a window.
Every child of the kingdom knew the song of the Ferryman.
In a hut
By the sea
Lives a man made of stone
Nobody’s with him
So he’s always alone.
I’d assumed the ferryman was an hereditary post; when one died, another must take his place. But the ferryman of my dream had looked the same as the man who had taken us across the straits.
The weight of the chains about my neck was suffocating. Each breath seemed to compress the chains more. I would die on this bench and no one would care.
Stop it!
Think about something else. Remember Sarah, creeping to freedom while her city burned; Rebecca, who although she could not swim, jumped into the sea.
In the distance, water trickled. A faint breeze touched my cheek. My back hurt; my feet ached. My breath came in gasps. I groaned; an echo groaned back.
A man made of stone.
I closed my eyes, tried to remember. Tried to forget the pain. Who was the ferryman? How long had he lived beside the straits? I lay for some time, just breathing. Foam on the water, I thought.
Eventually I opened my eyes. There were chisel marks in the ceiling above. I wondered who had carved this room. I thought I heard a footfall, but I couldn’t move my head. Probably it was my imagination.
Then again I heard a soft scraping noise.
“Hello?” I whispered.
Echoes stirred. Gods please don’t let this be rats! I had visions of sharp teeth eating at my face and I whimpered softly. Then I heard a scraping, sliding noise, like two stones rubbing together, and I stopped.
“Is anyone there?” A young voice whispered.
“Hello?” It was hard to talk against the chains. “Hello?”
“Ssh! Quiet.”
Please, let this be real!
Silence. Water dripped. Then … a soft sliding, and the sound of tearing cloth. A harsh exclamation.
I whispered softly. “Hello? Are you there?”
The jangle of metal, the creak and snick of a lock and a widening line of sunlight on the ceiling above me. I lay, blinking at the light, and felt such gratitude that it was there. Strange, how such a small thing can make one so happy. Nearby, metal creaked as a door opened. A breeze brushed my cheek and I smelt sweat and tears and something else, something familiar. I couldn’t turn my head, but I rolled my eyes desperately, trying to see who had entered my cell.
“There you are,” she said. As she neared me I saw a face framed by dark hair, her dark eyes, the tattoo along her arm. A black dragon, its tail winding toward her shoulder.
“You!” I said. It was the girl from the prison, my jailor, or my servant. The girl who had brought me my food.
She nodded. “I am Mai-Long.”
“You speak my language.”
She nodded, like it was obvious, and waved a metal key in front of my eyes. “You want to leave?”
She’d been my jailor all this time, and now she was offering to release me? “Why?”
She put a finger on my lips. “Later,” she whispered. “I tell you later.” The key turned and chains clanked as she pushed them aside. The pressure about my neck eased. I took a deep, gasping breath. Oh, to draw air into my lungs!
“Thank you.” My voice sounded husky.
She helped me to sit up. “Lady?” she whispered. “I must know: where did you learn to fight so well?”
I closed my eyes, fighting dizziness. “A friend …” I cleared my throat. “A friend, he taught me.”
“You were permitted to fight?”
“I suppose so.” I thought of my mother’s horror at my unladylike occupation. “Yes.”
“I am not allowed.” Mai-Long scooped the chains from the bench and set them in a neat pile on the floor. Taking my hand, she squatted in front of me. “You will teach me?”
I thought I might be sick. But I didn’t want to offend her; I might need her help.
“I’d be happy to.” I grabbed at her shoulder for support, and shakily got to my feet. “Really. But, please, can we go somewhere else first?”
She smiled. “Of course, teacher. Whatever you say.”
And just like that I gained both a pupil and my freedom.
Chapter Nine
A Dragon In The Dark
Mai-Long moved sure-footedly through the prison. I followed as quickly as I was able, but I still felt nauseous and had to rest often. “I’m sorry.” I leant against a wall, panting.
“You have been ill.”
I nodded. Yes. I had indeed been ill. And drugged. “H
ow do you know this place?”
“My father.” Mai-Long glanced down a dark tunnel. “Are you able to go on?”
I stood upright. “I’m all right.” We set off again, but she went slower so it was easier to keep up with her. “Was your father a prisoner?”
“No. He was a jailor.”
I kept my hand on the stone wall to keep myself steady, but Mai-Long moved easily, as though this place was as familiar to her as a village street. The jailor’s daughter, at home in a prison.
“He was an Imperial Official, in charge of the Emperor’s largest prison.” She sounded both proud and sorrowful.
“Won’t your father mind? That you’re helping me escape?”
“No.” She gestured at a slit in the rock. “We go here.”
I peered into a narrow crevice. “You are sure?”
“Of course.” She darted into the opening. I hesitated, and followed.
“My father is dead,” she said suddenly.
“I’m sorry.”
“Why? Why are you sorry?” She sounded angry. “Did you build the scaffold? Did you tie the noose?”
Beneath my fingers, the rock felt different. I could feel the grooves of a chisel blade in the stonework, and as we walked, my hands ran across narrow openings, three or four handspans wide. The wind moaned as it blew, and the smell was dreadful. I tried to breathe through my nose, but it made no difference.
“Are we still in the prison?”
“Of course.”
“I thought a prison had bars and locked doors.”
“This is a special area.” She was counting under her breath, one, two, three; each time we passed an opening. Four, five, six.
“Is there …” I ran my fingers around the edge of the opening. It was wide enough for a slim man to squeeze through, perhaps. “Are there prisoners here? Right now?”
“Probably,” she said indifferently. “The bottle cells are usually full.”
“Bottle cells?”
“They are the shape of a bottle. You know, wider at the base than the neck?”
“And there are no doors?”
“They are not needed. The prisoners are chained to the wall. They cannot escape.”
I concentrated hard on not being sick. “What happens to them?”
“They die.” She seemed surprised by the question. “Do you not have such prisons where you are from?”
“No.”
What would it be like to be imprisoned in stone, held tight until you stopped breathing? I would go insane, I thought. We walked in silence and I tried not to think of the gaps beneath my fingers. Mai-Long was still counting: ten, eleven, twelve. The place was pitch dark, but in front of me I could see the faint whiteness of Mai-Long’s robe. It was like following a ghost.
“The next doorway,” she said suddenly.
“You want me to go into one of these … cells?”
“Are you afraid?”
“Yes,” I said honestly.
Mai-Long sighed with impatience. “Come.”
What other choice did I have? I followed her, grazing my legs and arm on the hard stone. Abruptly, we slid into a wider area; wide enough for two to stand together. Dry bones tumbled beneath my feet, and oh the smell! I covered my nose.
“There is an opening,” Mai-Long whispered in my ear. “Feel.” She took my hand, brushed it against the rock. “Down lower. Can you feel it?” Down, by the cell’s floor, was a low opening.
“You’re joking,” I breathed. “We go in there?”
“You would rather remain?”
No. Nothing could be worse than staying here, in this place that stunk of death.
Letting go of my hand, she crouched down. Metal clanked softly, and she muttered a curse. “We crawl,” she whispered.
A twisted chain lay along the floor of the cell, and I stepped carefully around it, before crouching onto all fours. In front of me, Mai-Long’s robe disappeared into the opening and I crawled after it.
Abruptly, the wind stopped. There was barely enough room in here for my shoulders, and every time I set a hand forward, my elbows grazed against the wall of the narrow tunnel. There was no air. The sandy floor crunched softly as Mai-Long passed, but apart from that faint noise, I could have been alone. I tried not to think of the rock surrounding me, tried not to feel buried alive. I succeeded. Partly.
Gradually, we began crawling uphill. My breath came in gasps. Sweat trickled down my face and into my eyes, making them sting, but there was no room to wipe them clean, so I shook my head and continued grimly onwards. If I ever get out of here, I thought, I’m never going into another tunnel ever again. Once, I had sent Will to hide in a cave. If I ever saw him again, I was definitely going to apologize.
Finally, there came a change: a breeze against my face, gray daylight and I could see Mai-Long crawling in front of me. She rounded a corner, and gradually the light grew brighter as tunnel became wider, and beneath my fingers the dry sand became damp earth. Then, almost abruptly, the tunnel ended, opening into a wide cavern. We got stiffly to our feet. Above us were thin stalactites, pointing down like teeth.
“Where …?”
Mai-Long put a finger across her lips. “Wait.”
There was a bend in the cavern, so the mouth was half-hidden, but high above were shafts of dusty sunlight. I stepped eagerly toward the cave’s opening. The sun! I had not seen it for so long.
She put a hand on my arm. “Lady. Wait. Be still. This place is not safe.”
“Not safe? Why?”
Her eyes widened. “Sometimes they come here.”
Chapter Ten
Types of Bravery
Every village, every town was damaged or broken. Some had caught on fire. In the clear, cold air the smoke from these pyres could be seen for miles, so the travelers gave them a wide berth. In others the fires had been extinguished leaving only charred timbers and blackened stone. Dull-eyed survivors watched them pass.
Places with imperial garrisons appeared to fare better. Soldiers, it seemed, were better able to function in times of trouble than civilians. But even the soldiers paid little attention to the three travelers. Possibly this was due to TeSin; even though the Noyan had no insignia or trappings of rank with him, he seemed to carry an invisible aura of rank. No sooner did he near a work gang than the men would straighten and snap to attention.
“He is proving useful,” Will observed to N’tombe.
But she did not reply.
By day the enchantress was withdrawn and silent, her dark eyes remote. At night she sat wrapped in a cloak, staring silently at the stars. Once, when on guard duty, Will thought he heard her sobbing. But next morning she said nothing, and her face showed no trace of tears.
Day by day the mountains grew closer. Their mounts were hardy animals, more ponies than horses, and Will felt grateful for their rugged independence. The nights were so cold it was hard to sleep, and the stars blazed ice-white. They seemed so close he could almost touch them. Once he dreamed he’d caught a star, and in his dream his hand burnt hot as a flame. When he woke he realized he’d rolled too close to the fire.
“You lucky,” TeSin said. “Can burn self that way.”
The wind came in dry gusts. Dust whipped his face, scoured the skin from his hands. His lips and cheeks blistered, and he wrapped a length of cloth about his face to protect them from the wind. Their food supplies were running low, so they raided crop-fields and hunted when they could.
“How much further?” Will chewed on the leg of a ground rat. Such animals were plentiful, but not palatable. The Noyan was wary of such creatures, saying they carried disease, but there was little choice out here in the wilds.
“Two weeks, perhaps three. Depending on the weather.” N’tombe flipped the bone of her meal into the fire. “We still have a long way to travel. Don’t frown at me, Will. I would like to go faster, too.”
“Your aunt?” Will asked. “How is she?”
“At night I pray for answers, but my dreams ar
e silent.” The fire crackled, and she stretched out her hands to it. “Alas, I am no Guardian, able to dream at will.” She looked into the flames, and her dark eyes reflected their orange glow.
Next morning TeSin, acting as lookout, pointed to the north. “Road! Come, see.”
Will climbed the slight slope and stood beside the Noyan. The man was right; a thin line of gray stone snaked through the grasses, winding slowly with the terrain. An imperial road!
TeSin called to N’tombe. “Easier travel. You want to try?”
Will looked at TeSin doubtfully. Soldiers were notoriously tough on folk traveling the imperial way without proper permits.
But N’tombe smiled. The first smile for many weeks. “I can use this.”
“How?”
She spread her hands. “Roads are made by men. I can fold them and speed the travel.”
Will remembered their travel through the kingdom, the sense of dislocation in his gut. If she used magic, wouldn’t another magic-worker sense its use? “Those Kamaye. Won’t they feel us coming?”
TeSin stiffened.
“It is possible,” N’tombe said.
“Wouldn’t it would be better to creep up on them? Unobserved?”
“And then what?”
He scuffed the grass stems with his boot. This had always been a hopeless undertaking. Still, it would have been nice to see Dana again. Yes, and he’d hoped to live a few more days before he met the Kamaye. He remembered the time in the canyon, when he’d been crouched in a hole in the stone while Dana had faced the evil. Never again! He would never again lie hidden like a coward in the dark.
N’tombe watched him with understanding eyes. “There is more than one kind of fear, Will Baker.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking of,” he grumbled.
“Yes you do,” she said. “And you are a brave man, Will. Besides, who knows? We might live.”
So they whistled for their horses. Rather surprisingly, the animals came when called, almost as though they were eager to get the journey over. Taking a deep breath, Will swung himself into the saddle.
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