by Rod Fisher
Chapter Thirteen
FELIC SKIRTED the middle island at a respectful distance. As the day waned he worked the yacht in toward the northern island. He conned the little ship into a small protected bay shortly after sunset.
"Will we anchor here?" Chessa asked.
Felic's answer was a quiet "hmm" through pursed lips. He knew that a peaceful encounter with the Maijads was out of the question. Slave raids by Antillians had convinced the blue-eyed savages that strangers were their enemies.
There was no sign of life. He tacked along the shore, studying the shadowy underbrush and rocks. Chessa respected his concentration and didn't push for an answer.
Blight had killed the timber around the bay and the bleached trunks and stark limbs of dead trees reached up through the second growth in ghostly supplication. The creak of Sun-Eagle's rigging and the lapping of water along the shore were the only sounds that broke the hollow stillness surrounding them.
Satisfied with his survey of the place, Felic dropped anchor. Chessa started to build a fire in the firebox. Felic stopped her. "No...no fire tonight."
"Oh, you don't want them to see our smoke. I should have thought of that myself."
"We will go hungry tonight."
Chessa laughed and rummaged in the food box. "Here is bread I baked. It's a little hard, but not stale." She gave Felic a loaf, which he broke in half with difficulty. He offered a piece to Gwenay. She laughed with them when she tried to bite it.
"I have a bottle of vintage wine in my cabin," she offered, "Come join me. We will soak these sticks until they surrender."
Felic and Chessa exchanged glances behind her back. The good humor and generosity came as a surprising contrast to her moods of the previous days. They followed her into the great cabin and sat around the table. Jokes and toasts livened the conversation as the wine mellowed the formality of the queen's quarters.
Gwenay's eyes sparkled as she played the part of the witty hostess. She urged more wine on them and complimented Chessa on the durable quality of her bread. When they finished the bread and most of the wine, her mood sobered.
"We must discuss our task at hand, Felic. I have a map to show you." She went to a cupboard and brought back a small scroll. "Chessa, would you be a good child and keep watch on deck while Felic and I discuss our business?"
Chessa murmured assent and went on deck. Gwenay closed the inner door to the companionway and returned to sit by Felic's side. She spread the scroll on the table and slid it in front of him. She pushed closer to explain the markings and her thigh rested against his. "You see this mark." she laid a slender jeweled finger on a small triangle, "It is King Jult's tomb. Jult sent me this scroll from his deathbed. He was going to the Dag-Arnak high priest to negotiate...to trade the Qalandor for their political support. He thought he could save his kingdom in that way." Gwenay's face was close to Felic's and her perfume teased him. "Jult took the missing gem to prove to the high priest that we had the Qalandor. But the Dags were treacherous. They imprisoned him and tortured him to disclose the hiding place of the Qalandor. With Bargonast's help he escaped on this yacht. Unfortunately a storm blew them out to sea. They were lost and drifted many days without knowing where they were. When they saw the island's smoke they were starving and feverish. Jult was dying. His men, loyal to his deathbed wishes, built him a tomb. For years I thought the Dags had the gem, but I have come to believe that it is buried with Jult's body, or hidden in his tomb. Look at these words written in the margin; they make no sense to me."
Felic hunched over the scroll and studied the map. The bay in which they were anchored was clearly marked. He puzzled over the words in the margin:
Beneath the triple tread of kings
Changing time and place
All on rod, some on nalaq
Keeping constant space
"Well, it mentions 'triple'," he mused, "and, on this map the tomb is marked as three-sided."
"That is the only sense I have made of it." She poured the last of the wine. "Tomorrow we must find the tomb and search it."
Felic emptied his goblet quickly and continued his study of the scroll. "The words 'rod' and 'nalaq'...that makes 'Qalandor' spelled backwards. But 'beneath the triple tread of kings'... something a king would walk on, maybe. Perhaps it refers to a three-legged king!"
Gwenay's musical laugh turned his thoughts from the scroll and he found he was intensely aware of her body pressing against him. A wave of desire came vibrating from his loins, suffusing his body. He discovered he was trembling from the effort to contain the passion he felt for her. Her lustrous hair brushed his cheek and she looked into his eyes. The invitation was candid. "Come," she took his hand, "It's all right ...I understand how you feel." She led him to the berth.
Felic made love with the finesse of a bull elk. His craving for Gwenay seemed insatiable. He cried like a wounded animal trying to bear the ecstasy that ripped through him.
The thrashing and groaning brought Chessa down to see what was the matter. Opening the door, she was appalled by the scene. She turned and fled. Blinded by tears, she stumbled up the companionway onto the moonlit deck and stopped. She held her knuckles against her teeth as if to stem the hurt that was rising hard and bitter in her throat. Then she stepped up on the rail and plunged into the black water below.
