“Nothing. It’s a trifle.”
Orla’s mocking smile vanished first into disbelief, and then suspicion. “You have to take something for it.”
“I’d hardly charge to ease someone’s suffering, not when the remedy is so cheap.”
“Even someone you know nothing about?”
“I know he’s in pain, that’s enough. It’s a gift. Take it.” I meant it. I was happy to help, and besides, Orla and her group didn’t really look like they had a lot to spare. I thought they might be hunters or trappers, and I was already building a mental image of them living in some derelict shack in the woods. Or maybe they were hired muscle the Balanquans kept around.
Orla wavered, finally accepting when Alisi said something to her in Balanquan. Orla thanked me gravely and left with her followers. When they were gone, I asked Alisi, “I would like to trade with you, though, if you’re able. And we’ll still pay for the escort, of course. A lot of our clothing isn’t warm enough for these conditions, and we could use some hardier things, especially for the journey to Constancy.”
“We have a few items we brought back from our own expedition.” Alisi scanned my cohort. “And even though your clothing is pretty impractical out here, it would be sought after in other places. You can borrow blankets for tonight, and then we’ll see what permanent solutions we can negotiate in the morning.”
“Thank you.” Before leaving, I asked, “Who was she? Orla? She’s not Balanquan.”
“No. Orla Micnimara is one of our Icori trading partners.”
“Icori?” I craned my neck, peering at where Orla and her band sat talking and laughing in a corner. The Balanquans had been a hazy enigma back in Osfrid, but the Icori were regularly described in frightening detail. We had textbooks filled with drawings of snarling, half-naked Icori wearing tartan capes in gaudy plaid designs. Fantastic stories of their brutal, uncouth, and untrustworthy ways ran rampant, and I tried to reconcile those images with the reality before me. “But they’re . . . I mean, they’re supposed to be . . . well, shouldn’t they at least be wearing tartan? And painting their faces blue?”
Alisi’s smile returned. “Too cold for tartan. And woad makes a terrible mess. It’s only used for very particular occasions.”
“Oh.”
“You look upset.”
“Not upset. Confused.” Orla had been flippant, but her overall air was congenial and polite. Also, she hadn’t tried to kill me on sight, as many of our books suggested Icori regularly did. “I just thought Icori hated our people.”
“That’s often true. But she doesn’t hate you. Not yet. Try to make sure it stays that way, and you’ll go far around here.”
CHAPTER 6
MY TENT WAS SO SMALL THAT THOSE OF US WHO STAYED in it pretty much ended up sleeping in a pile that night—but at least that kept us warm. We’d also raided the ship’s chests for more clothing, and Alisi had made good on lending us blankets. Since the storm three days ago, my body and mind had been taxed to their limit, and I slept heavily in those strange conditions, recalling no dreams.
But I awoke first, unable to sleep when I knew there was so much that needed to be done—and that I was the only one who could do it. With a wistful sigh at returning to the cold, I crawled out of my blanket and sat up, trying not to disturb the other girls. Near the tent’s entrance, Pamela shifted and opened one eye. I nearly urged her back to sleep and then, after a moment’s thought, beckoned for her to follow me.
Outside, the posts’ other inhabitants were stirring. The Balanquans looked as though they’d been up for a while, and new piles of cargo showed they’d even made a trip back to the beach. Captain Milford stood arguing with a small cluster of Balanquans led by Hashon, the man who ran the trading post. A crate full of tin cans—not Jasper’s—stood open between them.
“They’re going to come to us next to negotiate our ‘fee,’” I told Pamela. “I want you to be in charge of it.”
“Me?” she squeaked.
“Your family had a stand in the west market. You know how to haggle.”
She shuddered, watching the Balanquans moving around us. “Yes, but not with . . . them. They’re so odd. Look at the pants on that woman! Can you imagine? And they sort of have the upper hand here. How good a deal can I really get?”
“I think they’ll be fair in bargaining. More or less. Alisi and Hashon seem decent, but we are an inconvenience for them. That dinner didn’t seem like much, but for fifty people? That’s a lot of food they gave up, and we should pay for it. They’re going to sell us some traveling clothes, so just see what you can do to get us out of here without giving away all of Jasper’s stuff.” I tried to recall anything about Ba- lanquan and Osfridian trade. “Silk. Start with that—they don’t make it here. But stay out of our personal things if you can. Jasper brought clothing specifically to sell. Use that.”
Pamela pointed at the haphazard collection of boxes and crates. “How do we know what survived?”
“We don’t.” A few other sleepy girls emerged from the post, and I summoned them too. “You girls start sorting and organizing the cargo. Find our own belongings and Jasper’s trade goods.”
I set the makeshift committee to inventorying and was surprised they didn’t question the order, just as they hadn’t while making the beach fire. Everyone felt lost in this new situation, but as long as I kept sounding confident in my directions, they thought I knew what I was doing. It provided reassurance for them but little for me. I was as adrift here as I’d been on the damaged ship and hoped my decisions would deliver us to a safe haven.
By late morning, we had nearly everything in order. We’d decided which of our goods would stay behind and which would go with us to Grashond right away. The Balanquans had limited boats at the trading post, so a handful of sailors were remaining with the cargo that wouldn’t fit. The rest of us, along with a dozen Balanquans and the Icori, would sail west on the Quistimac.
Pamela had bartered well but summoned me to endorse the final deal. “I know you said not to trade our own Glittering Court clothes, but the Balanquans saw them and are insisting on some.”
I followed her to where Hashon stood near boxes and trunks. Several elaborate ball gowns were draped over a crate—including my favorite: an off-the-shoulder dress of deep-green silk, trimmed in silver beads. Jasper allowed us to keep one dress when we married, and this was the one I’d wanted. I sighed, running my chapped hands over the delicate, iridescent fabric.
Any argument I might make had already been attempted by Pamela. In fact, she’d already talked Hashon down quite a bit—but for these dresses, he remained obstinate. As I took stock of the other things the Balanquans wanted and what we were getting in exchange—transportation, food, and several cloaks of fur and thick wool—I knew it was a good deal in purely monetary terms. But the personal cost of that dress hurt.
“Go ahead,” I said.
Although we’d all heard and agreed to the travel itinerary last night, the full reality of what it meant didn’t hit us until we actually walked up to the Quistimac. All eight of the post’s boats sat tied at the river’s edge, already loaded with our supplies and even a few horses. The flat, rectangular barges had sides about three feet high. They looked sturdy and secure, but there was no denying the truth: We would have to sail again.
I saw several girls come to an abrupt halt when they realized it, and even my stomach lurched. The day had dawned clear and mild, and sunlight made the Quistimac glitter. Birds sang in the towering trees surrounding it, and a light breeze suggested the weather might even turn warmer. But the river was still a river, and this one, pretty or not, was wide and deep with a swiftly moving current that we’d have to fight against.
The Balanquans travel this river all the time, I told myself. They trust those barges. And it’s not like we’re in the middle of the ocean with no land in sight. The banks are right there.
I took a deep breath and continued forward. “Come on, girls. Let’s be on our way.”
My confidence wasn’t quite as effective this time. A few of my companions stayed rooted and shook their heads, faces drawn. Even one of the merchants blanched. Conscious of the Balanquans’ impatience, the braver girls and I fervently made pitches to our terrified friends. We reminded them how fast the trip would be, how close we were to normal Osfridian life again.
In the end, we had to forcibly drag only two, and even they stopped resisting once aboard. I clenched my teeth when the lines were loosed, and the rowers took us toward the river’s center. The barges bobbed and wobbled, just like any water vessel, and I kept my eyes fixed on the bank. Close. It was close, hardly any distance at all. I was a decent swimmer and knew that Damaris, sitting beside me, was an exceptional one.
The rowers refused my offers of help, and we moved swiftly, despite the contrary current. I watched the beautiful, rugged terrain go by and wondered what it would be like for Merry to play in all that space, instead of in a cramped city. In the midst of all the uncertainty in my life right now, I’d had little chance to appreciate the wonder of Adoria. A new, wild, and unexplored world. Although, was it truly unexplored? To Osfridians, perhaps. Most of the land around the river looked untouched at first glance. But on our journey, we passed by another Balanquan trading post and then, later, a cluster of unusual buildings that I was told was a Balanquan town. On the other side of the river, smoke drifted up from farther inside the woods, and I heard someone speak about an Icori camp there.
Thinking of the Icori reminded me that Orla and her entourage had a spot in my barge. Unease over being on water again had kept me from talking to them or anyone else. Now, I studied them covertly, still finding it hard to believe they were Icori. They wore the same nondescript clothing from last night, the leather coats and pants that could have belonged to any rugged Osfridian explorer. They laughed and joked easily with both the Balanquans and Gray Gull sailors.
Orla noticed my scrutiny and flashed me a grin. Her face was cleaner than it was last night, but only a little. “Hello there, little leader. How’d you sleep?”
“Pretty well, actually. Considering what’s happened this week, I think I could’ve slept anywhere.”
“I hope you keep feeling that way, because it’s just going to get colder as we move inland.”
I squinted up at the sky, where a pale sun peeped out between layers of drifting white clouds. “Not so bad now.”
“Sure, but we’re still feeling the edge of the boiling current. Nothing like that ahead.”
“‘Boiling current’?”
Overhearing, a sailor sitting behind Orla explained, “It doesn’t really boil. But it’s not cold like the northerly. Comes from a dif- ferent part of the ocean, brings warm water.”
“And warm weather,” concurred Orla. “Go farther north up the coast, and you’ll think it’s almost summer.”
I had a hard time imagining that the weather could get warmer going north. “Have you been there?” I asked her.
“Often. I always try to schedule my trade trips there for this time of the year.” Her smile turned wry. “But in Grashond—and where I live, farther west—there’s no question winter’s still got its hold.”
I tried not to grimace. “That won’t make traveling south easy.”
The young sailor who’d commented before nodded. “The roads get rough, and Uros help you if there’s a blizzard. Those things come out of nowhere. You won’t be able to travel at all.”
You won’t be able to travel at all.
“I have to,” I blurted out. “How long does it take to get to Cape Triumph if the roads do stay clear?”
Orla’s eyebrows knit in thought, and she said something to the Icori beside her in their language. It struck me for the first time that Orla spoke Osfridian perfectly, no trace of an accent. A man answered her, and Orla translated, “For a group your size? Maybe six weeks.”
“Six weeks,” I repeated bleakly. A long time on the road. But not the longest time. Not an impossible time. I’d still have well over a month to secure a marriage before Merry arrived. That should be easy for someone with my exceptional qualifications. And even in the unlikely event I couldn’t find a husband right away, I’d still at least be in the city to meet the ship. We’d figure out something.
Noting my reaction, Orla asked, “You’re anxious to see your betrothed?”
“Don’t have one yet.”
“I thought you were all going to Cape Triumph to get married?”
“We are. But we’ve got to find husbands first. That’s the reason we came over here—to meet and marry respectable men.”
“Interesting.” Orla had another murmured conversation with her seatmates. Seeing my puzzled look, she explained, “I’m trying to decide if I like your situation better than mine. I already have a ‘respectable’ husband lined up, but I didn’t have much say in the choosing. I’m going to meet him in a few weeks.”
“Congratulations.”
She shrugged. “We’ll see. If I don’t like him, I don’t have to be around him that much. He’s in Kershid—that’s across Denham’s west border. Once we’re married, I can just visit him now and then. There are plenty of reasons my people would need me to stay up here—and I can make up more.”
“That’s a lot of travel for ‘now and then.’ Seems like you’d spend half your life on the road.”
Orla appeared momentarily confused and then laughed in understanding. “Oh, you’re thinking of what I told you. About six weeks on the road.”
Now I was lost. “What else would I think?”
“Sorry, I’m forgetting you haven’t been here very long. We rarely travel overland to go south. There’s a river—the East Sister—that runs through our eastern territories. It angles down close to Denham’s border. It’s fast—not as smooth as this. But you can be on the west side of Denham in, oh, a week and a half.”
“A week and a half?” I tried to picture Denham’s width on a map. “How long to Cape Triumph? Is there another river?”
“No, no. Well, there’s the bay—sort of. But most travel through there is by land, and I think that takes a week. Maybe a little more.”
“But . . . but . . .” How could no one else see what I could? “That’s three weeks, not six! We should just go that way to Cape Triumph.”
Orla’s upbeat expression abruptly darkened. “Ah, well. There are a few problems with that—the main one being that that part of the East Sister is almost entirely in Icori territory. Your people can’t travel on it.”
“Why not?”
One of her companions must have known Osfridian, because he interjected something just then that sparked an Icori conversation between all of them. Orla nodded at its conclusion and turned her attention back to me. “We’ve never allowed Osfridians unrestricted access to the East Sister, and because of their recent aggression, we’ve cut them off from it entirely.”
Her words came out almost as a growl, and I glanced questioningly at Damaris, who’d been listening quietly. She shook her head, as confused as me. “What aggression?” I asked Orla. “If you don’t mind me asking? I’m sorry for my ignorance. I just don’t know what’s going on.”
“There’s no way you could.” Orla stared off across the river, her eyes brilliantly blue in this light. “Over the winter, your people—that is, other Osfridian colonists—have attacked a few of our settlements.”
“Why?”
“No provocation. We attempted a talk once. They denied the attacks and claim we raided some of their land.”
“‘Claim’?” I asked, noting the word choice.
“We haven’t.” She threw up her hands in disgust. “We have no reason to. We’ve upheld the treaties.”
I knew the accusatory tone in her voice wasn’t directed specifically at me,
but I felt it nonetheless. “I’m sorry. But now I understand why you wouldn’t be so open to outsiders on your river. I hope things are sorted out soon.”
“Not soon enough for your trip, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, yes, I meant . . . I hope they’re sorted out in general, not just for me. For everyone—your people, my people.” I studied the vast shore, noting how the pines this far upriver were weighted with snow, whereas the ones at the coast had only been dusted. The air, though cold, felt pure and refreshing. Even with the oars and light conversation, everything seemed so quiet compared to Osfro. So still and calm. “There’s been too much strife. Everyone came to this land for something better. It seems like we’re all a lot more likely to get what we want if we work together.”
Orla’s crooked smile was back. “Lovely words, little leader. But not so easy to make happen.”
“I know.” I gazed back at the river, aching with memory. “Anger and pride are hard to give up.”
“Something tells me you weren’t thinking of Adoria when you said that.”
Now I smiled, but I felt no joy. “You’re right. I was thinking of a friend. We had a huge fight before I sailed here, and now I don’t know when or if I’ll see her again.”
“Who was in the wrong?”
“Both of us.”
“Would she say that?”
I thought for a moment. “I think so. Even if she didn’t, I’d still apologize. My conscience isn’t contingent on someone else’s.”
“I see” was all Orla said, and she spoke little for the rest of the day. But I could feel her eyes on me often, and whenever I looked at her, she appeared to be struggling with some great problem.
* * *
The journey to Grashond took three days but felt like three weeks. After the monotony of the river, we traveled cross-country and at first seemed to be wandering in the wilderness. The Balanquans and Icori moved with surety, pleased that the clear weather held. My Glittering Court companions displayed mixed reactions. Some pushed steadfastly forward, accepting this challenge as an inevitable part of their journey to marriage. Others were less positive.
The Emerald Sea Page 7
