In the Darkness Visible

by Ted Neill

  “Maybe the Red Riders are only legend,” Gabriella speculated, a hopeful note in her voice.

  “I’m afraid not,” said Omanuju. “But we have one advantage. The riders guard the shore. We’ll come down from the sky, find a steam on the mountainside. and be gone before anyone notices us.”

  Gabriella swallowed a thick lump in her throat. “I hope you are right.”

  Chapter 10

  Kejel

  The shores of Kejel were rocky, gray, and empty. The only signs of habitation were the strings of smoke that lifted from the western corner of the island. They did their best to avoid that end of the island on approach. Omanuju piloted the Elawn to keep the main feature of Kejel, a large extinct volcano, between them and the town. Gabriella could just make out the masts of sailing ships anchored in a harbor and the city wall with its accompanying guard towers, before the mountain eclipsed the view completely. The mountain slopes were covered in conifer forests, the tops of the trees like spear points. The lower reaches were moorland, blanketed in rust-red heather.

  Omanuju steered them even higher, the rigging squeaking through its pulleys as the paneled sail twisted to an obtuse angle to catch an updraft of air. Gabriella would have been terrified of the ship climbing higher if it were not for the danger that likely awaited them on shore. Despite the dizziness and queasy feeling in her stomach, she welcomed the climb into the heavens, even the sweeping clouds that rolled alongside them and over the deck, obscuring the ship from below. She steadied herself next to Omanuju, glancing over her shoulder occasionally in hopes that she would see Ghede climbing up from the cabins. If worst came to worst it would be nice to count on his . . . power . . . or whatever it was he displayed when dispatching the sylphs.

  But Ghede did not emerge. Only Adamantus moved past the stern, pacing the deck with a comfort that Gabriella envied. When the clouds parted, she was relieved and alarmed at once—relieved to see that the mountain slopes were only a few dozen feet below them but anxious to be so close to forbidden land.

  Omanuju had guided them wisely, the mountain and clouds disguising them. He followed the contour of the old volcano down between two ridges. They were rewarded with the sound of rushing water. A waterfall spilled over the cliffs, a large pool spreading beneath it.

  “Ahoy, if that was not crafty navigating, I don’t know what is!” Omanuju lifted his weight off a pedal and turned one of the lateral sails out to catch a breeze. Then he pitched the mainsail perpendicular to the ground. When they moved close to the cliff face, he took a pole and pushed the Elawn down to the ground. They came to a stop just over a hillock, a stone’s throw from the base of the waterfall.

  Gabriella, her vertigo all but gone, followed Omanuju across the deck to a gangway that he slid down between the railings. It landed on a mound of spongy moss. He untied the water barrels and rolled them down the ramp. Gabriella followed with two buckets. They stood the casks on end next to the pool, opened the tops, and filled each by scooping water with the buckets. They both bailed silently, their eyes darting to the edge of the woods as they worked. Even working quickly, it was clear it would take some time for the two of them to fill the five barrels.

  Adamantus bounded down the gangway and trotted off into the forest, his nose raised to the wind.

  “Should we just let him wander?” Gabriella asked, watching his tail disappear into the shadow of the trees.

  “He won’t go far, and he’ll warn us if there is trouble.” Omanuju wiped his brow with the sleeve of his tunic.

  After each cask was filled, they rolled it—heavy and cumbersome—back to the ship and pushed it up the gangway, hard laborious work that took the best part of the afternoon and left Gabriella sweaty, sore, and hungry. By the time the sun was dipping below the clouds and casting its long end-of-the-day rays on the mountaintop, they were finished. Once he had lashed the barrels back into place, Omanuju shook hands with Gabriella, and they shared a few minutes of satisfied silence from a job well done.

  “Well, let’s not push our luck,” Omanuju said, puckered his lips and made a whistle that sounded much like a lark to call back the elk.

  Gabriella helped herself to a handful of water. She was on her third scoop when she realized Adamantus had not returned. Omanuju stood by the railing, his face wan. He tried a few more short whistles only to cup his hand to his ear.

  “Do you hear that?”

  Gabriella closed her eyes. Over the hissing spray of the waterfall, she thought she heard it too, a low bellow not unlike the calls she heard from wild elk in the hills during mating season. No sooner had she heard it then Omanuju was running down the gangway.

  “Stay with the ship.”

  But Gabriella ignored him, following him over the stream and towards the woods where they had last seen Adamantus. The trees were hung heavily with moss, and the branches were low and thick with needles. Omanuju clicked his tongue at her, irritated, when he realized she was behind him.

  “Fool girl. I told you to stay,” he said, panting.

  “But I have the whistle.” She pulled the tiny instrument that hung like a jewel over her breasts. “You’d said he would come if I blew it.”

  “Yes, but wait.” He eased himself down beside a fallen tree trunk. She followed suit just as he looked deeper in the woods and cried out under his breath, “By the stars, no!”

  Figures carrying spears and bows were moving between the trees. They wore mail shirts under red surcoats and their faces were obscured by white masks with flat, implacable expressions. Each man waited on the movements of the nearest comrade, taking turns as they advanced on a large pit-trap in the center of the clearing. The tops of Adamantus’ antlers were just visible thrashing about in the trap. Debris—broken branches, leaves and vines—had fallen in on him, the debris that had covered the trap in the first place. The men closed in, red and white phantoms, moving from tree to tree.

  “Red Riders from Kejelin,” Gabriella whispered.

  “Yes,” Omanuju said. “But there are only three. They ride in parties of twelve.”

  “Where are the others?”

  One of the three men turned down the hill and blew a horn shaped from a ram. A second horn answered from lower down the slopes.

  “Farther down the mountain, probably with the horses.”

  The man with the horn shouted out in a language Gabriella did not understand. The answering shouts were still distant and muffled by the thick foliage. He walked down the slope towards the sound of his comrades. This left only two men next to the pit-trap gazing down at their prize, their backs to Omanuju and Gabriella.

  Omanuju saw his chance. “Gabriella, stay here. If things go awry, go back to the ship and wait for Ghede to wake up.”

  “He’s an elk. Is he worth risking your life?”

  “He’s more important than both of us,” Omanuju said. “Now stay put.”

  Omanuju leapt the fallen tree that hid them and moved with light steps over the forest floor. He dashed with the nimbleness of a man much younger, and despite the danger, Gabriella wondered about the life he had led, how the decades had brought him here to help her. As he stole up behind the men, he had the poise of a seasoned hunter, even a warrior. From the floor of pine needles and moss he picked up a heavy stick and tested it in his hand.

  So mesmerized was Gabriella by his surefootedness that it was a complete shock when the branches gave way beneath him. Omanuju disappeared in a flurry of snapping sticks and flying moss. The commotion caused the red riders to turn just as Omanuju lost his grip on the edge of the second pit-trap and fell, hitting the bottom with a cry.

  Both men lifted their masks and looked at one another. They were dark complexioned men with thick black mustaches and long braids in their hair and beards. They gestured at one another, and even without knowing their language, Gabriella could tell they were assigning blame to one another for letting someone sneak up so close. Their argument was brief. They rushed to the pit, balancing on the edge with their arms outstr
etched to their sides and peered down. Now they both smiled, revealing teeth that were filed into points.

  Gabriella’s body was frozen, but her mind was racing, her heart beating so loud that she was sure the Kejelin men would hear it. For a moment, she thought they did, for chastened by their carelessness, the men lowered their masks and marched up the hill—swords drawn in a show of vigilance—in search of other trespassers.

  Gabriella made herself as small as possible behind the fallen tree, praying to the gods and her ancestors for protection. Her breathing grew faster, her heart now absolutely punching her chest like a fist until she could hear the panting of the nearest man as he climbed the hill. She swallowed a last gulp of air and held her breath, turning to pick out her path up the hill in case she needed to run.

  By the noise he made, she knew the red rider was close. A bead of sweat ran down her forehead and into her eyes, but she dared not wipe it. Instead she blinked it away as the footsteps came closer. She could hear the metal-on-wood sound as the man batted branches out of his way with his sword. Pine needles scattered, falling down, some even on the very log hiding Gabriella. She watched them tumble down and pile up on the forest floor. Surely he must have seen her, at least part of her body by now. It was why he was so quiet, he must have been shocked. Before he could act, she knew she must jump up and run.

  The other riders arrived with a neighing of horses and clattering of hooves. They were many, and they had found both of her companions. The man stalking closest to her stopped, turned, and made his way back down the hillside. Gabriella breathed out slowly and when she was sure the rider was far enough away, she peered over the log. She watched as the riders lowered ropes into the first hole to lasso Adamantus. It was no easy task. The elk ducked his head and swung his antlers slicing through the first two ropes, but eventually, they snared his legs instead and pulled him out, kicking and twisting.

  Four riders jumped in the hole to subdue Omanuju. She could only see the tops of their masks converging on one side of the pit, followed by the meat on bone slap as they kicked and punched her friend. Even with the skill Omanuju had shown before, he was no match for four armed and armored men. Adamantus bellowed and huffed, straining against his bindings. He was like a loyal dog trying to protect his master, but they both were outnumbered and overpowered.

  As the light faded, the riders recovered the pit traps and prepared to leave. In the growing darkness, Gabriella slipped out from behind her hiding place and moved closer to the clearing. Her joints, immobile for so long, ached with the movement, but she felt that she had to do something. Her hopes were dashed when she saw the riders drag Adamantus down the hillside and carry Omanuju after him. There would be no opportunity to set them free. The clearing emptied and the chorus of crickets and tree frogs replaced the sound of men. A moth floated through the space over the pits before a bat dipped down and snagged it out of the air.

  Gabriella knew she had only one option.

  Follow.

  Chapter 11

  Mornaport

  Sade and Vondales followed the sails of ships on the trade routes because neither of them had ever had a lesson in navigation. Sade kept replenishing the mage wind hour after hour. He had never called upon his powers so much and was quickly learning that fatigue could come from the use of magic just as it could come from physical exertion. He slept stretched out across a thwart whenever he could. At night they steered as close as possible to other vessels in order to keep the faint glow of their sails visible in the moonlight. By dawn they would distance themselves again but never so far as to lose sight of the sails. Sade was thankful he had packed the waterskin because they would have died of thirst out on the salt sea for the three days it took them to spot land.

  When they had, it presented them with further decisions like where to come ashore.

  “We could come ashore outside of town and hide the boat,” Vondales said.

  But Sade differed. “How would we hide it? It is too big for us to haul onshore. It will be safer at a public dock.”

  They had a few coins left between them that Sade hoped would pay at least for a few hours on the port. He leafed through each of his books trying to decide which one he might sell. He hated to part with any of them, but they were the only things of value they had between them and they needed to eat. Sade had not been so famished and weak with hunger since the days after their mother had died and they had eaten scraps of their own clothing. He hoped to buy some fishing tackle or even a crab pot and bait so that they might be able to feed themselves. It would be a meager existence but it would provide them some sort of start towards self-sufficiency.

  They were not even sure of which island it was that they pulled into, but by the size and number of boats—at least sixty—Sade guessed it was Greatport, the capital of the Rowess Isles and seat of government for the whole of the archipelago. A large city might be good to disappear in, he thought, but on the other hand there would be no shortage of lawmen about to enforce order and give two murdering thieves pause.

  Whalers, cargo cutters, and fishing boats all rocked on the harbor’s waves. Even far out on the water Sade and his brother could hear the commotion of the port. It was so much bigger than anything they had ever seen before. The crush of people on the shore carrying crates, hauling nets, bartering and trading for goods, made the mob that followed them on Linusport appear small and insignificant by comparison.

  “I never imagined there were so many people in the world,” Vondales said from the bow, looking back at Sade who was working the tiller. He let the mage wind drop so as not to attract too much attention and sailed into the harbor on the world’s wind. But he soon found he lacked the skill required to dock their craft at the pier. He whispered a final incantation to push the craft close enough that a dockhand tossed a line to them. Vondales pulled them in the rest of the way, the dockhand’s eyes lingering on the spell book open across Sade’s lap.

  “How much to dock?” Sade asked the dockhand as he closed the book. The dockhand was not much older than them, with just a feathering of a beard along his chin and under his nose. He responded in an accent that was so thick that Sade had to ask him to repeat himself.

  “Ninety pence,” he said, slowly articulating the syllables.

  Sade haggled with him down to forty-five if they left before sundown when the fishing vessels would return. Sade proposed that they shove off and simply sleep the night floating in the harbor. The dockhand was satisfied, took his forty-five pence, and was off to tend to other boats. Sade and Vondales were left on the dock feeling bewildered by the crowds of people, the strange accents, and the jumble of city buildings waiting for them on the shore. Food was their first priority and Sade called back the dockhand and paid him an extra two pence for information on the best places to buy food and fishing tackle. The boy offered the names of a few shops, but again, his accent was so thick Sade barely caught the words. Instead, he continued down the dock, reluctant to ask the boy to repeat himself. Vondales kept close to Sade’s heels as they made their way. Sade tried to look as if he knew where he was going. After all a port was a port and it shouldn’t be too hard to find a trader selling fried fish or fresh bread from a booth. He could see some of the longshoremen eyeing them suspiciously as they neared the end of the dock. Sade told his brother to take his hand off the handle of the hatchet he had stuffed into his belt. “You don’t see anyone else walking around that way. Be casual or we’ll attract attention.”

  They walked three piers over, Sade inquiring from sellers how much for a finger of fried fish. When he was satisfied he could haggle them no lower, he paid and the two of them sat up against a seawall and watched the mass of humanity pass by. Sade studied men and women of all ages as they went about their business. Against the wall, out of the stream of people, they were ignored. They might as well have been invisible. It was an anonymity Sade liked, but it did not suit Vondales. “Let’s go back to the boat and eat,” his brother said.

  Sade unde
rstood why his brother yearned for the familiar. The flipside of anonymity was a heavy sense of loneliness. This place felt foreign. Sade was tempted to indulge his brother when a boy about Vondales’ age—maybe younger—with red hair and a spray of freckles across his face walked up to them and offered to sell them grilled corn on the cob. Sade was still hungry and he saw the way his brother leaned forward and pursed his lips at the prospect.

  “How much?”

  “Twenty pence,” the boy said in high friendly voice that came out like a chirp.

  “That’s robbery,” Sade said. “I’d give you two.”

  “We could agree on twelve.”

  “Five.”

  “Ten.”

  “Give it here then,” Sade said, offering the coins. The boy laughed. “I took you two for just off the boat. You are more canny than I thought though.”

  “We have just arrived,” Vondales said. Sade immediately shot him a look of ire.

  “But we’ve been here to Greatport before,” Sade said.

  “Have you now? Then you would know this ain’t Greatport but Mornaport.”

  Sade felt his face flush. The boy politely spoke up to cover his embarrassment. “No harm done, your accents and clothes mark you as just arriving here.”

  “Do they?” Sade said with more malice in his voice than he intended. He was self-conscious and this boy made him feel small and backwards. Of course, they had just seen their first big port and by virtue of it simply being larger than Linusport they had taken it for the capital.

  What hay-heads we are.

  The boy offered them a third ear of corn. “Here, this one is free. Welcome to Mornaport and the Isle of Praun.”

  Now at least they knew where they were. Sade was hesitant to accept gifts from a stranger, but the boy was cordial enough and he was still hungry himself. He also did not want to offend a potential ally.