This one didn’t seem dangerous, but it was hard to tell. At the very least he’d saved her life.
“Thank you again. For saving my life.”
“You were too cold.”
“Yes. I was.”
He picked at a scab on his face and examined the shelves of fishing nets, replacement cleats, rope, and general fishing detritus.
“Is there someone who takes care of you?” Elaine asked.
“The Mandrevecchian takes care of me,” he said absently, likely parroting back propaganda he’d heard somewhere.
“Of course,” she said. “But is there anyone else? Someone who organizes your estate? Makes sure you eat?”
He grimaced. “I do that.”
“Are you hungry? When was the last—” She caught herself. She didn’t know a lot about these people, but one thing she did know was not to ask them about the past. It could trigger intense confusion. “Are you hungry now?”
He looked into the darkness outside of the pool of lamplight they sat in. “It’s too dark,” he muttered, and stood.
While he puttered about lighting more lamps, Elaine, still wrapped in blankets, went to the small slip at the end of the warehouse and there it was. The Onera. Her heart swelled and her mind cleared.
She found some boxes of the fish jerky wrapped in a dried nutritious seaweed that sailors used on long trips. She carried these back and lay down in the blanket pile, chewing on the dry fish. It wasn’t stealing to take back what had been stolen from you, she thought. Really, though, she was just too hungry to care.
After a while, the Angler came back and sat next to her. She handed him one of the pieces of fish and seaweed jerky and he ate, biting off chunks and swallowing without chewing more than once or twice. He paused only to tuck the blanket more tightly around her.
Elaine didn’t know how long it would be before someone came to check on the warehouse, especially with lights burning. There were always a few members of the watch patrolling the docks, and everyone knew this was her father’s warehouse. She’d better get out of here.
She found her sails and carried them to the Onera. The Angler followed along, not helping but tugging at a rope here and there, making small adjustments that only he understood. She piled some blankets and several boxes of food in, too, and yanked open the doors that would let the Onera out into open water.
When that was done, she grabbed another box of fish and held it out to the Angler.
“Here, take these, OK? And don’t stay too long; the watch could be here any minute.” Of course, she didn’t know who he was, or what kind of relationship he might have with the watch. But it couldn’t go well for him if he were found breaking into the warehouse of a traitor.
The Angler took two bars, put one of them in a pocket, then took two more and threw them into the water. Elaine set the box down.
“Thanks for your help.”
The Angler examined her, then peered at her boat. He uncleated the line that was holding it lashed to the dock and tossed it in.
As her boat was now just drifting, Elaine figured it was time to go.
“Well, bye then,” she said. She waited a moment to give him a chance to reply, but he didn’t, so she hopped into her boat and pushed away from the dock. She fitted the oars into the oarlocks and heaved. Her back and arms were weak from the cold but moving them felt good. She’d wait until she was far enough away before she heaved up the bright white sails.
She watched the dark shape of the Angler recede, quickly becoming no more than a silhouette. He was so still that she wouldn’t have guessed he was alive if she hadn’t already known.
The Angler stood watching the girl leave in her boat. That was good. That was one of the things. There was one more, though. What was it? He walked back inside, very carefully, adjusting a piece of trash or the curl of a rope left lying out on the dock here and there as he went. It didn’t help, though. He went in and stood in front of one of the lamps he had lit. Something about this. He nudged it with his toe and felt a tingle. He scratched his head. Then he pulled his leg back and swung it wildly at the lamp. It tumbled over, spilling oil everywhere, which ignited immediately.
The Angler felt a rush of joy and tiptoed to the left. His heel kicked out behind him, knocking over another lamp. Flames leapt up again, sending out long shadows of himself. He danced with these shadows, leaping and twirling on the toes of his bony legs. One by one each of the lights he had lit he kicked over or pulled off a hook and hurled through the air in bright flaming arcs. He stepped and whirled in a dance from so many lifetimes ago. His rags became finery, his notes became jewels in his pockets. His dirty leather boots became supple and shining as he whirled with delicate shadow partners. All too soon the heat became unbearable. He couldn’t die here. There was too much to do. Too much to forget. And so, with regret, he left the building, locking it carefully, and tossed the key into the water. Keys were important, but some keys weren’t needed anymore.
37
Elaine
The fire lanced up into the starry sky, and its reflection lit the black waves, stretching towards where Elaine sat, having forgotten her rowing, her oars hanging in midair, dripping water. Dark figures ran towards the burning warehouse, their shouts audible across the water. An alarm rang out, calling people to fight the fire before it spread to the rest of the docks.
Ceony, don’t let it spread. She bit her lip. But let it burn enough that they don’t find out my boat’s missing. She bent her back and pulled, and her boat skimmed forward, away from the light.
So, she rowed and watched the warehouse recede into the distance as it burned to ashes, merging back into the lights of Tarith.
The rowing warmed her, and she ate as she worked, matching her chewing to the strokes of her oars. The waters were calm and dark, reflecting the moon and the starry sky. A strange excitement overcame her. This was working. She had her boat back, and food and water, and some blankets. That was all she needed.
A half mile down, she found an area she knew was shallow enough for her to drop anchor. Once she was sure everything was secure, she wrapped herself in the rest of the blankets and lay in the bottom of her boat, looking up past the bare mast into the sky. Her thoughts drifted to her father, who might even now be coming back into this world, leaving death and being born again, but with all his memories gone. In a way, it was comforting that he wasn’t completely gone. Her father was still out there, he just wouldn’t remember her. She hoped his next life would be a happy one. Finally, exhausted and feeling safe in her boat, she let herself cry until she fell asleep.
Elaine awoke late to a thick fog hanging over the water. She could barely make out the bow of the boat from where she sat in the stern. Again, it felt like the gods were with her, conspiring to hide her from anyone who might be searching.
She rowed all morning, then beached her boat on a rocky, deserted shore and took out the tools she’d brought. A lump rising in her throat, she began to chip away at the letters carved into the side of the hull. First the O, then the rest; slowly the name of the goddess who protected her faded from view. She painstakingly sanded it down, smoothing it to match the rest of the hull, then painted over it. She didn’t have time for a full paint job, but she changed a few other features and scraped some sandpaper across it to roughen it up, aging it so that it wouldn’t stand out. Cringing, she rubbed the sail in mud, soaking it in dirty water to make it look older, like it had been through some hard times.
For a long while, she stood next to the hull, considering whether to give it a new name. Most boats had names, and not having one might call attention to it. But to her it was still the Onera. Finally, in a tiny spot on the bottom of the prow, under where the water line would be, she scratched an O, barely bigger than her smallest fingernail. Then she draped some oil cloth over the wet paint, lashed it in place, and set off. It would be a day at least before the paint was dry, and she didn’t have that much time to waste.
The air was still and th
e water calm, and again Elaine left the sail in the bottom of the boat and rowed, keeping the dark shapes of the rocky shore just in sight. Close enough to navigate by, but as far away as she could get. She rowed slowly, looking back over her shoulder every few feet to avoid the rocks that loomed out of the water.
The world was eerily quiet, the fog and the lapping of the water muffled all sounds. Occasionally a fish jumped, and she kept imagining she heard boats moving just outside her field of vision, but when she shipped her oars and waited, straining her ears, there was nothing.
She said a prayer to Onera and continued.
Elaine looked up as she passed through the mouth of the fjord, the open water rougher against her hull. The fog cleared and she raised the sail, glad for the break from rowing. As she pressed on, the sky darkened, the water darkening with it, the swells rising, knocking their whitecaps against one another. Thunder rumbled overhead, and for the first time Elaine felt a pang of fear. Her mast was the tallest thing out here, and one strike of lighting could blast her boat apart. The sky hung heavily above her, spitting a few heavy droplets that speckled her face and the deck of her boat. She squinted her eyes and readjusted her grip, shivering as the sprinkles grew into a downpour. The wind froze her bare, wet hands.
The swells rose to sickening heights, lifting higher than her mast. Her boat scaled each watery side, teetered on the edge, and plummeted down into what felt like the bottom of the ocean. Every time Elaine descended into the darkness of one of the troughs, her heart told her she would never rise back up again, but she ignored that small, terrified voice, and pointed her boat back up the other side. And every time, it rose back up, climbed the next wave, and the next and the next, until even Elaine’s usually iron stomach began to twist and heave. I am not. Going. To throw up. She barely had enough food as it was and she wasn’t going to waste what she did have, so she took long, slow, deep breaths as the wind whipped her hair around and the sea tossed her little boat.
Lighting crackled, hitting the sea not far from her, maybe a mile away. She heard it hiss, sending up steam, and the thunder shook her.
She kept her eyes open, blinking them against the rain, but her lips moved in a wordless prayer, first a plea to Onera to protect her, then to Xamion and Ceony to spare her. She prayed to Wrimera, the goddess of the ocean, to grant her safe passage, to not take her into her depths.
The wind rose, her mast groaning with the strain, and her boat shot up and down the waves, faster and faster. Elaine had never gone this fast, but her boat performed perfectly. Every nail she had pounded in held fast. The mast bent just enough to avoid snapping, the sail gathered in every ounce of strength, converting it into speed.
Lighting struck again, nearer this time, but Elaine didn’t flinch. Her prayers became more fervent, but every ounce of concentration went into keeping the boat from capsizing. The speeds she was reaching were incredible now. She rocketed along, completely soaked, her feet submerged in icy water, the rain stinging her face, her numb fingers slipping on the main line. A strange calm washed over her, though. If she died, she would die.
Something cracked, and her boat started taking on water. Not fast, she wasn’t sinking yet, but the puddle rose to the level of her ankles. She loosened the main line, lashed it in place, and grabbed the bail bucket, scooping up water and tossing it over the side. She looked for the leak, but she couldn’t see what had broken, and she still had to watch the tiller, keep the boat upright as it scaled the waves.
Lighting struck again, illuminating the now black water as she bailed frantically.
Her back ached, her arms and legs frozen with cold, but she kept going. If the sea was going to take her it was going to have to fight.
This went on for close to an hour. Just when Elaine didn’t think she could go on, she looked up from her frantic bailing to see that the Onera had slowed. The heights of the swells were decreasing. The water around her was choppy, but no longer the terrible destructive waves it had been before. But the shore was nowhere in sight. She had no idea where she was.
38
Elaine
Elaine bailed water as she scanned the horizon, looking for a familiar landmark. Or any landmark at all. The sky was still dark, and a light rain still spit down out of the sky, but not enough to bother her, and the sea was rough and choppy, white-capped grey-green waves, but only enough to rock her boat, to toss it around, not to lift it up and hurl it down anymore, which Elaine’s stomach was incredibly grateful for.
She’d found the source of the leak. A small fracture, just a hairline crack in one of the planks. She could seal it if she could get to shore. But she had to find shore.
The storm had blown her east, she thought, which was good. Kreiss was on an island east and south of Tarith, but she didn’t know how far it had blown her. She might be miles too far.
Light was fading from the sky, the sun setting the horizon on fire. She guessed that she needed to head back west, and probably a little further south, out into the sea. But if she was wrong, she might miss it completely, and she didn’t know how long her boat would last. Fractures tended to grow if you didn’t patch them immediately.
She could head north. She’d hit land eventually that way. But what was she going to do in a small village? She had almost no money, and she had no idea how far word of her father’s execution had spread. It was harder to disappear in a village than a city. Saying another prayer to Onera, she came about, tacking back up into the wind, aiming west and a little south, guided by the sunset. She tightened the sail to get up to a reasonable speed and continued to bail.
Night fell, and the clouds cleared. The sky was an infinite dome, scattered with millions and millions of stars. Elaine lay in the bottom of her boat, the tiller and main line lashed in place, her craft ticking along at a sedate speed, and watched the stars. The water lapped and hushed around her, and she stared up into the sky, wrapped tightly in her sodden blankets. She was soaked, and her hair drifted in the water, but she was so deeply exhausted that the water was weirdly comfortable. Her food was sodden and mushy, but she ate as much of it as she could hold, and fell into a deep, worn-out sleep.
Elaine woke up an hour later, bailed some water, adjusted her course by the stars, and slept again. It was unlikely there would be anything to hit this far out to sea, and she figured she’d see the lights of the city a long way off, far enough that she wouldn’t have to worry about running aground on the island as long as she kept her speed low enough and only slept for short stints. It was too deep for her to drop anchor anyway, so no matter what she did her boat would drift. Again, she prayed.
Some hours later, Elaine awoke, bailed, and then looked up to adjust her course. And there, on the horizon, she saw a light. It was a tiny pinprick in the distance, but it glowed warmly, standing out against the darkness. It could be anything: any city, or even another boat, but she set her course in that direction.
Now she was too excited to sleep, so she curled up in her blankets, huddling against the side, resting her chin on the gunwale, watching as the light came closer and closer.
As the sun rose, the pinprick became a dark spot on the horizon, like a speck of storm cloud, but as she approached it resolved into land. Two more hours and she could see outlines of cliffs. Around midday she saw the city. It was tucked into a bay, but it climbed the edges of the cliffs on all sides. Towers jutted up into the sky on either end.
Kreiss.
The buildings were packed in tightly, surrounding the bay, rising up the sides onto the hills, and behind those, at the top of the cliffs, a golden palace. The palace of the Mandrevecchian. It was walled off, with turrets rising up behind the walls, one central tower in the middle looming above the rest.
She passed between the pointed edges of the bay as they wrapped like protective arms around the city. A great iron chain hung between the two edges, descending into the water, the links bigger than her head. On either side, it rose into the towers, dripping with water and seaweed, where it
could be reeled in, lifting the chain up and capsizing any boats that hit it too quickly.
Elaine peered down into the green water, but it was too choppy to see the chain below as she passed over it.
The bay was filled with boats, some heading in, others heading out, quite a few moored at buoys. Docks choked the waterline like bristles on a broom, crowded with every size boat imaginable. Elaine let out the sail and let her boat slow as she approached, looking for a place to tie up. She passed the Connoly slip ruefully.
How long had it been since she was here for the race? It felt like only yesterday, but also a lifetime ago. Her anxiety began to rise, but now was no time to let herself get overwhelmed. She needed to find moorage and work, in that order. Today.
She piloted her boat around the ends of the docks, looking for someplace that wasn’t reserved by the clans. But she passed dock after dock after dock with no luck.
A mile later, at the very far end she finally found what she was looking for: a long series of pilings without clan markings. These were long and wobbly, missing planks here and there. They sagged and leaned and had completely collapsed in some places.
Hastily, she cleated in, secured everything she could, and climbed out onto the creaking dock, smoothing her dress and giving her legs a minute to adjust to the relatively solid ground.
She passed a woman gutting a pile of fish, their innards in a slippery red pile, and made her way through the maze of leaning masts and arguing fishermen to shore. The street here was crowded with people, stacks of crates, and nets of squirming crabs, their pincers opening and closing. She skirted these and made her way towards the clan-owned sections.
Death of the Immortal King Page 21
