‘It’s spectacular,’ said Hava softly as she gazed up at the massive bluffs rising to the north of them. The sun had sunk below the horizon, lighting the west with a peach and orange glow, while a thick canopy of stars was emerging above. Even on their home island, evening mist and the village lights dimmed the heavens. Hatu felt her lean against him ever so slightly. His skin felt electric and he began to harden at her touch. He feigned a stumble with the ship’s gently rocking motion and quickly slammed his knee into the plank reinforcing the boards below the bulwark, a sharp pain that instantly drove away every sexual thought.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Hava with barely hidden amusement.
Tears of pain welled in his eyes, but Hatu’s voice was steady as he said, ‘I just slipped. Stupid thing to do. Been on ships since I was a boy and I’m standing here doing nothing …’
She stood just inches away looking into his eyes, trying hard not to laugh. ‘It’s fine. Everyone is clumsy once in a while.’
Wishing he had come up with a better way to stem his arousal, he nodded as he rubbed his knee. ‘Yes, everyone …’
He had to remember to keep some distance between them. He wanted to be inside of her more than any girl he knew, but to do so would be to risk punishment and death. She was driving him mad now that it was clear she returned his feelings. He knew they would eventually be together, despite it being forbidden. But knowing it was going to happen made being near her even worse. ‘I’ve got to stretch this out,’ he said, climbing into the rigging.
Again trying not to laugh, she said, ‘I understand.’
Hatu made a show of stretching his knee as he moved through the ratlines to the top of the mast and took a seat on a small platform that circled the top yard. It was designed to stand upon; for generations lookouts had sat on it, legs around the mast as they watched the horizon. Not the most comfortable of places, but at least it offered relief for fatigued legs from standing in one position too long.
After a while, the novelty of the horizon began to wear off and he glanced down at the deck to see Hava lost in her own thoughts as she gazed at the cliffs. Glancing skywards, Hatu judged it would be a full hour more before the sunset, and knew that the captain would soon lower sails and anchor. It was what everyone did in the Narrows.
As the Narrows were at the heart of the Covenant, ships were used to a guarantee of safe passage, and Hatu could see that unless someone seized the bluff above, there was little threat. Each ship would light their lanterns and wait until dawn, and not lift anchor until the ship ahead of them began to move.
Once the sun had set, he would eat, and then he was on the night watch. Looking at where they were, he anticipated that his most daunting task would be to remain awake.
As they entered the narrowest part of the passage, Hatu noticed there were more uneven breaks, crevices, and eroded cuts in the rock face. To amuse himself he began planning his ascent in his mind, tracing routes to the plateau above. He lacked any serious climbing experience, though like most boys his age he had been given some instruction. He was nimble and had a knack for it, and found himself wondering if he could actually climb from the rocky shore up to the top of the bluff. It was four times the height of the tallest building he’d ever seen, making those cliffs at least forty storeys high – even the cathedral in Sandura stood less than half that height.
Time passed and the sky darkened, and Hatu knew the evening meal would be served soon, so he shimmied down a sheet and landed on the deck where Hava still waited. She smiled at him, the first time in recent memory she seemed genuinely glad to see him. ‘Food?’ she asked.
Hatu nodded, and suddenly she was at his side, their hips touching. He faltered but saved his dignity by indicating that she should go down the companionway before him.
It was relatively quiet at Hatu’s end of the table during the late meal. Hava sat opposite him, and Reza to his left. They spoke little while others in the crew quarters went on about this and that, often loudly, removing any need for Hatu to speak. He was grateful for that.
As the meal wound down, he said to Reza, ‘How soon do we reach Port Colos?’
Reza said, ‘If the weather holds, we should be there in a week or so. We’ll clear the Narrows tomorrow before sundown, so we have no need to heave to, and from there the currents and wind will be in our favour.’
The night watch quickly consumed their meal as the day watch waited above for their food. Hatu nodded once to Reza and Hava and left the table before anyone else, thankful for the time away from the young woman.
He climbed the rigging, seeking his perch aloft. As they were stationary, only a third of the watch was on duty; the rest of the night watch was enjoying a rare night off. The mate hadn’t asked why Hatu had volunteered, as he was prepared for grumbling from those he selected for duty.
Once he was settled, Hatu did a quick survey of his surroundings and, seeing nothing out of the ordinary, turned his mind back to his immediate concern: Hava.
Hatu was not introspective by nature; that type of thinking was discouraged among the students of Coaltachin. He had a tendency to brood and gave in to his dark anger if he didn’t keep his mind on other things. So, over the years he had learned to obey and act without thought; the only original thought that had ever been encouraged during his training was being clever when executing orders, not questioning them. He had been in tumult so long that avoiding introspection was a habit. Now that he had learned to master his rage, to keep it under control, an original thought formed in a corner of his mind.
All of this turbulence was far more extreme than was warranted by the situation, and for the first time in his young life, Hatu looked inside and asked, Why am I the way I am?
HAVA HAD GONE BACK TO the quarters she shared with Reza. Keeping watch above, Hatu now sat alone again in the still darkness, punctuated by the distant creaking of hulls and the slight groan of anchor chains shifting and rubbing against the wooden eye through which they were fitted.
These faint sounds accompanied the distant splashing of the waves against the rocks below the cliffs, and all conspired to lull Hatu into a near-meditative state. He recognised the feeling because of the calming exercises taught to him as a student, but rather than becoming more focused and ready for action, he instead allowed his mind to drift as never before.
Images rushed past his mind’s eye as he focused on how he felt deep inside. There, he found the ever-burning ember the source of his constant anger. Keeping that rage in check had been vital to Hatu’s survival, and to harbour it against future need. He’d endured many beatings, countless fights, and long instruction from several masters to bring it under his control. He remembered the witches, and as the first sharp echo of pain surfaced he pushed it aside and let the burning desire to punish them illuminate the memory; for the first time since his escape, Hatu could recall every detail of his captivity dispassionately, his rage set at perfect balance against his fear.
Echoes of his younger days spun past him, images flickered, came and went, and behind them was the rage, trying to burst into flame. A voice from weeks before returned to his memory: Thinking with your heart has been the undoing of more than one man.
Zusara’s words lingered in his mind, and the feelings he had when Hava pressed up against him came to him unbidden. The echo of desire stirred him and he pushed his arousal aside without having to injure his knee; instead he found a new strength within him that ordered his thinking.
He desired Hava more than any girl or woman he had ever known, yet until he had seen her in Corbara he could not say why. In that instant Hatu knew. He loved her. All the tales and songs he had learned as a student, about love’s being a sign of weakness and stupidity, were to be ignored. The burning energy he felt seemed at odds with it, as if it fed mindless passion, not considered thought, but he knew that with contemplation he could reconcile the apparent contradiction.
He suddenly broke out of his reverie and stretched, allowing himself a big yawn. H
atu realised that a deeper trance might uncover something important, but only as he tumbled to the deck below. Still, he had maintained his balance on the small lookout’s platform without thought.
That was another thing he needed to explore, he realised, the ability to set his mind to one task while his body completed another. He’d been told only the great adepts and holy men could achieve that state at will.
He realised that because his tenure as a student was almost finished, his need to learn was just beginning. As if it were a cold wave crashing over him, he became aware that his ambitions were outstripping his ability. He was hardly a master of anything. So, then, he asked himself, what were his strengths?
Hatu fell into a near-reverie as he dwelled on what he was good at, and time passed without his keeping account of it. Suddenly he felt a strange tug he could only interpret as a pull against his mind.
He looked around and up and saw what appeared to be torches at the edge of the bluffs above. From this distance the pinpricks of light were barely perceptible, almost invisible to the human eye, yet he knew they were there, could identify their number and movement, and even somehow feel their presence.
He felt as if his spirit or mind, some essential clement of his being, detached from his body, spread out, and sought out something in the lights. He looked around and abruptly knew where every flame, candle, lantern, burned on the ship, even a tiny flame at the end of a taper set to a clay pipe in the captain’s quarters.
He didn’t find this disassociation with his body alarming; in fact, it felt oddly reassuring and filled him with warmth, a calm glow he had never known before. He could still feel his body, at rest and in balance on the yard with his back to the mast, and he was aware of the night breeze gently ruffling the sail and the slight sway of the ship. Yet he was apart from it, and felt something within him welcoming and drawing the glow to him.
Things that he couldn’t put words to were happening to Hatu, things that were as fundamental as the beating of his heart, or breathing without thought, yet as he was aware, from time to time, of his heartbeat and his breathing, he was now aware of this new thing.
He could not name it. Yet he knew it was as much a part of him as his physical body. He knew it was an awakening, something that had always been within him now able to function.
He let his mind follow a flow of energy and felt as if he could ride it to the lights on the ridge above the ship. He let his consciousness be drawn to that warmth.
Time ceased and his senses became attuned to new things, sensations without name, flows and flickers, pulses and slow-moving waves. For the first time in his life he felt an absence of frustration and anger at this lack of understanding. It was a unique experience in Hatu’s life.
He looked down at his hand clasped around a rope, and it was awash with a faint glow, like the glimmering of moonlight reflected from rippling water. For the briefest instant he felt on the verge of something wonderful, then it abruptly vanished.
Hatu was jerked into a state of wakefulness that felt almost painful, as if a cold bowl of water had been poured over his face while he had been in the deepest part of sleep. He felt the cool breeze on his damp skin, felt the slow rolling of the ship beneath his feet, and for an instant, the echo of an ache passed through him.
He let out a slow breath. Suddenly he was aware of someone next to him. He turned his head and saw Hava just inches away, her eyes wide and her face pale in the lantern light.
Softly she said, ‘You were glowing.’
He smiled, a feeling of calm pulsing through him. ‘I know,’ he answered quietly.
She slowly reached over to touch his arm. ‘What was that?’
Again he spoke softly, his consciousness spreading outwards from the tiny focus he had enjoyed moments before. He was mindful that they were alone on this yard, and that there was a lookout in the bow gazing ahead, and the steersman stood at the helm. The man obviously hadn’t been looking up when Hatu’s transformation had commenced. For that was how he felt: transformed.
‘What did I see?’ Hava asked in a low voice, so no one below could overhear her. ‘You seemed to be bathed in moonlight, but the moon is not risen, and the light came from within you!’
Hatu’s mind slowly retreated from the bliss of the experience to a more prosaic awareness. He could feel the nameless sense that had visited him drain away, and the usual concerns of his life return. He was suddenly aware of Hava’s hand gripping his forearm, and how close she was.
Without thought, before all sense of what he had experienced was gone, he leaned forward and kissed her, held her close for a long moment, then pulled away.
Her eyes widened even more. ‘Why did you kiss me?’ she whispered.
‘Because I wanted to,’ he answered with a note of humour in his voice.
‘You picked the damnedest moment.’ She looked him in the eyes. ‘You always were the strangest boy I knew,’ she said, then leaned forward and kissed him back, briefly, not as an invitation to passion, but as a reassurance and acknowledgement. Hatu understood intuitively without being told.
He whispered, ‘If anyone noticed, just tell them you saw Erasmus’s Fire.’
‘That only happens when there’s a storm coming,’ Hava replied, though she seemed relieved to have something to discuss besides what had just happened between them.
‘So, you were mistaken, but if someone did see, it will throw doubt on what they saw.’ His gaze narrowed. ‘So, why were you on deck looking up at me?’
She sighed. ‘I couldn’t sleep, something woke me.’ She shrugged. ‘I knew you were on watch and thought I’d find you so we … To have someone to talk with, I guess.’
He looked deep into her eyes and then smiled.
‘You’ve changed,’ she whispered. ‘What was it that I saw?’
He chuckled. ‘I have no name for it, but it was perfect.’
She whispered again, ‘You are the strangest boy.’ She glanced down to see if anyone was watching, then quickly kissed him again. ‘Very strange.’
He touched her cheek gently and said, ‘You’ll help me understand.’ It wasn’t a question or request.
She shivered and without another word moved off the yard and quickly descended the halyard, landing lightly on the deck next to the pin rail. He saw her glance up at him and hurry off to her quarters.
Hatu looked to the east and knew that within minutes the first hints of dawn would announce the coming of the sun; his watch would be over in less than two hours. He scanned all quarters and saw nothing amiss. In his heart he knew there wouldn’t be, for he was at this moment at peace for the first time in his anger-filled life, and everything was perfect.
• CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE •
An Awakening and Alarm
The young woman’s eyes snapped open, as if she had been suddenly yanked from sleep. She stared at the flickering flame in the stone circle before her for a long moment, and then whispered, ‘I’ve found him.’
Three other acolytes sat, eyes closed, cross-legged and motionless, their hands resting on their knees, on small cushions on the stone floor at the three other compass points. All wore light brown robes with a crimson trim at the collars and sleeves.
The woman, Sabella, was the youngest, and still possessed a gawkiness many might call ‘coltish’. The description was reinforced for a moment as she stood, her legs uncertain from the long hours sitting in her altered state. She had little idea of how much time she had spent on the search, but from the slowly returning feeling in her legs, it must have been most of the night. She had a round face dominated by large brown eyes made more dramatic by her dark skin and almost featherlike fine dark brown hair.
Sister Sabella hurried from the Room of the Seeking Circle to the stairs leading up to the library, then rushed between the rows of scrolls, tomes, and books, and quickly climbed the stairs to the ground floor of the Sanctuary. The stairway exited under an old but durable oiled canopy arch, keeping all but the worst storms from th
reatening the already damp lower floors with more water. A lip of raised stone surrounded the entrance, a feature Sabella had stumbled over more times than she cared to remember.
Stepping lightly over that six-inch-high barrier, Sabella took a deep breath of the brisk mountain air. The darkness, illuminated only by distant torches, caused her to pause for a moment as her eyes adjusted. The sight of the Sanctuary before her always provoked awe in her, no matter how many times she’d seen it reflecting brilliant sunlight that caused colours seemingly to dance across the stone faces, or at night when dozens of huge torches and light from behind tall windows gave it an almost otherworldly aspect.
She stood for a moment, calming herself with a deep breath, fighting back the urge to run with abandon towards the massive façade carved into the rock face of the mountain. She knew behind her rose a short stone wall, a few feet beyond that a precipice falling away several hundred feet to another plateau below.
The half-covered yard of the sprawling ancient building shimmered with reflected starlight, as a sudden thundershower had flooded the stone floor. Lifting the hem of her robe, Sabella splashed through shallow puddles to reach the staircase to the upper floor. She climbed until she reached the entrance to the floor where the quarters she shared with the other sisters lay, and the kitchen, work areas, and a door to the outside. The Sanctuary was partially embedded in a mountainside, so the eastern exit was a full storey above the western one.
She hurried up the tower steps until she reached the second-to-last landing, which had only two accessible doors. The one on the right was her destination. She knocked loudly.
A sleepy voice from within asked, ‘Who is it?’
‘Sabella. I’ve found him!’
Within moments, the door was flung open and a middle-aged man in a long nightshirt stood regarding the young woman. His hair, black and tightly curled, was scattered with iron grey, and his skin was darker even than hers, but his eyes were sunken from years of reading tomes in dark towers or deep basements, in poor light. He still had broad shoulders, all that was left of his youthful power. He was a man with more days behind him than ahead. ‘You’re certain?’