“The rising?” I echoed.
Tarrok of Trask raised his heavy brows. “The children of Miasmus? The sign of the black star?”
“Yes.”
He nodded his bald head. “Trask lies in the far west. We were the first to be afflicted.”
Over by the charthouse, one of the Elehuddin let out a victorious trill and raised both arms overhead. The tattooed woman overturned the game board in disgust and stomped over to join us.
“Evene of Drogalia, the Opener of Ways.” She looked me up and down with impersonal curiosity. “Are you man or woman, shadow? I confess, I am uncertain. And what is it that ails your mistress?”
I took a deep breath. “As to the latter, Her Highness the Princess Zariya contracted Dhanbu fever as a child. As to the former…” I paused, weighing my answer, and surprising myself in the process of delivering it. “Both, I think.”
It felt good to say it aloud.
Both of them nodded as though unsurprised, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Until that day, I had not realized how much I had missed the fellowship of the Brotherhood of Pahrkun; how much I had missed the very notion of fellowship.
I fell into an easy rhythm with my new fellows.
I met the Elehuddin, whose names I struggled to pronounce. They laughed at my efforts, their laughter a curious sound like a cat sneezing. Although their physiognomy made it even more difficult for them to speak the traders’ tongue than it was for me to speak theirs, all of them understood it. One procured a spare length of rope for me, and I set about knotting it into a sling with which to hoist Zariya from the berth below.
Jahno came to join us, sitting cross-legged on the sun-warmed planks of the decks, tilting his face skyward, his silver-grey eyes half-lidded.
“How did all of you find each other?” I asked them, my hands working absentmindedly on the sling.
They took turns explaining. Thanks to Jahno’s translating, I learned that it had long been prophesied by Dulumu the Deep that the Elehuddin and the sea-wyrms would play a key role in combatting the rise of Miasmus. For three generations, the Elehuddin and the remaining scions of vanished Koronis had partnered together to search for pieces of the Scattered Prophecy and those who might fulfill it; only now was it coming to pass.
I supposed that Jahno and the Elehuddin must have found Tarrok in far-flung Trask and Evene in the northern reaches of Drogalia, but I was wrong. Tarrok had been exiled by his own people for the danger he posed, for it seemed that the gift he possessed and what it might portend had drawn the children of Miasmus to their shores in ever-increasing numbers, seeking to end his life.
It reminded me with a shiver of the words of the Mad Priest.
Kill the shadow, seize the princess.
Facing execution on charges of theft, Evene had fled Drogalia. Both had found new lives in the labyrinthine archipelago of the Nexus, where they were discovered by the prophecy-hunters.
“So the Children of Miasmus haven’t penetrated the Nexus?” I asked, testing my knots.
“No, I fear they have,” Jahno said soberly. “But Miasmus’s message of anarchy and ruin finds less purchase there than elsewhere, for the Oracle has declared it a place of sanctuary for all who seek it.”
“I thought it was a pirates’ haven,” I said, remembering Vironesh had claimed as much. Oh, but on the first day we had met, Zariya had spoken of it, too. “But pilgrims come to seek answers from the Oracle, too, do they not?”
“It is all of those things,” he agreed. “And some people just live there. It is a vast place.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “If I understand the prophecy aright, the last of the defenders is meant to come from a place of birth there. ‘From the Nexus comes the Quick, who will recognize his queen.’”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
Jahno shook his head. “That we do not know yet.”
Mostly I sat and listened.
I learned that Evene was known as the Opener of Ways by virtue of having been graced by Quellin-Who-Is-Everywhere with the gift of being able to pass through any locked space. It was a gift she had indeed turned to thievery, albeit from what I could determine without the dedicated craft of the Shahalim Clan. She cocked a brow at me when I smiled at her revelation. “This amuses you, shadow? You think less of me for putting my gift to good use?”
“No,” I said, thinking that I might as well have left behind my lock-picks. “It is only that I had a mentor who would have appreciated your gift.”
I did not learn why Tarrok was known as the Thunderclap, except that it had nothing to do with Droth the Great Thunder as I might have imagined. No, Tarrok had been gifted by the god under whose aegis the realm of Trask lay, Luhdo the Loud. As to the specific nature of his gift, he merely smiled into his beard and said that it was better demonstrated than told and that now, while the Sun-Blessed princess slept belowdecks, was not the time to reveal it.
When I was not listening, I watched.
I was fascinated by the sleek-skinned Elehuddin. What I had taken at a distance to be green hair was actually masses of tendrils that stirred of their own accord. Their fingers and toes were elongated; webbed on the lower half, tipped with small black claws. They wore nothing but short breeches, and based on their smooth, narrow chests, I assumed all were male until the one who’d brought me rope—whose name sounded to my ears something like Essee—nodded and whistled at my sling, and Jahno translated. “She says you’ve got a good hand with knotwork.”
“Thank you,” I said, startled. She smiled broadly in reply, narrow jaws parting to reveal rows of small, pointed teeth. “Forgive me, I had not realized there were women as well as men among you.”
“Some days more than others,” Jahno said, and the Elehuddin laughed their cat-sneezing laughs. “Unlike us, they may change genders at will,” he explained to me. “Though probably not in the middle of a sea voyage, yah, because it takes some time to accomplish,” he added. “That was a joke.”
“I have heard that the Elehuddin have a word for someone who is neither a man nor a woman,” I said. “Or possibly both? Zariya said your great-grandfather Liko was unclear on the matter.”
He nodded affably and made a short clicking sound, then repeated it with a slightly different inflection. “The first is for a person who is in the middle of changing between one and the other. The second…” Breaking off our discourse, he conferred with the Elehuddin in their own tongue. “A person who is alone, maybe a person who has lost their tribe for some reason, may choose to be both. This person may become father and mother alike to their own child.”
Essee laid a long-fingered webbed hand on my knee and met my gaze, letting out a series of whistles and trills.
“She says it seems this speaks to you,” Jahno translated. “And a person is a person. Even if you cannot change in body as the Elehuddin do, you may change in spirit. You must be the person you are.”
I laid my own hand atop the back of her cool, smooth-skinned hand in gratitude. “Thank you. I am coming to understand that very thing.”
She nodded, yellow-gold eyes bright with kindness.
“All right.” Evene jerked her chin at me. “We’ve told you a bit of our stories. What’s yours? From what the Seeker has learned of the Sun-Blessed and their shadows, we were expecting a pair of mighty warriors, not a crippled girl and a kid with a pair of swords. We know your mistress brings the rhamanthus. What gift do you bring to the quest? And what’s with the marks on your face? Did the Zarkhoumi brand you somehow?”
“Evene,” Jahno said mildly, “do not be unkind. It is also worth noting that at the least, Khai here killed a stink-lizard, and you should not be so quick to dismiss him.” He glanced around. “That reminds me, did someone set its hide to soak in a tub of seawater?”
One of the Elehuddin whistled in affirmation.
“First of all, it is not a pair of swords,” I corrected the tattooed woman. “It is a yakhan and a kopar. And the marks on my face were put there by Pahrkun the Sc
ouring Wind himself. It is a long story, and I should look to see if my lady Zariya has awoken before I tell it. As to what gift I bring…” I thought about how best to answer and spoke the simple truth. “I am very good at killing.”
“You’re very young to make such a bold claim, Khai of the Fortress of the Winds,” Tarrok observed.
I shrugged. “Nonetheless.”
Leaning toward me, Essee spoke intently in the Elehuddin tongue.
“She says she is sorry to hear it,” Jahno murmured. “And sorrier still that it is likely our quest will require such a skill. As am I.”
By the expressions on the faces of the other Elehuddin, they agreed. I had been raised in a society in which a warrior’s skills were prized; I did not know how to feel about having them pitied.
“We do not all have the luxury of commanding sea-wyrms to sink our enemies’ ships,” I said stiffly. “Some of us must fight with our own hands. But if you will excuse me, I will look in on my lady.”
Jahno lifted placating hands as I rose. “No one meant to insult you. And the Therinians are not our enemies. We are prophecy-hunters; we have no enemies but Miasmus. It is only that we saw the ship and thought it might contain a great prize.” He smiled. “As it did, yah? Just not the one we expected.”
Somewhat mollified, I descended into the sleeping-berth in the hold.
Zariya was awake, her arms folded behind her head, watching the luminous pale green moths flutter amongst the vines. “So, my darling,” she greeted me. “How do you find our new companions?”
I sat on the hammock next to her. “Kind, mostly. A bit confounding. The woman Evene is prickly. How are you? How do you feel?” I hesitated. “Can you endure these circumstances?”
She gazed at the beams overhead. “You know, dearest, I felt so bold when I ripped off my veil and scarf. But now I will be honest. I am a bit terrified. I feel so very exposed here. Vulnerable.”
“You have other scarves and veils in your trunks,” I reminded her.
Zariya turned her head toward me. “That is not what I meant.”
I took her hand in mine. “I know.”
She took a slow breath and let it out in a sigh. “So I am to sleep among strangers tonight.”
“Strangers who are not engaged in endless and ongoing conspiracies to murder members of their own family,” I said. “Forgive me for finding a measure of relief in that fact.”
Zariya smiled wryly. “All that I dreamed in my youthful imagining has come to pass. We are prophecy-hunters, my darling! Yet somehow, I never imagined it would come at a time that mattered so. Surely I did not envision the fulfillment of it all. I dreamed of a great adventure on the seas, nothing more.” She cast a disdainful glance toward her legs. “And now I find even that prospect frightens me. As I promised, I will not weep for my weakness, but I cannot help but despise it.”
I tightened my grip on her hand, thinking about what Essee had said to me. “You are not your body. Your spirit is strong.”
She searched my face. “Is it?”
I nodded. “You’ve not even begun to realize your own strength.”
Zariya squeezed my hand, then let it go, determination suffusing her features. Pushing herself upright, she lifted her legs over the edge of the hammock and reached for her canes. “Then let us confront our fate.”
FORTY-ONE
I needn’t have worried.
It seemed some words had been exchanged while I was below deck, and Evene was on better behavior. This was to the good, for if she referred to Zariya as a “crippled girl” again, I was minded to teach her a lesson in courtesy.
A second round of introductions was made. Zariya did better than I at mastering an approximation of the Elehuddin names; I imagined some of that came from a childhood spent poring over chronicles like that of Liko of Koronis, attempting to sound out the unfamiliar words. But she also made a point of asking each member of our new crew a simple question or two about themselves, so that by the time the introductions were done, I felt I knew them better than I had.
Behind us, our Granthian pursuers had slowed their pace, laying off their oars. The stink-lizards perched and rested in shifts. It seemed they had resigned themselves to the fact that they weren’t going to catch us in an all-out chase, and were waiting for the sea-wyrms to tire, something the Elehuddin assured us wouldn’t happen anytime soon.
“So tell me everything!” Zariya exclaimed to our new companions. I had brought up some blankets to make a cushioned place for her in the shade of the charthouse, and her eyes were bright with excitement. “I thought the Koronians were lost, and all their long centuries of research into the prophecy with them. How is it you came to be born on Elehud? Were each of you chosen and marked by the gods under whose aegis you dwell? What wisdom did they impart to you? What do you know of the Scattered Prophecy? The darkness that rises … is it Miasmus itself or the children of Miasmus? What does it seek? How are we meant to defend against it? What role do the rhamanthus seeds play?”
Jahno laughed. “Slow down, Sun-Blessed! We will attempt to answer all your questions.”
She gave him an apologetic smile. “Forgive me. Now that I have rested, my mind is ablaze.”
He folded his hands in his lap. “First of all, you are correct. My forefathers and mothers were great scholars, but they were jealous of their secrets. Much of the knowledge they gathered regarding the prophecy vanished when the state library sank into the sea.”
“Have you attempted to retrieve any of it?” Zariya inquired. “And why were they so secretive when the fate of the world might hang upon their findings?” She flushed at his sidelong glance. “I’m sorry. Please continue.”
Jahno inclined his head. “Again, to answer your first question, yes. Many brave Elehuddin have dived deep beneath the waves, far deeper than is safe, to retrieve what they might. Much was ruined beyond salvaging. As to the second question, it is more difficult to answer.”
The tallest of the Elehuddin—I recognized him as Kooie, whom Jahno had introduced as his nest-brother—spoke at length.
“He says the Koronians were vain of their knowledge,” Jahno translated. “They believed that because Enayo the Speaking Stone declared a Koronian would be the one to solve the riddle of the prophecy, they should not share it with the rest of the world. But that is not the way it was meant to be.” He intertwined his fingers and raised his hands. “We are all brothers and sisters. Dulumu the Deep has decreed it. Together we are stronger. We must share our knowledge, share our strengths and weakness, share the burden of danger and the rewards of victory.”
All the Elehuddin nodded in agreement, their manelike tendrils stirring.
“That is a thing my great-grandfather recognized,” Jahno added. “Because of it, he chose to settle his family on Elehud; and many who assisted him in his efforts, the cryptographers and sailors and servants, chose to do the same, with the blessing of the Elehuddin.”
Essee offered a whistling commentary that ended with a satisfied click.
“And then they were not lordly scholars and apprentices and servants, but brothers and sisters alike,” Jahno agreed.
“I had no idea,” Zariya murmured. “Your great-grandfather wrote no more after Koronis sank. I assumed he perished there.”
“Alas, that is so,” Jahno said. “He was seeking to persuade the parliament of scholars to open their archives. Perhaps he might even have succeeded, but that we will never know.”
Zariya pondered that for a moment. “That seems a bitter irony.”
“Indeed, my lady.” He tilted his head, regarding her beneath his lashes. “But tell me, how did you know me for Koronian?”
She glanced away under his regard, suddenly shy. “Your coloring and physiognomy resembles your great-grandfather’s description of your people,” she murmured. “And you wear a khartouka.”
“What, exactly, is a khartouka, and why is this the first I’m hearing of it?” Evene interjected.
Jahno touched the c
lay cylinder at his throat. “It is a key for translating Koronian cryptography and likely of no interest to you,” he said, answering Evene but continuing to gaze at Zariya. “You’re very well read, Sun-Blessed.”
She said nothing, but flushed again at his praise.
“This is all well and good, but there’s time aplenty. Meanwhile we missed the midday meal and I’m griped with hunger,” Tarrok grumbled. “Tell me I’m not the only one aboard this ship that feels the same?”
A cacophonous chorus of whistles and trills and human voices erupted in emphatic accord.
Jahno glanced toward the western horizon, where Zar the Sun was turning orange and beginning his descent toward the waves. “Yah,” he agreed. “Let us eat and plot our course.”
Meals aboard the Therinian state-ship were formal affairs. I never saw the galley where they were prepared, but it was well stocked with all manner of produce and delicacies.
Here, it was a different matter. A wooden cage filled with live fish was hauled dripping from one side of the ship. When I studied it with perplexity, trying to determine how the trap worked, Jahno laughed and told me that the Elehuddin caught the fish themselves; the cage was merely used to store them. The fish were scaled and gutted and wrapped in sheets of seaweed that were kept under damp cloths in a basket, then grilled on a small brazier. This, along with ooalu fruit, formed the basis of our meal—and indeed almost every meal to follow—which we ate with our hands, seated on the ship’s deck, and washed down with remarkably fresh-tasting water from the casks stored in the cargo section in the rear of the hold.
Although it was worlds away from anything she had known, Zariya endured it with good grace.
It seemed we were not the only ones hungry. Partway through our meal, the ship took an unexpected lurch to the right, then drifted slackly atop the waves for a moment before resuming its course. Members of the crew conferred amongst themselves, then one of the Elehuddin went to the bow to call out to the sea-wyrms, who whistled and hooted in response.
“Do not be alarmed if the ship is adrift on the current for a few moments,” Jahno said to us. “Eeeio and Aiiiaii have just encountered a large school of fish, and the wyrms also need to feed. We will be under way shortly.”