And then the heavy door swung open and he was there. Face beaming with love and pride and paternal devotion, his joy at setting aside the day’s work so that they could have some time together at last. She ran to his arms and let him hold her tightly, the warmth of his body a shield against all danger. God, she loved him! She’d loved her mother, too, but now he was all she had left, and she hugged him for all she was worth. As if by doing so she was somehow hugging her mother, too.
But something was wrong tonight. She sensed it, without knowing how to define it. Suddenly his embrace seemed ... wrong, somehow. As if he had suddenly become wrong.
Confused, she drew back from him. And then realized, It’s tonight. With a touch of fear in her heart: They must be here already.
“What’s the matter, pet? You all right?”
For a minute she just stared at him, not understanding the question. Did he think she wouldn’t understand the danger in what he was doing? Did he think such an understanding wouldn’t make her afraid?
She tried to make her voice strong with courage—like his always was—as she asked, “Did they come?” Voice trembling only slightly. Eyes wide, searching his face for unspoken clues as to what was going on. Because something was going on, she was sure of it. Then he turned away, denying her that access. He turned away! As if he was afraid to confide in her. As if he didn’t trust her. That thought hurt worse than any physical pain could. As if he hadn’t told her all about his treaty with the invaders. As if he wouldn’t trust her, his own flesh and blood, to keep such a secret!
“They came,” he said at last. Picking his way through the words with care, as if wondering how much to tell her. Jenseny got a funny feeling in her stomach as she watched him. Queasy and uncertain; she wished she knew where it came from. “It’ll be all right,” he assured her. “Everything’ll be all right. Don’t worry about it.”
Don’t worry about it.
I want to protect you, he had told her, on that terrible day when her mother died. More than anything else, I want to shelter you from all of this—to shelter your spirit from all the evil in this world, all the knowledge that might cause you pain ... but I can’t do that, fen. Not any more. It’s a kind of make-believe, and it could hurt you someday. Because what would happen to you if something went wrong? What would happen if someday you did have to go outside, and I couldn’t be there to help you? So I’m going to have to teach you things. Things that’ll help you make it on your own, if you ever have to. Things that’ll help you survive....
He had shared everything with her since then. Everything! Even when it involved a treachery so terrible that the merest hint of it to her nurse could cause him to be imprisoned for life. He had trusted her then—no, even more, he had considered it his responsibility to confide in her. To never again pretend that she was a little puppy, who needed only the comforting hand of a master to make everything seem all right.
What had happened since then? What had changed him? Was it possible that a man might say something like that and then forget it? Or ... pretend it had never been said?
The queasy sensation inside her turned cold and clammy, and she felt her hands trembling. What did you do when all the rules changed, and nobody told you why? When the person you loved most in the whole world—and the only one you really trusted—seemed to suddenly become a stranger, right before your eyes?
Maybe it was that thought which made the vision come. Or maybe the Light just happened to flash at that moment, making everything change. Or maybe ... maybe she needed to know so much that she forced the Light to come, maybe it heard her crying out inside and therefore it came: a sudden rainbow brilliance that burst to life with blinding power. It was so bright that it hurt her eyes, and she heard herself cry out from the pain. It took a few seconds for her vision to adjust, longer than usual because this time she was afraid to look. Afraid to see.
And then—
And then—
Her father was gone. No! In the place where he had stood crouched something else: something hungry, something four-legged with glistening fangs whose eyes were deep, black pits of hate. Where its claws gripped the floor she heard screams—human screams—as if every person this thing had killed was being rent anew, to die in horrible agony. She put her hands to her ears and pressed them tightly to her head, trying to block out that terrible sound. She could hear its voice—no longer her father’s, no longer human—but she blocked it out, she drowned it out with her own terrified keening, she refused to listen! Through tear-filled eyes she saw blood dripping from the creature’s mouth, and something else: a shred of cloth, horribly mangled. The rainbow Light had become a whirlwind of fire, a typhoon of brilliance, that swirled about her as she recognized the bloodied scrap. Her father’s coat. That was her father’s coat! This thing had devoured her father....
Suddenly it was too much for her, the Light and the vision and all the fear combined; she fell to the ground, the sickness swelling up in her like magma in a plugged volcano. She began to vomit helplessly, hopelessly, her body wracked by convulsions of terror—unable to crawl away, unable to cry out—overwhelmed by a sense of loss so terrible, so absolute, that she could barely comprehend its nature.
And then there were footsteps, running toward her. Her nurse. Strong hands gripped her shoulders from behind, forced her to a sitting position. Strong hands forced something into her mouth, that cleared her throat so she could breathe. Gasping, she shut her eyes. Take it away, she begged. Make it go away. Her body spasmed once more, but the convulsion lacked strength. Lacked fury. A warm hand stroked her hair. Hot tears poured down her face.
“What is it, Mira?” The creature that had eaten her father was speaking to her. That’s not my name! she wanted to scream. Why did it call her by her mother’s name? Then it took a step closer and she shivered. The arms about her tightened protectively.
“Give her a minute, Protector.” It was her nurse’s voice. Jenseny drank in the familiar smell, gloried in the warmth and the comfort of the embrace. Buried herself in the familiar flesh. “Let her recover,” the woman cautioned.
“What is it?” the creature demanded. Its voice sounded just like her father’s again, but Jenseny wasn’t fooled any more. Couldn’t her nurse sense the falseness of it? Couldn’t she smell the blood on its breath? “What’s wrong with her?”
“It’s just a fit,” the woman said calmly. “She has them now and then. You know that.” A soft cloth was wiping the tears from her eyes, the vomit from her chin. “It’s all right,” the old woman whispered. “It’s over now. Breathe deep. Breathe slowly.” Jenseny tried to. And choked. She tried again, with better success.
“Just a fit,” the nurse repeated. A mantra of comfort, meant to sooth. “Happens all the time.” She tried to rise up, but Jenseny gripped her so tightly she couldn’t. The nurse stroked the girl’s hair gently, lovingly. “It’ll be all right,” she said quietly. To him. To it. “I’ll take care of her.”
There was silence then. Jenseny didn’t dare look up for fear she would meet the creature’s eyes. She sensed that she was in terrible danger now; what would happen if it realized that she knew the truth? But at last it seemed to take the nurse’s words at face value. A heavy hand fell on her head and stroked it once, a caress more possessive than comforting. She shivered, trying to pretend the hand was her father’s. Then at last the creature left them, its firm stride receding to the doorway and beyond, and the heavy thud of the alteroak door told her that she was safe. For now.
“It’s all right, baby.” The nurse’s voice was a soft murmur as she wiped her eyes, her mouth. “It’ll pass. It always does.”
It ate him! she wanted to scream. It ate my father! But she choked on the words, couldn’t make them come out. All about her the room was growing cold with his absence, and the fabric of her dress ... it cried out in mourning, because he had touched it, he had picked it out, and now he was gone....
“Jen?”
It was only a question of time befor
e the creature became aware of the truth, that she knew. And when it did it would kill her—or worse. She would have to get far, far away from here before that happened. Far away, and—
Outside?
Outside was the real world. Outside was the untamed fae. Outside were the minions of a vengeful god, whose Church had doomed her to a half-life inside this windowless apartment. No one would take her in. No one would help her. Outside meant going it alone, now and forever. She thought of what that meant, how terrible and dangerous it would be ... and then, in her mind’s eye, she saw that scrap of cloth again. The dripping blood. The hate-filled eyes. And she knew she could never pretend again. Not so that it would believe her.
“There,” the nurse whispered. “Don’t worry. You’re safe here. You’ll always be safe at home.”
Never, she thought, as the hot tears flowed down her face. Never safe, never home, not ever again....
Six
They foffowed the Regent‘s ship to the south. The wind favored them all the way, and Damien couldn’t help but wonder if that was Tarrant’s doing. Wishful thinking. How comfortable it would be to imagine that the Hunter was expending his time and energy controlling the weather, instead of ... other things.
Meanwhile there was nothing to do but keep to their course and speculate upon the place they were soon to visit. The merchants had been reassured to see signs of wealth on Toshida and his people—most of them had invested in luxury items, assuming that an eight-hundred-year-old colony would probably have all its necessities accounted for—and Mels was downright ecstatic about the Regent’s response to his horses. An air of optimism prevailed overall, and if Damien and Hesseth now and then wondered how a land with all those good qualities could have spawned the kind of evil they’d fought in the rakhlands, they were the only ones who seemed to be worried. Optimism flourished in the cool, obliging winds, and the fear which had consumed them all seemed ready to disperse in the white southern sunshine.
Some thirty miles south of where they had first encountered Toshida they were joined by four other ships, smaller and less heavily armed than the Regent’s, but still imposing to a westerner’s eye. Without need for additional command from their leader’s ship they flanked the Glory two to a side, herding her first toward the south, then to the east. An honor guard, the merchants insisted. Though Damien and the captain were less than certain about that, they realized that nothing would be gained by arguing the point now. Let the passengers indulge in blind optimism if it kept them quiet, the captain advised. There’d be time enough later to adjust their perspective if and when things went sour.
Thus far they had traveled out of sight of land, paralleling the rugged coastline. That said much for how dangerous the local tsunami were, for a seasoned captain would often risk a day or two of shallow seas to have familiar landmarks. Little wonder the coastline was only sparsely inhabited, Damien thought. He watched as Rasya fumed in impotence, unable to mark down a single landmark for future reference. She cursed Toshida while she worked. It wasn’t just a question of making them helpless, she explained, by preventing her from compiling a detailed map that would help them navigate this course on their own; the changes which time and the rising seas had wrought upon this ragged coast would have given them priceless information about what to expect elsewhere on this continent. It was a legitimate concern, no doubt about it—but Damien sensed that what bothered her most was the fact that Toshida’s pilots had detailed maps of this coastline and she did not. He had seen the members of her profession interact often enough to realize that beneath all their courtesy and cooperation was a streak of fierce competitiveness, and Rasya was no exception.
Then land came into sight at last. Two peaks, to the north and south of them. The gates of the inland sea, Rasya declared, and she showed them the place on the map where a narrow gap in the coastline mountain range permitted access to a body of water some six hundred miles long and fifty to one hundred across. A shallow, salty sea, she told them, and one that was bound to be even larger now that the waters of Erna had risen. They had guessed long ago that whatever civilization had developed in this region would be focused along the shores of such a sea. It seemed now that they’d been right.
It was with growing excitement that they gathered along the sides of the ship to watch the cliffs pass by. The sheer granite walls barely gave them room to pass, and mounds of rock that had been poured into the straits by centuries of earthquakes made their passage even more treacherous. The ships which were flanking them strung out single file, two behind them and two before, and they snaked through a maze of islets and breakwaters in the wake of Toshida’s vessel. Rasya took notes furiously as she guided the ship through, and Damien noted darkly that if her hasty sketches failed her then the Golden Glory would be trapped here until the locals saw fit to help them leave. It was clear that the better part of these waters was not passable. And above them ... he directed his gaze to the peaks which flanked them, and found them as heavily fortified as Toshida’s ship had been. Fortresses built from granite slabs crowned the two mounts at their most stable points, and an impressive array of cannon was trained on the narrow waters between them. Which told Damien several things, not one of them reassuring. These people had a sea-borne enemy. They expected attack at any time. And this deadly pass was the most likely point of access for anyone—trader, invader, or traveler—to the rich lands beyond.
They sent Toshida’s ship out to us because if we’d reached this point on our own they would have had to blow us out of the water. No questions asked. No eulogies offered. The etiquette of war, ruthless and unapologizing.
Good for them, he thought grimly. Because if it turned out that their enemy was the same as his, there was no better way to deal with the bastards.
Night. The Core reflected brightly in the sea’s mirrored surface, turning the water to gold beneath their bow. He leaned against the starboard rail, watching it, and then sighed. Time to go to bed. Time to try to sleep. There was no telling when they’d turn to land, and the sea was what, six hundred miles long? It was clear Toshida wasn’t going to allow them to see the coast until they were ready to come into port, so he might as well relax. Or try to. Right?
He turned, only to find that Hesseth had come up behind him. Her head was still tightly wrapped, as it had been when Toshida and his people came on board. Best not to take chances when in view of strangers. The long robes she had affected since that meeting brushed against the deck as she leaned on the railing beside him.
“I’d never seen the sea, before I went to walk among the humans.” Her voice was soft, a thing of breezes and secrets; her sibilant accent rounded out the sharp edges of her English, producing a sound that was doubly soft, strangely beautiful. “I still associate it with your species. These immense bodies of water, as vast as the land ... not a human thing at all, but they seem that way to me.”
“Does it make you afraid?”
Her gaze flickered toward him, then away. “I tasted real fear once, the day I realized that a force more powerful than all my people combined was set to devour them one by one. The day I realized I would have to fight alongside humans in order to defeat it. Next to that....” She shrugged. “What’s a little water? I can swim. Fur dries.”
“What about Novatlantis?”
She nodded tensely. “That was frightening. I admit it.”
They were silent for a few minutes, side by side, remembering. A sky that roared in fury as it thundered black ash down upon its invaders. An ocean that boiled with the birth of a new island, so close to the Glory that a carpet of dead fish rippled in her wake. The stink of sulfur. The deadly nonstink of carbon dioxide. Sunlight blotted out by airborne debris. Smoking pellets that fell from the sky, that probably wouldn’t have set fire to the sails but they had to be ready, they had to have water and buckets and men in the rigging ... six hundred miles of hell, Rasya had estimated, and while not all of it was that bad, there was the constant fear that it would become so. Not a pleasa
nt trip, he mused. Not one he was anxious to repeat.
“Could I ask you a question?” she asked him. Hesitantly, as though the request might offend him.
“Of course.” He turned to face her, leaning one arm against the railing. Surprised, but not displeased by her query. It was rare she talked to the humans at all, and rarer still that she turned to one of them for help of any kind; species hostility still ran hot in her blood. “Anything, Hesseth. What is it?”
“I was wondering....” Again a hint of hesitation, as if she didn’t know the proper way to express herself. “This is hard to put into words.”
“The simplest way is often the best.”
She considered it. And nodded, slowly. “All right, then. Explain it to me. Your Church. Your faith. You talk about it like a religion, but it isn’t just that, is it? I’ve seen human religions—I thought I understood them—but yours is different. When you and Tarrant get together ... it sounds more like a campaign than a faith, sometimes. Not like I’ve seen in the others. Why?”
“Tell me first what you see in others, and I’ll try to answer you.”
Her eyes, jet black in the darkness, narrowed as she considered. “Your kind has a need to believe that its species is the center of the universe. Some religions address that. You have a need to control your fate; some address that, at least in theory. You want certain things from the world, and so you create gods who’ll deliver them. You fear death, and so there are gods to administrate your afterlives. Etcetera. Etcetera.”
“And the rakh have no such needs?”
“The rakh are the rakh,” she said smoothly. “Very different. Assst, how can I explain it to you? Our species is one small part of a very complex world, and we sense—and accept—our natural place in it. We see this planet as a living, breathing thing and we know ourselves an element of it. We understand what birth and death are to us, and we’re at peace with that understanding. How can I explain? So many of these things have no words, because we never had a need to describe them. The world is. The rakh are. That’s enough for us.”