Clouds End

“They were deserters. They thought they would be pirates, brigands, robbers. They had learned that the people of the islands were harmless. Defenseless. It was their time under your command that taught them that, Hazel Twist.”

  “You can’t hold that against him!” Spark said. “It is madness!”

  “I burn, Hazel Twist. The pain eats me from inside.” Seven’s sword point was unwavering. Rain dripped sadly down the tree trunks. “I caught them and I throttled them both. I held the second one in my arms and watched the terror in his eyes as he kicked out his life. But when it was over, the pain had not gone away.” Darkness pressed against the circle of lantern-light. The room swayed sadly, rocked in the willows’ arms. Seven’s face was deep in shadow. His voice mingled with the pattering rain and the creaking wood. “The pain remained. Do you know why?”

  “Because it did not bring her back.’ ”

  “Shut up! Don’t ever talk about her. No. The pain remained because I had not gotten to its roots. I had not seen deeply enough. Had it not been for the war, those two never would have come. I would never have sailed to the mainland that day. I would have been there. The hurt remained because I had taken my revenge on followers, not leaders.”

  Seven looked at the wet blade of his sword. “I am tired of killing,” he said. “So tired.” He looked at Spark and Shade. “Do not make me kill you.”

  “What are you going to do?” Spark demanded.

  “First I will kill Hazel Twist. Then I will kill the Emperor. The Emperor will have better guards; I have left him for last.”

  “You cannot kill the Emperor,” Twist said.

  “I do not care how many guards he has. You must know that. I have to kill him. For her. There is so much pain in me, Hazel Twist. I know it is her. She is asking me why I have not avenged her yet. She is uneasy, Hazel Twist. She is a lady. She is ashamed, to be found cut and beaten and raped.”

  “You misunderstand me. I know you can kill. But the Emperor is beyond your reach.”

  Seven’s fingers tightened. “Dead?”

  Twist nodded. “By his own hand. He too felt a pain inside, Seven. He swallowed blazing coals until he died.”

  Seven cursed.

  “The man who ordered the war is gone,” Shade said. “Give up your quarrel with the dead.”

  “The man who waged that war still stands before me.”

  “We were only doing what we were told!” Spark cried.

  Seven laughed. “That is ever the excuse with you forest people, is it not? ‘I was only doing what I was told’ ‘It was not my responsibility’ ‘It was the Emperor’s command.’ Islanders do not allow others to make their choices for them. Every man must answer for his own deeds.” He spat. “That for your excuses.”

  Twist said, “Every man must answer for his own deeds—but the acts of the men are blamed on their commander? The commander they had deserted?”

  Shade and Spark stood motionless. Seven paused, staring at Twist as if trying to see him among shadows. The sword was heavy in his hand; the tip drooped. “Words,” he said at last. “You made it possible for them to act. Vengeance is just.”

  “I am not Stonefinger,” Twist said. “I am a man. A man who was your enemy only for a while, and only by accident. I too lost friends in the war. My best lieutenant you, with your high ideals, poisoned and then burned alive while he lay dying, too weak to roll out from under a falling beam.”

  “I am sick of your words!” Seven shouted. The sword snapped up. “I am going to kill you now, Hazel Twist. I have let you talk too long.”

  “Stand!” Twist said. “Stand and listen, you fool. You learned everything you know about war from me, and by the Fire you will not stop learning now!”

  Shade and Spark gripped their swords more tightly and licked their lips. Fear crushed their chests with terrible strength. Shade knew from Switch’s stories and the way Spark stood, unnaturally pale and nervous, that the first touch of steel on steel would mean their deaths.

  Seven hesitated.

  “You want to hurt me?” Twist demanded. “Then come here. How old are you, Seven? Twenty-three? Twenty-four? Follow me across the walkway, into the house where my children lie sleeping. You can cut their throats, if you want to hurt me. I have cared for them these eighteen rings. How long did you love your lady, Seven?”

  Twist dropped his sword. It clattered at his feet. “We can go farther, to the next room. If you want me to hurt as you hurt, there is always Blue. She is the moving center of my world, Seven. Rape her. Cut her throat. Strangle her in bed. She is blond. You don’t see many fair-haired women in the islands, do you, Seven?”

  “Twist!” Spark gasped. “What are you saying?”

  “This does not concern you, Spark. Put down your weapons, both of you. Do you think it makes any difference to him whether you have them or not?”

  “I hate you,” Seven said.

  “Rape her,” Twist said. “She is past forty now. It may not be such a pleasure to a young man like yourself. But it will hurt, Seven. It will be twenty-two rings of life you steal from me, and all the years ahead.”

  “I do not want . . . My quarrel is with you.”

  Rain pattered on the roof. Outside, the creaking willows wept.

  “Come now. Even you must see that killing me will destroy my family. As you have been destroyed.”

  “Why did you say that, about Stonefinger?”

  “Those clothes suit you very well, you know. Your build, your features—you could be a woodlander. Tell me, is your hearing keener than your fellows? Do you see better in the dark? How could you see Bone to throw your knife, without him seeing you?”

  “Do not mock me.”

  “I will do anything I want to my assassin,” Twist said. Inside he was dizzy with fear. Had he gone too far? How hard could he push? He had to keep control, keep control, take the moment away from Seven, force him to see what he was doing, force him to know the people he had come to kill.

  Blue. Lying in bed with her blond hair around her throat. He would give anything, gladly give his life, so long as she woke up again.

  Twist put his hands on his friends’ shoulders. “Put down your weapons.” Two more swords clattered to the floor, scarring the polished planking. “Do not act in his shadow-play. I am no man of weapons. This is no duel between Stonefinger and your Gull Warrior. This is an execution. Let it proceed as such.”

  “I thought you would have the courage to fight.”

  “Why?” Twist asked. “What would be the point? Why should I waste my time? To make you feel more just? Come,” he said, turning for the door. “We were going to kill my wife.”

  “Be quiet!” Seven was shaking. “When will you learn to be quiet!”

  Twist fought his fear, trying to think. The pain had dragged Seven so far down into darkness. So many nights dreaming of revenge. It would be a miracle if Twist could force him to see the light. “What? You insist on only killing me? It will cause me less pain, and of course I appreciate the courtesy.”

  “I hate you.”

  “I know.”

  “You know. You know,” Seven said. “You always know.” He smashed the nearest lantern, spilling liquid fire onto the floor. Nobody dared to move. “It hurts,” he said softly, raising his sword. “It hurts too much.”

  PART THREE

  THE TWINS’ LOOP

  CHAPTER 21

  THE WEDDING

  SHALE WAITED impatiently on the dock of Clouds End, hugging herself against a cold wind that cut the sea into chop. She squinted at the sloop beating up from Trickfoot. The sky was scoured blue, the sun a hard white ball falling swiftly into the west.

  “Crafty,” she muttered, recognizing the narwhal bone bowsprit.

  Bass edged his boat into the dock and tossed her the painter. Shale whipped a round turn and two half hitches around a docking ring. “Mom spotted you from her tower. What brings you here?”

  Bass laughed. “A very special cargo. Brought all the way from the palace of the for
est people, if you believe it.”

  Brook walked slowly out from behind the cabin roof. “Hey, stranger. Remember me?”

  Shale cut loose with a yell they could hear on the Harp. She grabbed the Crafty’s gunwale and pulled herself aboard. With another earsplitting whoop she swung Brook off the deck in a huge bear hug.

  “Oof! No!” Brook gasped.

  Shale put her down.

  Brook winced and glanced down at her swelling tummy. “Sorry. It’s just that—”

  “No. No! You didn’t!”

  Brook smiled. “I did.”

  “You didn’t! A baby! Disgusting!”

  Rope finished furling the sail and stepped over. “Good to see you again,” he said, smiling and bracing himself.

  Shale turned. “Were you responsible for this?” she demanded, pointing at Brook’s belly.

  Rope’s smile faded. “Well . . . Oof!”

  Shale swung him off the deck too. “Caught you off guard!” she crowed. “Swap’s Spit! Do you still have a face in there, or is it all beard?”

  “Ungggh,” Rope said, trying to catch his breath.

  And behind Rope hovered Jo, half-smiling, with downcast eyes. Shale stalked over to look her up and down. “Well, haunt, you did it.” She clasped Jo gravely, and gravely hugged her. “I cannot tell you how much it meant to the islanders when Twist’s army fell back. And how much it means to me, that you brought our goslings home.”

  “What happened the night we split up?” Brook asked. “We heard a few details from a singer named Reed when we were passing through Delta, but we want the whole story!”

  Shale laughed. “Let’s get out of the wind and take you inside. Food first, tall tales later!”

  “Food!” Rope said fervently. “Hot, and lots of it. With extra plum wine for my cousin Bass here for bringing us home on such a filthy day.”

  “It was no trouble,” said the black-haired young man from Trickfoot. “What else is family for?”

  The whole village of Clouds End, including Swallow’s four-month-old, crammed into the meeting hall that winter night, bringing out vast stores of food and friendliness. The cold wind whistling outside only made the great fire cheerier, and the conversation louder, and the food tastier. At first they were wary of Jo, but the twin did not seem to have harmed Brook, and as the evening went on and the wine flowed, they forgot to be afraid of her.

  Brook and Rope were besieged. Everyone in the village took turns touching Brook’s tummy as if they’d never seen a pregnant woman before. Especially her foster-mother, Otter, whose eyes brimmed with joyful tears all night long.

  Not once but many times the travellers had to explain that they had gone to the heart of the forest. Some were skeptical, but old Stick was quick to believe. “We are made for adventure, us Clouds Enders. Comes from breathing the Mist, y’see. Remember, my grandfather came out here—”

  “Only one year after the island was discovered,” the villagers chorused.

  “—and that’s the stock we come from! Fisherman-explorers, like Swap and Chart after him.”

  Shandy hollered for attention and proposed the first of many toasts in honor of Brook, of Rope, of Bass, of the Gull Warrior, of Jo, of Foam and Shale, of the weather, and, of course, in honor of Clouds End itself. Which was really, as Brook muttered sleepily at the end of the evening, what it had all been about in the first place.

  It was a marvelous homecoming, the sort of feast where everyone gives you as much as you can eat of everything you like the best, and then won’t let you help with the cleaning up. It lasted through the night and into the morrow, and dawn was breaking when the last villagers tottered home to bed.

  * * *

  “We had a Building when Shale and I returned,” Foam explained as he and Rope put out the next morning. “The Walrus isn’t the craft the old Salamander was, perhaps, but she’s a sturdy tub.”

  Rope glowered. “Walrus, eh?”

  “An excellent name, I thought. Shale did the knotwork on it. We have two holds, one for fish and another for dry cargo in case we want to do some real trading.”

  The two men sailed east, skirting the shoals between Clouds End and Shale’s island, until Foam’s tiny stock of patience ran out. “Well? Talk! I got some of the story last night, but I need more.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything! Every impression, every incident, every person you met, what you ate for each meal, and the trees you passed, individually named and in the order you passed them, please.”

  The sun was out, but the day was still cold. Rope had borrowed fishing gear from Stone: heavy, hooded tunic, mitts, and sealhide boots with an extra fur lining. “It feels very good to see. The forest has no horizon. You would not believe how you come to miss that.”

  “So how did you get to the mainland? Stole a boat? Or did Jo turn into a dolphin and carry you there?”

  “We stole a one-master.”

  “Wasn’t named Eel, was she?”

  “That was it! How did you know?”

  Foam laughed delightedly. “Lucky guess! Oh, if Seven only knew!” The breeze freshened, and the mainsail pennant snapped briskly overhead. “What about the rest of the story? I see marvels in your face. You are older than you were.”

  Rope smiled and squatted with his back against the mainmast. “It is very odd. When you tell a story, the important things are what happens. You know, Chart went here, and this is what he saw, and this is what he did, and then he came back. Our tale was stopping the war. But the things that mattered to me were very small. Private things.”

  Foam glanced at him. “Great fires fall to ash, and great stories turn to small ones,” he said. “Soon to be a husband and a father, heh? I envy you. I always thought it would work out between you two.”

  “Yes. I suppose it will.”

  “Do I detect a note of reluctance?”

  Rope looked up at the mainsail pennant snapping in the breeze. Above it, a single gull wheeled in the vaulted sky. “I know, now more than ever, that I do not want to live without her. But there are risks, when your life gets tangled up with someone else. Just taking care of a boat is big enough. To be a husband now, or a father! It makes you think. Those are heavy responsibilities.”

  “You are the most responsible person I know,” Foam said simply. “I cannot imagine a better father.”

  “I don’t know,” Rope said. “I thought I was over my dad going into the Mist, but ever since we found out Brook was pregnant, I have been trying to imagine what kind of father I will be. But when I look inside myself, there is no father there. Only a hollow space.”

  Foam grunted. “You can have mine.”

  “And now it seems like that missing part of me has meant a lot, after all. Maybe my caution is only fear of going away like my father did. And the secret is, I want to. A tiny part of me wants to go into the Mist and find out what he left us for. I know that isn’t reasonable. I know he probably did not choose to leave. But there is this three-year-old in me who does not believe it. That thinks he left me for the Mist. And that child still makes many of my choices.”

  Foam glanced curiously at his friend.

  Rope smiled, trying to shake away the doubts clouding his heart. “What about you? Your summer was exciting, from what we heard.”

  “Exciting? There was excitement, all right. It’s the exciting parts you try to forget.”

  Foam cleated the jib for a starboard tack. “The main thing about the war, for me, was finding something I was good at. Strategy, as it turns out. Thinking of ways for Seven to kill people.”

  “And keep your people from being killed.”

  Foam shrugged, accepting the correction. “Some things seem easier, now that I have been important. I can skipper my own boat. Not that I don’t know which of us is the better sailor!”

  Rope waved one mitt impatiently.

  “Pull that sheet in a little. There, that’s good. And I fell in love,” Foam said. The sun broke into dazzles on
the cold waves.

  “Anyone I know?”

  “Who would have thought it?”

  Rope pulled the sheet in even tighter, tense with wind, taming it. “Did anything happen?”

  “No.” Foam shook his head and laughed. “Remember all the times we used to talk about them? Women, I mean.”

  “We weren’t anchored to the subject.”

  “Well, you were not. You didn’t need to be. I found it endlessly fascinating. The point is, we surely didn’t know anything, did we? I mean, there was a great deal I think someone should have told us, because we certainly were stupid.”

  “Yes,” Rope said. “We certainly were.”

  Foam eased the tiller a little closer to the wind. “I always used to think, girl of your dreams, the hesitant courtship, will you marry me? The Responsibilities of Adulthood and Happily Ever After. But the girl of my dreams was not thinking the same things at all.”

  “Women are smarter,” Rope said. “They talk about important things while we are talking about . . . I don’t know. Fish, I suppose.” He grunted, easing out the sheet. “Another thing like that,” he said suddenly, taking off his left mitt. A chilly grey tendril tested the air briefly before withdrawing to the warmth of Rope’s sleeve. “Remember Net?”

  “Well, hello! Who could forget!”

  “Now take him, for example. I guess it’s silly, but secretly I always imagined he would be important. Like a magic sword. Something central to my story.”

  “And he isn’t?”

  Rope laughed. “Sure. The way my boat is important. He hangs around my wrist. He plays with Brook.”

  “Well, then!”

  “Is that it?”

  “Maybe.” Foam shrugged. “You made Net, Rope. He is part of your story. Not Jo’s, not Sere’s, and certainly not the Emperor’s. Great stories turn to small ones. What matters to you aren’t always the big things. They are wee and private. My guess is that Net will turn out to mean a lot that way, as the years go by.”

  “Hmmm.” Rope ducked as the boom swung overhead. “Ever kill a man?”

  “More or less.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Foam looked away from his friend. “Me too.”