I cannot convey to you the desolation of the open sea. Its people are scattered across a thousand islands that dwindle into the endless East. Many of these islands are wooded, and there my hopes lie.
As the Arbor is to us, so the city of Delta is to the sea’s people. It straddles three islands at the mouth of the great river called the Vein. I took my men far upstream; using wood from the river valley, we made a fleet of rafts such as they use in your mother’s country. How apt, that the forest should be used to surround the sea! When the rafts were ready, we floated down upon Delta.
Victory was simple and complete. They are a people without skill in war. My men landed while I parleyed. A few locals struggled when it became clear they had been displaced, but they were not trained soldiers, and our sprayers dismayed them. The contest was over almost before it had begun.
In short, the capital is ours.
(Twist swore mildly as another glob of ink dribbled from his quill.)
In general, their civilization is less rich than ours, and less beautiful. As you can see, their inks and papers are very crude. They have little sense for art or design, lacking all subtlety. There are, of course, exceptions to this observation. They wear leathers of an exceedingly fine and supple grain, which they harvest from eels! They love knotwork and embroidery, and make clever jewelry from shells and ivory. They wear their hair long, split into two or more braids and fastened with knots and ivory pins; a good thought, as it draws one’s gaze from their faces, which are etched by the wind and dyed by the sun. Above all, they build beautiful ships, exquisitely ornamented and intricately constructed. I am sure we would be quite helpless if we tried to sail one.
There is a small band of islanders who have actively opposed the occupation. They are led by a man named Seven, whom I believe from his astonishing martial skills to be Bronze Switch’s famous islander pupil. An anomaly among his people, he is a true warrior, but he lacks finesse and poses little threat. While they may be able to intercept our clumsy rafts on the open sea, his men have no pitch bombs; we will burn their beautiful ships beneath them.
In time, of course, they may develop answering weapons. I will suggest to the Emperor that we try to co-exist with this people. Many islands here are empty or sparsely inhabited. The islanders choose not to live on the ones that are most heavily wooded; they prefer land they can garden. If we move quickly to tell them about the Fire, and thus explain our urgency, we may be able to negotiate our way to amity. I would far rather learn the lore of wind and water from the islanders than from the cruel sea. Only a week ago we were swept by a storm whose fury was inconceivable to those bred beneath forgiving leaves.
Some have said that the Emperor has taken the Spark; that he is driven by a need for conquest. I do not believe it. He has the best interests of our people at heart. I am sure he will proceed judiciously.
After all, the islanders would be children at diplomacy. They lack subtlety: easily deceived, oddly transparent. The endless sea, an emptiness studded with unambiguous islands, has shaped them to corresponding simplicity. Such clarity has its charm, but in the end one longs for the sinuous sophistication of life growing through a maze of branches . . .
vine-slender singing dapple-yellow quicksmile secret-under-leaf
graceful beauty laughing wise woman
heart-keeper
friend wife
lover
The lost linnet sings sadness into the cool green air:
“Behind the blossom, the sweetest fruit
waits.”
I miss you, Willow Blue.
Your husband,
Hazel Twist
He folded the letter carefully, sealed it with wax and addressed it in his intricate hand.
There was a knock on the door.
“Come in.” Hazel Twist dried his pen. The Deltan ink clotted with annoying speed, like blood.
His lieutenant entered and snapped off a quick bow. Spear was a definitive Ash: upright, energetic, straightforward. “Sorry to interrupt, sir. New arrivals.”
“Very good.” Twist rose and swung the shutters closed against the glinting eastern light. The room dimmed.
“She limped in this morning. Five staves, I would say—maybe a little longer. Badger and his fellows met them at the dock. The captain was giving a great rush of orders about boat repairs. Badger kept nodding and smiling long enough to tie her up. By the time they realized we weren’t Deltans it was too late. No fighting, but two of the crew had mouths on ’em.”
“I trust Badger’s sensibilities escaped unscathed.”
Spear grinned. “Oh, he’ll recover. But if he’ d done the things they told him to, we’ d be burying him tomorrow. Or sending him back to the Arbor as a curiosity.”
Spear’s sense of humor tended to the crude, but he was bright enough, and a loyal soldier. Ashes always were.
“We need one of these islanders to work with us,” Twist said. “They know the wind. They know the sea.”
Spear nodded uncomfortably. “There are those two Thorns the Emperor sent along.”
“Spare us! Useless as well as distasteful. No. Suppose we torment this captain. He agrees to tell us what he knows. How can we know he speaks the truth?”
Spear shrugged.
Age had flecked Twist’s black hair with white, and would have given his fine features an air of quiet certainty, were it not for his curious Hazel eyes. They shifted with the light, neither green nor grey nor blue. Now and then, even those who knew him best would catch a secret expression, as if Twist saw things differently, but either from courtesy or caution kept his own counsel.
“We can’t sail. We don’t know the region. Our islander might direct us onto the rocks, or into the trackless sea.”
“We could make him steer the ship.”
“If you were asked to lead an islander raid to the Arbor, would you hesitate to misguide them at the cost of your life? Of course not.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“The sea’s people are not soldiers, but they are no cowards either.”
“Why would an islander help us?”
“That is the question.” For a long time Twist pondered, while Spear stood attentive and undoubting before his desk. At last the commander stirred. “I have some ideas. Bring the islanders to me.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And make sure we have provisions. Good, but simple.”
“Yes, sir.” Spear snapped off another quick bow, and hustled from the room. A simple soul, Twist thought. Just as well. Clever subordinates were notoriously problematic.
Something the Emperor knew as well as he. Would the Arbor be safe for Hazel Twist if this campaign ended successfully? Very possibly not. It would be wise for Blue to leave the capital; she might be too tempting a hostage for a Bronze jealous of his general’s success. Twist broke the seal on his letter home, and began with great patience to draft another. This time he would extol the coolness of Willow’s rivers and the beauty of its autumn, and he would suggest she take the children back there for a season.
He dipped his pen and began to write.
* * *
Eight soldiers escorted the crew of the Salamander into Twist’s office.
“Hang a lamprey on your balls and pull hard,” Shale said to her guard as she stalked into the room. Days had been long and rations short since the storm. Her tunic sleeves were badly ripped and she still bore an ugly red scab on her shoulder where she had taken a nail during the gale. A fading bruise made her scowl all the more ferocious, and her right cheek was raked with scratches. Her sharktooth earring was a white hook between matted black hair and skin burned brown.
“What fools do you have down at the docks?” Rope said. “They didn’t even let us get the docking floats out before marching us up here. Whatever you want from us, a sprung ship won’t do you any good.”
Dressed in deep green leathers, their captor awaited them, staring out the eastern window. He was very small, like most of the soldiers they had s
een. He glanced at one of their guards. “See to it.”
“Yes, sir.”
Foam came next. His hands were stiff and swollen and his head ached as it had every day since the gale, but he alone among the islanders preserved an air of elegance. His braid had been carefully tended, and in the dawn watches while the others struggled to wake, Foam had been up early, dangling his legs over the stern as he patched his torn clothing with quick needlework.
His throat was cramped with terror and he couldn’t keep from glancing at the spear-points levelled at their backs. Was he a coward, or were the others just hiding their fear? His eyes darted over their faces. No, Rope was thinking of his ship, Shale was furious, Jo was almost mocking. Brook—Brook was scheming, trying to think her way out. He recognized that meek, distant, defiant look. It was he, only he, that felt sick with fear for their lives. His life.
And so he kept talking, talking, as he always had, as if talking would somehow help, as it never had on Clouds End. As if the woodlanders would hear only his words, and not the thinness in his voice. “I would have taken you all for boys, but surely even woodlanders don’t let their children play with nasty, sharp weapons.”
“We all know how the caged bird sings,” Ash Spear said.
Jo came last of all. She was no longer a white-haired haunt with silver eyes, but a stocky island woman with a fading bruise on her left cheek.
The woodlander captain looked them over. “Hungry?”
“Starving,” Rope said. “We lost most of our supplies in the gale.”
“You sailed through that alive?” The woodlander glanced at the shuttered eastern window. “I would not have believed it. Spear, bring in whatever we’ve been eating. See there is enough for my guests.”
“Guests!”
“No irony intended, young woman.” The woodlander nodded to Shale. “I would prefer guests to prisoners.” He crossed the room to sit on the edge of his desk. “My name is Hazel Twist. Yours are?” They told him, and Rope asked him what woodlanders were doing on the first island. Twist held up his hand as Ash Spear returned with a tray of food. “In good time. First, please break your fast with me.” He picked up a pickled gull’s egg and ate it slowly, frowning. “Damn fishy taste, this has. Still, it’s all one to my belly.” He poured cold water into a fuseware cup. “My orders are to find a place for our people to live.”
Foam popped down a potato cake, licking his fingers. “Tired of trees, are you?”
“That is not your concern. The Emperor believes we can no longer live in the forest. But we can live here.” Twist scooped up a handful of pickled mushrooms and ate them like nuts. “I don’t like the smell here. All wet sand and salt water. I miss the smell of home. But orders are orders. We have an army, and you don’t. If I wanted to, I could take the entire archipelago.”
“Try it,” Shale said.
“I could. I do not wish to. I’m a simple man, Shale. I like to do things the easy way. Your people know things about wind and rain it would take us a hundred years to learn. Your ships are better, your sailors are better. I’d rather have you as friends than enemies.”
Foam nodded, washing down a strip of salted fish with a drink of water. “Did your mother teach you to make friends by sacking large cities, or was that your own idea?”
“Quit that, son. You are in no position to chafe me. I had my orders. Now I am giving you a choice. Show me which islands we can have, and how to get there. Teach us a little wind-wisdom. In return, I call off the troops.”
Rope shook his head. “Commander, this can’t work. As soon as you try to move off Delta our ships will scatter you.”
“How? Trained soldiers are more than a match for fishermen, however valiant, and we have many weapons. We can rain fire on your beautiful ships and burn them underneath you.”
Rope did not answer.
Brook said, “How can we know you will keep your promise?”
“You can’t.” Twist did not smile. “But I will.”
“Prisoners secured and under guard,” Spear reported later that night. He lingered in the doorway. “Will they accept your offer, do you think?”
Twist peered up from a pile of dispatches on his desk. “And betray the islands? Of course not. Not yet.”
Spear cocked his head. “But then . . . I don’t understand.”
Twist licked his fingertips and used them to clean off the nib of his pen. “It’s very simple, Spear. Our first interview was only to suggest that I might deal honorably with them.”
“That’s why you carved the Simple Man mask.”
“You were not convinced?”
“Well, everyone knows that you’re not . . . You’re more . . .” Spear blushed, fumbling to a halt.
“Less direct,” Twist suggested. “Quite. But these islanders do not know me. If fortune smiles on us, they see me as a gruff and aging captain who longs for his home port. Not wholly a lie, as I’m sure you will agree.”
“It made sense, the way you put it.”
“You gratify me. But no man decides such things on sense. A shadow, even the shadow of so great a thing as war, is still not palpable enough to make a man sell me the secrets of his way of life. If they came to me now, I should ignore them. They would be trying to trick me. Only when they know in their hearts that the consequences of silence will be far worse than those of speaking, will they give us anything of worth.
“Now we allow them to learn a little more by ‘chance.’ Some talk between their guards might do. The sentries should not begin their play until late, and they should whisper, as if eager not to be overheard.” Twist frowned. “But remind the guards to speak clearly; the islanders’ hearing is worse than ours.”
“What if the prisoners fall asleep?”
Twist shrugged. “No doubt some will. But with such a decision to make, they will quarrel. Someone will be too angry, or nervous, or upset to sleep. The guards should talk about the Emperor.” Twist paused. “We pass into delicate realms here, Spear. But it’s for the good of the clans, eh?”
Spear nodded. “Of course, sir.”
“This conversation will be about the bloodthirst of the Arbor. You know, soldiers’ talk: ‘It’s easy to want killing if you don’t have to do it, . . . I’d say he’s got the Spark,’ and so on . . . To discourage those who would challenge him, our Emperor has cultivated a reputation for ferocity. That reputation need be exaggerated only a little to seem like madness to these peaceful islanders.
“Tomorrow, take one of the men with a fair dose of the sea in his features—Elm Creek would do—and toss him in with the prisoners. He will say that the Emperor is mad, that I am the only thing standing between the archipelago and red havoc. I have already earned my master’s displeasure for refusing to indulge in certain atrocities. Only the rapid success of my scheme will prevent the Emperor from recalling me and sending out someone more bloodthirsty.”
Slowly, Spear said, “You want them to believe the story you told them, but to imagine they discovered it themselves. You are not a simple man, Hazel Twist.”
Spear’s commander shrugged, looking over his latest letter to the Emperor. “Nature rarely puts a straight track between the trees.”
Spear coughed, nodded, cleared his throat. “Is it true?”
“About the Emperor?” Twist looked up. “Of course not. Let me say something to you here, Spear, and I want to emphasize it very clearly.” He held Spear’s eyes with his own. “The Emperor desires only the good of the clans. The Emperor is the sanest of men. The Emperor acts only for his people. Any other assertion is the screeching of owls and the braying of asses.” And then, his eyes half-hooded, he turned away from his subordinate. “And the Emperor, quite reasonably, nurses a stringent distaste for slanderers. Do you understand me, Spear?”
“I hope so, sir.”
“I hope so, too. Now, I really must get back to this letter. Fetch me my tambra before you retire, would you? I will play before sleeping tonight.”
Spear bowed and
retired from the room, leaving Hazel Twist alone in the pale, sea-stained light of the late afternoon.
Even after darkness finally fell, the night brought no relief for the islanders, penned in the sleeping chambers of what a few days before had been a wealthy merchant’s house.
Brook lay sweating on the left side of the merchant’s overstuffed bed. The cuts she had suffered in the storm itched fiercely. Shale lay next to her. When Brook’s leg touched her, she growled and rolled away.
Foam’s shaky voice came out of the darkness across the room. “Now’s the time to turn into a breeze, Jo!”
“Breeze be drowned,” Shale said moodily. “Blow us out of here.”
“How?” Jo said. “There are too many guards to daunt one by one.”
“You drew us onto the island, haunt. Had we sailed straight from Clouds End, we might have been here soon enough to warn the Deltans.”
“Don’t blame me for your own desires. Sere was pulling us all into the Mist.”
“Even if Jo did get us away, that wouldn’t unravel the knot Hazel Twist has tied for us,” Brook said. “Maybe we should give Twist what he wants.”
“Don’t be gutless. Give up the islands without a fight?”
“Who is the coward, Shale? The woman willing to risk her people’s hate to save their lives, or the one willing to let thousands die to save her own pride?”
“Softly there, Brook,” Rope said. “Shale is no coward. She just hates to give up.”
“No, she’s selfish. It’s different.” Soldier’s cries, and the wink and flare of passing torches filled a long moment of silence. Brook said, “I expected more from the Witness’s daughter.”
Shale sprang, catching Brook around the neck and throwing her back on the bed. In the darkness Rope and Foam scrambled to their feet.
“Throttle your friends while your enemies hold you prisoner,” Jo said. The haunt’s voice was bright and hard as steel. “You make me laugh, you heroes. Sent to save the islands, and you lie in bed squabbling like suspicious lovers. You humans are just what I remembered.”
“She had no—” Shale’s sentence was bitten off as Rope jerked her off Brook, none too gently. “She had no right! To call me a coward for not betraying the islands!”