point.
And what would these Sea-Folk do with such a ship anyway? How would they explain it? They just found it? No. Distasteful as it was, Ena was right. There was nothing they could do. Being what she was, Shell was used to being on the taking end of such exchanges. How much harder and galling it was to be on the giving!
The youth had been urged on board at sword-point. Sailors climbed the warship’s spars to give out more canvas. The vessel pulled away.
‘Now what?’ she snapped, unable to hide her anger and frustration.
‘Now we wait.’
‘Wait? Wait for what?’
‘We shall see.’
‘Shell!’ a voice called across the waves; it was Blues. The Sea-Folk were oaring his boat closer through the tall slate-grey waves.
‘Yes?’
‘Did you see that?’
‘Yes.’
‘A tough one to swallow.’
‘You did nothing?’
‘Almost did. Orzu and the others here begged us not to interfere.’
‘Same here. What now?’
‘Orzu says we have to wait a time.’
‘What in Hood’s name for?’
‘Don’t know. No choice.’
The boats bumped sides and the Sea-Folk lashed them together. Supplies were handed back and forth. Shell waved to Fingers, who was a miserable shape at the stern, near prostrate from seasickness. Poor fellow; she had at least found her sea-legs.
‘So who were they?’ she asked Blues.
‘Some country called Jasston.’ He pointed south. ‘That’s their shore.’
‘And the north?’ The coast to the north was dark, and not once had she seen a fire or a settlement.
‘Some land called Remnant Isle. No one lives there. Supposed to be haunted.’
Shell saw that the figurehead of the white woman was now gone, as was the gleaming brass teapot: secreted away for the next ‘inspection’. She frowned then and wiped her hands on her thighs, but the problem was her trousers were as dirty as her hands. ‘And the youth? What will happen?’
Blues’ face seemed even darker than usual. ‘Orzu says almost everyone taken prisoner in all these lands ends up on the wall, sold to the Korelri.’
The wall and its insatiable thirst for blood. And Bars was on it. Had he fallen? No. Not him. Yet they could die — all of them. They were of the Avowed, yes, but they could still drown or be hacked to pieces. Could he be dead already? Their mission a failure?
A hardening in her chest told Shell that should that be the case, these Korelri Stormguard might find themselves swept from their own Hood-damned wall.
The Sea-Folk untied the lines securing the boats. Blues waved farewell. The flotilla idled, tillers and oars used only to hold steady. Yet they were moving. She’d heard they were in a narrow stretch of water called Flow Strait. The coast to the south was crawling ever so slowly past.
The sun was approaching the horizon almost due west. Shell shaded her gaze from its glare. The wind picked up; it would be a damned cold night. Then shouts from ahead — excited yells. Everyone in her boat stood to scan the waters. Shell likewise clambered up, her feet well apart. What was this?
The lead boat was under oar, moving south with stunning speed. Shell stared. So far this journey all she’d seen was a lackadaisical nudging of the oars. Seemed these Sea-Folk could really charge when they needed to. Of course — why exert yourself unless necessary?
The lead boat back-oared now, slowing. Shell squinted, and as the intervening waves rose and fell, she thought she glimpsed a dark shape and splashing amid them. A fish?
Figures leaned over the side of the boat, gesturing, waving. Shell flinched as someone jumped overboard. Queen preserve them! They’ll drown!
She turned to Ena and was surprised to see her amid her kin, everyone hugging and kissing one another. Seeing her confusion, Ena came to her. She waved ahead, laughing. ‘It is Turo. He found us.’ She cupped her hands to her mouth, shouting, ‘Finished playing in the water, Turo?’
Shell felt her brow crimping as her gaze narrowed. ‘I do not understand, Ena.’
The girl-woman giggled, covering her mouth. ‘You do not know, do you? Why, everyone in these lands knows the Sea-Folk hate to be captive. We throw ourselves into the sea rather than be prisoner.’ And she grinned like an imp. ‘So many of us taken away disappear like that.’
Shell felt her brows rising as understanding dawned. She looked at Lazar, who was smiling crookedly in silent laughter.
High praise indeed, coming from him.
Beneath the setting sun a dark line caught Shell’s eye and she shaded her gaze. ‘What’s that ahead to the west?’ she asked, her eyes slitted almost closed.
Ena’s smile was torn away and a hand rose in a gesture against evil. ‘The Ring!’ she hissed. Turning, she yelled orders at her kinsmen and women. All were galvanized into action. Hands went to mouths and piercing whistles flew like birdcalls between the boats. Gear was shifted and a mast appeared, dragged out from beneath everything to be stepped in place. Tarps covering equipment and possessions were whipped free, rolled and mounted as shrouds. The speed and competence of the transformation dazzled Shell. She tried to find Ena to ask what was going on, but was brushed aside as everyone on board seemed to be holding a line or adjusting stowage. She finally reached the girl towards the bow, where she was twisting a sheet affixed to the sail.
‘What’s going on? What is it?’
She shot a glance ahead. ‘You do not know? No, of course not.’ She sighed, searching for words. ‘It is, how do you say… a cursed place. A haunt of the Lady herself. The Ring. A great circle ridge around a deep hole. Some say bottomless. And it is guarded. Korelri Stormguard are there. None dare approach. It is very bad luck we come to it so late. Those thieving landsmen delayed us half the day!’
Shell nodded, allowing her to return to her work. She found a place where she could sit out of the way at the bow and peered ahead, trying to separate some detail from the sunset. Stormguard here! Just within reach. What would these Sea-Folk say if they knew they were carrying four outlanders intent upon challenging this military order that so dominated the region? They would probably think us insane. All these generations they have survived beneath the very gaze of the Lady through strategies of trickery and deception.
Perhaps, she thought, hugging herself for warmth, they would be wise to follow suit.
Kiska dreamt of her youth on Malaz Island. She was walking its storm-racked rocky coast, with its litter and treasure and corpses of wrecks from three seas. And she was reviewing the ruin that was her life. My childishness and wilfulness. Yet who isn’t when young? My foolish decisions. Yet how else does one learn? Her loss on the field at the plains. I failed him! She picked her way through the bleached timbers and crab-picked bones while all around her the island appeared to be shrinking. Eventually she could complete a full circuit in a mere few strides.
And it was closing even tighter.
A sharp pain such as stepping on a nail woke her. Groggy, she blinked up at jagged stone above. Her cave. Her prison. She was still here.
‘Hist! Kiska! Are you still with me?’
She raised her head. Jheval was there, silhouetted against the slightly lighter cave mouth. ‘Yes,’ she croaked. Her mouth felt as dusty and dry as the cave floor itself. ‘Regrettably.’
‘I’m hearing something new,’ he murmured, keeping his voice as low as possible.
There is nothing new in Shadow, Kiska pronounced to herself. Now where had she heard something like that?
‘And I haven’t seen our friends for some time now.’
Meaningless. Without significance. Empty. Futile.
