Songs of the Dying Earth

enemies.”

“My belief in you is not strong,” Whisper Bird said. “In any part of your story.”

The old man ignored Whisper Bird, and said: “If you were to hold still long enough, I could escape this place through you. Leap through your body to the other side and come out breathing Embelyon’s air.”

“Even if what you say is true, old man,” Whisper Bird said, “you would arrive the same size as an ant, and with the same fate. Would you escape only to be stepped on by the first mouse that crossed your path?”

The old man laughed again. “True words. Ah, but for that glimpse of sunlight, for that glimpse of the surface, perhaps a few moments would be enough.”

“I will not hold still long enough, I promise you,” Whisper Bird said. The thought of his body as a door disturbed him more than he could express.

“Is it not painful to live thusly?” the old man asked.

“Next you will see a barbed feather through your heart if you are not careful.”

A fierce chuckle from the old man. “With such unkindly talk as that to spur me on, what choice have I but to use you as a door and then close you.”

Whisper Bird felt a pressure in his head, a ringing and an echo, and though neither he nor the man moved, a great battle went on between their minds. More than usual, he bridged two sides of a widening divide, being forced opened against his will. Armies of thought met on dark plains and the frenzied, purifying fire of war erupted in the space between them.

Dinner did not much resemble T’sais’s expectations of it. Two lieutenants escorted her, still spell-dazed and trapped in thoughts of deep obedience to the Captain, to a cabin lined with shelves of ancient parchments and books. The books had an unkind legacy, having been scavenged from exiled travelers trapped, mad, and dead, upon the broken glass below. (Much later, she would say to him, “You must have knowledge of many spells,” only for him to reply, “not all books are filled with spells, my love. Nor is a man wise to rely overmuch on them.”)

Thick round windows on the left side of the cabin revealed the sky in flashes of deep greens, blues, and purples. There was a hint of spice in the air that came from the moss growing through the hulls. Always, too, there came from above and through the timbers a sound both slow and calm: the measured hum that was the breathing of the mermelant.

Worn tables and chairs that had seen long and constant service stood in the middle of the cabin. A map of the dying Earth lay upon one such table, and next to that, another map with much of its surface blank, sketches and notes in the margin. This was a map of the UNDERHIND as the Captain knew it, she would later discover.

A third table held evidence of much industry and preparation in the form of a feast of strange fowl, along with vegetables and mushrooms grown in the ship’s hull. The savory smell nearly distracted her from the object of her unnatural adoration.

Once seated at this third table, the two lieutenants disappearing through an oval wooden door, the Captain released her from the reversed spell. Her heartbeat slowed and she could gaze upon the books, the chairs, the windows, without the need to always return her attention to the Captain.

Replacing his eye patch, the Captain said, “I will not take it off again so long as you never cast a second spell. Should you break this rule, I will have you thrown over the side. It is a long way to fall.”

“So I have been told,” T’sais said, utterly defeated. “I am thankful to you for that kindness.”

To which the Captain nodded, then replied, “And I am thankful you have accepted my invitation to this simple dinner, which now demands my full attention.”

Tucking a napkin into his shirt, the Captain said no more for a time as he availed himself of the pleasures of moist drumsticks and steaming potatoes, of crispy skin and boiled mushrooms. T’sais had to admit to herself that despite being plain it was delicious.

As to what else she should admit, T’sais was unsure. She knew not if she were all prisoner, part prisoner and part guest, or all guest — nor knew how much to tell of her purpose, especially with just one spell left to her name. So instead, she sipped from a wine both bitter and pleasant and watched the Captain unleash the force of his passions upon his meal. He was as different from Sarnod as anyone could be, and having had only knowledge of Sarnod for many years, the Captain both puzzled and fascinated her. That his men respected him was certain, and yet she had also seen that he laid no hand upon them nor spoke harshly to them.

Finally, the Captain finished to his satisfaction, wiping his mouth and allowing the plates to be cleared away.

“It is not often that we find such a stranger in our midst,” the Captain said. “Those not native to this place are sent here by the wizard Sarnod and driven mad by the glass long before we ever find them. So I am curious, you who have given your name as T’sais Prime, through what manner of intent do you come to us? Armed with spells, upon a sky raft, escorted by no less than four Twk Men. There is much in this that puzzles me. Puzzlement is sometimes my lot, but puzzlement that puts this fleet in danger I do not tolerate. Should I be concerned?”

During this speech, the Captain held her gaze much longer than necessary, in a manner she would come to desire. But in that moment, at that first dinner, she felt under assault. Should she lie? And yet, if she withheld the truth now, what was left for her?

She stared back into the Captain’s good eye and told him, “I seek Vendra, a woman whose appearance I share, and a man named Gandreel. I would show them to you by projecting both into your mind, but this you might believe to be a spell cast upon you.”

A smile from the Captain, a clear need to suppress greater mirth. “This is true — I might indeed consider such an unnatural intrusion to be a spell. Let us leave aside this question of what you seek. Why do you seek? Who, if anyone, compels you to seek?”

Now his regard had become so serious that T’sais, even released from the spell, gave herself over to the full truth.

“Sarnod,” she admitted.

Did his demeanor darken? She could not tell.

“And what will you do when you have found either or both?”

“I am to bring them with me and leave this place.”

“What if I asked you to take me instead?”

The Captain’s presence across the table from her seemed suddenly to have more weight, more need, and she was terrified.

“I could not do so, even if I wished,” she replied. “Any other would die on the journey. Sarnod has said it is so.”

What now would he do to her? And yet the Captain did nothing, except recede into his seat a little, visibly diminished. He sighed. “It is of no import. I could not leave my crew behind; I am all but wedded to them now.”

Her fear revealed as foolish, T’sais became angry, said, “As for questions, how then did you come to lose your eye?”

“Eh?” the Captain said. “I did not lose it. It was taken from me.”

“What replaced it?”

He ignored her, said, “Sarnod took my eye. And banished me with my crew to this place. Over long years now, we have birthed more mermelants and added to the fleet. Sought escape. Although it never comes.” For a moment, he looked old to her.

But she had her answer. Or thought she did. “Then I am now your prisoner.”

The Captain replied with no small amount of weariness. “Revenge is for fools — and revenge by proxy worse foolishness still. You are a tool, T’sais. I am more concerned by the thought of what this means. This life is already dangerous, and we know not where we are or where it ends, though I have pledged the rest of my days to an answer. Perhaps you are part of that answer…or merely more of Sarnod’s trickery.”

Something in those words brought T’sais close to tears, although she fought them.

“I did not mean to distress you without cause,” he said.

“My distress comes entirely from this place,” she said. “Have you not seen all of the likenesses of me in the broken glass?”