Chapter 9
The Sea King
Led by Lok-i-xan with Xulai on one side, Abasio on the other, they proceeded away from the sea on a wide boulevard lined with silent, smiling people. The boulevard ended between two ornamental pillars at the bottom of a broad, conical hill where a slightly narrower road made a gentle turn to the left and began spiraling upward. This road was also lined with people, some Tingawan, many in costumes of other lands that Xulai had heard of or read of, others who looked totally unfamiliar. Lok-i-xan did not let go of her hand for a moment, and she quickly came to understand that this long walk through the city, among the people, was a kind of . . . what could one call it? An adoption. If she read it correctly, the head of Clan Do-Lok was saying that she and Abasio were of his kindred, that Justinian was also of his kindred, and that was that.
“You have questions,” he murmured halfway up the hill. “I can hear your brain sizzling. Are we walking you too quickly? There is yet some way to go, but we can stop to drink tea.”
“That would be . . . very nice,” she agreed. The distance and the climb weren’t wearying her physically, but the entire experience was beginning to overwhelm her. It didn’t seem to bother Abasio, but then, he’d been traveling here, there, and everywhere for years. He was used to being confronted on every side with new sights and sounds. He simply strode along, nodding to the crowds, smiling at anyone who smiled at him.
Lok-i-xan turned his head very slightly toward one of the parasol carriers, who promptly fell back, spoke to someone in the procession, then resumed his place. The person spoken to fell in behind Lok-i-xan, who murmured, “Next tea stall for five, please.”
The runner went forward up the rising road like a sight hound after a rabbit, zipping around the bend. In moments he came back into view at the center of the road, bowing and gesturing to usher them forward to the right.
If there had been people against the hill along that particular stretch of road, they had been moved away. Now there was only a bright awning over a table and five chairs before a stone-lined hollow containing a fiery little stove and shelves laden with pottery. They sat: Xulai, Lok-i-xan, Abasio, Justinian, Precious Wind. The parasol holders moved away and began a slow dance on the road, the parasols twirling, the feet pointing and leaping. A brilliantly robed old woman came from the hollow, her steps timed to coincide with those of the dancers; she bowed and set cups before them, poured tea from a pot shaped like an elegant dragon, and was replaced by two equally brilliantly robed women who also danced as they set bowls of tiny cakes before each of them.
Xulai realized she was hungry. They had come into port early in the morning; no one had bothered to eat. There had been a last-minute complication before they left the pier: the business of seeing that Blue and the wolf pack would be provided for during their absence, which had to be settled before any of them could take part in the procession.
It was this furor that Lok-i-xan referred to when he leaned toward Precious Wind and asked, “Are your animals settled, Xu-xin?”
Xulai noted that he spoke Norlandish, well-sprinkled with Tingawan words, and, of course, he used Precious Wind’s Tingawan name.
Precious Wind swallowed before answering. “The wolves weren’t happy at being left alone. That’s what all the howling was about. Neither was Blue at being left with them. That’s what all the kicking and whinnying was about. He says herbivores don’t take kindly to carnivores in bunches. So, we have Blue stabled in a building by the pier and the wolves will stay aboard until I am there to take them to the place we’ll prepare for them. A couple of the sailors have become friends with them, and they’ll stay, too, until we get the other arrangements completed.”
Lok-i-xan cocked his head, smiling the least possible smile. “Wolves, Xu-xin? A whole pack of them?”
She flushed. “I foresaw a need, Your Wisdom.”
He cocked his head at her. “Ah, well, we have learned to respect your foreseeing. I am surprised at the horse! I didn’t know any of our technology was available on that continent.”
Abasio said, “It may be a survival, Your Wisdom.” He had been told this was the polite form of address. “When I was younger, I sometimes passed among walled areas surrounding the old cities. The places were called Edges. Precious Wind—that is, Xu-xin—likens them to the abbeys and monasteries that served as repositories of old knowledge elsewhere. My native area was generally a barbarian state . . . no, one can’t call it a state. Perhaps ‘a loosely federated group of tribes’ would describe it better. Still, I believe your technical people and the people in the Edges would likely speak the same language.”
“Xu-xin has mentioned your regard for the people south of you.”
“Yes. The people of Artemisia . . . They lived very simply but I had the feeling they knew a great many things they didn’t share with or even mention to others.”
“Perhaps I will have the opportunity to meet some of them,” the older man said musingly. “Artemisia. Ah.”
“They would greatly treasure that opportunity,” Abasio said sincerely. The people of Artemisia would treasure it, and Abasio wanted to witness the meeting.
Xulai swallowed her sixth cake. She had counted them, not wanting to seem greedy, for though they were delicious, they were very small. It had taken all six to make her feel more like herself. Across the road, the people stood quietly looking at her, at the dancing feet and twirling parasols, at one another. The audience did not point or murmur. Even the children were
