The councilmen answered her with nods, a few grunts-not exactly enthusiasm to match her own. Unsure whether the response was fatalistic or whether it was a comment on her delay in arriving, Mena said, 'My family has not forgotten that the Halaly joined us in the fight against Hanish Mein. Truly, you are honored friends in our eyes. All of Talay is so.'
Oubadal cleared his throat, the first sound he had yet added to the meeting. He looked quite different from when Mena had first seen him, years before when Aliver had summoned the might of all Talay to his banner. Then he had been in his regal years, slow moving and powerful, heavy and rich and sure of his ownership of his world. He had been insolent to the point of insult in his initial response to Aliver. Mena knew that. Back then, younger men had bowed to his authority, and behind him a chorus of the aged had praised his wisdom. Now the younger men did the talking; the aged were nowhere to be seen. Except, of course, Oubadal himself. His flesh hung limp around him, overripe and flaccid. The skin on his face was still rich and dark, but the eyes that looked out were fatigued, small.
'Your words are kind, Princess,' Oubadal said. 'You remind me of the Snow King, may he rest forever.' He bowed his head at this and then righted. He set his bloodshot gaze on the princess and studied her, as if verifying for himself that he did see the resemblance he had just claimed. 'When I first met your brother, I was not as respectful as I should have been. He was a cub in my eyes, a prince without a people to lead. And what is that but delusion? I thought him weak. And then when he died, I thought him unfortunate. Unlucky. I thought he had failed and I felt bad for him.'
Though the council shelter was open to the air on all sides, it had grown very quiet within and without. A few crickets held long-distance conversations, but mostly it seemed the night had hushed to listen to the chieftain.
'I know now that I was mistaken on all counts,' Oubadal continued. 'He left this life in a swirl of noble battle. He left it a man in his prime, lean and strong, a lion whose jaws would yet have grown stronger. He left this life with the fight still in his breast. Many say so. That is how he will be remembered, as a lion. You hear me? Tongues will never tire of his name. Now, Princess Mena, I envy him. Heroes always die young. I should have realized that much earlier.'
Mena, understanding the old man better now, rose from her cross-legged position and moved closer to him. She placed a hand on his. 'Heroes always die, yes, but they need not be young. I don't believe that. Oubadal, you are a king among your people. You will be remembered as such forever. When I walk from here, I will remind the world how you steered your people through tumultuous times. I will tell them that your people had prepared everything to defeat this monster. You have already killed it. We are fortunate to be able to help complete what you have already all but accomplished. In a few days, we will hoist it from the water and end it. After that the fish will come back. Prosperity will return to your people.'
Oubadal pulled his hand out from under hers and patted her with his fingertips. He smiled, sadly. 'Dear girl, you don't understand. Yes, the fish will come back. Halaly will come back. My people may thrive again. But I–I won't see it all. Unlike your brother, I've had many, many days to come to understand this. I've had too many days. It is not easy.' He paused, seeming choked by emotion, but he forced the moment to pass quickly. He coughed and then said, 'Please, Princess, go with my men and see our new fleet. It is all we have left to fight the beast with.'
Mena did as requested. Part of her wanted to stay with the old chieftain, wanted to let the others move away so that she could sit with him in solitude for a time. Here was a man who knew her brother and had sparred with her father when he was a young man. She wanted to comfort him, like a grown daughter might an ailing father. And, perhaps, she wanted to let him comfort her as well. Surely, tales of the past would help her make sense of the present. Wasn't that the way it was supposed to be? Couldn't she talk him through his melancholy and find within his long span of life greater meaning that would be a balm to them both? She believed so, but that was not the tenor of the moment. Instead, she bade him farewell for the time being and followed the younger men out to inspect the new fleet.
It was a sad tour. The Halaly tried hard to demonstrate their resolve, but the toll of the months of suffering and food shortages was palpable in every pause in the conversation, written in the haggard lines of women's faces and in the hunger contained within the ovals of children's eyes. The skimmer ships were interesting, but they looked like vessels meant for youthful recreation, not for battling a monster. Mena went to her tent aware that there was still much to be prepared physically and much to be repaired in the tribe's morale.
CHAPTER SEVEN
On the eve of his departure for the Other Lands, once all the preparations that could be made had been made, Dariel carved out a few afternoon hours to spend with his nephew, Aaden. He buried any appearance of worry about the coming trip under a string of fanciful tales. He was going to sail the Gray Slopes around the curve of the world and right into the great maelstrom through which the Giver had escaped! Yes, that's exactly what he would do. He was going to track the wandering god down and talk his ear off until he changed his mind and came back. And if he could find Elenet along the way, he would give the young man a piece of his mind. Stealing from a god like that? Mucking about with the Giver's tongue? The cheek of it! To do all this, he would have to be slipperier than a snake, smoother of tongue than a floating merchant, more cunning than a Sea Isle brigand.
'Oh, wait,' Dariel said, a sly grin growing with his realization. 'I am a Sea Isle brigand! That's lucky. Elenet doesn't have a chance!'
Together, uncle and nephew ran through the hallways and up and down the stairs that fed out onto the main courtyard of the upper palace. They sparred with light wooden swords, alternately laughing and threatening. At times like this, Dariel's mind was as nimble and fanciful as a child's. There was nothing linear about their play, no thematic cohesion to it. One minute they were shipmates aboard the Ballan, the next they were Edifus and Tinhadin unifying the Known World, and just as quickly they were two laryx fighting for leadership of their pack, or an architect conferring with his worker on a great project. They were, for a few hours, two boys dashing through a palace full of servants who jumped out of their way. Some tutted and scowled. Most of them smiled, for the sight of them was a rare and welcome lightness in a court that Corinn tended with a solemn air.
For his part, Aaden listened to his uncle with an expression that at times said he was humoring the old fellow and at others betrayed rapt interest. He was just a boy, Dariel knew. Though his life had shown him no hardship, he already had a tendency toward seriousness. Corinn's work. There was no doubt that she loved her son deeply, but she had begun molding him some time ago. She would likely do so with greater and greater pressure as he turned toward adolescence. Dariel did not envy the boy.
Dariel tried to lead Aaden down into the subterranean world he had explored as a boy, but the palace walls and passageways defied his memory. He was sure that there was a route from his old nursery into these hidden realms, but he could not find it. He peeked behind wardrobes and reached under wall hangings. He kicked at corners and even got on his hands and knees as if close study of the walls' intersection with the floor would provide some clue. But he found nothing. Before long Aaden grew bored, not to mention skeptical. Another of his uncle's jokes, no doubt, just not an amusing one.
'When I get back we'll have a proper search,' Dariel said. The two of them sat munching cheese from a plate on the floor of Aaden's room. 'I swear there's a passage to be found here. Your mother knows about it. She had the Numrek use it in the last war.'
'So what are you really going to do on this voyage?' Aaden asked, returning to a line of questioning Dariel had fended off earlier. 'Does it have to do with the quota?'
Drawing back, Dariel asked, 'What do you know of that?'
Aaden held his gaze a moment. 'I know enough. Mother said that since I am older than the quota children now, I am old enough to know about them. If they're brave enough to go into the unknown, I should be capable of at least knowing about it.'
'Corinn told you that?'
'Yes, but don't tell her I told you,' Aaden said. 'Sometimes she acts as if I'm too young to know certain things. And at other times you're not supposed to know things that I know. Does that make sense?'
Rising and stepping away from the boy, Dariel picked up his wooden sword and fenced the air with it. The motion was just an excuse for a few moments to think. Of course Corinn had told him some things. She knew as
