The Last of the Wilds

fascinate you.”

Reivan nodded. “I guess it’s a good thing that I can’t solve this mystery or I might get bored and look for something else to wonder about.”

Imenja’s eyebrows rose. “Indeed.”

“But I’d still...” Reivan stopped. Something stirred at the edge of her mind, distracting her. She wondered if she imagined it even as it resolved into a distinct feeling of another presence. A presence that she did not recognize.

:Welcome, Servant Reivan.

In the next moment the presence was gone.

“Wh... what was that?”

She looked around the room, then at Imenja. The Second Voice was staring at her in surprise. Surprise was not an expression Reivan had often seen on Imenja’s face.

“I believe Sheyr just indicated his approval of your elevation to Servant,” the Second Voice murmured.

Sheyr? One of the gods spoke to me? The corridor seemed to tilt, then right itself. Reivan looked at Imenja. She felt utterly overwhelmed. What does this mean?

Imenja smiled. “I think you may need a little celebratory drink. Let’s find ourselves a domestic and send for a bottle of Jamya.”

“Jamya? I thought that was only served during ceremonies?”

“And sometimes after ceremonies.” With one hand still resting on Reivan’s shoulder, Imenja steered her toward the Upper Sanctuary.

20

For a long time now Imi was sure that something had changed. The ship no longer rocked as much and she had bailed all but a shallow puddle of water out of the hull. The muffled shouts of the raiders were different. They held a note of anticipation.

Wondering and listening had taken her mind from the ache in her arms and shoulders. Yet she feared what the change meant, and instead of boredom and exhaustion making the hours turn gradually, fear and anxiety now made their passing unbearably slow.

Suddenly the ship lurched. She dropped the bucket and fell to the floor. The seawater was warm, but welcome. Closing her eyes, she gave in to weariness.

She must have fallen asleep. When she woke again the piles of boxes and large pottery jugs stored in the hull were gone. She listened to rapid footsteps and shouted orders above. By the time the sounds subsided the patch of sky she could see had changed from blue to orange to black. It was quieter than it had been in weeks. She felt herself drifting toward sleep again...

...then she jerked awake as light filled the hull. Dragging herself up, she grasped the bucket and stooped to fill it. A pair of legs appeared, moving down the ladder into the hull. She felt her mouth go dry as she saw this was the man who led the raiders. The hull was empty except for her. What did he want?

When his feet reached the hull he stepped back. He looked at her, then back up at the deck. Another pair of legs were descending. These were covered in cloth as black as seatube ink and belonged to a man she had never seen before. As this stranger stepped off the ladder onto the uneven floor he swayed unsteadily, obviously unused to even the gentle movement of the ship.

He looked at her and his eyes widened in surprise, then he grinned at the raider. The pair began to talk as they made their way toward her.

They stopped a few steps away. She averted her gaze, disturbed by the way the stranger stared at her. His eyes moved from her feet to her head and back again. The conversation grew more animated. Suddenly the pair grasped each other’s wrists. They turned their backs and walked away.

As they disappeared onto the deck, Imi let the bucket go. She sighed and collapsed into the puddle again.

Sounds came from the ladder again. Two of the raiders entered the hull and came toward her. She scrambled to her feet, heart thundering as they loomed over her. One held a bundle of roughly woven cloth.

The other grabbed her arm and dragged her forward. As the first held out the cloth in both hands she realized it was a sack and that they intended to put her in it.

She tried to wriggle out of the first man’s grasp, but his hands were large and strong and she was too weak. Dizziness overcame her and she lost her balance. The sack went over her head. Strong hands held her as it was pulled down to her ankles. She was lifted in the air and felt the bag drawn closed below her feet.

They carried her between them. She had no energy left to struggle.

Where are they taking me? Do I care? Somewhere different to here. Perhaps somewhere better. Couldn’t be much worse than this.

Blood rushed to her head as they turned her upside down, probably to carry her up to the deck. Cooler air reached her through the sacking. She heard the sounds of footsteps on wood change to footsteps on a harder surface.

The sound of many, many voices came to her, growing louder until they were all around her.

A musty stink followed. She was dropped onto a hard surface and a door was closed, muffling the voices. Someone close by said something tersely. There was a mumbled reply then footsteps moved away.

A voice barked a word. The surface below her shifted abruptly, then she felt motion. Whatever she lay upon began to sway gently. It was nothing like the ship’s movement. She drifted into a half-conscious state, too tired to pay attention to the strange noises around her. So many voices could only mean she was among many, many landwalkers. She ought to be frightened, but she had no energy left for fear.

The voices slowly died away. For a long time there was only the sound of rhythmic steps close by. The sound of doors opening and closing eventually roused her. She felt hands lift her up, then lower her to the ground again.

Silence followed. She was vaguely aware of something fussing about near her feet. The cloth around her pulled tight, lifted her up, and she gave a yelp of surprise as she slid out of the bag.

She plunged into cool, welcome water. It helped to clear her head. Surfacing, she took in her surroundings. She was in a round pool in the middle of a round room with a domed ceiling. In the center of the pool was an odd little sculpture of a woman with a fish tail instead of legs. Like landwalkers, she had hair growing from her head.

A fish woman. Is this supposed to be an Elai? She snorted with disgust.

The man the lead raider had brought down into the hull to see her was standing nearby, smiling. Raising his arms, he gestured to her surroundings. She couldn’t guess what he meant.

He gazed at her for a while, then backed away through an arched entrance. Reaching to one side, he grasped a gate made of metal bars and swung it closed. Still smiling, he walked away.

Imi waited until his footsteps had faded away completely, then she hauled herself out of the pool. It was not easy - the level of the water was an arm’s length below the floor and she was so tired. The effort exhausted her and she lay on the floor, panting, until her head stopped spinning.

Eventually she dragged herself to her feet and walked to the metal gate. Grabbing it, she pushed. It did not move. She examined the latch. It was held closed by some kind of metal lock. All was dark beyond it.

Of course, she thought. Sinking to her knees, she turned to regard the pool and its ridiculous sculpture. This is my prison now. I’m a decoration, like that statue. The staring man will probably come to look at me all the time.

She crawled to the edge of the pool. There was nowhere shallow to lie. If she tried to sleep in there, she would drown. She would have to wake every few hours and wet her skin, or risk drying out and... She reached down and cupped some water in her hand. Bringing it to her mouth, she sipped.

Plain water, she thought. I wonder how long it will be before I start to sicken.

She shook her head. I’m too tired to think about it. Lying down on the cool stone