The Last of the Wilds

For now, she must show the Siyee no sign of her own doubts and fears.

22

The sea surged under the boat as if it regarded the vessel as an irritating pest that it must shake off. As a wave threatened to capsize it, Emerahl drew magic and used it to press the hull back against the water. A gust of wind drove rain into her face and she cursed.

She realized she was cursing the sea in a language long forgotten, from a time when fishermen and sailors worshipped gods of the seas. It was easy to imagine the thrashing expanse of water was still ruled by a greater mind - one who wanted to be rid of this trespasser - especially when she considered how quickly the storm had blown in.

Emerahl snorted. The old gods are dead. This is just bad weather. I should have taken the boat seller’s advice, bought a bigger boat and waited a few weeks for the season to change.

She had once known this stretch of coast well and had been able to read the signs of bad weather. Much could change in a thousand years, however. The currents as well as the weather were different. Even the shape of the shoreline was unrecognizable in places. As she had travelled along the Toren coast she had experienced an odd succession of familiar and unfamiliar sights. Fortunately the hills that marked the border between Toren and Genria were still where they ought to be. From there she had turned her back to the coast and sailed straight out to sea, as Gherid had instructed.

A wave broke over the boat, soaking her. She scooped the water out of the hull with magic. The rain was so thick now she could barely see the other end of the vessel. There was nothing for her to do but endure. She could not raise the sail in these conditions. She could not see where she was, let alone find her destination, or return to the mainland.

She cursed again as another wave nearly toppled the boat. The wind sounded like an inhuman voice. She could not help feeling a twinge of superstitious fear. Perhaps she should not be cursing the god of the sea.

Why not? He can’t harm me, she thought. He’s dead. Like all the old gods. Well, all but the Circle. Could it be that one of the remaining five had learned to influence the sea? Was one playing with it right now?

The thought was not comforting. If the gods were causing this, what purpose did they have? Were they aware of her? Were they trying to stop her reaching her destination? She clung to the rudder. Though rain and cloud lay thick between herself and the sun, a thin gray light struggled through to her. Suddenly the light failed and she moved into shadow. She looked around, holding back a growing dread. When she saw the source of the shadow her heart froze. Something tall and dark loomed over her.

Fear melted away as she realized what it was.

The Stack!

Through sheer luck, the boat had been driven by the storm to the very place she wanted to be. Now, however, the current was drawing her away from it. Casting about, she considered the oars clipped to the sides of the boat.

No. They’ll be of no use. I was lucky the sea didn’t throw the boat against the Stack. Even if I manage to row closer, I can’t tie up the boat. It’ll be dashed to pieces. This calls for magic, and a lot of concentration.

Drawing in a good deal of magic, she sent it out around the boat. She would have to act quickly once she had hold of the vessel or the next wave would wash right over her.

Lift.

Her stomach sank as the boat soared upward, carrying her with it. She stared ahead, where she knew the Stack stood, now hidden by the rain.

Forward.

It was not a smooth ride. Moving the boat demanded the unwavering focus of her mind. Every gust of wind or shift in her thoughts caused the boat to tilt or sink. Even her relief at seeing the Stack emerge from the rain caused the boat’s movement to waver.

Closer.

She stopped when she could see the rocky surface before her.

Higher.

The sound of the churning waves crashing against the rocks diminished as she lifted the boat up. Tufts of hardy sea grass appeared, growing in cracks and nooks, then a blanket of it became visible. She had reached the top of the Stack.

Forward.

She moved the boat over the sea grass, then, several paces from the cliff edge, lowered it to the ground.

There was no time to feel relief. The wind threatened to toss the boat back off. Jumping out, she removed her belongings, turned it over, rammed pegs into the ground and lashed the vessel to them.

When she was sure it was secure, she straightened and looked around. It was possible she had just landed on a promontory of the coast and not the Stack the boy had described. Leaving the boat, she walked carefully to the edge. The sea below was hidden by the dense rain.

She marked her position by pulling up three handfuls of grass to reveal the pale sandy soil beneath, then she paced around the edge. After fifty paces, she found the uprooted grass. To be sure she hadn’t encountered a natural repetition of her marker, she walked away from the edge. The boat appeared, and she nodded to herself.

I’ll know this is the Stack the boy described if I find the cave.

She walked around the cliff edge again, looking for the beginning of the staircase that led down to the cave, but found no sign of it. After the fifth circuit of the island, she gave up and returned to the boat.

Sitting down, she drew enough magic to form a shield against the rain. Her clothes were soaked and heavy. She channelled a little more magic to warm and dry herself. As the water misted out of her clothes and hair she shivered.

This had better not be one of those three-day storms, she thought. If it goes for more than a few more hours, I will try to find that staircase again.

And if she didn’t find it? She would have to stay and wait the storm out. Even if she used magic to keep the boat afloat and propel it through the water, she still had no way of knowing which direction to go to return to the coast.

With a resigned sigh, she opened her bag and brought out some dried fruit to chew on while she waited.

Early morning sunlight set the membrane walls of the bower glowing. Auraya looked around the little house and sighed with pleasure. It was good to be back in Si.

Why does this place feel like home? she asked herself. I feel better today than I have for months. And I had no nightmares last night, she realized. She felt as if she had left a lot of troubling things behind her. Nightmares. The hospice. I hadn’t realized how much the hospice was bothering me.

She thought back to her previous stay in Si. She’d always woken up feeling good here. But was that because of my dream links with Leiard? she suddenly thought.

Leiard. Did she imagine that the pang of hurt that always came at the thought of Leiard was weaker? He seemed a part of someone else’s life now. Perhaps soon she would feel nothing at all.

:I hope not, a familiar voice spoke into her mind. It would be terrible indeed for you to feel nothing. Neither joy nor sorrow. Neither pleasure nor pain.

I meant feel nothing about Leiard, she told Chaia. You know that.

:You will always feel something in regard to him. lime will dull the pain. There is nothing that