'They converged on it,' she reported. 'It looks like they're preparing to launch a boat.'
Steady forward.
As they neared the spit of land that would take them out of the harbor's sight line, he asked, 'Well?'
Her elbow brushed his as the hull crossed into the deeper current coming around the headland, changing the boat's rocking. She did not answer until they fell into shadow. 'I don't think they picked us out, but perhaps we should make haste.'
And so they did. Dariel pushed the vessel even faster than before. They sped under the light of the stars, and then turned and ran around the bottom of the island as the eastern horizon warmed their faces with the coming sun. They were back at the soul catcher in no time.
If Tunnel had been impressive on the docks, he was a wonder now, stripped shirtless, muscles glistening with sweat as he heaved barrels onto his shoulders and ran up the steps. And though Tam had bumbled twice in as many days, he worked all the harder to make amends for it now. Dariel almost told him to slacken his pace, but the young one was working so hard he did not have the heart to dissuade him. Of course, they feared a league ship would arrive at any moment, but the hours passed without anyone showing. Before the noon hour they had the chamber stuffed with all but one of the pitch barrels, and soon after they had soaked a length of rope in pitch to create a wick.
All told, they had searched, debated, planned, sailed, loaded, run, and hauled throughout an entire day, a night, and into the next day. Still, when the work was complete and the others cleared the chamber to wait at the boat and Dariel stood alone with a torch burning in his hand, it seemed the moment had come too quickly. All he had to do was finish it.
Standing with the torch clouding the air of the chamber with black smoke, he pushed himself forward. One step and then another, and then he bent and brought the flame close to the pitch-soaked rope. Even then it was hard. He had to tell himself that this was not the same as on the platforms. He was not Val, going to his death. Nor was he Spratling, a child being orphaned for a second time. He would live through this act, and no souls would be lost by it. Just the opposite. This would save lives. Save souls. Perhaps even his own.
The wick took the flame and bloomed to life. Dariel watched it long enough to verify that it was good, and then he turned and dashed out and down the stone stairs, glad to feel the sea air on his face, unreasoningly gleeful that a vessel full of friends awaited him.
Years before, as he had raced away from the exploding platforms on the black-sailed Ballan, he had not looked back. He had feared whatever demon was rising there, all the rage roaring up into the heavens, the hands reaching out toward him. He could not have defined just what frightened him so, for it was many things overlapping, some submerged in memory but no less powerful. This time, he turned. He held the wheel as the prow cut the sea, but he twisted around and watched. The others around him clapped and cheered each explosion, for there were many. Hands grasped and patted joy to him, and he returned it.
What he saw was a plume of white smoke that rose slowly above the concussions of flaming rage. It tilted like a giant, like an enormous tree of ash unfurling into life. It looked wonderful. Peaceful. Thankful.
Three days later he beached the Lothan Aklun vessel on a sandspit in a shallow marsh area of Sumerled, just up the throat of a river that the People called Sheeven Lek. He watched as Tunnel directed the others to uncap the last barrel of pitch and let it pour out into the hull of the vessel. They lit it, and it went up fast, with a great whoosh that was a monster inhaling and then a burst of warmth that tilted Dariel back on his heels. He did not say a word of protest. No matter how beautiful the lines of the boat and how incredible the power within it, that was stolen power, trapped unwillingly. Enslaved. It could never be his and should be freed. So it was, and he almost felt he could hear the relief of the souls escaping.
And two days after that he met Mor and a small group of the People at the edge of the wilderness. Skylene presented him to her, all of them gathered on a stone slab elevated above the tamed woodlands to the east and the wilds stretching off to the west as far as the eye could see. The wilderness looked like it went on forever. Granite stones ran north to south in great undulating, weather-round ridges, like the crests of waves. At first, Dariel was not sure where to set his eyes: on the abundance of nature or on Mor, beautiful in the full light of the sun. He chose Mor.
Skylene briefed her on all that had happened: the stealing of the boat, the plan to destroy the soul catcher and the success at doing so, and then their destruction of the boat. It was an official report. Dariel knew that Mor would have heard the details already. Still, they all waited through it, Dariel searching for any signs of thoughts behind Mor's eyes. He could not read her at all. Just looking was a pleasure of sorts, though. Was it because of who she was, or because beneath the shivith spots he saw Wren in the shape of her eyelids and the roundness of her face and the way her cheekbones rose to prominence? Was it Mor he loved looking at, or the lover Mor reminded him of? He really wasn't sure.
If Mor received the news of the soul catcher's destruction with any personal emotion she did not show it. She did, however, take Dariel's hand in hers. She pulled him forward a half step and placed his palm against the center of her chest. 'The People praise you,' she said, 'and thank you. You have done for us something we had not managed to do in all our years here. You arrived with knowledge we do not possess and used it to aid us. Likely, you cannot know the good you have done, but still I praise you for it.'
Her expression while she said this was as firm as a nanny's measuring out a disobedient child's punishment, but after a short pause the corners of her lips-first the right and then the left-and then her cheeks as well tilted into a grin. 'It's a start, at least. We won't kill you… yet. Come look at this with me.'
The two moved away from the others, climbing the sloping stone, which was coarse underfoot, with granules that crackled and popped free beneath their weight. A flock of long, slim birds flew toward them over the hillocks to the northwest. They were black silhouettes against the reddening sky, until they dropped into shadow and stood out white against the deep green of the trees.
'Beyond here, the land is wild,' Mor said. 'The Westlands. It is not unpeopled. Just wild. Beautiful beyond measure. Before the Lothan Aklun arrived, the Auldek tribes had settled portions of it, but their inland cities are ruins now, their cultivated fields reclaimed by forest and jungle.' Her voice had grown conversational in a way it had never been with him before. 'The Auldek like to hunt us on their kwedeirs, but there are regions of Ushen Brae that even the hunting parties have never reached. The Auldek are powerful in their way, but they live only on a thin sliver of coastline, afraid of the sea on one side, with a wall against the continent on the other. They were satisfied with that.'
'But you are not?'
'No. Never could be. I want what is here. To make use of this land in ways the Auldek have long forgotten. If this land were ours to do with what we wanted, we would build a paradise like nothing the world has yet seen. Of course we would. Who better than slaves to know the value of free life?'
A nation of orphans, Dariel thought. None of whom can have children. What kind of future is that?
Mor turned her face toward him. 'Think of it. We would know how to build a just society. That's a thing the world has never seen.'
The sun shone warm on her features. Her skin looked so soft. Dariel wanted to run his fingertips across her cheek and down toward her lips, wondering if he would feel the shivith spots if he closed his eyes.
When Mor spoke, it seemed she had taken some portion of his own thoughts and woven them into something different and pressed it back toward him. 'Though I set the marks on you myself, I don't fully recognize the face I made. I'll have to get used to you slowly, Dariel Akaran. I should tell you that it's certain the Auldek are marching to attack your nation. I don't know all the details, but they take an army like none they have mustered in years. They take war beasts and many of the sublime motion. I can't say how this will change Ushen Brae or how it will change your land. You have helped us, though. Yoen wants to meet you, but I told him that first I would offer you release. If you want to go now and somehow aid your people, I will not stop you.'
He would have jumped at such an offer a fortnight ago. Now, though, he heard it coolly. It wasn't that he cared any less about the Known World, about his family, or about Wren. But the truth was twofold. On his own, he would never get back home. On his own, he was but one man who would have to shout for anyone to notice him, and the only ones who would notice would be his enemies. On his own, he would be running a fool's errand-one of the heart, yes, but not informed by the mind. And, too, he felt a different purpose. It had gripped him on the Lothan Aklun vessel and had not left him yet. Perhaps spirits had entered him when his hands held the steering wheel. Something had happened, for he was different, and in being different he felt a step closer to being more completely
