[Lanen Kaelar 01] - Song in the Silence (16 page)

That was when I began to be truly frightened.

That night things got worse. If before the ship
had groaned in the wind now it cried out like a wounded man, shuddering from
topsails to keel when a contrary wind fought with what I had first imagined to
be masts stout as trees, but now saw as tiny wooden sticks that stood between
us and a damp, mournful ending. A thin strip of sail on each mast bore us
flying westward over the rough seas. I learned later that the usual practice in
rough weather was to strike all sails and wait out the storm—but here the Storm
never ceased, and movement was our only safety. The waves battered at the hull
of our fragile home, lifting and dropping us in a wild dance, rolling and
pitching until the strongest of us felt queasy. There had been no cookfires for
days, and the cold food within and cold water without were as depressing as the
thick blanket of grey skies all around us.

The morning of the ninth day out, I at least was
convinced that I would never see land again. I cursed myself roundly for being
such a fool as ever to leave solid ground, and I swore that if I came out of
this alive, I would never set foot on a ship over the deep sea again.

Well, I swore a lot of things back then. I meant
it at the time.

That morning, though, I committed my soul to the
Lady and prayed for a painless death. It felt as though every roll would be the
one that sent us belly-up. The winds whipped through the rigging, plucking at
the taut lines like harp strings playing an endless dirge. I was thankful for
the regular duties that gave me something to think about rather than simply
worrying about staying alive. Still, if I stayed working belowdecks too long, I
felt I was in a cave. Better outside than in if we went over, I reasoned.
Probably wrong, but I have always hated caves. Besides, the noise was louder
down there, and I was terrified. My fellow passengers were no better off than
I, and some were worse. The seamen were too busy to be frightened, but they
none of them looked much better than we did.

Suddenly there came a shout from the bow. This
was nothing new, it had been happening about once an hour for the last day and
night. I never did find out exactly what it was they shouted, but the meaning
was always the same—take hold of something solid and hope you can hold on. I
reached for the rail and looked up.

And up.

A solid wall of water was poised to break on top
of us and send, us to the bottom. .

I was too terrified even to scream. I closed my
eyes, whispered, “Lady, protect us,” wrapped both arms about the rail
and hung on like grim death.

And the wave crashed down. There was a terrible
splintering sound like a branch breaking from a vast tree. I was swept off my
feet by the force of the water, flipped over the side still clinging to the
rail, fluttering in the rushing water like a banner in the wind and fighting
not to breathe in. I held on with all my might and blessed the pure strength of
my arms and hands. As the water receded I struggled to pull myself back on
deck, shaking in every limb, coughing out seawater.

The Captain said later that if our sliver of sail
hadn’t caught a wild gust just before the wall fell on us, we’d never have seen
the sun again. We managed to shoot out from under the worst of the terrible
weight of water; but still it stove in parts of the deck. The splintering I
heard was the foremast, the one carrying that sail that saved us, breaking off
halfway down its length.

And with that, the sea and the Storms had done
their worst. The winds dropped almost immediately. The waves grew less and
less, until in a quarter of an hour we found ourselves rocking in a swell no
more than five or six feet high. If I hadn’t seen it myself I would not have
believed it.

I happened to look up and catch Rella’s eye. She
smiled, then she grinned, then she let loose with a laugh straight from her
toes. I joined her, and in moments so did every one of the crew, laughing away
our terror, laughing in disbelief that we had survived, laughing until we wept
for wonder that we were still alive.

We learned soon enough that we had lost almost a
third of the crew in the passage—all Harvesters save for one unlucky soul of a
seaman—and though we mourned them, we found ourselves marvelling that so many
had survived. I wondered how with a lesser crew we would ever live through the
return passage, but when I spoke with the true seamen, they were certain sure
of the lore, and swore that the trip east and home would be far easier than the
trip out. I hoped in my soul they were right.

That night and the next day were spent furiously
repairing where we could, making shift where we could not repair. A kind of
spar was jury-rigged onto the stump of the foremast to bear what canvas it
would, for now we were making best speed to the northwest. The surviving mast
looked to me for all the world like a washing line, spreading vast bedclothes
to the sun.

The rest of the journey, for all the work, was in
the nature of a sigh of relief. When I had time to think about it, I was
terribly proud that mere six-foot swells seemed tame to me now. The Captain
passed the word one morning, about four days after we’d survived the Storms,
that by his reckoning we would make landfall by evening. That brought a
cheer—and I for one wondered what if anything could ever convince me to set
foot on deck for the trip home. But the cheer was loud and heartfelt. I knew
well that each of us had given up our souls as lost in the Storms, and to be
not only alive but arrived at a place known to no living man—it set our blood
racing.

That afternoon, just before sunset, the word was
passed for all hands on deck. (We truly noted then for the first time how many
of us had been lost; there was far more room for us all on deck now than there
had been.) The Master congratulated us on still being alive—which brought
another cheer, and not a little backslapping among us—said that land was nigh
and it was time we heard from our new master what our duties would be on the
Island of Dragons. He stepped away from the rail of the bridge and the Merchant
took his place.

It was Bors. At least, it was Bors until he
opened his mouth.

“I give you greeting all, brave Harvesters.
We have done with the worst, thanks to our good Master and his gallant
crew,” he said, bowing slightly to the Master behind him. “Now in the
name of the House of Gundar I welcome you to the place where all our fortunes
will be made.” He caught my eyes then—and a terrible smile crossed his
face as he said proudly, “I am Marik of Gundar, and if you work till you
drop for the seven days we shall remain here, you will return to Kolmar wealthy
beyond your dreams.”
  
.

Marik. My mother’s mortal enemy. And Jamie had
spent years telling me how much I looked just like her, damn, damn, damn. He
must have known from the moment he saw me at the White Horse that I was Maran’s
daughter. Now there was no escape. I could not even hide in the crowd of
Harvesters—I was a good head taller than the tallest of them. I tried out a
curse that I had heard one of the seamen use during the Storms. It helped, but
not much.

And whether he planned it or no, Marik had no
more than announced his name and begun to speak of our duties when the lookout
up aloft cried, “Land ho! Land off the port bow!”

We were there.

We did not come in full sight of the island for
some while yet, and did not get near enough to it to land until twilight. It
was decided that we would anchor off the coast for the night. No one mentioned
a reason, but it occurred to me (and to others) that perhaps Marik was delaying
his meeting with the Dragons. I remembered that he did not believe they existed,
and that he meant to prove the stories of the other Merchants false. Still,
even if it was a matter of fighting other humans rather than negotiating with
Dragons, better to wait until daylight. It would also be easier to deny the
existence of such things in broad daylight than in darkness surrounded by an
unknown land.

For the last time, as I slept fitfully that
night, I dreamt in part of the Dragons that had haunted my sleep for so many
years, gleaming in the sun, full of delight at our meeting, courtly and kind.

In the face of truth, dreams disappear like smoke
on a windy day.

For alternating with that sunlit vision was one
of darkness and blood, and Jamie’s voice saying, “As nasty a son of the
Hells as ever escaped the sword.” Marik, who (Lady forbid it) might be my
father—and if he was, who must want me to finish his bargain for him. My dreams
tossed like our storm—racked ship between those images, and I woke sick with
worry and wonder.

A small boat took Marik and his two guards to
land at first light. They encountered neither Dragons nor warriors, either on
the beach or as they explored farther into the trees that came almost down to
the water’s edge.

Once they decided it was safe enough, most of us
were set to unloading the sacks and the cattle from the hold, along with tents,
bedding and cookpots that could hold enough food for a village. The Master
asked for volunteers to go ashore to unload the boats at that end—I tried to
reason with myself that there was safety in numbers, I should stay on the ship,
it was tempting fate to go ashore where there would only be me, a few
Harvesters and Marik with his men.

I never did listen to reason.

THE DRAGON ISLE

VII

THE DRAGON ISLE

Lanen

If my memories of Corli are as an
autumn fog, my first step on the Dragon Isle is a crisp bright winter day, cold
and sharp and clear as diamond.

The land seemed to rise up to meet me
as I followed my comrades out of the boat and into the shallows. It may have
been no more than the effect of land after twelve days at sea, but the
impression remains. I walked out of the sea onto small black rocks, and thence
onto the rough grass that grew nearly to the water’s edge. The scent even of
the grass under my boot was like nothing I had known—it smelled like spring in
the morning of the world.

Crushed grass.

I will always remember.

As I stood on the shore my heart beat
fast and high, and I felt as though there were iron bands about my chest likee
the faithful servant in the old tale, though mine were to keep my heart from breaking
for joy, not sorrow. I worked hard to draw breath, there on the edge of my
dream.

I took another step forward.

The island did not disappear under my
foot or sink into the sea—or fade into the darkness of my room at Hadronsstead.

I walked on the Dragon Isle under the
sun. My heart sang, and despite the danger I was in I laughed aloud for heart’s
ease. I beheld the world clearly, more clearly than ever before, and realised
that I had walked in a fog all my life and not known it. The threat from Marik
was real and could not be ignored, but joy took me for that time and would not
be denied.

As I moved through the morning,
working hard but taking every spare second to look around me, I met more and
more that was new to me and I delighted in it all. This was the dream of the
traveller made real and at its best, working and breathing in a new place. The
sun shone, the air was cold and crisp and smelt of something I did not know;
like cinnamon and nutmeg but wilder somehow and deeper. I soon learned that
this was the smell of lansip in the autumn, as the dying leaves dried in the
salt air.

Crushed grass.

I will always remember.

Kantri

I watched her as she walked and
laughed in the sun. I longed to go to her. The others I had seen, more than a
century past, knew only fear and greed. She was very different and I desired to
know what made her the exception. I knew very well that only a certain few ever
came to our isle, and for fewer reasons.

But she moved with a grace I had not
seen in others of her race, and her joy was that of a youngling new—come to the
world. Almost I could smell with her the air, almost myself laugh with delight
at first knowledge of a new place, and for that alone I would have abandoned my
post and gone to her. I knew she would not run. I hoped, I longed to discover
that she was truly the one from my Weh dreams; and my wise heart knew her, even
then.