Ocean of Dust (17 page)

Her vision faded. She sat with her mother
beside the crackling hearth of the inn. Her mother laughed and
whispered her favorite bedtime story. Then her mother reached out
to stroke her hair... and turned into the gnarled branch of a tree
clawing at her.

Deafened by the crashing of rocks and the
roaring of the river, she hurtled feet-first between the surface
roots of the trees. The deluge barely flexed the stalwart, ancient
roots. If she hit one, it would tear her limbs from her body, so
she clamped her legs together and crossed her arms over her body.
Her heart threatened to rip from her chest. She snapped her eyes
shut and whimpered.

Her stomach lurched and the ground fell away.
She gulped a final breath before the red mud sucked her under. The
light beyond her eyelids turned to black. She swirled round and
round as the river burrowed, until she had no idea which way was
up, but her pace had slowed. She probed outward with one arm,
pushing hard against the thick, cold mud, hoping to touch a root,
but there were none. Her chest ached. The urge to breathe gripped
her.

The wet slime against her skin changed to a
dry sand. She had no sense of movement. She kicked and swung her
arms, pawing the fine sand behind her.
Gods, let this be
upward.
Doubt crept in. Her insides burned with the lack of
air. She opened her eyes but they stung so badly that she scrunched
them shut again.

The urge to breathe was unbearable.
I
don't want to die like this. I'm not ready to die at all.

With her limbs still thrashing, her lips
parted and she sucked in a deep breath. She tasted the bitterness
of grey dust, and then her consciousness was torn away from
her.

Chapter 15 - The Book

Whispering voices surrounded Lissa.

Their undulating sound soothed her, kept her
company as she hung in a grey nothingness. A corner of her mind
insisted the voices couldn't be trusted. She ignored its warning.
Without them, she would be alone. She'd been in danger, but
couldn't remember how or where. The whispers seized her attention,
mesmerized her with their hissing and babbling.

Then they stopped, plunging her into a
deathly silence.

Don't leave me. I don't want to be
alone.

Be strong
, a single voice echoed in
her mind.
Trust in us
, others murmured in the
background.

Who are you?
She pictured winged
servants of Anjan, ferrying her on beams of light to the second
moon, to the Gardens of Eternity.

No. We do not leave the substance of
life.

An image played in her mind as if she lay,
bobbing on the surface of the dust ocean, looking up toward the
moons and stars.

Who are you?

The image shimmered and reformed as a brown,
domed head with burning red eyes – the Klynaks!

Memories flooded into her head, like the
deluge of water from the mountaintop. She was drowning, her throat
full of dust. She must cough, must get the horrible stuff out of
her body, but her throat was numb. She had to swim, but her limbs
felt detached, dead. Her eyes were glued shut.

Be still. We will help you.

The whispering voices hummed, like her mother
had often done to calm her during lightning storms. She relaxed and
stopped struggling. There was a sensation of movement, but was it
real or another image in her mind.

Where are we going?

We take you to your nest that moves.

Why are you helping me?

Another image flickered before her. She was
floating in the dust ocean. Wavelets washed up and down before her.
Heavy snowflakes drifted from an overcast sky, settling in deep
drifts on a nearby shoreline of cliffs. A town nestled at their
base, dreamlike with carpets of white draped across the roofs and
streets. Where was this? She had never seen so much snow. People
hustled through the streets, darting between brightly colored tents
and stalls in the marketplace.

The view changed. Much as she longed to
explore the strange town, it slid to her left, out of view,
replaced by cliffs pierced with a huge-mouthed cave. A ship steered
inside, plenty of room to spare above its tall mast. It did not
pass into darkness but remained clearly visible inside.

This is where your destiny lies,
the
whispers rasped.

What is this place? Where is this
place?
The image popped, plunging her back into darkness.
I
want to see more. Can we go inside?

Cough, Lissa,
the voices said.
Cough.

The very suggestion started her retching and
spluttering. Dust scratched in her throat, and she gagged,
expelling it, tasting its bitterness. Dust continued to pour from
her mouth, as if her entire body had been filled from head to
toe.

In her next breath, she drew in air. She
hadn't realized that air had a subtle taste, a cool sensation in
the lining of her throat. She greedily sucked in more, her chest
heaving. The numbness faded from her body, leaving a tingling
sensation. She was cold and wet, with water pouring over her. She
rolled onto her belly, and flailed her arms.

Instead of kicking and spluttering her way
down the mud-filled creek, the ground was solid beneath her. She
opened her grit-caked eyes and blinked furiously, rubbing their
corners with her damp fingers. The wooden wharf lay beneath her.
Torrential rain beat down, gushing through the gaps between the
planks.

She let the water wash the mud and sticky
dust from her clothes and body. Her mouth was dry and parched, so
she rolled back over and opened her mouth wide, sticking out her
tongue to catch every last refreshing drop. She was drenched, her
clothes and hair plastered to her body.

The sky had become an ugly dark grey. Low
clouds hid the mountain, but the sound of the geyser roared in the
distance. How long had it been erupting, and when would it stop?
She sat up. The town streets were empty, and awnings and banners
lay crumpled on the ground.

She peered over the edge of the wharf, but no
creature thrust its head above the surface.
Thank you
. But
the whispers had gone from her head. She crossed the slippery dock
and carefully climbed the gangway. On the main deck, boys danced in
the rain while the older crew watched from under cover. Rainwater
poured across the deck and over the side.

"Lissa," Branda called from a nearby hatch.
"Come get dry."

* * *

Lissa sat on a crate in one of the
storerooms. She felt warmer after changing her clothes, and Branda
had enthusiastically toweled her hair, which now stood in a
frazzled mess. Lissa took a brush to it, envying Branda's short
hair for the first time. Behind her, Branda hung her wet clothes to
dry, snapping them in the air to shake out the wrinkles.

"What this?" Branda asked, the navigator’s
book in her hand.

"Oh no."

The soggy object was covered in mud, and the
pages rippled with water damage. Lissa pried the wet pages apart.
Most of the tiny numbers were still legible, but the outer edges
and corners were smudged beyond recognition. When she wiped away
the worst of the mud, she only succeeded in erasing more of
them.

"He's going to beat me," she cried.

"Who?"

"The navigator. I've ruined his book."

Branda gasped and put her hands to her mouth.
"You steal his book and ruin it?"

"I didn't steal it. He dropped it."

"You return it or he get angry."

"I know, but I can't. He'll kill me." Lissa
hugged the book to her chest.

"You must. It belong to navigator. Must be
important. You must tell him truth."

Lissa mentally rehearsed what she would say
to him.

"I can't," she cried, rocking back and forth
on the crate. "Maybe I should take it to Cook or the physiker.
He'll listen to them."

"Why not leave it on deck. Someone find
it."

Lissa spun to face her friend. "That's a
great idea. Then he won't know who- No. That's not the right thing
to do." She sighed. "You were right the first time. I need to own
up. No one else should get the blame."

Branda patted her arm. "Maybe he just glad to
get it back."

"I hope so."

* * *

The clouds hung low over the ship and island
when she returned to the outer deck, but the downpour had reduced
to a drizzle. The crew chief stood in the center, oblivious to the
rain, his feet apart and huge arms folded across his chest. Under
his watchful eye, the crew worked hard to secure the hatch
covers.

She raced up the stairs and hurried to the
navigator's cabin door. No one answered her knock so she opened the
door a crack.

"Hello?" she croaked, swallowing hard against
the scratchiness in her throat. "Mister navigator, sir?"

She slipped inside and closed the door behind
her, pulling the book from her dry skirt pocket. A row of windows
filled the rear wall, like in the infirmary below. Outside, a
narrow balcony was crowded with potted bushes, their broad green
leaves glistening with rain droplets. It seemed odd that the
creepy, gnarled navigator would own such vibrant plants.

A comfortable-looking cot bed swung gently
from two chains hooked onto the low ceiling timbers, its bottom
less than a handspan from the floor. Opposite it was a bench with
faded, worn padding and a low table. Like all tables on the ship, a
wooden lip ran around its top surface. Two empty goblets and a
decanter half full of an amber liquid stood on the scratched
surface.

Immediately left of the door, a cramped desk
stood under a window that looked down on the main deck. A chart had
been stretched out across the desk and pinned in the corners.
Rolled charts filled a side rack and overflowed a wooden chest
beside the bed. Her fingers twitched and she longed to open and
study every one of them. A bookcase by the door had been crammed
full of books stashed haphazardly on its shelves.

Curiosity piqued, she crossed to the desk and
studied the unrolled chart, turning on a globelight to see better.
It depicted the same web of lines, symbols and tiny numbers as the
one she had seen on the command deck. That seemed such a long time
ago now.

A map pinned to the wall caught her eye, and
she rushed across to it. The map detailed the entire northern ocean
with major towns labeled around its edge. Her finger traced along
the Jerandan coast to Pelen. Her gaze fell upon dozens of countries
and kingdoms that she had never before seen on a map. The crew had
not exaggerated the extent of the ocean. Her finger stabbed a tiny
cluster of islands in the middle of nowhere, and she leaned forward
to read the small but tidy lettering: Us-imyan.

The image of the cliff cave popped into her
mind. Heavy snow fell only in the very north and the far south. She
scanned the map but didn't know what to look for. If only she knew
the name of that town.

The door burst open and the navigator strode
in, stopping with a gasp.

She leaped away from the chart. His black
eyes flicked around the room, back to her, and then to the book in
her hand. His mouth sawed side to side, and a scowl scrunched his
face.

"So, you're just a petty thief." He pounced
forward and snatched the book. He glanced at the curled edges and
flicked through the damp pages. "What have you done? You've ruined
it. What else have you stolen?"

"Nothing, sir, nothing," she whimpered,
edging away. "I didn't steal the book-"

"Quiet!" He scanned the room. "I'm not a
fool, girl. I have eyes. We'll see what Farq has to say about
this."

He grabbed her arm, his sharp nails piercing
her skin, and dragged her outside.

"Please don't tell the deck master. I wasn't
stealing, honest. I found your book-"

"By snooping around my cabin. Yes, I saw
that. Be quiet, you insolent wretch."

At the bottom of the stairs she dug in her
heels and clung to the handrail. She glanced toward Farq's office,
but he didn't seem to be there.

"I can explain," she cried. "You left your
book on the bench. I was returning it."

The crew chief strode toward them, crossing
the deck in five steps. "What's going on?"

From all over the deck, men paused to
stare.

"He dropped his book in town," Lissa said.
"Remember when I chatted with you and Pete? I was returning it to
him. I didn't steal it. I didn't."

"Silence," the navigator bellowed, and then
coughed. "Fetch the deck master."

"He's ashore," the crew chief replied.

"Then lock up this thief until he
returns."

"Aye, sir."

The crew chief peeled her from the handrail,
twisted her arms behind her back, and then marched her to the
nearest hatch.

"You're in deep trouble now, missy," he
said.

Her shoulders slumped and she stopped
struggling. It was no use against his strength. He paraded her the
length of the dim, smoky mess deck, in front of the crew as they
played cards and dice. They jeered and laughed. At the bow of the
ship, he shoved her into a dingy rope locker. The door slammed shut
leaving her in total darkness. She heard the grind of the key in
the lock, and his heavy footfalls as he walked away.

The humid air made her clothes stick to her
body. Her skin itched. She stubbed her toe twice trying to find
something to sit on. The stench from the nearby toilets turned her
stomach and made her gag. She threw up, splattering sick over her
arms and feet. She spat several times, trying to get the yucky
taste from her mouth, and then she shook and wiped it from her
arms.

Hearing a grunting noise from the back of the
small room, she held her breath and peered into the blackness.
Nothing. Her hands settled on a large coil of rope, so she climbed
inside, fidgeting to get comfortable. Perhaps she could get some
sleep.