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Authors: Graeme Ing

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BOOK: Ocean of Dust
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She glared at him.
What an ungrateful
wretch.

"I tried to help you, doesn’t that count for
anything?”

"I didn't ask you to. All you did was call
for the guards," he hissed. "Great rescue."

"At least I tried, you mean, stuck-up snot."
Why had she? She should have followed her parents' advice.

He laughed and turned away.

"Yes, it is," he said, a moment later.

"Huh?"

"The dust ocean, since you're obviously too
ignorant to know."

"I've never seen it before, all right. So
this is Pelen?"

He ignored her and picked at mud dried onto
his shirt.

Her gaze settled on an empty plate and mug
beside him, and her stomach growled.

"Where did you get the food?" she said.

"They brought it earlier. Bread, meat and a
delicious hunk of cheese." He sneered at her.

"You ate it all and didn't save me any?
Pig!"

"You're a commoner, you should be used to an
empty belly. It's only going to get worse."

"What do you mean?"

He gestured toward the ships at anchor.
"You'll be stuck on one of them. I imagine being a drudge and doing
what you're told is all you're good for."

She glanced at his manicured nails and
child-like hands. He'd never done a day of work in his life.

"I don't know why you're smirking," she said.
"You're going to be a slave too, and I bet I can survive better
than you."

He shook his head and grinned. His front
teeth had a gap.

"Not me. Once my father finds out I'm here,
he'll pay off these ruffians. I'll get out of these chains and be
back home for dinner. Not long now, and then I'm free of you and
your imbecilic questions."

"Your father'd better hurry. They could put
us in boats at any moment."

His eyes widened and she saw his fear.
Ordinarily she would feel satisfied having scared him, but their
argument had only served to distract her from her awful predicament
and possible escape.

A crawlie scurried across the wooden boards,
and she followed it with her gaze while she chewed on her lip. Time
was short and she needed a plan. Once they took her out on that
huge expanse of grey dust, she knew she'd never see her home or
parents again. If only she’d ran when she had the chance, and then
she'd be safe at home with her parents.

It was punishment, she imagined, for daring
to dream of getting away from her chores sweeping floors and
serving drinks in the inn. Where was the harm in imagining herself
climbing snow-clad mountains that loomed into the clouds, or
crunching through hot, steamy jungles filled with strange
creatures? Didn't they understand that she wanted more than they
had? The world was vast and exciting and she longed to explore.

How many times had her mother lectured her
about the dangers of daydreaming, and told terrifying stories of
people dragged away to sea and never heard from again? Lissa pulled
her knees up to her stomach, and shook every time a boat neared the
dock. What if the stories were true? Would she be sold as a slave
in a far-off land, or sent into the dark depths of a mine? Maybe it
would be worse.

The sound of rattling chains yanked her out
of her spiraling despair. The rich boy stood. He straightened his
shirt and shuffled awkwardly toward the man at the desk, chains
grinding and clanking.

"Sir, I demand you summon my father at
once."

The gaunt-faced man slammed his coffer and
glared.

"My father's a wealthy merchant," the boy
said evenly. "He'll pay you a heap of money for my freedom."

The seated man sniffed, jerked his head once,
and then inspected his fingernails. The giant thug seized the boy
and dragged him back to the crates.

"Sit back down and shaddup," the giant
said.

"Unhand me, commoner," the boy screeched. "I
will not suffer such insolent treatment. Don't you know who I
am?"

"Let him go." The gaunt man stood. His
ponytail swished side to side as he took several long strides to
reach the boy.

Lissa squirmed, but stared, mouth agape at
the boy's bravado.

"At last," the boy said, head held high.
"Someone taking charge of these ruffians. I'll see that you're well
rewarded, and-"

The gaunt man elbowed the boy in the face so
hard that he crumpled, and his head made a horrible thump against
the floor. Blood splattered from his broken nose. Lissa yelped. The
man stepped forward and kicked him. Whimpering, the boy dragged
himself backward.

Her hands covered her face, and she tried
desperately not to let the men see her trembling.

"One more sound," the man said, "and your
father can come collect your corpse." He spun about and returned to
his desk. "Load my things aboard the boat," he told his men.

Lissa rolled onto her side. Her stomach
heaved but only phlegm came up. She sucked in deep breaths, trying
to stop herself from shaking and control the panic tearing through
her mind. She had to get a grip. This might be her only chance.
Gathering the chains in her hands, and wincing at each rattle, she
scooted backward, inch-by-inch, toward the gap in the crates. It
seemed to take forever.

After six feet, she reached a pair of
barrels, only two feet from the gap.

"Where are you going?" the huge man
roared.

She froze. Her heart thundered.

A second boy appeared from behind the
barrels, scooting around on his backside, a mug in one hand.

"Sorry, sir," he said, holding up his other
defensively. "She wanted water. Look, she's gasping."

Lissa grabbed the mug and drank it all,
ignoring its warm, tainted flavor. The liquid soothed her parched
throat and washed away the sick in her mouth.

"Stay where I can see you," the man said.

She stared at the boy. He must have been
lurking in the shady spot behind the barrels. Had he too seen the
ponytailed man's display of violence? She chewed her lip. Her
future looked awful. No, she had to stop thinking about that.

The boy appeared no older than ten Sunturns.
His arms and face were dirty, his clothes ragged, and his hair
stuck up in spikes. Congealed blood covered his feet as if he had
rubbed them raw trying to escape his shackles.

"Were you trying to make a run for it?" he
whispered. "Are you mad?"

He tilted his head to show a blackening welt
across one cheek.

"You're not safe from a beating 'cause you're
a girl." He suddenly grinned. "Wow, your hair is so red. Nice. I'm
Pete."

"Lissa. Thanks for saving me."

"We need to stick together," he said. "Not
like that other brat. Ha. I'm glad he got his nose broke… Oh, he's
not your brother or anything is he?"

"Him? Gods, no. He got me mixed up in all
this, whatever this is, and-" She was rambling. "What are you
grinning at? This is horrible. Don't you know what's going to
happen to us?"

He shrugged, a strange motion that only
involved lifting one shoulder.

"We'll get through it," he said, patting her
hand. "Things'll turn out for the best, that's what my pa always
says."

She stared at him incredulously and sighed.
Her plan to see the world hadn’t featured her being a slave. Right
now, she would give up all her dreams to be nice and safe back home
in the inn. She'd never complain about her dull chores ever again,
never daydream. She’d be a dutiful daughter if she could just get
out of this.

"Get up, it's time to go," the giant man
said, and he and the skinny man pulled her and both boys to their
feet.

Even though the ponytailed man had left, she
didn't dare resist. The men steered her toward a boat that had just
bumped against the dock. She reached for Pete's hand, but it was
too far. Her insides felt numb and she couldn't stop trembling. She
hadn't even had a chance to get word to her mother, who would be
frantic by now. At the end of the dock, she peered down into the
empty boat, her eyes blurry with tears. It wasn't fair. If only
she'd come back from the market sooner, like her mother had
asked.

Chapter 3 - The Fair Maiden of Yamin

 

Pete climbed in first and then the large man
lifted Lissa into the boat. She felt her cheeks flush and couldn't
bear to catch Pete's glance, didn’t want him to see her this way.
I'm not a little child.
The rich brat tripped on the gunwale
and tumbled into the boat head first, his chains rattling. Pete
snickered. They moved to the backbench of the boat, and the two men
stepped into the front. The boat wobbled and sank deeper in the
grey dust, forcing Lissa to grip her seat with both hands. The
skinny man thrust his oar against the dock, pushing the bobbing
boat away. They began to row.

Lissa stared over her shoulder at the
receding land. Her heart pounded and tears trickled down her face.
Somehow, she knew that she would never see her home or her parents
ever again. The world wasn't exciting after all, but cruel instead.
She let herself sob openly. It didn't matter what anyone thought of
her now. The wetness felt good on her chapped lips.

Pete searched around in the bottom of the
boat and sat back up holding a water-skin. Neither man reacted so
he unscrewed the top and took a long swallow.

"That's good," he murmured. "Still cool."

He offered it to her. She took a tentative
sip, and then several large swallows, rinsing her mouth.

"Thank you," she said, handing it to the rich
boy. He snatched it from her with a snarl.

Heaving a deep sigh, she wiped the tears from
her face and swept her hair back, pulling away clumps of dried dung
from the street. Disgusting. She felt sticky and sweaty.

In a last ditch attempt to hold on to her old
world, she turned full around to stare back at the town of Pelen.
The little boat rocked violently back and forth. With a gasp, she
clung to the seat with one hand and leaned the other against Pete’s
back, finding it strong and supporting. Water from the container
spilled down the rich boy's shirt.

"Oy," he snapped. "Stupid girl."

"Leave her alone," Pete said.

"Who said you could talk? You're weak to side
with a girl.”

Lissa felt her insides boiling. "Shut up. I'm
glad you got soaked because you smell."

"Not as bad as-"

"Quiet," the larger man roared, "Sit still or
I'll come back there."

She looked away, gritting her teeth to calm
down. They had rowed so far already. The shore seemed such a long
way away, and she felt exposed out on the ocean. A disturbance to
her right drew her attention. A gust of wind powered a small
whirlwind that sucked up fine grey powder from the ocean surface.
It rose several feet into the air and sprayed the powder in all
directions. When the wind died, the dust fell back down to be
absorbed into the waves.

Fascinated, she edged along the seat, careful
not to rock the boat, and peered over the side. Unlike the lake at
home, she couldn't see anything below the matt grey surface. How
deep was it? She dipped her finger in, expecting it to feel like a
bowl of salt, but the grains were so tiny that her finger met no
resistance.

"Don't even think of trying to swim for it,"
the big man said, glaring over his shoulder. "Even without them
chains, yer wouldn't survive."

"No one can swim in dust," the other man
added.

She pinched her lip thoughtfully. In the
warmer moon-cycles, she liked to swim in the lake. What would stop
her swimming here? After all, it clearly supported boats and huge
ships. She plunged her entire hand beneath the surface and moved it
about. The dust felt bone dry but grew cooler as she reached
deeper. Scooping out a handful, she compared it to the spices in
her mother's kitchen. None had been ground as fine as this grey
powder. It flowed between her fingers like a liquid. A gust blew a
wave of dust across the boat and into her face. She coughed and
licked her lips. It tasted bitter, like nothing she could put her
finger on. She brushed her hands together and wiped them on her
skirt. The dust particles fell off easily and the bottom of the
boat was covered in the stuff.

Pete nudged her. "Look."

The rear of a ship towered above them, three
or four stories high. The whole ship rolled side-to-side in a wide
but lazy motion and was larger than she had expected. Windows were
open on every level, with a narrow balcony halfway up. She read the
huge letters painted across the stern:

The Fair Maiden Of Yamin

The rowers steered their boat to the left
side, which allowed her to see the main deck high above. An ornate
wooden rail ran from the front of the ship to the back, but there
was a small gap midway along, to which the boat approached. Lissa
craned her neck. A rope ladder dangled from the rail, its lowest
rungs submerged beneath the dust. She chewed her bottom lip
nervously. They expected her to climb all the way up that narrow,
flimsy ladder?

The boat bumped against the side of the ship
and the large man stood, taking a hold of the ladder.

"One at a time," he said. "Climb up quick and
don't make a fuss."

He reached down and used a dull and rusted
key to unlock the rich boy's shackles. Lissa gave a quiet sigh of
relief. At least she didn't have to wear them forever. Her ankles
were raw and throbbed continually. Or would they put them back on
once they had climbed the ladder?

"Stay put at the top, an' don't say a word
unless spoken to." The man shoved the boy toward the ladder.

It seemed to take forever for him to scramble
up the bucking ladder, and both men shouted at him to hurry,
stopping only when his foot missed a rung and he almost plummeted
back into the boat. Lissa winced and her stomach turned over with
worry. At the top, other men dragged him onto the deck and he
trembled as he stood by the rail, looking own at her.

BOOK: Ocean of Dust
12.92Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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