The Other Lands (20 page)

In answer, Sire Neen offered, “We’ve found forceful penetration to be the best method of entry.” His voice had the same calm tone he used at the council table, and his smile was so incongruous at the moment that the sight of it gave Dariel an instant headache or somehow alerted him to the pounding pain already all around his skull. “There is nothing worse, you see, than getting trapped between the two currents. One has no control at all then. We’ll have to explain to the Numrek that we could’ve had a much rougher ride than that. It’s not for the timid, I know, but we of the league are not timid.”

Dariel stood with Rialus as the
Ambergris
spent the next hour threading its way through the islands. They progressed at a cautious speed, but it was still strange to watch such a large vessel navigate the narrow channels. Apparently, the peaks dove into the water at the same steep angle as they rose above it, making the waterways clean routes. At times they skimmed so near the submerged slopes that he could see far down through the clear waters. The long-legged crabs on the stones gave the depths perspective, growing smaller and smaller until they faded into blackness. A few times, he thought he saw human forms floating among them, but the water—clear as it was—was deceiving him. Watching the crustaceans gave him a queasy feeling almost like vertigo, as if he might fall from the deck, through the water, and down and down into the depths.

A clipper came out from a harbor as they passed and sliced cleanly through the water toward them. It was a small ship, built for speed, and so dwarfed beside the
Ambergris
that it took Dariel a moment to figure out why the sight of it was so remarkable. It had no sail, nor any oars. It dipped and slipped through the water with no visible indication of how it did so. There was something to it that he was not seeing. Perhaps the league had developed some see-through sailcloth. That would be handy in many ways. But there were no masts either. It was amazing, bizarre, frightening even to see a ship move so unnaturally. Dariel leaned over the railing as the clipper drew up alongside the
Ambergris
. That surprised him as well—that a small vessel could dock with a moving ship—which appeared to be what it was doing.

It did not hold his complete attention. His neck grew sore from craning between the strange craft and the structures perched high and strung across the rock walls. They looked like they had been built by some sort of bird people who were in love with the heights. He thought of Mena—bird-goddess that she was—and wished she were with him to see this. Who were these Lothan Aklun? For that matter, where were they? He had yet to see any signs of life on the islands. They passed several docks, complete with buildings and boats and equipment, but they were all strangely still. He had not seen any boats other than the clipper. That made no sense. The waters should be teeming with vessels moving between the islands.

“I see Aklun architecture impresses you,” Sire Neen said. He had been away conferring with the other leagueman. When he rejoined the prince, he seemed to be in uncharacteristically good humor. He even rocked on his toes as he spoke, a childish energy animating him. “It should. Until now, we’ve never figured out just what material the Lothan Aklun work in. They seem to have been able to shape stone as if it were a liquid.”

“‘Until now’?”

Sire Neen shrugged. “Oh, I suspect we will understand it soon. That I’m very confident of.”

Dariel found the leagueman’s sudden enthusiasm unnerving. He let his eyes roam away. “It’s incredible,” he said, speaking honestly. “I knew we were coming to it, but it somehow didn’t feel real. The Lothan Aklun … It’s still hard to believe I’ll finally set eyes on them.”

Sire Neen made a noise that was hard to read, a slight expulsion of air that might have been an indication of amusement. “That much I know to be true. Prince, you might as well know that we were preceded by another league vessel. They should have arrived a fortnight ago, bearing a message of our coming.”

“Oh,” Dariel said, though his actual thoughts were somewhat more pointed. The leagueman’s statement was made casually enough, but the hairs on the back of Dariel’s neck bristled. “Why didn’t you mention this earlier?”

“League vessels travel back and forth at will. It would not interest you to know all our shipping itineraries, would it?”

With a nod, Dariel conceded that was true enough. “Why mention it now, then?”

“Just to prepare you for the day.”

What sort of answer is that? Dariel thought. He was about to voice the question, but Sire Neen turned his attention to Rialus, who was staring at the league clipper. It had peeled away from the hull as they spoke. It kept perfect pace with them, but still used neither sail nor oar nor any other source of propulsion that Dariel could make out.

“You’re wondering what powers that boat, aren’t you, Neptos?” Sire Neen asked. “Of course you are. No doubt you’ve thought the same question, Prince, perhaps feared to ask it. … I’ll tell you. It’s powered by souls.” He let that sit for a moment in silence, and then looked at the two men, his face a portrait of good humor. “Souls have power, you know. Your Highness should know that as well as anyone. You released more souls at one moment than any other person I’ve known of. Did you not feel their power?”

There was nothing in his tone or expression to indicate anything other than levity, but Dariel’s pulse hammered at his temple, a warning alarm so loud he feared the man might hear it. Leaguemen didn’t make jokes. They didn’t show emotion. Or they didn’t show their true emotions, at least. He knew Sire Neen must be feeling something completely different from his outward appearance. He had to be. If he wasn’t, what could possibly have brought on this playful barbed mood?

“You refer to the platforms,” Dariel said. And saying it, he remembered the flash of light at his back when the platforms exploded, the fear that the inferno was reaching out for him, the knowledge that the man he thought of as a father was riding those flames up to death. For many, that act of sabotage made him a hero. He had never thought of it that way, though, and the memory filled him with regret. There was power in freeing all those souls from all those bodies, but not the kind of power he wanted to be reminded of.

“I do. I do, Prince. I lost many brothers who were dear to me that horrible day. Do you know that?”

Rialus inhaled a sharp, audible breath. His nervous eyes darted between the two men.

Dariel began, “I—”

“Not just brothers. I lost my wife.”

Brothers? Wives? Dariel had never thought of leaguemen’s domestic lives. “You—you had a wife?”

Sire Neen flashed a look of disgust. Or did he? The very next moment it was gone, swept away by incredulous mirth. “Of course we have wives, my prince! We are men like other men. How else would we continue our kind? Oh, Prince Dariel Akaran, you amuse me. But tell me, I have often wondered what it would be like to burn alive. My physician tells me that the very horror of it is what makes it bearable. He says the pain of burning all over your body would be so intense that you would be overwhelmed. It would hurt so much that my wife would no longer feel the hurt as hurt. It would become something else, something beyond pain, like death being something beyond life. Does that sound true to you? Surely, you’ve thought about it, considering that you made that the fate of so many, children even.” He shuddered, and as before he looked briefly dismayed, and then instantly at ease again.

Dariel glanced at Rialus, who seemed just as perplexed by the conversation as he was. What were they talking about? Why were they talking about this? Why now? “I don’t know,” Dariel eventually said. Thinking that sounded feeble, he attempted a tone of greater certainty. “I had not thought about it before. I have tried to put my memory of that day aside. It’s not the work I do now.”

Sire Neen seemed disappointed. He lifted his chin and studied the prince a moment. “Did you never think to grasp the throne yourself?” he asked. “Acacia’s generations have few notable queens. In a time of such turmoil you might readily have stepped into power as your brother’s heir. To some it seems odd that you did not. Why defer to gentle Corinn—just a woman, after all?”

“Why would I consider that?” The indignation in Dariel’s voice appeared instant and true. It choked his words for a moment and then pushed them out with breath of quick anger. “No, I won’t have this conversation with you! What I did at the platforms I did in war against an agent of my family’s enemy. Any guilt for it is mine to measure. That’s all I’ll say. Don’t forget yourself and ask about it again.”

“No, I don’t forget myself,” the leagueman said. He reached out and affectionately squeezed Dariel’s shoulder. He paused like that, so strangely familiar, and pursed his lips in thought. “All right, Your Highness. No more probing questions. Forgive me if I trod awkwardly.” He released Dariel and turned as if to move away. He stopped and turned back, touching a finger to his nose as if a thought had just occurred to him. “One other thing. We won’t be stopping in the barrier isles today. There’s no reason to. The Lothan Aklun are all dead. Every one of them. You recall how Hanish Mein used a contagion to ravage your people? We’ve done something similar here. They weren’t really so hard to kill. Your Tinhadin had said they were like serpents with a thousand heads. Or something like that. As usual with you Akarans, that was an exaggeration.” He chuckled. “So there’s no reason to stop. No one to talk to, you see. They’re dead and swimming into their rest. So we’ll sail on, if you don’t mind, and soon we’ll dine with the Auldek, our new friends. It’s they who matter to us anyway. Like I said, surprises abound, don’t they?”

Dariel did not find the words to stop the leagueman as he walked casually away, flanked, the prince saw, by bodyguards who were suddenly more attentive than they had been before. He was too stunned to call out, to move, to demand an explanation. Sire Neen’s words jostled in his head. But he had heard him. He had understood him.

Rialus, who had turned to the railing as if he might vomit, stammered something. Dariel didn’t make out one word of it, but somehow he knew what he was saying. He just knew. He pulled his gaze away from Sire Neen’s back and looked down at the sea. Yes, just as he thought. There were human bodies in the water after all. In fact, there were many floating bodies. Swimming into their rest. The prince felt the presence of soldiers approaching him from behind. He realized then that he had not seen his Marah guards for some time. Many of them had been belowdecks before the angerwall, and those who had been with him were no longer with him. He knew, without turning, that the group gathering behind him was not made up of his soldiers, but he did not rush to look at them. Instead, he kept eyes on the graveyard that was the sea. There were so many bodies in the waves, all of them adrift on the same tide the
Ambergris
rode, all of them being pulled toward the Other Lands.

A
young league apprentice, Noval, sat waiting for Sire Neen among the plush chairs reserved for leaguemen in their council chambers. Several other officials and naval officers stood or sat nearby. With the exception of a few of Neen’s assistants, all of them had newly arrived from the sailless clipper.

“It all went as planned?” Sire Neen asked as he stepped into the room.

“You saw the bodies,” Noval said. He motioned toward a porthole with a lazy finger. “Up and down the archipelago it’s the same thing.”

Noval had not yet joined the higher ranks of the league and earned the title
sire
, but after this he likely would. Noval grinned, leaning back against his chair’s cushions as if he might fall blissfully asleep. You’ll need to learn to hide emotion like that, Sire Neen thought. He did not really begrudge him his happiness, though. In truth, he could barely contain his own enthusiasm.

“Every Lothan Aklun is a corpse now,” said a captain, presumably the one who had piloted the clipper. “A feast for the crabs and sea worms.”

Noval nodded and concluded, “Yes, it all went as planned. You, Uncle, are a genius.”

Sire Neen pressed his lips together. As much as he wanted a share of the young man’s satisfaction, he could not accept it all without a measure of doubt. “Nothing ever goes entirely as planned,” he said. “Tell me it all and I’ll judge.”

Noval proceeded to describe what had transpired on the barrier isles over the last few days. Listening to the report, Sire Neen had to inhale deep breaths. His heart raced as if he were joyously running. Perhaps in the years to come it would be this feeling he relived during mist trances. Certainly, triumph was a sweeter pleasure than anything else he had yet experienced. The Lothan Aklun food for sea worms? Absolutely amazing. Could he truly believe it?

The Lothan Aklun had seemed invulnerable, proud, greedy. They were aloof in a manner most marked by their … well, by their simple denial of aloofness. He had met their agents on several occasions. Each time they dressed in loose wraps of white cloth that hung on their leanly muscled frames, always bare of foot. They were slight men and women, healthy looking and tanned. Sire Neen had always felt a knot in his abdomen when meeting them. His head tingled in a manner that made him want to flee. Why, it was hard to say.

They smiled and nodded and conducted their business with courteous efficiency. They never invited leaguemen beyond the docks at which they traded their goods, but nothing in their outward appearance indicated threat. They did not even seem to have guards watching over them. This fact alone made Neen’s skin crawl as if with a thousand spiders. Who other than people so secure in their power—with unseen weapons ready to unleash—would act as if they gave no thought to it? That the Lothan Aklun had such an effect on him while outwardly feigning harmlessness had planted in him the first seed of personal animus toward them. This seed had found ready watering in the years since.

And now they were dead. Not so invulnerable after all, it seemed. Now everything that had been theirs belonged to the league. Sire Neen did not know exactly what that meant, but he longed to find out.