The Red Sea (39 page)

Smoke rose from the cinders that had once been homes. The wounded lay within the temple by the dozens. Scores of the dead were being dragged down to the shore. Exhausted to the core, Dante could do no more than witness the damage. As night fell on Kandak, Niles found him and told him the Tauren had continued to retreat.

"They still have the numbers," Dante said. "If they rally, they could launch another strike."

Niles grinned, his teeth bright in the darkness. "They won't have enough to take the town. Not with Vordon and so many of his Harvesters lost."

"What about when they get back to Deladi?"

"Many of the High Tower's tolaka have no interest in Vordon's conquest of the island. Or in his dealings with the Mallish. Now that he's dead, the alliance he built will crack like a nut." He nodded to the contingent of Boat-Growers stoking their camp fires on the beach. "And ours will grow."

All those who weren't out on watch or tending to the wounded began a slow migration to the Boat-Growers' fires. Inevitably, a feast broke out. It wasn't much of a meal—san paste, dried fish, and fresh fruit plucked from the surrounding jungle—but people passed around stoppered gourds filled with fermented fruit juice. Others sang songs and told stories about what had happened that day or during wars long past.

Dante joined them, glad for the reprieve from responsibility. As he listened to them sing and tell stories, he heard someone call a name he'd all but forgotten: Nassea.

A young woman turned, dark hair spilling down her back. Dante crossed the sand to her, waiting as she concluded her conversation with the woman who'd called to her.

"Excuse me," Dante said. "You're Nassea?"

The young woman nodded, folding her hands in front of you. "I knew your father. He was fair to everyone."

"That's what brings me here. We have an acquaintance in common. Juleson, of the
Sword of the South
."

Nassea's eyes seemed to shrink. "Juleson, he's your friend?"

"I wouldn't go that far. But I owe him a favor. He wanted me to tell you hello. And that the offer he made you—it still stands."

"And what am I supposed to do with that?"

Dante shrugged. "Nothing, if nothing's what you want. But he fought in the battle. If you want to speak to him, he's here."

Nassea glanced over his shoulder, as if Juleson might be lurking right behind him, then nodded. "Thank you for telling me."

She smiled tightly and walked off. As she departed, Winden limped up beside him. Between scouting, triage, and assessing the state of the lava (which had threatened to absorb the temple, but was now cooling and purple-black), he'd hardly seen her since the Tauren retreat.

"You know Nassea?" she said.

"Just passing along a message." Dante jerked his chin in the direction of the temple plaza. "Neat trick back there. I was sure you were dead."

"I almost was." She took a swig of fruit-based spirits. "But I saw my people falling back. I ran into the jungle. Snarled the way so the Tauren couldn't follow. While I was there, do you know what I saw?"

"Trees?"

"A fox ant. Most ants form great colonies, but fox ants live alone—unless they are threatened, or they want to steal the grub of other ants. Then, they walk into a swarm just like they belong there. Fox ants don't look that much like the other ants, but they must be close enough to fool the swarms, because they come and go as they please. Even when they are carrying off the colony's young."

"So rather than rejoining us, you thought it was wiser to try to sneak into the middle of an enemy swarm?"

She shrugged, waving one hand. "Your grand maneuvers, none of them were working. Neither was our magic. I thought I would try something simpler."

"Well, try not to get a big head about this," Dante said. "But you and your fox ant
won us the war."

"Don't be stupid. If you hadn't been attacking them on two sides, I never would have been able to get close. If not for the Boat-Growers and your sailing friends, we wouldn't have been able to counterattack in the first place." She gestured toward the trees down the shore. "Those trees, do you think the trunk is all that matters? They need their leaves, too. Their roots. Their branches. Their fruit. All of these things work together. Take one away, and soon enough, the trees will die."

"Are you always this philosophical?"

"Only on days when I've almost died five times."

"Ah, so now you understand why I'm always so opinionated."

Winden smiled. Smoke blew past them, but it had the welcoming smell of a cook fire, not the acridity of painted planks. "He fought for years for this. Dedicated his life to it. He would have been proud of us."

Dante nodded, gazing out on the gentle waters of the Bay of Peace. He wouldn't say he'd forgiven his father. He wasn't sure he wanted to—or that he needed to. He'd been fine with things for a long time. Much more so than he'd known.

But after seeing the island—its beauties and its horrors—he understood, at last, all the things that had taken the old man away.

* * *

For as much as Blays tended to sleep, something about a battle had him up early the next day. That morning was no exception. The sun had hardly lifted itself from the eastern sea before Blays ran up to the house the two of them had been granted and knocked stridently on its frame until Dante stirred.

"Latest from the scouts," Blays announced. "The Tauren camped five miles from here. They struck out at first light. Heading south."

Dante absorbed this the best his war- and liquor-addled mind could manage. "Which is toward Deladi."

"With such a keen mind for details, it's no wonder they put you in charge of Narashtovik. Their retreat could be a ruse of some kind, but if they keep it up for another few hours, they won't be able to strike back today, at least."

"I don't think it's a gambit. They've made too many other enemies. If they lose any more of their army, they might not be able to defend their city."

"Probably right. Either way, I thought the news would help you sleep easier." Blays walked away, oblivious to the daggers Dante was staring in his back.

With his command of the shadows renewed, Dante saw to the wounded in the temple, aided by Winden and Dess. They were more skilled at growing plants than mending flesh, but there had been so many injuries that every bit helped. It was somber work. Some of the warriors' limbs were so mangled there was no fixing them. Others had suffered rattled minds Dante couldn't soothe, which he hoped were only temporary.

Despite this, they were able to restore most of the injured to full health, or at least close enough for their bodies to handle the rest. Outside, the mood in Kandak was one of quiet resolve. The storm had hit. Much had been ruined. But it had passed. Now, they would rebuild.

The magma at the temple lay dormant, but after seeing how pressure could grow beneath the ground, Dante spent his remaining strength sealing up subterranean tubes and fortifying the layers of rock. He'd just about finished when Naran padded up to him. The man had a bandage the size of a sail wrapped around his head, but appeared hale. They exchanged greetings.

"Pardon my haste," the captain said. "But when do you expect to be ready to weigh anchor?"

Dante smiled crookedly. "We're still cleaning up the wreckage of the last battle. You're that eager to go feed Gladdic your sword?"

Naran shrugged his narrow, well-appointed shoulders. "I'm in charge of two ships now. Sixty men. I need to set my schedule."

"Assuming the Tauren are gone for good, there's only a few things left for us to do. It shouldn't take more than a few days."

"This cure of yours. You're positive it works?"

"I took it days ago and I still don't see any sign of the sickness." Dante tipped his head toward the bay. "But if you're afraid for your men, I'm sure no one would be offended if you'd rather wait at sea."

"Your word on its effectiveness is all I need. But I have something else in mind. This morning, I was approached by Niles and an old man with curly white hair. For our assistance in the battle, every man in my crew has been granted a station known as 'rixaka.'"

"Foreign family. You can come and go in Kandak as you please."

Naran raised one kempt eyebrow, nodding significantly. "If so, and if we no longer have to fear the sickness, that opens up some rather intriguing possibilities for trade."

Dante chuckled. "Sounds like you and your crew are only a lot of hard work away from being rich men. Would that change your mind about pursuing Gladdic?"

"I'm afraid not. Whatever our future, I could never accept it knowing it was purchased with Captain Twill's death."

"Fair enough. I'd like to build these people a few fortifications. After that, there's someone I need to visit, but maybe you can help with that. Ever heard of Spearpoint Rock?"

While Naran set to work on finding a less strenuous approach to the northern island, Dante hunted down Niles, who was busy arranging a mission to bring the evacuated citizens back to Kandak.

"The Tauren are gone for now," Dante said. "But it only takes one lunatic to drive them back here. I'm thinking it's time this city had a wall."

Niles tugged on his goatee. "Walls aren't much use against a nethermancer, are they?"

"That depends on whether you have any to defend it."

"True enough. Well, we might as well put ourselves in position to succeed, eh? Do as you will."

Enclosing the entire town would have taken a week, if not more. Instead, Dante took a cue from Narashtovik's Ingate, which encircled the city's inner core. Under normal circumstances, it wouldn't have been easy to erect a wall within a built-up city. But the silver lining of the battle was that so many houses had burned down that Dante had plenty of open space to make use of. Foot by foot, he raised a line of purple-black stone, shaping gaps for gates as well as flood paths to accommodate the tropical rainfall.

While he worked on this, Winden and Dess harvested the Star Tree. This remained a slow process, yielding no more than ten fruit per day. With patience, though, all those afflicted by the ronone would be cured. With nothing else to occupy him, Blays made use of the many swords left behind by the dead or fleeing Tauren to set up an informal training ground, showing every warrior who was interested the basics of combat with a blade.

Four days after the battle, as Dante put the finishing touches on his simple wall, an exhausted scout returned from the south. The Tauren had crossed through the Dreaming Peaks, taking their occupying troops with them. Niles sent a group of warriors into the wilds of the mountains to inform the monks and the Dreamers they could go home.

"I have similar thoughts," Dess said to Dante. "I should be back with my people. We live too close to the Tauren. There's always the chance of treachery."

"You certainly don't need my permission," he said.

"But so few of my people are cured."

It would have been plausible to establish an ongoing trade route. The Boat-Growers found it easier than most to reach Kandak—to get there as fast as they had, they'd carried their ultra-light canoes up into the mountains, then followed the rivers to the northeast shores and sailed the Current into the Bay of Peace—but the journey was no trivial matter.

Dante considered her. "Do you have a proposition?"

Dess lowered her eyes. "Kaval's favor was given to the Kandeans, not me. But I have to ask. Will you show me how to grow the Star Tree?"

"You risked everything for us. So I henceforth declare that Kaval favors the Boat-Growers, too."

With Winden's help, he showed Dess the inner workings of a seed. As he filled the innermost chamber with ether, and the pale sprout broke free from the dirt, Dess' eyes filled with tears.

Using her copper trowel, Winden dug up the sapling and potted it in a small wooden box. Finished, she held it out to Dess.

"Without the strength of the Boat-Growers, the Kandeans would be gone," Winden said. "With this plant, the Kandeans hope to make the Boat-Growers even stronger."

Dess accepted the box, holding it in both hands. She glanced at Dante, anxious. "The Star Trees, what if they die again? And we have no one who can use the ether?"

He lifted one shoulder, a half shrug. "Guess you'll have to kidnap a Mallish priest."

Dess nodded thoughtfully.

"Don't actually kidnap a Mallish priest," Dante said. "I have several monks versed in the ether—and far more skilled with it than I am. Once I'm home, I'll send one of them here to offer training to your Harvesters."

"Thank you. There is no finer gift than freedom." She turned to Winden. "That is why I pledge to help you regrow your Basket. So the Kandeans will always have everything they need."

Winden broke into a smile. "This is how it should always have been."

Dess gathered up her people. With the Boat-Growers' canoes having all been bifurcated to be used as shields, they borrowed Kandean boats, with the promise to replace them with the lighter harvested versions on their next visit. Many of the Kandeans halted their work cleaning up the town to see the Boat-Growers off. As their new allies departed, the Kandeans broke into their farewell song, bone flutes carrying on the wind.

* * *

With the Boat-Growers gone, the Dreaming Peaks restored to the Dreamers, and Kandak under reconstruction, there was little to require Dante or Blays' assistance. Though a part of Dante yearned to move on and begin his travels home, the thought of leaving the island caused him to consider it anew, as he had the first time: as a paradise. One that rivaled anything he'd seen, be it in the lands of the living or of the dead.

He allowed himself a single day to enjoy it. Swimming in the tranquil turquoise bay. Lying in the sun. Bathing in the hot springs. Hiking out into the jungle, both to check on the Star Tree, and for the simple desire to spend a few final hours in a forest of unsurpassed greenery and vibrancy. When the modest rasp of the surf woke him in the morning, it was the most rested he'd ever felt.