Vergence (9 page)

“Pardon?”

“Chishiw. Chishiw,” the man said.

Ebryn nodded back uncertainly. “Shishew.”

“I do not know this way of speaking. I am told this word means please eat,” the large man to his right said, turning to face them. He had a deep resonant voice and spoke with an easy rhythm, the kind of voice that might belong to a great orator or accomplished bard.

“Oh, I see. Thanks.”

The table held a motley collection of dishes and drink containers. Nearest to him was a bowl with a light brown coloured broth accompanied by two small golden yellow cakes on a platter. Another held an assortment of leaves in various hues of green and purple surrounding small cubes of some soft white substance and drizzled with a sticky translucent brown sauce that looked like honey but smelt strongly of vinegar. A third dish exuded a pungent aroma, the bowl filled with thin worm-like white glistening tubules sitting in a steaming gelatinous mass that looked like partially congealed blood.

Ebryn looked to see what his fellow guests were eating. His bejewelled neighbour picked delicately at the carcass of a small roasted bird, wrapping each mouthful in a thin strip of flat-bread. Pushed to one side were the largely uneaten remnants of the same leafy dish as the one sitting in front of him.

His bigger neighbour tipped a mess of pale tubes and red sauce into his mouth from a bowl cupped in two large hands. Ebryn didn't feel particularly hungry, but picked up the broth because it gave him something to do with his hands, and looked by far the least disgusting option.

“I am Addae Bohma,” the large man said between mouthfuls. “What is your name?”

Ebryn found he didn't want to claim Conant as his home here. For too many years he had endured being called Conant's bastard behind his back, and sometimes to his face.

He supposed it must be a natural conclusion, for why else would a nobleman take on a child as his ward? When he had tentatively broached the accusation with Sarl, during one visit to the smithy, the blacksmith had chuckled, saying he didn't think it likely Lord Conant ever had any children.

“Ebryn,” he said, deciding quickly. “I'm from Fyrenar.”

Addae nodded. “Yes, you have nothing of the likeness or manner of the Icisori.”

Ebryn inclined his neck to look at his neighbour. His skin was so dark it almost looked black in the weak light, making his expression hard to read.

“Where are you from?” Ebryn asked.

Addae paused before answering. “My people are of the Numerian highlands. All the nations and lands are called Epitu by these who live beyond our stars.”

Ebryn wasn't sure what Addae meant, so he took refuge in his food. The biscuits tasted of lemon and some other subtle flavouring, possibly an unfamiliar herb, but he found them pleasant enough.

“Do you think all these people are travelling to Vergence? I mean to the academy?”

“All are going to Vergence,” Addae said. “Who can say after that?”

“What about you, are you going for the academy?”

“Yes,” Addae said.

An enormous belch from the hairy creature opposite overwhelmed conversation and music.

“Good meat,” it said loudly, rubbing the front of its neck with one long-fingered hand as everybody at the table turned to look. “When I have greatness at Vergence, this I will eat on each day.”

Nervous laughter sounded from the length of the table as everybody turned to look. The pale woman opposite turned her head away, flinching as a man stepped up beside her, and slammed a goblet noisily down on the table surface. He had the same pale skin and dark curly hair, and in the half light looked almost identical to her.

Ebryn thought she looked more anxious than disgusted, while he stood with bright red cheeks, his chest thrust out, swaying on his feet, and scowling at the creature.

“He is Muruon—” Addae said in a matter of fact tone.

“Muruon? Who?”

“The one who eats noisily is of Muruon. It is the place of his home — I do not know his name or his kind.”

“What about those two over there? Do you know who they are?” Ebryn asked.

“He is called Romain Marus,” Addae said. “With him is his sister. She is called Paz. They are of Deldeon.”

“He looks like he's upset — angry.”

Addae grinned. “He does.”

Ebryn had just placed his bowl back on the table when a tall man, carrying a long staff and dressed in a dark green cloak, entered the circle in the centre of the table, and tapped three times on the deck. The man had a long face with a hooked nose and sallow skin.

Addae stepped up to the table beside Ebryn. “This one is Kurkuora. He is—”

“The ship's pilot. I recognised the colour of his clothes. It's the same as the one worn by the pilot who brought us to Icisor.”

Addae nodded, “Yes, he is the pilot of the ship.”

Kurkuora waited until they were silent.

“We have a tradition on this ship. On the final voyage to Vergence each year we are privileged to carry many fine applicants for the great academy there. At this celebration you are invited to demonstrate something of your skill for the enjoyment of all. Let us start here, and work our way around the table,” Kurkuora said, gesturing towards a woman standing near him.

She wore pale blue robes of a light fabric covering her from head to foot, with a veil across most of her face. Standing motionless, she turned her head down, until even her eyes couldn't be seen beneath the fold of her headscarf.

Addae leant close to Ebryn, speaking quietly. “This one is called Aara. She is of Deldeon.”

“The same place as those two?”

“She is of a different people.”

Kurkuora cleared his throat. “This is good practice for you Aara. I know Saray. If you were not capable, she would not have sent you.”

She nodded once and fumbled for a small paring knife on the table. Her arm shook visibly as she held it out, with the knife resting on the palm of her hand, speaking low words in a language Ebryn didn't recognise.

A faint glow, dimmer than a were-light, appeared around the knife. All eyes were fixed on her, waiting for something more to happen. Ebryn watched carefully, half expecting to see it vanish.

“Look at the knives,” Addae said. “She is a finder.”

Every knife along the table glowed faintly, a light almost lost against the reflected gleam of the table surface. On the far side of the table Romain's scowl hardened.

“Ah, very good,” Kurkuora said, “very subtle. Now who would like to be next?”

A burly young man stepped forward. “I'll have a go.”

He moved into the circle inside the table, carrying one of the wooden lamp poles. Bending down, he snapped it in half over his knee, then took the longer piece and snapped that again. He dropped the pieces on the floor and grinned in the direction of Lim. He had a round, open face, framed by shoulder length brown hair.

“Do you know this one?” Addae asked. “He is called Jure. He is from your lands.”

“Fyrenar? No. But by the look of him I expect he comes from the western kingdoms. That's a long way from where I live — I should say lived.”

“This can be tricky, and doesn't always work,” Jure said as he retreated from the centre.

At first nothing happened. Jure gestured and chanted, until Ebryn could see a fine sweat building on his forehead. Eventually one of the sections slithered towards the others, slowly at first, then all moved together quickly as splinters moulded cleanly into place, and fracture lines healed over. As the last lines vanished, the lamp pole rose until it was standing upright, completely repaired.

“Ha, fixing wood?” Romain called out from the far side. “Try fixing this.”

A brilliant light appeared between Romain's hands, and with a ripping sound a dazzling arc flashed across the space between him and the post. The top half of the newly repaired stave exploded, and a dozen smoking pieces clattered across the deck in all directions.

Paz put a restraining hand on Romain's arm, but he shook it off. Ebryn realised he'd started summoning a second bolt just as the brilliant glare reappeared between his hands, but this time much more powerful.

Alarmed that the next strike might shatter the deck, Ebryn reacted instinctively, casting a warding shield across the space inside the table, and anchoring it against the structure of the ship just as the second bolt struck.

Fine glowing ribbons of pure white light crackled across the surface of his ward, dozens of threads fractured the air for yards around the impact, some arching backwards, and dimly through the glare he saw Romain snatch his hands back as if burnt. Ebryn felt the shock of the impact against his senses and a blast of air against his face, but his shield held.

The years of training with master Yale took over, and he had a second, stronger ward around himself and Addae before the last stuttering flare died away. Kurkuora stepped smoothly between the gap in the tables, stopping just short of Ebryn's first ward with one hand raised.

“Please, my good fellow, enough,” Kurkuora said, speaking calmly and looking at Romain, but with a clear edge in his tone.

Romain stepped backwards, glaring red-faced at Kurkuora, shaking his hands. “Tell him that. I'm the one who got hurt.”

Kurkuora glanced towards Captain Lim. “We should stop now. It is time to leave.”

“I wasn't going to stay here anyway. I didn't pay to come on this tub so I could share meals with disgusting animals, and be expected to do tricks for my supper, like some … like some beggar.”

Paz tried to put a hand on Romain's arm again, but he shoved her roughly, and stalked away. She looked like all the blood had drained from her face, and her hands shook as she righted a toppled glass.

“I'm so sorry,” she said, her voice so quiet Ebryn could hardly hear. “He's not normally like this, he's had too much to drink.”

As though her words had broken some kind of paralysis, the other people around the table took deep breaths, and started to drift away in small groups towards the stairs. Captain Lim stood at the head of the table, with a fixed smile on his face, bowing at his departing guests. Ebryn thought he looked like a man putting on a display of satisfaction after being forced to swallow something poisonous.

Addae accompanied Ebryn down, chuckling. “You did well my friend, your speed is worthy of the finest of my people.”

“I'm not so sure. I've spoiled the feast — it finished early because of me. The captain looked very upset.”

“Do not worry. It was not for your doing Kurkuora sent us away, it was the anger in Romain.”

“But if I'd been more careful he might not have been so angry—”

“Had you not prevented him,” Addae said, “had he harmed this ship, you and I might not reach Vergence on this journey.”

“I really wanted a chance to see all the others show us what they could do,” Ebryn said.

“Yes. This I would also like to see.”

“What about yours? What were you planning on showing?” Ebryn asked.

Addae paused at the bottom of the flight of stairs to let others pass. “What is this flying thing you have, it goes near light in darkness?”

“Do you mean a moth?” Ebryn asked.

“Yes, moth,” Addae said, cupping his hands to demonstrate the size. “In my land we have the mendnyi, like the moth, yet it is this big, like one of your great birds.”

Something brown and fuzzy launched itself from Addae's hand, buzzing softly, and plunged over the edge of the ship to disappear quickly into the darkness.

“It is like my home now,” Addae said. “Fighting and fat mendnyi.”

Sash

T
HE NEXT MORNING EBRYN
woke from a deep dreamless sleep. He sat up disorientated and narrowly avoided cracking his head on the top of his bunk, staring around blankly for a few seconds before realising where he was.

By the light of day his cabin looked much smaller than it had the previous evening. He felt as if his eyes and mouth were thick with sleep. His head seemed to spin when he moved and the sensation of falling he'd experienced on the sky-skiff had returned.

He was barely up when Hui-ta tapped softly on the door and entered carrying breakfast on a platter. There were sweetened breads, baked with chopped nuts and fruits, and a flagon of water flavoured with lemon and a warming spice. It burnt slightly on the way down but settled his stomach.

When he had finished he headed out of his cabin and down towards the lower decks. Hui-ta had suggested he might try the second but last deck if he wanted a better view or a walk somewhere peaceful. Unlike the upper decks where the limited number of viewing platforms were often crowded by crewmen going about their work or obscured by rigging, and the lateral fan-shaped sails.

On the lower decks walkways encircled nearly the entire vessel, two yards wide with generous headroom. The outside of the walkway was protected by midriff height railings. Large triangular ribs cut through from floor to ceiling at regular intervals, each as wide as the width of the walkway. The sections between pairs of ribs felt almost like discrete chambers, connecting at each rib via a shallow alcove which formed a narrow passage from one segment to the next.