Voyage of the Basilisk : A Memoir by Lady Trent (9781429956369) (31 page)

Or perhaps there was more to it than that, after all. He kept glaring at the men who had been teaching Suhail the art of sea-serpent riding, with a look that promised retribution later. Was it because they were taking us from Keonga’s shores? We would not visit any other islands, but perhaps going onto the water was transgression enough. Only … I had the distinct impression that his prohibition had been issued to prevent us from learning anything of the other islands and what might be on them. Why were sea-serpents now included in his ban?

I could not follow the conversation well enough to guess; it was flowing too rapidly for me to comprehend. Instead I watched those around us. Liluakame had assumed a deferential posture, out of respect for the chief, but she was frowning at the sand as if she did not understand his objection. Heali’i, on the other hand, was giving me a significant look. Unfortunately, I did not understand what its significance was.

She widened her eyes at me, eyebrows raised, as if waiting for something. Then she sighed, clearly asking the gods to give her patience. In a crass and unsubtle gesture, she dug one hand into her skirts and took hold of her own groin.

I had settled into the habit of thinking of Heali’i as a woman, for that was the designation I had first given her, and Scirling is not well-equipped to speak of people who are neither male nor female. With that gesture, she reminded me that she was
ke’anaka’i
 … and that such people occupied a particular role in Keongan society.

“Pardon me,” I said, stopping the conversation short. The chief looked at me as if his least favourite oar had suddenly spoken up.

There was no way I could manage the flowery politeness of formal Keongan. I had to make do with what sentences I could cobble together on the spot. “The sea-serpents are the creations of the
naka’i,
” I said, “and I am
ke’anaka’i
. It may be so, that it is not allowed for foreigners to try and ride them. But
ke’anaka’i
do many things that are not allowed: for them, it is meant to be.”

Had I been the chief’s least favourite oar, he would have broken me across the gunwale or flung me into the sea. But I was a person, and for him to argue with me would create a new host of problems for him. Would he deny the intended purpose of
ke’anaka’i
? Heali’i stood only a few paces away, ready to challenge him if he did. Would he deny my status as such? Liluakame stood even closer, married to me under Keongan custom, proof that I was not a woman in their eyes. The elite of their society are hedged about with many restrictions; he could not afford to say anything that might show a lack of respect for the ways of his own people.

Instead he pointed his palm-frond fan at me and spoke in a booming voice. “The gods judge
ke’anaka’i
as well as men and women. They will pass judgment on you.”

Which goes to show, I suppose, that the gods have a perverse sense of humour.

*   *   *

Our oarsmen paddled us out of that bay and around the shore of Keonga, heading to leeward. The fresh water spilling out of a stream by the village left an opening in the reef; we pushed our way through the rougher surf there and passed into waters whose deep hue spoke of the rapid descent of the ground below us. I scanned the waves, but saw no hint of serpents.

The islanders were unperturbed. The canoe in which Suhail and I rode went to what they judged to be a suitable spot, accompanied by two others; the rest had stayed within the reef, their passengers watching us from the lagoon. If I squinted, I could just make out Tom and Abby and Jake, Liluakame and Heali’i. My son gave me a double thumbs-up for encouragement, and despite my nerves, I could not help but smile.

My smile faltered when the drumming began. Keongan drums are relatively small, and they did not resonate well against the base of the canoes, but that did not prevent the beat from seeming as portentous as the ticking of a clock. Despite the warm air, I shivered. Suhail’s grin was as bright as ever, but for the first time I wondered if that expression was as much shield against fear as evidence of its absence.

I fortified myself, as always, with my work. I had brought no notebook with me (as it would only be ruined in the water) and had no surety that I would live to set down any observations I might make today, but that was no reason to give up thinking like a naturalist. I kept watch across the waves, thinking about the environment below us, and was therefore the first to see the slick curve of a coil break the surface.

“There,” I said, and if it came out low with tension, that was preferable to an undignified squeak.

The drumming changed its beat. Suhail rose from his bench, balancing easily against the canoe’s slight rocking. “Yes, I see it. Now if it will just oblige us by coming nearer…”

I rose as well, for we would have to move quickly when our moment came. The beast was properly visible now, a sinuous shadow against the blue of the water. Its seemingly aimless wanderings were reassuring to me; I had seen for myself how an angry sea-serpent moves, and knew this one was curious rather than hostile. That, however, would soon change.

It broached the surface just beyond one of our accompanying canoes, its head appearing briefly before diving below again. I saw the tendrils we must grasp. “Be ready,” Suhail said—quite unnecessarily, but the exhortation was as much for himself as for me.

The serpent dove, circled away, came back. I found I was holding my breath: a foolish impulse. The other two canoes had moved apart, their drummers falling silent. We were the only ones remaining. And as it drew close—

“Now!” Suhail and I cried as one, and dove in.

It was a mad dash through the water. In some ways, this is the hardest part of riding a sea-serpent; you must anticipate when its head will rise high enough for you to seize hold, and then launch yourself for it early enough to intercept. Suhail was soon far ahead of me, but I thundered on, arms windmilling through the waves. I saw the serpent’s head—a giant eye, staring at me with what I fancy was utter bafflement—and then it was going past, a quick slide of scales, and there was nothing for me to grab—

There! The very end of a tendril brushed across my fingers. I seized it with both hands, then found myself dragged briefly under the surface as the serpent towed me along. I needed a second hold, but there was none nearby. I began to haul myself up the tendril as if climbing a rope. I had drawn heads like this one; I knew the spacing of those extremities, and would have a better chance of seizing a second one closer to the root.

The serpent broke the surface again as I neared my goal; the fresh air came as a relief. My unwilling mount did not like the tug that resulted when my body dragged through the water, and preferred the lesser resistance of air. I slipped against the scales, rolling to the side; then I had another tendril in my left hand, and could plant my knees against the serpent’s body and take stock at last of my situation.

I was alone on the serpent’s back. The canoes had drawn off; a splashing to one side was Suhail. He had missed his hold, but was gamely trying for another pass.

The tendrils in my hands were fat and slick, and I could not forget that they were parts of a living creature’s body, but apart from that, they were not much different from reins. The serpent was not trained as a horse was to respond to the simple laying of the reins along his neck, but I could steer him as an inexperienced rider might: by pulling very hard on one side.

This was not quite as effective as I might have hoped. I felt like a child again, astride a horse much too large for me, who took little notice of my weak efforts. But it was not wholly useless, either. Little by little, the serpent turned toward Suhail.

He got hold of one tendril as we passed. The rest, however, were beneath him in the water. Suhail began a grab for one of these, but aborted it; I found out later that he had made the same calculation as I, which was that for him to take hold that far from my own position would encourage the serpent to roll, toppling me from my perch.

At this point I made a gamble. I dropped my left rein, transferring that hand to the other tendril, and then reached my right hand out to Suhail.

It very nearly landed us both back in the sea. I am not exceptionally strong, and I lacked good traction against the serpent’s hide; its scales cut the knees of my trousers to ribbons, and some of my skin beneath. Suhail’s weight almost dragged me down. But the serpent inadvertently assisted us, rolling to its left, which brought Suhail upward; and when our scrambling about was done, we held three tendrils between us, sharing the one in the middle.

Whereupon I realized that we were, indeed, riding a dragon.

I cannot honestly recommend the practice to my readers. Apart from the number of Keongans who have been killed attempting this very feat, it is not very comfortable. The ragged cuts on my knees and elbows stung unmercifully. Every time the serpent dove, I was buffeted by the water until it realized the error of its ways and surfaced once more. Again and again it drew in water and expelled it in a blast, for that was its defense against what troubled it, and the beast’s mind could not encompass the fact that
this
annoyance could not be disposed of in such fashion; but it came near to working regardless, for the shuddering of the serpent’s body whenever this happened threatened to dislodge us. There was no moment of the entire experience that was not a precarious struggle to stay aboard.

And yet for all of that, it was one of the grandest experiences of my life. I lost all awareness of time and distance; I had no idea how long it had been since I dove into the sea, nor where we had gone in the interim. There was only the sun and the water, the serpent beneath my knees and the wind in my face, islands appearing at unpredictable bearings and then vanishing when we turned, and Suhail at my side. He laughed like a madman any moment we were not submerged, and if I did not do likewise, it is only because I was too breathless for laughter.
I was riding a dragon.
In that moment, I felt invincible.

Then the serpent dove once more. I saw a shadow in the water up ahead, a dark and irregular oval. I had just enough time to think,
Oh, it is a cave
—

And then the serpent dragged us inside.

PART FOUR

In which we uncover secrets both ancient and modern

SIXTEEN

In the cave—Ill-omened Rahuahane—Eggs in the water—A tunnel leading in—Hidden ruins—Firestone—A shadow outside—The uses of dragonbone

Had my brain worked only a little faster, I would have let go the instant I realized a cave lay ahead.

Every previous time the serpent dove, I had known that if I ran short of air, all I had to do was release my grip and kick for the surface. The beast was reluctant to dive very deeply while two people had hold of its head, so there was little chance of a repeat drowning. (My peril would come after, when the serpent was free to turn around and seek me out.) In a cave, however, there was no such safety: I was trapped, and the serpent was dragging its body along the roof of the cave, attempting (with very near success) to scrape its burden off.

If the preceding minutes had been one of the most glorious experiences of my life, the next few seconds were among the most dreadful. I wrestled with an impossible choice: should I relinquish my hold and hope I could swim free of the cave in time? Or should I stay where I was, and trust that the serpent would emerge into open water before it shredded me on the stone above?

In moments of such crisis, the mind becomes oddly focused. I remember calculating, in a very cold-blooded fashion, the likelihood that even if I escaped the cave, I would not make it to the surface before my air was depleted. In open water, however, I could hope that the canoes might find me. I had been revived from near death once before, after all. If I drowned inside the cave, however, I was surely doomed.

All of this passed through my mind in mere seconds. It could not go on for longer; indecision kept me where I was, and then we were too far into the cave for me to have any hope of escape under my own power. My only remaining chance of survival lay with the serpent, who might yet drag me to safety—if it did not grind me to powder first.

We often speak of hope as a “ray of light.” In this instance, that was less metaphorical than usual. The cave was not entirely dark; sun came in where we had entered and was refracted through the murk. But there was more light than a single opening could account for; other beams pierced the water here and there, and up ahead I saw more. The cave was in fact a tunnel.

With a surge of its great body, the serpent shot through into the warm, shallow waters of a lagoon. I did not wait to see where it might be going; the instant I saw light above my head, I kicked hard off the creature’s body and shot for the surface. The air that filled my lungs a moment later tasted sweeter than I can possibly describe.

I had lost track of Suhail during all of this, not because he had gone anywhere, but because the situation had so overwhelmed my thoughts, I could spare none for him. (An unlovely admission, but a true one.) When I turned to look, however, I found him floating only a meter or two away, gasping for breath and wild in the eyes at our near miss.

A miss which might yet turn to a hit, if we did not act. “Quick,” I cried, “out of the water”—for we still had an angry sea-serpent to contend with.

Land, at least, was not far away. To the left of the tunnel’s exit there was a gentle enough slope that we might ascend it. Suhail and I clawed our way out of the water, scraping our palms, for what lay before us was a coral face rather than a kindly beach. Plants had secured a footing on it in places, but this was not the volcanic terrain I was accustomed to, which told me I was not on Keonga. We had, without meaning to, violated the edict restricting us to that island. But which island were we on?

Still breathing hard, I surveyed our place of landing. The coral stretched above the waves to either side of us, a narrow and barren ring enclosing a lagoon scarcely deep enough for the serpent to swim in. (It was still thrashing about, looking for the creatures that had so vexed it.) Within the ring rose the more familiar shape of a volcano’s mass, badly gouged where landslides had sent its matter into the sea. It was not a large island, forming a green spot in the midst of its encircling coral—like the pupil of an eye.