Authors: Barb Hendee,J. C. Hendee

Tags: #Fantasy

Child of a Dead God (16 page)

BOOK: Child of a Dead God

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Without waiting for acknowledgment, he lifted his hands from the root-tail’s base.

All these changes meant the hkomas of his ship would need to stop and linger until the other vessel moved on. As he left the heart-room, Easàille came down the aft starboard stairs. He nodded quickly at her coy smile and headed back toward his quarters.

As the ship had slowed and anchored, Chap looked over the starboard rail-wall at a wild shore of gray-tinged sand and beached seaweed with nothing but a thick tree-line behind.

No harbor. Not even a small enclave. And only a rise of high mountains beyond granite foothills broke the skyline.

Chap perched on a storage chest with Wynn behind him and watched the skiff being lowered into the water. He grew more puzzled and unsettled with each passing moment. The day before, Sgäile had announced this unscheduled stop.

“What is he up to?” Wynn asked.

I do not know
.

Sgäile, Osha, Leesil, and Magiere came up the stairwell below the aftcastle, seemingly all talking at once. Osha looked openly confused, but Magiere appeared angry.

“What are you hiding?” she demanded. “Leesil’s just supposed to go ashore with you, and you won’t tell us why?”

Leesil stood behind her, waiting for an answer. He and Magiere had dressed for cold weather with new coats over their hauberks and weapons strapped to their backs. Sgäile shouldered a canvas pack with a coil of rope lashed down its side and his open distress surprised Chap.

“You were not even to come!” Sgäile said to Magiere.

“That’s done with, already,” she answered, “and not open to debate.”

Leesil, caught between the two of them, let out a deep sigh.

“I have told you all that I am permitted to,” Sgäile returned. “This voyage was arranged by Brot’ân’duivé—and Cuirin’nên’a, Léshil’s mother. I know little of their intentions, but I swore to Brot’ân’duivé that I would carry out his instructions.”

Chap caught the strain in Sgäile’s voice, driven by more than Magiere’s bullying, and wondered at Sgäile’s reluctance for whatever task was at hand. Letting Magiere, or any human, become involved in the affairs of his people was no new burden for Sgäile.

“It is not something I can speak of,” Sgäile added. “And not just because of human presence. Before now, this task has only been for the Anmaglâhk. Even Léshil’s involvement is unprecedented.”

“Yes?” Magiere answered. “All the more reason for me to come along.”

“All right,” Leesil sighed. “It’s settled, so leave it alone.”

Sgäile slowly shook his head. “We will travel inland from here.”

“How long?” Magiere asked.

“Days.”

“Sgäile!” she warned.

He pursed his lips. “Three days in, three days out—considering extra precautions for
your
presence. The hkomas and crew will wait with the ship.”

“Six days,” Magiere whispered, turning away.

Chap realized he had witnessed the tail end of an extended argument, and he tried to dip into Sgäile’s memory. He caught a flash of a dark place where only a glimmer like lantern light reflected off a strange sheer wall of silver. Then came a brief glimpse of a tan elven hand holding a dull black oblong of stone, perhaps ground smooth by the tides over years. For an instant, Chap thought he saw marks scratched into its surface.

The memories sank from Sgäile’s thoughts and beyond Chap’s awareness.

Chap’s companions were not the only ones who had changed during their time among the an’Cróan; Sgäile had been altered as well. The mind of a seasoned anmaglâhk should have been nearly blank of rising memories. These brief glimpses showed that Sgäile’s self-control was wavering. It was not a good sign.

Wynn closed on Magiere, and Chap looked them both up and down. No one had asked Wynn to pack for this journey.

The little sage had hardened much in two seasons, but not enough. A time might come when she would be left behind for more than six days. Although Chap’s foremost concern was watching over Magiere and Leesil, the thought of Wynn left unguarded worried him more and more.

He had tried now and then to goad Wynn playfully, to make her assert herself. That day on the deck he had not anticipated her grabbing his tail and sending them both spinning into a tangle. In retrospect, he should have considered the crew’s reaction to a human tussling with a majay-hì. What came of that was his fault—his foolishness—born of concern for Wynn. Still, it was all he could think of to continue her slow climb to greater internal strength.

“If you are going inland,” Wynn said bluntly, “then I am going as well.”

Sgäile finally noticed the little sage, and Osha’s long face clouded over in silence.

“No,” Sgäile answered flatly. “It is enough that I relented to Magiere’s . . . request.”

Magiere glanced about the ship. “We’re not leaving Wynn with this crew.”

“Osha will watch over her,” Sgäile countered, and turned to his young companion. “Do you accept this purpose?”

Brief shock washed over Osha’s face, and he nodded. “Yes, I accept.”

“I do not!” Wynn retorted. “Where are you going? And why did you wait until now to tell us any of this?”

Sgäile’s jaw muscles tightened as he turned back to Magiere.

“We travel swiftly. Even if I were of a mind for another outsider, the scholar would slow us. She stays . . . but I give my word she will be safe with Osha.”

“Wynn . . . ,” Magiere began but trailed off.

Wynn’s expression drained, losing even indignation. “You want to travel quickly.”

“I want to get back as soon as possible,” Magiere corrected. “And move on.”

Leesil settled a hand on Wynn’s shoulder. “I know this sounds insane, but Sgäile wouldn’t ask unless it was important, and I—”

“You want to know what Brot’an arranged,” Wynn finished.

“Brot’an can rot for all I care!” Leesil snapped, and then calmed himself. “But if my mother’s involved in this . . .”

“I understand,” Wynn said, looking down at the deck.

Chap sympathized with her, but he had larger issues to worry about— particularly if all this was more of Brot’an’s scheming. He tried again to dip into Sgäile’s memories.

This time he caught flickering images of Wynn in Crijheäiche and Ghoivne Ajhâjhe, asking questions, nosing about . . . and then perched upon the city’s shoreside embankment, scribbling in one of her journals.

Indeed, Sgaile’s composure was slipping. He did not want Wynn on this journey, but not for the reason he had given. Once again, Sgäile was caught between his caste’s ways and whatever Brot’ân’duivé had pressed him into—something Sgäile did not want Wynn recording.

I will go with them,
Chap projected, stepping in beside her,
and tell you everything when we return
.

A bit of mischief at such a notion filled Wynn’s eyes as she crouched and cupped his face in her hands. She began to say something, but Chap cut her off.

Stay with Osha
.

Wynn looked up at the others. “You should get started.”

Magiere frowned, as if wondering at Wynn’s sudden compliance, and glared down at Chap. It was clear to Chap that she knew exactly what had passed silently between them.

Magiere turned and headed for the rail-wall. “We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

The hkomas crossed his arms, and Sgäile would not even look at him. Osha stepped in protectively behind Wynn as Chap trotted off behind Magiere.

A young woman with a thick braid and oversized boots gazed at him with anxious eyes. But Chap ignored her and arched up, hooking his forepaws on the rail-wall’s top near the rope ladder. There he waited so he might climb onto Leesil’s back.

Leesil raised his feathery eyebrows. “No, you stay here.”

Chap wrinkled a jowl. Since when was he to be treated like a dog? He was the guardian of his charges, and neither of them had anything to say about it. He barked twice, loudly, for “no.”

Magiere stepped through the rail-wall gate, one foot settling on the ladder. “You can’t climb down by yourself, and we’re not carrying you.”

She swung her other leg over and began climbing down. Chap barked a succession of angry yips.

Leesil followed Magiere, and Chap considered biting the back of his breeches. Sgäile looked uncomfortable as he stepped through the rail-wall gate.

“Apologies,” he said to Chap. “We will return soon.”

Magiere was right about one thing. Chap could not climb down by himself. But it was time he reminded them of their position as
his
charges. He watched until Magiere settled in the skiff, and then backed a few feet along the deck.

“What are you doing?” Wynn called in alarm.

Chap rushed through the rail-wall gate and leaped out into the air at the last instant. He hit the water just beyond the skiff and sank amid the loud sound of his own splash. The sea was far colder than he had expected.

When he resurfaced, sucking breath through his nose, both Magiere and Leesil were shouting at him. He paddled quickly to the skiff’s side. Magiere pursed her lips tight in anger, and reached for him. Leesil just looked worried and both of them hauled him in over the skiff’s side.

Chap shook himself hard, spraying seawater everywhere. Both Magiere and Leesil tried to shield their faces, as Sgäile fought to steady the skiff.

“You misbegotten mutt!” Magiere shouted and grabbed for Chap’s scruff.

He turned on her, snarling.

Magiere lost her footing and fell back into Leesil, seated in the skiff’s prow. The skiff rocked wildly, and both their expressions turned blank with shock.

“What has gotten into you?” Leesil said.

Chap glared back with a low rumble in his throat and then spun to face Sgäile.

“Have you got him?” Wynn called from above.

Chap did not look up, and no one answered Wynn. He remained in place before Sgäile, rumbling a low threat. Elves never interfered with a majay-hì, and Sgäile’s behavior had always suggested he knew Chap was much more than even that.

Sgäile slowly raised both hands, palms out. “As you wish,” he whispered and reached for the oars.

Chap ceased rumbling and glanced over his shoulder at Leesil and Magiere.

“Fine!” Magiere grumbled, swatting off the droplets of seawater running down her coat.

Chap lifted his muzzle, looking up for Wynn, but instead he spotted the young elven girl with the thick braid. She gripped the rail-wall near the ship’s stern, watching as the skiff turned toward the shore. Chap looked past Sgäile, rowing hard, and out over the skiff’s prow.

Chattering seagulls circled overhead, and Chap wondered what lay beyond the shore.

Wynn settled on the cabin’s floor that night, warming the cold lamp crystal in her hands. Its light increased, glowing brightly between her fingers, and she set it on her bunk ledge. Osha sat cross-legged nearby, arranging their dinner tray of dried apricots, grilled halibut, and elven tea.

The crystal provided their only light. Sea air wafted through the open porthole, and the ship sat steady at anchor. The cabin seemed a cozy and welcome place.

“I am sorry you had to stay behind because of me,” she said in Elvish. No one else was present, and Elvish was easier for Osha, even with their differing dialects.

Osha poured two cups of tea. “I am glad to fulfill such a purpose in service to you.”

Wynn settled across from Osha, both dressed in their loose elven garments—he in his anmaglâhk tunic and pants, more charcoal gray than green in the low light, and she in the dusty yellow and russet of Sgäile’s clan. They had never shared a meal in private, and as they ate, Wynn grew curious. For one, how much did Osha know of where Sgäile had taken Leesil and Magiere—and why?

“Do you know where they are going?” she asked.

Osha rocked backward slightly, trying not to meet her eyes.

“Please do not ask such questions,” he said, though it sounded like a plea. “Sgäilsheilleache has put his faith in me. I cannot fail him.”

Wynn sighed and leaned against the bunk’s edge, feeling a little guilty for tempting Osha to betray a confidence.

“Why are you here, Osha?” she asked. “Why did Sgäile bring you?”

Then she wanted to cringe. That had not come out right. It sounded as if she thought Osha would have been the last of all possible choices. But he appeared oblivious to her slip. He took a breath and exhaled, as if he had achieved something which brought him long-sought relief.

“He is now my
jeóin.
”

“Your . . . ,” Wynn began, puzzling over the title, and finally had to continue in Belaskian. “Your . . . ‘assenter’?”

Osha cocked his head. “It is the word for what he is, my . . .” He, too, had to turn to Belaskian as well. “I find my
teacher
!”

BOOK: Child of a Dead God

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