Jala's Mask (26 page)

“Why would they follow us?” Marjani asked.

Askel answered instead. “To take your metal and your clothes and maybe your lives. Or did you think you were the only thieves on the mainland?”

“We're not thieves,” Jala snapped.

“As you say, my queen.” Askel bowed his head, but there was a note of sarcasm in his voice. “No doubt being from the Lone Isle it's just harder for me to see the difference.”

Jala ignored him and feigned interested in the scenery. Not that it was very interesting. The land around them was full of hills but few trees. Most of it was grass and dirt and sun-bleached stone. Everywhere she looked she saw another road splitting off and disappearing behind a hill or down into a valley somewhere. Hundreds of roads, all leading to the Constant City.

“How long has this city been here?” she asked Boka.

“A long time,” he said. “Maybe before the fire mountain birthed the Five-and-One. The Nongo have a story that they used to live here, until a great flood came and washed them up on the Fourth Isle. The way they tell it, they populated all the other islands, and all the families are really Nongo children.”

“I've never heard that one,” Jala said. “Sounds more like something the Rafa would tell.”

“I don't think it's meant for other families to hear. A Nongo story, meant for the Nongo.”

The sun set, and they rode on, their way lit by bright moonlight. Against the starry sky, Jala watched thin plumes of smoke rise from nearby campfires. Other travelers, other caravans, perhaps a village somewhere nearby. The cart rocked and rattled and creaked while the horses breathed loudly and the driver whistled to himself. After a while, Jala fell into an uneasy sleep. It was still night when Boka woke her to tell her they'd stopped. She barely remembered eating before she curled up on a sleeping mat.

So it went for several days, as they passed fields of gold-brown plants that Boka called grain, or fields covered in vines. Sometimes they stopped at smaller farms and traded for melons or fresh bread. Every day the sun seemed to grow brighter, and the grass thinner, until one day Jala looked out of the cart and almost thought she was home again. Palm trees grew along the shores of a river. And beyond the river, beyond the grass and palm trees, was an ocean of sand.

There was a cry from the guards. The prisoner struggled against the ropes, crying out in his own tongue. “
Hashana! Hashana!
” He stared at the river, his eyes wide. The Bardo sailors fought to hold on to him as he thrashed about.

“Take him down to the water,” Jala said.

The sailors glanced at her, then shrugged and did as she commanded. The prisoner stopped struggling as they walked him down, but then he wrenched forward, tearing the rope out of their hands. He fell to his knees at the water's edge and lowered his head until his forehead touched the muddy riverbank. He whispered prayers under his breath.

When they pulled him up again, he seemed to stand straighter, and though his eyes shone with tears, they were bright as they took in everything around him. He called for Boka as they brought him back to the carts.

Boka went out to meet him, and they spoke briefly.

“He says this river will take us to his people,” Boka said afterward. “Captain Natari thinks we'll be safer if we travel by water. We'll trade for a boat as soon as we can.” He waved a hand at the horses. “It'll be nice to be away from these stinking beasts, too.”

“They do stink,” Marjani said, “and I'll be glad to be on a ship again, but I think I'll miss them anyway. I won't miss him, though.” Her eyes flicked to the prisoner. “I don't like the way he stares at you. What if he tries to hurt you now that he might actually be able to make it home?”

“I know,” Jala said. “But what else can we do but trust him?”

Boka smirked. “He asked to talk to you but wouldn't tell me why. Should I tell him yes, since you trust him so much?”

Jala glared at Boka. “All right. I'll hear him out.”

“As you say, my queen,” he said, and called for the prisoner to be brought closer.

Marjani leaned in to whisper, “Are you sure that's a good idea?”

“If thirty sailors can't keep me safe from him, then I don't see what difference it makes,” Jala said. She stepped off the cart to meet the prisoner.

“Thank you,” the man said. He struggled with the words, but it was clearly Jala's own tongue that he spoke. She glanced at Boka sharply, but the trader just shook his head as if to say,
I didn't know
. “You are . . . great criminal . . . but thank you.” He gestured at the river. “
Hashana.
Once more see
Hashana
.”

“Hashana. Is that the name of the river?” Jala asked, unsure what else to say.

“
Hashana
is river.
Hashana
is home.
Hashana
is people.
Hashana
is . . . life.” The prisoner nodded to her, then turned away to stare once more at the water.

Captain Natari came to stand next to Jala. “My queen, we should move soon, before the sun is too high and hot.”

“No. There's something we need to do before we go any further in Hashon land. We'll rest here for a while. If the river really is life the way our friend seems to think, then I think we can all take this opportunity to wash, as well.”

“I'm sorry if our smell offends you,” Captain Natari said with a hint of a smile. “We've smelled worse. But a rest won't be unappreciated.”

They all did as Jala had suggested, washing and sleeping through the hottest part of the day.

“Your pet Hashon is right,” Askel whispered as they sat listening to the river. “This water is alive. It travels a long way, listening as it brings life and death. Did you know that all water is one, oh queen? I think somewhere this river must reach the Great Ocean, and from there the Five-and-One. Maybe that's how they found us without a grayship to guide them. There's power in this land. Not so much as in the fire mountain, perhaps, but it's an old power, and it does not sleep the way the fire mountain does.”

Later that day, they passed through a small village, but the people there eyed them suspiciously and wouldn't part with any of their fishing boats. It was two more days before they found a larger town where they could trade for two large boats to carry all of them upriver.

Captain Natari scowled as he walked the length of one of the boats. “The wood's rotten, and I've seen better craftsmanship from the boats my son makes out of sticks. I wouldn't trust this to float in a puddle of piss.”

“If you'd rather swim, be my guest,” Boka growled under his breath. “They don't trust us, so this is all we're going to get from them, and we're lucky we still have anything left to trade.”

Natari glanced around then leaned in to whisper in Jala's ear. “My queen, we have thirty sailors. Let's simply take the boats we need tonight.”

Jala hesitated. It made sense, but she didn't like it. They had no grayship to escape on, and more was at stake than their own lives. “We don't need them to cross the Great Ocean, just sail down a river. They'll be fine. And we don't need to draw any more attention to ourselves than we have to.”

“Drawing attention won't be a problem when we're all drowned,” he muttered. “I won't be captain on one of these. It's a disgrace.”

“I'll be your captain then,” Jala hissed. “We take these boats, and we leave.”

Natari gritted his teeth. “Yes, my queen.”

For a while it felt good to be back on water again, and Jala liked having the familiar palm trees around them. But that feeling only lasted a little while. During the day, the sun shone down mercilessly on them, so hot it made the deck painful to walk on. At night, the air turned cold, and they huddled together for warmth.

Often, Jala sat and watched the people around them as they paddled or poled their small boats loaded with goods, or fished along the riverbanks. It had been impossible to tell the color of the prisoner's skin, for it had gone ashen with his premature aging, but now she saw that many of his people were lighter than she was, with brown skin and shiny black hair that lay flat and straight. They wore it plain, either cut short or in long tails that could be easily bound back with a piece of thread. Jala felt a childish urge to style it for them.

The river grew wider and more heavily trafficked as the day went on. Inquiries into their business came more often. They had little left to trade, so they couldn't be merchants. They didn't speak the language, and so far from the Constant City even the trade speech was becoming useless. Boka had to rely on what he'd managed to learn of the Hashon language. How would they ever reach the rulers of this land when they could barely speak with the people?

Their prisoner took pleasure in hearing the cries of the other boaters to each other, but it made Natari nervous, and he kept the prisoner back under the canopy that covered two-thirds of the boat. More than once, Jala saw the prisoner's eyes linger on the chest where she kept the Hashon book.

She pulled Askel aside. “We have to hide that book somehow. If something happens and they take it from me, then there's no reason for them to deal with us. There must be some sorcery that can help us. Can you make it invisible? Or change it into a rock? Things like that used to happen in the old stories.”

“If such magic ever existed, it's beyond me,” Askel said. He considered her for a moment. “But maybe there's another magic that can help you. Tell the captain to stop when night falls.” A few hours later they beached the two boats on an empty bank on the same side as the ocean of sand. “Come,” Askel told her and he led Jala and Natari out across the dunes.

“Where are you taking us?” Natari asked.

“Nowhere,” Askel said, smiling in the moonlight. “A place no one could ever find again. Bury the book here and it will be safely hidden.” He gave Jala a shrewd look. “There is a price for what I'm about to do. One that I must pay, and one that you must pay, oh queen.”

“What price?” Jala said.

Askel's voice was hungry. “The Lone Isle. The fire mountain. I want them. No more skulking around for stone root and food, no more Kade. Give me the Lone Isle, and you will have magics unimaginable at your command. That I swear, oh queen.”

“And what will you do with the people there?” Jala asked.

“Learn from them,” Askel whispered.

He was lying. He'd go back to using them up to fuel his own power. “No. There must be another way,” Jala said. “I rescued you from death, and I'll keep you alive if we ever make it back. You will have a place to live, comfortable and undisturbed. We'll bring you whatever materials you want from the Lone Isle, or take you there with guards to keep you safe from Kade. But you won't be allowed to hurt anyone else.”

Askel scowled as if he'd swallowed something bitter. “Who will pay the other price, then? The only way you'll find the book again is to link someone to this place. All he has to do is leave a piece of himself here. A finger will do.” Askel turned to Captain Natari and grinned. “Give me your blade, my friend. I promise the cut will be quick.”

Captain Natari looked at Jala, and even in the dark she could see the determination on his face. “My queen?”

He'd do this for me if I commanded him
, Jala thought. “Not him. He needs his hands to hold a sword.”

“Then who?” Askel asked. “Your friend Marjani, perhaps? Or that merchant, Boka? They don't need their hands. Or you could agree to give me the Lone Isle. Then I would gladly do this for you, my queen.”

“I'll do it,” Jala said. “I won't ask anyone to do this for me. A queen doesn't need all her fingers to rule.”
And the Hashon are less likely to kill me right away. I hope.
She tried not to worry about what Azi would think if she came back with a maimed hand and told him she'd cut it off for sorcery. He had scars from his own journeys, of course, but this wasn't quite the same thing. Still, she had no choice, and if a missing finger was the least of her worries by the time this was over, she'd count herself luckier than the Thoughtless Boy in all his stories.

She held out her left hand and curled all but the smallest finger into a tight fist. She tried to sound calm. “Make it quick, Captain, just like our friend said.”

“My queen, this feels wrong,” Captain Natari said. “There must be some other way.”

“I'm listening,” Jala said softly.

Captain Natari met her gaze, but he had no answer for her. He drew his sword. “It would be better if I had a knife. I could slip and cut your hand, or worse.”

“I trust you,” Jala said simply. “You won't slip.”

He didn't look happy, but he held out his sword. “Kneel down and put your finger against the blade.”

The metal was sharp and cold against her skin. The skin of her arm tingled with goose bumps. Captain Natari took her finger in his free hand and squeezed it tight.

“You're sure about this?” he whispered.

“It has to be done,” she said.

He pulled down on her finger, sliding it across the blade, and at the same time he yanked the sword up with his other hand. Blood welled out of the stump before she felt the pain. Her severed finger fell to the sand. She wanted to scream, but she looked away and bit down on her lip hard. Captain Natari pressed a cloth to her hand.

“Not too tightly, now, my friend,” Askel said as he gingerly picked her finger up and brushed off the sand. “We mustn't stop the bleeding altogether. Give me your hand, my queen.”

Jala pulled her hand out of Captain Natari's grasp. Gritting her teeth, she pulled off the strip of cloth and held it out for Askel. Warm blood ran down the stump of her finger and down over her palm. She thought she was going to be sick, but she made herself watch anyway.

Askel took her hand and shut his eyes. He whispered something under his breath, then he touched her severed finger to the stump.