Jala's Mask (27 page)

She felt a strange burning in her finger. The feeling grew until it was a fire, until it was worse than the cut had been, and as the smell of sorcery filled her nose she cried out. But the desert and the night swallowed her voice. Captain Natari was on his feet in half a heartbeat, the edge of his sword at Askel's throat.

“Hurt her again and I'll kill you,” Captain Natari spat.

Askel released her and she fell back, clutching her hand to her chest. Slowly the burning ebbed, leaving a painful throbbing in its place. The stump still bled, but slowly.

“It's already finished,” Askel said. “So long as her hand bleeds, the finger will remain alive. As long as the finger lives, we'll be able to find it again. The piece always seeks the whole from which it came. Just like a grayship and its reef, yes?”

“No,” Captain Natari spat. “This is nothing like that. This is . . . wrong. Evil. Like the invaders' ships. I'm sorry, my queen. I should have stopped you.”

“Give me the book,” Askel said. “We will tie them together.”

Jala reached into her robe and pulled out the Anka. Carefully sidestepping Captain Natari's sword, Askel took the book from her. He took a thin strip of cloth and tied it around the finger and then bound the finger to the book. He dug a hole in the sand and left the book there. It was covered moments later, like they'd never been there at all.

Captain Natari helped Jala stand. She felt weak at first, but as she walked, she felt a little better. Her hand still throbbed terribly, and worse, she could still feel her missing finger itching, only there was no way to scratch it. It was maddening. She clutched the bloody cloth to her hand, but it didn't help, and it made Askel frown at her until she loosened her grip.

“How long do we have before we can't find it again?” Jala asked after a while.

“Perhaps a week,” Askel said. “Maybe a few days more. I've made sure the blood will flow slowly and the wound will take a long time to close, but still, we don't have much time.”

“Then I hope we find them soon,” Jala said. “And I hope this wasn't all for nothing.”

They reached the boat, and the sailors stared at her and whispered among themselves.

“What happened to your hand?” Marjani asked.

But Jala was too tired to explain. “Sorcery,” she said. “Ask the captain, but tell no one else.”

Captain Natari called out orders, and they set off again.

“How much longer?” she asked the prisoner when the boats were underway again.

“Soon,” he said. “Very soon.”

His words echoing in her ears, Jala went to sleep and dreamed of dark blood falling on the sand. The sand clumped where the blood touched it, as if the desert was drinking it in. Suddenly the sand was rising all around her, smothering her, drinking her up like it had Askel's blood. She couldn't breathe.

Jala woke to feel a hand over her mouth and bony fingers digging into her neck, choking her. She tried to scream but couldn't. A dark shadow blocked the thin moon. Bony knees pinned down her arms. It was the Hashon prisoner. Had he killed the others? Was Marjani lying facedown in the water even now?
I don't want to die.
I can't die, not now!
Her heart was pumping fast now, and the terror was replaced with a rush, a sudden burst of strength. She bit into the man's fingers and wrenched her arms free.

He was lighter than she'd expected, and he fell over with a muffled grunt. Jala threw herself on top of him. Using her weight to hold him down she lifted her right hand and slammed the base of her palm down on his nose. She felt something give and heard a sound like twigs breaking. She stopped for a moment, queasy. Hot blood spurted out from her attacker's broken nose and onto her hand.

Then pain exploded in the side of her head, and she toppled over. Her vision swam, and she heard herself moan. She tried to move but found she couldn't. Everything was losing focus.

She heard her attacker cursing in the tongue of the Hashon as he rummaged through her chest, throwing traveling clothes and dresses onto the deck.

I need those for when I meet the Hashon rulers
, she tried to say, but her mouth wouldn't move. It didn't seem to matter that the shadowy figure had tried to kill her. Only that she needed her dresses so that she could look like a queen.

The man returned, looming over her. “Where?” he hissed at her. He shook her, and her head bounced against the wood.

Then his hands wrapped around her throat again.

“He's escaped,” someone shouted. “There, grab him before he gets away!” She felt the fingers around her throat relax, and then her attacker was gone. She felt the thud of feet running over the deck of the ship, and then she heard a splash.

“Go in after him, damn you. Bring him back.” More splashes.

And then Natari was bending over her. “My queen? Are you hurt?”

I'm fine
, Jala tried to say, right before she passed out.

A splash of cold river-water revived her, and she woke to find Marjani and Captain Natari kneeling beside her.

“What happened?” she asked. She could speak, though her tongue felt slow in her mouth.

“The prisoner's escaped,” Captain Natari said. “Looks like he managed to fray the ropes holding him. He got away, my queen. I'm sorry.”

“No, my head,” Jala said. “Why does it hurt so badly?”

“We think he hit you with a stool,” Marjani said. “It, uh . . . broke. On your head.”

Jala stared at her friend for a moment, and then she laughed. Marjani snickered too. They laughed until Jala felt dizzy again, and then Captain Natari and one of the other sailors helped her back to her bed.

The next day she still had a headache, and the sun made her feel queasy, but by the evening she felt better.

That was when the chariots came. She saw them first as dust clouds on either side of the river growing steadily bigger, and then she saw the horses pulling strange two-wheeled carts filled with armed men in bright bronze armor. They caught up to the boat and yelled at them while nearby boats sped up and slowed down to get out of the way.

When Jala's men didn't respond, the men on the right side of the river took out hooks tied to long ropes, twirled them in the air, then threw them at their boat. The hooks caught on the bulwark and the mast, tore through sails. The horses turned, and the ropes pulled tight. The ship listed to the side as they were drawn toward the riverbank. Natari's sailors slashed at the ropes with their swords, but they were thick, braided strands that frayed only slightly at the assault. They tried to throw the hooks back in the water instead, but there were too many of them all over the ship, and the men on the shore just threw the hooks again.

Captain Natari's face was grim as he tested the weight of his sword. “We're lucky they didn't simply kill us from the shore with rocks or arrows. We may still have a chance of fighting our way through them, but you and your friend must stay close to me.”

“I told you this would happen,” Boka hissed. “You've gotten us all killed on this idiot's quest.”

Jala reached out and took Marjani's hand. “Put your weapons down,” she said.

The sailors glanced at each other, then at Captain Natari.

“Put your weapons down,” Jala commanded. She looked at Captain Natari. “These are the very people we're supposed to be making peace with. Killing them won't help our mission. Besides, we're outnumbered and lost in a foreign land. What if I'm killed and there's no one to bargain with them? Without me, we can't find the book. What if Boka is killed and I have no one to help me speak with them? Put your weapons down, and let our friends here take us where we want to go. I was tired of this boat anyway.”

Captain Natari stared at her for a long moment, and then he nodded. He and his crew sheathed their swords.

Hashon soldiers shouted as they boarded the boat. They surrounded Jala's people and led her former prisoner past them. He scowled at her while the Hashon ransacked the boat, ripping up the boards, emptying chests, and shredding the clothing inside.

They were looking for the book. But of course they wouldn't find it.

“I am Jala, queen of the Five-and-One Islands.” She spoke loudly, both to be heard above the noise they made searching and to try to mask her fear. “I would speak with your king and queen.”

Azi sighed inwardly when he saw Inas waiting for him at the door to his room. “What is it, Uncle? I'm tired.”

“We have to talk about the Gana,” his uncle said. “In private, my king.”

Behind his uncle stood a woman dressed in loose robes. Her face and shoulders were covered in the ritual tattoos of a shipgrower, each one symbolizing mastery of another aspect of the mysterious craft. Azi recognized a few of them: the dolphin represented the ability to hold your breath underwater for minutes at a time, the seed represented the knowledge to cultivate a new reef. Others, like the snake on the woman's forehead, had meanings known only to the growers themselves.

In her hands she held a clay jar, sealed tight with grass and twine made of tree bark.

“It's important, my king,” the shipgrower said softly.

Even a king could not refuse one of the reef masters. But what did a shipgrower have to do with the Gana? “All right, come in. I'll have some food brought for us.”

They walked into his rooms. The shipgrower set her jar down on the table where Azi sometimes ate his meals but didn't sit down herself. Neither did his uncle, who chose to pace instead.

Azi closed the door then sat. “Well?”

His uncle stopped pacing and cleared his throat. “I know you don't want to hear this, but your queen is most likely gone. Even if she makes it back, it'll only be because her mission failed.”

Azi's temper flared. “Do you think I haven't thought of this? If you don't have anything new to add, then get out.”

“Be quiet and listen,” his uncle said. “You know she has little chance of succeeding. But she did do one thing right. We now know these mainlanders have grayships. What will you do when the storm season ends?”

“I don't know,” Azi said through clenched teeth. “We'll post watches, have our ships patrol the waters around the islands. What else can we do? Jala must succeed. That's the plan.”

“No. It isn't,” his uncle said. “Not if you're brave enough to truly be king. Grower Ellin. Please educate my nephew.”

The shipgrower bowed, then carefully opened the jar on the desk. Curious in spite of himself, Azi peered over the jar's rim. Inside was a thick red-brown liquid. It looked like mud.

“Do not touch it, my king,” Ellin said. “It can have damaging effects on people even in small amounts. Those of us who learn the art of brewing it spend many years around it so that we may do so without going mad.”

Azi glanced at his uncle, then back to the shipgrower. Wherever this was going, he had a feeling he wouldn't like it. “What is it? Some kind of poison?”

“It is called clay wine. And it is a poison, yes, but not one meant for people. The clay wine is deadly to shipwood. If it touches a reef's heart, the reef will die, and its grayships will become lost and unable to return home.”

Azi looked into the jar again. “I've never heard of this before.”

“It's made from the red clay found only on our island. On its own, of course, the clay is harmless, but we have certain ways to extract the essence needed to brew the wine. Its very existence is a secret known only to a few, my king, and the secret of its making is kept only by three master growers of the Kayet. It has been passed down among us for two hundred years.”

He met his uncle's gaze. “You want to kill the Gana reef so that their grayships can't make it back. Is that it?”

“It's a better plan than your queen's,” Inas said. “At least it will work. I didn't say it was a nice plan, just a necessary one.”

“Jala might still succeed,” Azi said. “I'm not going to just give up on her.”