Raven's Ladder (28 page)

“Hunters?” Krawg’s hands opened and closed like birds snapping at bugs.

“We lost a boat last week.” Wilsun’s face turned grim. “Here in the harbor. Something attacked from the water. Third time since the season’s first red moon. Boat was smashed open. Something left a nasty black stain on the wreckage.”

Warney dug his nails into Krawg’s shoulder.

“Council’s also going to decide what to do with you!” exclaimed Willup. “And who’s going to be in charge.”

“I want to work with you!” Krawg exclaimed. “Give me a task on the ships!”

Wilsun glanced skeptically at Willup, who seemed ecstatic about the idea. “I’ll recommend you!” he rejoiced. “What can you do?” Wilsun asked.

“I’m…” Krawg glanced at Warney. “A storyteller. Well, and I’ve had a lifetime of work as a harvester.”

“You might learn to harvest fish, then,” Wilsun mused. “It’s not like Abascar; no one’s standing over you shouting the rules. You’ll have to prove yourself. You’ll sink or you’ll rise.”

“Hey, what’s the word on the healer?” Willup asked.

“Healer?” Krawg glanced back at the tents. “Say-ressa?”

“Is it really Say-ressa? She came with you all? She taught my wife, Marey, everything she knows back when we were just Abascar Housefolk! We heard she was sick.”

“Haven’t seen her since we arrived,” said Warney sadly. “They wrapped her in a blanket and carried her off.”

Wilsun elbowed Willup. “Time to go. Sunup’s gonna be here all too soon.” He turned apologetically to Krawg. “If we’re not at the dock by first light, others will talk their way into our place. We have to be the best at what we do, or we get kicked down the ladder and have to climb again.”

“And here,” said Willup, “fastest has a lot to do with best. Sleep tight.”

Krawg and Warney were alone again at the fence.

“What’s gonna become of us, Krawg?”

Krawg shrugged. “We’ll have to fend for ourselves here.”

“It’s like we’re gonna be Gatherers all over again, isn’t it?” Warney snatched at the grass as if he’d tear it out and cast it away, but the roots held tight.

“It’s nothing like being Gatherers,” said Krawg. “As Gatherers, we lived in the woods with beastmen behind every tree and vermin all over everything. Here, this is how people are supposed to live. With water and sky. It’s restful.”

“Restful? Gotta disagree. The water never rests. And just look at them birds. Scary.”

“They like it here.” Krawg stood up, towering over Warney with a scowl. “Can’t blame ’em. The forest is better than Barnashum. But this is better than the forest. I like these stones. And the sound—it’s washin’ away all the thoughts I don’t need. Never been here before, but somehow I’ve come home.”

Warney stared out at the horizon’s faint halo. “I keep hearin’ that things’ll get better. But we get where we’re going and find it’s time to start climbin’ all over again. Everywhere is steep.”

Krawg seemed hypnotized by the activity around the
Red Oceandragon
. “I can learn to get up early again. Learn to pick fish from the sea like berries from trees. Learn the stories that sailors like to hear.”

“And what about me? What’m I for?”

“You’ll answer that in Bel Amica.”

“I just want the sort of busy that feels like play. You remember, don’t you? Like we did when we were less than several years old. String and pebbles and wimple-ball and Stamp the Tootle. Play, Krawg. Like Auralia did all day.”

“What do you want to do?”

“What do I
want
to do? Ballyworms, Krawg, I don’t even know what I
can
do. Every place I go, I hear my sisters screamin’, ‘You’re not even fit to pick apples.’” A horizon cloud infused with purple light from the vanished sun drew his eye. “I got nothin’ on the inside.”

Krawg did not reply.

Warney shuffled back to the tent.

From one of the benches along the side of the long rowboat, Tabor Jan eyed the rower. “For a fellow who defends a house by the sea, you sure seem afraid of the water.”

Bel Amica’s Captain Ryllion kept his gaze fixed on the dark waves. Across his knees lay an unsheathed trailknife, a massive broad-bladed tool typically used to blaze paths through thick brush. The fact that it was Ryllion rowing them—alone—was clearly meant to intimidate and aggravate Abascar’s people.

Leaning over the sides, the ten companions Tabor Jan had selected to accompany him to the rock seemed entranced by the water around them and Bel Amica’s glittering mountain above.

Tabor Jan hated the water’s unsteadiness almost as much as he hated heights. He wanted level ground, a clear direction. His discomfort took the shape of aggression. And since the rower of this boat was the man he’d most like to throttle, he had to fight to remain seated.

Ryllion was younger than he’d expected but enormous, with features that seemed oddly distorted. And those hands. Was he wearing gloves that exaggerated their size?

“I’d recommend that you quiet down.” Ryllion steered them alongside the base of Bel Amica’s rock, past one docking cave after another. “Or you’ll be the first I throw overboard if it comes for us.”

“If what comes for us?”

Ryllion glanced at the others. “Your leader here, he’s nervous. Is this what Abascar folk are made of?”

“He’s the only one on this boat I’ll be calling captain,” snapped Jes-hawk. “He’s the king’s protector.”

At that, Ryllion laughed, and a glimpse of his teeth—fangs, to be sure—shocked Tabor Jan. “The king’s protector? Where were you when your king disappeared?”

“Do you see our people bickering or fighting?” Tabor Jan asked quietly. “No. We are waiting. Waiting in good faith for Cal-raven to return from his mission.”

“If he ever commands you again, I’ll eat my boot.” Ryllion looked past Tabor Jan. “What about you—the swordswoman with the lovely blue eyes? Are you as confident of Cal-raven’s wisdom?”

Tabor Jan glanced back in alarm. Brevolo did not lift her gaze, but her clenched jaw made it clear that she was wrestling with possible answers.

“I smell disappointment.” Ryllion smiled as if he had just discovered a valuable secret. “We’ll have words later, swordswoman, when you can confess without offending your kinsmen. I may have some use for you.”

With a swift stroke of the oars and a frightful force, Ryllion turned the boat so suddenly that the passengers were thrown against the side. “I’m amused by your fighting spirit,” he said as the darkness of the harbor cave engulfed them. “But you’d better watch your words around my master.”

“Your master?”

A bright green glowstone on the end of a staff illuminated the giant waiting for them on a ledge inside the cave. The ghastly, skull-like face staring out from beneath the fanlike headdress grinned fiercely down at Tabor Jan. It was Pretor Xa, the Seer who had led the beastman siege on Barnashum.
Tabor Jan looked down, hoping his own appearance had changed enough that the Seer would not recognize him from their recent encounter.

“Welcome, proud House Abasssscar,” seethed the Seer. “Welcome. I hope you’ve enjoyed your boat ride. Consider that a little introduction to House Bel Amica’s new kingdom—the sea.”

Tabor Jan and his companions came awkwardly to their feet. Ryllion sheathed the trailknife and sprang like a viscorcat from the boat to the platform. The boat rocked wildly behind him, throwing them back to their seats.

“I won’t waste your time,” said the Seer, pointing to a stairway that led up into the rock. “Your new principal is waiting.”

“New principal?” Ryllion turned to the Seer. “But wait. I’m the new principal.”

“The queen’s made up her mind.” The Seer’s smile never faded, but it was clear that something had not gone the way he had planned. When he spoke again, Pretor Xa’s words were sharp-edged. “Queen Thesera has chosen Sisterly Emeriene to govern the Abascar people.”

Something like a yelp burst through Ryllion’s teeth. “But you promised—”

“The Abascars will show her nothing but respect,” said the Seer. That white head swiveled, and those wild eyes caught Tabor Jan in an accusatory glare. “Isn’t that right, Tabor Jan?”

Tabor Jan refused to acknowledge the question. Instead, he watched Ryllion’s massive jaw chew on the Seer’s bitter news.

“Emeriene will attend to your people, but listen to me, Captain.” The Seer’s arm shot out, and he grabbed Tabor Jan by the beard. “Should anyone fall ill…” The Seer tightened his grip, twisting the beard until Tabor Jan winced. “Should anyone be injured… Should anyone need counsel…” That grip tightened further until Tabor Jan’s head tilted and he gasped. “You would be wise to consult me before anyone else. Without my attention things can go from bad to worse.”

He could feel Jes-hawk and Brevolo tensing to defend him, but he waved them back. “A gracious offer,” he wheezed. “But you have already taken those who needed attention. And the silence about their condition has not given me reason to believe—”

Pretor Xa released him and clapped his hands, and a door opened somewhere up the stairway. Another soldier in a uniform like Ryllion’s appeared, leading a figure in a white gown.

“Tabor Jan?” came the voice, shaky with disbelief.

“Say-ressa?” Tabor Jan felt as if his feet were nailed to the dock boards. Brevolo ran up the stairs and caught Say-ressa in an embrace. The willowy healer, who had seemed so pale, so fragile when strangers had carried her away a day earlier, was strong and full of color, laughing with the radiant joy that inspired healing in so many others.

Tabor Jan held back, his gaze shifting from the bright circle of Say-ressa’s face on Brevolo’s shoulder to the Seer, whose satisfied attention was still set on him like an opponent who has gained an advantage.

“Thank you,” said Brevolo to the Seer. “Thank you. May we take her back to our people? There are many who need her attention.”

“Of course. But she will tell you about what we, too, can offer the sick.” Pretor Xa loomed over Tabor Jan so closely that the captain could see the dark space behind those eyeballs as they bobbed loosely in their sockets. “You can depend on me,” he said. “Don’t forget that.” It sounded like a threat.

Tabor Jan would have replied with something regrettable, but the Seer gestured to the stairs. “Your new tasker waits. I advised the queen that your people deserved to be overseen by Bel Amica’s best.” He clucked his tongue behind that ferocious grin. “But Thesera’s choice shows that she views this assignment as more custodial in nature. Like sweeping. Or throwing out the scraps.”

Stone eagles with gemstone eyes and severe, regal expressions perched on pairs of pedestals along the narrow stairway that Tabor Jan ascended with his companions. Some were depicted in flight, tilting with outspread wings, great fish caught in their talons. The captain recognized these as the emblem of the house. In recent hunts with Cal-raven, they had come across outposts in which eagles had been joined or replaced by a howling wolf with crescent-moon eyes. This passage was older and one favored by royalty.

At the top of the stairs, they strode up a corridor and stepped through heavy curtains into a long and stately hall. Open to a view of the starry evening sky, the hall revealed they were on a low outcropping of Bel Amica’s stone, with the rest of that tremendous house looming—a dark mountain—above them. Green and needled trees stood like watchmen on the heights, bent from years of storms. Gulls canvassed the rock, crying and wheeling. Even as Tabor Jan felt a thrill of delight at the view, he suspected that it was intended to make the observer feel vulnerable and small.

He brought his attention back to the hall. Dark wood panels lined the walls, housing a portrait gallery. Lavish purple curtains hung on either side of each, as if the pictures were windows into the past. In those frames, Bel Amica’s rulers stared out with fierce authority—the line from Queen Thesera all the way back sixty generations to someone’s perception of Tammos Raak himself, a muscular figure with skin dark as marrowwood and eyes like beacons.

On one side of the room, a fireplace was alive with quiet light from a pile of driftwood. On the other, a long table was laid with plates of small saltcrust rolls, open shells with gleaming meatpods, cheese, and bundles of bright purple surfberries.

“Please, help yourself,” came a voice from the far end of the hall.

Brevolo came up beside him and whispered, “Have they appointed a child as our overseer?”

“Hush,” he whispered. “Let’s wait and see.”

A small figure strode unevenly across a carpet of fangbear furs that had been stitched together so that the predators’ faces snarled ferociously in all directions. She wore a dark blue gown and head scarf, and she walked with a limp. Her dark eyes were stern, and she folded her hands before her as she bowed.

As she drew near, he dropped to one knee.

“Oh, that isn’t necessary. Thank you, but I’m not royalty. I’m here to serve you. Please, eat.” She did not speak with a high, formal manner. Tabor Jan thought she sounded practical and even a little eager to please. Like a common hostess.

When the company did not make a move toward the table, the woman walked to stand at the corner. “I assure you, there’s nothing to fear. This is a
safe place, and we chose it to honor you. Not even the Bel Amican council assembles here. It’s one of our oldest chambers, a place where kings and queens have welcomed special guests for generations. Alas, the queen is busy, but her daughter will join us soon.”