Sterling (27 page)

W
e walked
along the park’s gravel paths, looking over the wares of the makeshift market. The sellers were gleaners—every Lethemian city had them, too—people who picked through leavings to repurpose and sell.

Gleaners wouldn’t have cosmetic. I pushed away the doomed feeling that threatened to overwhelm me.

“Sterling, look,” Erich called from a few paces ahead.

“Don’t call out like that. They’ll hear.” I gestured at a nearby peddler sitting cross-legged on her blanket.

Erich shrugged. “What are those?” He pointed to many tall sticks impaled in the lawn on the other side of the path.

I frowned and peered at the things. Our location clicked in my head. I felt a fool for not having recognized it immediately. “That’s the Imperial Cemetery. It sprawls over the entire northwestern edge of Vorisipor, overlooking the sea.”

A plan unfolded in my mind.

I gestured for Erich to follow me behind a large stone monument at the north end of the graveyard. The stone, black and broad, rose several spans above our heads and provided good cover.

“Look.” I indicated the gravesticks. “The Imperial Cemetery goes all the way to the cliff’s edge above the water. We can cross out of the city along the shore and follow the coast north. The Vhimsantese will not frequent this place. Only the destitute set up their market here. Imperials think burial grounds are cursed with revenants.”

“You don’t think there will be sentries at the shore?” Erich studied the landscape beyond the graveyard. The land ended abruptly; a cliff loomed over the water.

“There may be guards, but fewer than at the gate. Let’s see if there is a route down the cliff.”

We hastened to the bluff’s edge. The cliff looked steep, and I counted only two sentries patrolling the beach below. Not a bad prospect, compared to the gate.

Erich peered at the sun sliding down the western horizon. His face had changed. He looked excited rather than hopeless. “First we eat. It will be easier to climb without the gourd, and the sun going down will provide more shadows to hide us.”

Erich sliced off the top of the gourd with his
shir
so we could drink the liquid within. We shared the mangoes, too, and I stashed the nuts and dates for later.

“This tastes good,” Erich said as he gulped from the large gourd. “The juice is almost sweet.”

“I’ve read that it has both fat and sugars.”

“Sterling, my walking encyclopaedia. Drink more. You need it.”

I frowned and stared into the fronds overhead. “Gods, I wish I had my bow.”

“Your bow? What bow?”

Had I never told him that I practiced archery? “I could shoot those beach sentries from up here. They’d never know what hit them.”

“You can shoot?”

“My father let me learn. I used to practice every day in Shankar.”

Erich set down the gourd and turned to me, his eyes blazing. “But I saw a bow, Sterling. In the graveyard market.”

“Where?” How had I missed it?

“I’ll show you.”

I followed Erich back down the path into the market
.
He pulled me to a blanket so cluttered with junk that I’d bypassed it.

I gestured at the wrinkled seller, asking permission to examine the bow. Its draw was firmer than my usual weight, but that would assist in sending the arrow farther. “How much? This bow and the arrows, too?”

The seller held up her hand, all five fingers outstretched.

“Five jennars?” I interpreted. We didn’t have that.

She nodded; I scowled, thinking. My pretty garters still held up my stockings beneath the linen wrap. They were worth far more than five jennars. “Wait,” I told the seller. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

I hauled Erich back to a secluded area area behind a palm.

“What, was it too expensive?” he asked.

I pushed him to stand between me and the market. “Stay there.”

“Why?”

“To block anyone from seeing me!”

“Why—what are you doing—”

I lifted the skirt of my smock and scrambled to untie the garters.

“I didn’t know you felt so urgently about me,” Erich teased.

I glared at him. “I’m going to trade my garters for the bow and arrows.”

Garters in hand, stockingless, I hurried back to the seller. “Real silk ribbons,” I said, offering her the garters to feel. “Lysandrene silk. Handmade lace. Can we trade?” If she knew her fabrics, the woman should jump at the chance. The bow was not in such good shape as to be worth the value of my underthings, even if they were a little worse for the wear.

She deliberated, perhaps sensing that my desperation might drive me to give up more to get the bow.

“You could easily sell the garters for more than five jennars,” I argued.

She lifted her hands to collect the garters. “You take, you take. Good trade.”

“Thank you!” I snatched up the bow and the three arrows.

We paused at the cliff’s edge and surveyed the beach. The afternoon sun cast a glare. Only one sentry remained on the shore, pacing on the same strip of sand.

“That’s your man, then,” Erich murmured.

My hands shook.

“Do you really think you can make the shot?” he asked.

“It won’t be easy.” I assessed the wind. “Southwest breeze. I have to try one shot somewhere else to get the feel of the bow.”

“At least you have three arrows,” Erich said.

“But only one shot. If I miss, he’ll alert others.”

“You don’t have to do it, Sterling. We can climb down after dark, and I can try him against the
shir
.”

“I do have to do it. This whole mess is my fault, and we have no time to lose; we’ve already wasted a day getting out of here, and every minute here is another minute that Costas doesn’t know about the assassination plan. Besides, those were my favorite garters. I didn’t give them up for nothing.”

“I bought you those, didn’t I? In Avani?”

Instead of replying, I checked my shoulder and nocked an arrow. I aimed at one of the fatter sticks in the empty graveyard, at a comparable distance to the man on the beach below, and let fly. The bowstring let out a satisfying twang as my arrow sang and sank into the gravestick, a little lower than I’d intended. I exhaled and nocked the second arrow, adjusting for the drop and hitting my mark. Papa often used to make me shoot without using a sight from difficult angles—so that I would have a good eye in any circumstance.

“Impressive,” Erich said behind me. “But Sterling, it still might be better to go at the sentry with my sword. This is too chancy.”

I faced the beach, nocking the last arrow. Serafina always used to say the arrows flew truer when they had emotion behind them—and that the less she thought about the whole endeavor, the better. I moved fluidly, letting my hours of practice guide my limbs.
Lift, draw, release, follow through,
Papa’s voice said.
Don’t aim. See where you’ll send it and let it go.

The final arrow was a blur as it whizzed through the sky. I could not see the exact strike, though I’d sent it, with adjustments for drop and for the southwestern wind, at the sentry’s head.

He fell, writhing, to the sand.

Silent minutes passed while Erich and I watched the man clutch the arrow protruding from his neck.

Erich blew a soft whistle. “I don’t think a professional marksman could have done better. And with an unfamiliar bow? Gods above, Sterling. You have luck or magic on your side.”

“Luck? Hardly. We’re still in Vorisipor.”

“We should climb down now,” Erich said. “I don’t think we’ll be able to bring the bow. It will be too awkward to carry it while we climb.”

I set the weapon down behind a palm and tied up my ragged tunic to free my legs.

“I’ll go first,” Erich said. “Try to follow me exactly. The evening shadows will conceal us.”

“Please go slowly.” I did not like heights, and the treacherous descent peaked my anxiety.

“I’ll be right there with you, Sterling.”

The cliff was a weather-beaten, craggy protrusion of land, with a rough surface that made the going easier—there were plenty of cusps to step on and grip, and even some ledges where we could rest.

Erich climbed several spans below me, as agile as a Dragonnaire. He could have clambered down the cliff in a matter of minutes, but I slowed us with my fear and caution. Only Erich’s presence prevented a full-blown panic attack.

I stepped onto a ledge that crumbled in a shower of sand. I yelped and grabbed frantically at my handhold. Already my arms ached and my fingers burned; they had no strength. My feet waved in sickening, empty air.

My forearms rebelled. They would not hold me much longer.

“Hang on, Sterling.”

I did not dare look down. If I did, I’d lose my mind.

“Just another moment. I’ve almost got you, sweetheart.”

“My arms, Erich. I can’t—”

“Reach your left foot down and to the left.”

My foot met something, not a rock ledge or a crag. I finally looked down. He’d had me step onto his shoulder. The support eased my failing arms.

“Put your weight on me,” he said. “Can you reach down with one hand and grab my head?”

“Erich, I’m too afraid to let go.”

“Trust me, love. Get your other foot pushed into the rock face. That’s it. Now, reach your left hand down. Come on.” He disguised the strain in his voice. I took a gulp of air and released my left hand.

I yanked a handful of his hair. “Sorry!”

“It’s fine,” he said. “Hold as hard as you need. You’ve got to get your balance on me. Bring your right leg down and get a footing on my right thigh.”

“There,” I said. But my linen swathe had gotten caught on Erich’s head, and it was slowly unraveling from its wrap around my body. Neither of us could release a hand to fix it.

“Bring your left foot to the other thigh, and wrap one arm around my shoulders. Hold on.”

I situated myself on Erich’s back. I saw his hands and gasped. He’d jammed them into cracks in the cliff to get the best purchase. Blood ran along both forearms from where the rock cut into him.

“Keep moving,” he said. “To the left. There’s a ledge.”

After a few false starts, I lurched onto the ledge, trailing a wake of linen. I leaned against the cliff wall and cried as I gathered up the fabric and rewrapped it.

The ledge was broad enough that Erich could crawl beside me. “You’re safe now, Sterling. There’s no reason to cry. Save your energy.”

“Your hands. Your poor hands.”

Erich stared at them as if he hadn’t noticed how damaged they were. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “My hands are nothing compared to you. Now, are you ready to get off this blasted cliff?”

A
t last our
feet hit the sand. Dusk’s shadows covered everything, and a good thing, too, or we would have been terribly conspicuous on the empty beach. I could make out the bulk of the sentry I’d shot. I ought to fetch the arrow to make it more difficult to discover why the man had died, but I hated to approach the body. I didn’t have the stomach to rip the barb from his flesh.

Erich understood without any explanation. “I’ll get it,” he said quietly. “And I’ll move the body behind that boulder—it might give us time. You wait here.” He darted into the cliff’s shadow.

I turned away, unable to watch.

“Let’s walk north against the cliffside,” Erich suggested when he returned. He held his
shir
at the ready.

We picked along, climbing over rocks, wading through tide pools—here the Parting Sea was as warm as Vorisipor’s night air. We were wet to our knees, and the tide was rising. I watched the encroaching black water anxiously.

“Look. I think I see something over there.” Erich pointed ahead as he dropped to a crouch behind a rock.

A lone figure paced a hundred spans ahead on a rocky outcrop, cutting us off. Another Vorisipor sentry, easily recognized by the top knot and the split tunic.

“Stay here,” Erich commanded.

The bright moonlight glinted on Erich’s
shir
as he darted along the shore. He disappeared into the cliffs’ shadows, and I sank to my knees. I could still see the sentry’s silhouette on the rock. Another shadow leapt from the right to land at his side.
Oh dear gods, Erich.

Mango and gourd juice rose in my throat. The sentry stumbled at Erich’s ambush, but regained his footing. Their blades clashed; the sound echoed through the night, but the crashing waves muted it. Or so I hoped. We could not afford to alert other sentries.

Erich could fence—but in this fight no rules or etiquette protected him.

Erich’s curved blade disappeared into the sentry’s dark silhouette. The man tumbled, melding into the black expanse of the rock.

Erich’s silhouette beckoned me.

I picked through the encroaching waves. Thank the gods the Vorisipor nights were warm, as my feet, ankles, and hems were thoroughly soaked.

“I have to hide this body,” Erich whispered when I arrived.

I stared down at the man. “Are you sure he is dead?”

“Very,” Erich said grimly. “But we cannot leave him here to be found. Once they find these dead sentries they’ll know we headed north along the shore. I’d like to avoid pursuit for as long as possible.”

“What do you propose we do with him?”

“We’ll dump him into the water.”

I studied the surf around the rock. “Won’t he wash right back up?”

“Perhaps. But it might buy us time. Can you grab his ankles, please?”

Shivering, though not with cold, I helped Erich hoist the dead man into the swirling black sea. I was sick with upset, but I tried to hide it.

Our new enemy was the water. Even leaving the sentry’s rock proved onerous. The water, waist-deep and dark, whirled around us. I held onto Erich’s sleeve as we lurched towards the shore. We hurried over the packed wet sand close to the waterline so that our footsteps would be washed away with the rising tide. Soon we walked through ankle deep water, then knee-deep. Erich plunged on, as if through a storm or a snow drift.

How much higher might the tide rise? The water pulled each time it rushed in and out.

“Erich?” We stood less than a span from each other, but even so I had to shout. “It’s rising too fast.”

Erich staggered as another wave hit. He scanned all around, looking for a point of safety. The nearest rock jutting out of the sea was marooned by swells crashing and spraying around it. The cliffs appeared to be our only option.

Erich and I climbed the first crag without trouble, though we were both thoroughly soaked. As we rested on a ledge, I squeezed water from my linen wrap and knotted it around my hips again.

“It’s so dark,” I murmured, staring up at the rocks. “I can’t see where to grip with my hands.”

“We’ll go slowly,” Erich said. “You first, so I can support you if you need it.”

I ran my hand over the rock to find a hold. At least this cliff wasn’t as sheer as the other we’d climbed. At no point did I have to hang only from my arms.

I finally maneuvered over the verge to lie flat at the top, exhausted. Erich arrived shortly after me. He searched our new—barren—environs with a wary eye.

“We should keep moving, Sterling.”

Not a muscle in my body wanted to respond, but he was right. Anyone could see us from anywhere. The exposed clifftop offered no protection.

Erich stood and then froze. “Hells of Amatos.”

“What?”

He jerked his head southward. I peered at the distant horizon. Against the indigo sky marched a line of horsemen, tiny in the distance.

Erich caught my hand, and we ran east into a grove of trees. I knew the species, yeucalipts. Their unique scent tainted the air. They had nuts full of potent medicinal oil the Vhimsantese used in their elixirs, but the balsam killed plant life, leaving the earth barren beneath the trees. Erich and I wended through them, heading north. The matting of dry leaves was perfect for traceless travel. The horsemen would have trouble tracking us; we left no footprints.

The sky darkened, and I fatigued. “I must stop and rest, Erich,” I finally called. He’d been marching through the trees—the grove stretched endlessly up the coast—for hours. I could not go another step. I’d fall over.

Erich looked back at me in the dim moonlight. “I want to put as much distance as I can between us and those horsemen.” He sounded like a general, like my father, as though his voice echoed off steel and stone. “They will find the guards we killed, and they will guess which way we have come. We need to keep moving. We have no time. We need to be in Shankar
right now.
”

“I’m so tired, Erich. Give me a few moments.” And with that, I dropped and put my head down, tumbling into a fitful sleep.

* * *

S
unlight drifting
through
yeucalipt
boughs woke me. I stared at the beige leaves, rubbing my eyes. There was something odd about them. The leaves littering the ground were shaped like Erich’s
shir
: narrow, curved, and pointed at the end. The leaves in the trees were almost square. They clustered on the branches thickly.

Several leaves broke away from the cluster, flying off. They were not leaves at all, but butterflies! Their wings flashed, the top bright orange, the underside perfectly matching the dull colors of the
yeucalipts
. The sunlight stirred the insects. Many more flew from their clusters on the trees, creating a gorgeous, flickering flurry overhead.

“Oh!” After the trials of the day before, such a simple, beautiful sight comforted me.

“What?” Erich lifted his head groggily.

Two orange butterflies landed in his tousled hair. I laughed.

“What is it?” he demanded, still wary.

“Butterflies.” I pointed into the sky where they danced on the air. “Two landed on your head.”

“What? Gods above, get them off!” Erich surged to his feet and brushed his head.

“Gently! Gently! You’ll damage them!” He froze. I stood and reached onto my toes to cup one of the fragile creatures in my palm.

“Hold out your hand.”

Erich did as I asked, though I could see he did not like the idea of the insects touching him. I deposited the delicate butterfly into his quivering palm. “They’re still sluggish from the night,” I explained as I retrieved the second butterfly. This one I kept cupped in my hand.

“Oh. It’s beautiful,” he said.

“Isn’t it? I’ve read about these. They migrate up and down the western coast of Vhimsantyr, following the warmth like birds. They surprised me when I woke. I thought they were leaves.” I laughed again.

Erich gestured his free hand at my bedraggled hair. “Now you’ve got one in your
hair.” Instead of removing the butterfly, he caressed my cheek. My right cheek. I’d actually forgotten about my mark for several hours. Forgotten entirely that I had it; forgotten that I was ugly Sterling Ricknagel.

His touch reminded me. I pulled away instinctively.

“Don’t,” Erich said, moving closer. “Don’t pull away from me.” He laid his whole palm across my cheek, despite his rough wounds from our climb.

I turned to limit the contact. Erich’s hand followed my motion.

A single tear wet his fingers.

“Your face is precious to me because it’s yours.” He threw his butterfly into the air. I did the same with mine. They spread their wings and flitted up through the trees. Erich pulled me against him, brushing his lips over mine, once, softly. “You are just like one of those butterflies,” he said. “Soft and beautiful and coming to life beneath the sun. Someday, Sterling, I’m going to watch you rise on air in the sunlight. But now, we’d better get moving.”