The Destroyer Goddess (48 page)

"What does that have to do with—"

"Cheylan probably hoped the same sort of chaos would ensue here once Jalilar was dead. And even if it didn't, everyone's attention was diverted long enough for him to follow his own plan in relative safety."

"But what was his own plan?"

"Isn't it obvious to you yet?" A frigid fury boiled inside the old waterlord. "That goat-molesting, demon-eyed
sriliah
wants to control Sileria himself. So he's hoping we'll all eliminate each other and save him the trouble."

 "But how can he—

 "Don't you see? Mirabar
did
confide the identity of the prophesied ruler to him. She's not hunting him to avenge Jalilar. She means to stop him from getting to the child before she does. Because now, just as you surmised, Cheylan does indeed intend to align himself with the ruler she has foretold. He doesn't want me to kill the child—nor does he want Mirabar to find him."

"Then,
siran
, I respectfully submit that murdering Jalilar was a grave mistake in the light of tremendous ill feeling it's causing."

Kiloran fixed Meriten with a glare that reminded the other waterlord he had not asked for an opinion. "Mistakes are so easily made."

"What will we do now?"

Kiloran thought it over. "We'll forget about Cheylan."

"How can we?" Meriten demanded. "He betrayed you. He—"

"We have far too much to do to waste time doing what Cheylan's former friends are so eager to do for us. It doesn't really matter who kills him now, as long as he dies. And Mirabar probably knows better than we do where to look for him." 

In truth, the murder of Jalilar, especially followed by Baran's emotional manipulation of the masses, might now create problems for Kiloran that would make pursuing Cheylan a foolish waste of energy.

Meriten nodded. "Yes, I understand. As always,
siran
, you know best." After a moment, he added, "What about the child Mirabar has foreseen? That threat still remains, it seems."

"It does," Kiloran agreed heavily. "And we know as little as we did before. All we can do is watch for an opportunity to learn more and to strike when we see our chance. In the meantime, our primary concern is to win this war. The season is advancing. The long rains are approaching, and we'll lose much of our advantage when they come."

"Perhaps they'll be late this year," Meriten said optimistically. "Or not even come at all."

"We can only hope. But we would be fools to count on that. It would be best to prevail soon, Meriten."

"In that case,
siran
, the business I originally came here to discuss is of paramount importance."

"You need help to reclaim the Shaljir River," Kiloran guessed.

"There are too many Guardians protecting it. I'm sorry,
siran
. I can't do this alone. I have tried and tried. I am not strong enough." He paused, then added, "And I have lost too many  men fighting their men, who are commanded by a relation of Josarian's—a huge, hairy, loud
shallah
who wields a Moorlander sword and is, unfortunately, a strong fighter and a leader who learns from his mistakes."

"Lann. I know of him." Kiloran scowled. "Tansen no doubt taught that illiterate peasant how to make war on us."

"Lann is not Tansen, but he is more capable than I expected."

"It would have been a blessing if the entire Emeldari clan had perished in an earthquake many years ago."

"They are hard to kill," Meriten said grumpily

Kiloran rubbed his temples and tried to come up with a better solution than offering to help Meriten himself. Gulstan and Kariman, he already knew, wouldn't even reply anymore to a summons for help. The other waterlords were all deeply embroiled in defending their own territories from the Firebringer's loyalists—or else dead. Yes, so many were now dead.

Kiloran didn't admit it aloud to anyone, but since Dyshon's death, his own strength was undergoing the most severe test of his life. Whatever strange force was joining Baran in his claim on the Idalar River and the mines of Alizar, it was growing stronger, taxing Kiloran as he resisted it. Meanwhile, the vast territory under his control needed his constant vigilance, as did the city of Cavasar. It was all more than any one waterlord had ever before ruled, as far as he knew, and now he knew why; it was exhausting.

Still, the Shaljir River must be reclaimed, and soon. So he said to Meriten, "Very well. I will lend my strength to yours."

And when Searlon found Zarien, as his last message indicated he expected to do soon, Kiloran would have a truly effective weapon to use against both Tansen and Baran. Indeed, he would have a great deal more than that when the boy came under his influence.

"We will prevail, Meriten," Kiloran said reassuringly. "Never doubt that. Victory is all the sweeter when it requires such effort, that's all."

Zarien sighed in restless boredom, wondering how long he'd have to wait before Tansen would let him go ashore.

Nothing was right anymore. He had never felt confined or  imprisoned on his family's boat, which was smaller than this one, even though he had spent virtually his whole life aboard it before the night he died. However, now that he found himself restricted to this boat for the time being, he felt practically crazy with the desire to get
off
of it. The monotony of long days at anchor made him anxious and irritable. He was dying for some open space and solitude. He would even, Dar help him, like to go for a walk.

Being back at sea... well, nothing was the same anymore. Nothing was the way it was supposed to be; the way it used to be.

Zarien gazed at the vast cluster of moored boats all around him, peering through the gently bobbing masts in search of a few familiar vessels. The few remaining boats of the sea-bound Lascari...

He didn't want to talk to them. He just wanted to know where they were. 

Zarien tried not to think about what he would say or do if he saw them, if they found out he was here. He tried not to... but he nonetheless
kept
thinking about it, because there seemed to be little else to think about at the moment. Besides, he was tired of the curiosity of this tedious sea-born family with whom Tansen had left him. He was sure they were gossiping about him with the families moored all around them, and he found it embarrassing.

Zarien sighed.

However, at least Tansen was no longer on board. He was once again out of Sharifar's reach. At least there was that.

The voyage here had been nerve-wracking for Zarien, expecting something to happen every single moment they were at sea. And Tansen... Tansen just didn't understand. He still didn't believe. He had no idea how dangerous it was for them to be here, where Sharifar might demand her due at any time. Tansen was sure he knew better than Zarien.

Tansen could be amazingly stupid sometimes.

Zarien was startled out of his private thoughts when
Toren
Ronall, always a late riser, stumbled over to the railing, still groggy—and still, Zarien saw, reluctantly sober.

"I keep asking them all," Ronall said after a while, "and no one really knows."

"Asking them what?" 
      "Why they're all here. What they're all waiting for."

Zarien looked up to the peak of Mount Darshon, where colored clouds and flashing lights whirled passionately above the goddess's domain. "Maybe it's the same thing the pilgrims at Darshon are seeking?"

"But why here?" Ronall wondered. "And how do they know? I mean..." He shrugged. "What? One day you hear a little voice in your head that says, 'Sail to the east coast and wait for further instructions'?"

Zarien thought of the
stahra
which had helped him follow Tansen once upon a time. "Maybe it's more as if... as if their boats know where to go."

Ronall looked up at the sky-piercing volcano. "We're all going to die in a massive eruption. I'm sure of it."

Zarien rather wished the
toren
could get drunk. Being sober made him depressing company. He looked away... and sucked in his breath when he caught sight of a familiar foresail.

"Is something wrong?" Ronall asked as Zarien fell back a step.

Linyan's boat
.

He would know his grandfather's boat anywhere.

"Zarien?" Ronall prodded.

It was moving slowly, careful not to bump the closely-moored boats between which it passed. Zarien's eyes were fixed on it in mute horror. He knew he should hide, lest a stray glance expose  him... But he felt frozen, unable to move a muscle.

Ronall finally said, "They're coming toward us, aren't they?"

Panic filled Zarien. "No! They can't!
No
."

"Well, they are," Ronall pointed out.

Breathing hard as he watched the approaching vessel, Zarien knew it was true. "Someone's told them I'm here."

Ronall straightened up, looking worried and even a little alert. "Who would have done that?"

"Anyone might have told them," Zarien realized with sick dread. This family had indeed been gossiping. A
lot
, it seemed.

"Why?"

"My tattoos," Zarien said absently, still staring at Linyan's approaching boat. "Anyone can see that I'm a sea-bound Lascari and shouldn't be with you. With Tansen."

Ronall digested this. "So who's on that boat?" When Zarien didn't reply, he guessed darkly, "Your relatives?"

Zarien nodded, hurt and angry that Tansen had abandoned him here to deal with this alone.

"Ah." Ronall sighed. "Not fond of your relations?"

"No, it's... They think I'm... I can't..."

"Just tell me one thing," Ronall said as Linyan's boat pulled so close that Zarien could leap onto its deck if he chose. "Are you in danger from them?"

Zarien shook his head. His heart seemed to stop as familiar faces swam before his eyes. Linyan stood at the railing, a fresh, angry scar running diagonally across his face, from forehead to chin. There was Zarien's grandmother at the helm, and one of Zarien's uncles was brailing the foresail up to the yar...

Linyan's voice was hoarse. "
Zarien."

Zarien met Linyan's gaze. Had his grandfather been this old the last time he'd seen him?

"Zarien?" Linyan prodded, his expression dark with confusion.

"Yes," Zarien choked out, ashamed and relieved and scared and glad, all at once.

Tears welled up in Linyan's eyes and streamed down his wrinkled brown cheeks. "We thought you were dead."

"I was."

Ronall's head jerked sharply in surprise. "
What?"

"We told that assassin... the one who did this to me..." Linyan touched the fresh scar on his face. "We said you were dead. We
saw
you die. We said he was looking for another Zarien, not ours. Ours couldn't possibly be alive."

"An assassin looking for me?" Zarien felt his chest heaving. "Who was he?"

Linyan shook his head. "I don't know his name. He was a big man. Younger than your father was. A handsome man. Well dressed. Very cruel."

"Did Kiloran send him?" Zarien asked.

"Well spoken," Linyan continued in a daze.

"Did he have a scar on his cheek?" Zarien persisted. "And short hair?" 

"Yes." Linyan frowned. "You know him?"

"No. But that's what Tansen told me Searlon looks like." And Searlon was looking for him. "I'm sorry, grandfather."

"He seemed so polite until..."

Ronall blurted, "Until he did
that
to you?"

Linyan touched the awful scar on his face again. "He wanted to know everything about Zarien. Everything there was to know." Now Linyan was weeping again. "He made me tell him... I told him the secrets we had kept. The things no one but you ever had a right to hear from me, Zarien!"

"What secrets?" Zarien demanded.  

"Then the Kurvari sailed east, like everyone else these days."

"Who?" Ronall interrupted.

Zarien said briefly, "The Kurvari are sea-bound relations of the Lascari."

"When they finally found us," Linyan babbled, "they said they had seen you, in the Bay of Shaljir. That you were still alive."

"So you didn't die, I take it?" Ronall sounded relieved.

"Oh, yes," Zarien replied. "I died."

"They also said..." Linyan hiccoughed and stared sadly at him. "Zarien, did you really..."

"Go ashore?" There was a heavy silence. "Yes. I was dead for three days and nights. And then I set my foot upon land."

"Um, Zarien..." Ronall said.

"I've been on the dryland ever since," said Zarien. "Looking for the sea king. Looking for Sharifar's mate."

Shaking with a mixture of emotions he couldn't contain, Zarien pulled his tunic over his head. His grandmother gasped as he revealed the dragonfish scars. Linyan cried harder. The sea-born family on whose boat Zarien sailed made a lot of noise, too.

Ronall rubbed his eyes a few times, then murmured, "Dar and the Three have mercy." He reached out a trembling hand to touch one of the enormous scars that covered Zarien's torso. "You're telling the truth, aren't you?" Then the
toren
hung his head over the railing and was sick again.