The Gracekeepers (2 page)

North's hair was currently dark, except for her scatter of gold braids. She combed it through with her fingers, then retied the braids. The dyed hair felt rougher than the rest, but still sturdy enough. She hadn't asked the glamours how they'd made the golden color; once they had made silver-blue dye from eels, and it damaged everyone's hair so much that it crumbled in their hands.

She went to close the canvas, then pushed it back instead, letting the night's chill soothe her tired eyes. The wind was strong enough to cover all other sounds: the chatter from the coracles, the lazy slap of waves on hulls, the distant whisper of leaves from the center of the island.

Above her, the stars outshone the meager lights on the land. All the answers lay up there, to those who could see. Without knowledge of the sky, no one would know where to find safe port, when to sail hard and when to seek anchor. North gave her prayers to the stars and the tides, just as she did every night. They
deserved worship for being the only reliable things in the world. Except, perhaps, for one other.

North fastened the canvas and slid under her bear's warm frontpaw. His heart beat a thud-a-thud against her back as she let the waves rock them both to sleep. She was good at looking after her bear, and she clung to that thought. Soon there would be another person on their boat, but it would be okay, because North already knew how to care for a creature that needed her. She could still be the bear-girl. In time, her child could earn its own place in the circus. She could look after them both, baby and bear. She could keep them safe from the world—and from each other.

N
orth was awoken by the sound of knuckles on metal. Dreams were still caught on the insides of her eyelids—birthing a demon, an eight-tentacled monster that strangled her while still inside her—and she had to choke back a scream. Her lungs vibrated with the roar that was beginning in her bear's chest, and she twisted round in his arms to tap on his nose.

“No,” she whispered, and felt the growl sink back down. She struggled out of his embrace and pulled on an old shirt, worn to softness.

“Knock knock!” called Red Gold, which seemed pointless to North as he was already knocking. She heard him unclip the edge of the canvas cover, and his berry-red cheeks appeared over the coracle's edge. “North child, why are you hiding from me?”

“Don't be silly, Jarrow. I slept in, that's all. Is it late?” Behind Red Gold's head the sky was dark blue threaded with pink. The sun wasn't up, and North knew it would be a while until breakfast.
She was soothed by the slow breath of waves and the scrape of the coracles shifting: the lullaby of the sleeping circus.

“No, no, don't worry about that. Just ready yourself and come out here. I have a surprise.”

North tied her hair in a knot and began gathering her bear's things. If she had to be woken so early, she might as well make the most of it. “I'm sorry, I can't. We'll be moving pitch soon, and I should let the bear get some exercise in the shallows while we're here, so if you don't mind—”

“Come out here. I'm not asking.” Red Gold's head disappeared from the lip of the coracle. In the gap left, North saw that the streaks of pink in the sky were burning to red.

She leaned over the bunk to settle her bear. Her toe bumped against the box containing the golden chains, and she did consider them; she rarely left her bear alone, and if he woke without her there he might be frightened or angry. But no—the chains would make him angrier still, and even a bear on the rampage was not as scary as Red Gold when disobeyed. She pulled on trousers and a knitted jumper. It took her a moment to find her bell—all damplings had to wear a tiny brass bell on their clothes when on land, in case they were mistaken for landlockers—and another moment to attach it to the laces of her soft leather shoes. Usually she went barefoot, and the soles of her feet felt as thick as her coracle's hull. But no matter how tough it was, she would not let her bare skin touch land. She stretched her jumper, making sure it hung loose over her middle, and climbed out of the coracle.

Red Gold had already made it to the dock and stood with his arm around his son, chest thrust forward. North's boat was midway along the line, and she took as long as she dared to make her way along the chains. In the brightening light, she could not ignore the peeling paint and rusted metal of the coracles. In
places, the reds and greens and purples had flaked off entirely, leaving patches of dull gray. Saltwater and paint did not mix well.

Ainsel had clearly paid a visit to the Island of Maidens—Whitby and Melia's scathing nickname for the glamours' boat. His hair was braided with feathers and the contours of his face were subtly shaded to match his clothing. Blue under his cheekbones, green along his brows, a merging of the two at the corners of his eyes. He looked as vain and haughty as his horse.

“Good morning, North,” he said as she stepped on to the dock where the
Excalibur
was moored.

“Good morning, Ainsel. I trust you slept well.”

“Such a fine day for an adventure, isn't it, my little ones?” cooed Red Gold. He hooked his arms into North's and Ainsel's elbows. He managed a few steps like this, but their different heights made it impossible, so he settled for striding along between them. “The sky—glorious! This land—glorious! The joy of being with my two most favorite young lovers—most glorious of all!”

North offered up a tight smile. It was taking all her concentration to make sure that Red Gold stayed in the middle. More than anything, she did not want Ainsel to reach for her hand. She'd have to let him take it, and his skin would be as smooth as satin slippers, and she'd be forced to run back to her coracle and tie shut the canvas and never come out again.

Red Gold carried on a steady stream of exclamations as the three of them followed the gangway up from the port, their leather shoes soft on the wooden slats. The tin-sided towers looked more ramshackle than ever, the waves slapping at their bases. North could not understand why anyone would choose to live there. The crew called the landlockers “clams” for their brainless need to cling to the shore. Was the desire to be near land
so overwhelming that people would accept these shoddy homes, hoping that over the years they could creep gradually closer to the center of the island? Soil was dirty, and it smelled; North wanted nothing more than to be away from it.

They were past the tower blocks and on to the reclaimed land, where the houses became lower and larger. These houses were not impossible to buy—reclaimed land was cheaper, not worshipped like the real earth. As they walked, North kept one ear to Red Gold's stream of exclamations, while the other listened out for early-rising landlockers. If spotted, she could either make excuses or run. From experience, North knew it was better to run.

Ainsel's attention seemed to be wandering. He kept glancing back at the port, to where the line of circus coracles sat sleeping. His turning affected his stride, losing the rhythm of his steps and making his toes drag. If he didn't keep his eyes down, the unsteady, too-steady path would trip him. And then he'd stumble, and he'd fall, and his bare hands would have to touch—ugh. As much as she didn't want his hands in hers, North would catch him to save him from touching the ground.

Red Gold must have noticed Ainsel's distraction: he picked up the pace, talking faster and louder, and before North knew it their steps changed to the steadier thud of real land. It felt too solid under her feet, and it made her knees judder. The houses here were not much taller than she was, and there were no tower blocks. Rich people wanted to live as low to the old ground as possible.

Past the houses, closer still to the island's center, lay farmland. Red Gold glanced over his shoulder as they climbed the stile; it wasn't technically illegal for damplings to walk through the farmland, but if a farmer “accidentally” shot them the punishment would be light. North put her sleeve over her mouth. It stank here: mud and plants and the faint reek of animal shit.

Red Gold paused on top of the stile, spreading his arms to North and Ainsel as if they were his big-top crowd. He spoke in a stage whisper.

“Now listen, my little ones. Be sure and stick to the paths. The last thing I need is to have to bribe you off a prison boat.” He stepped down from the stile, landing with a thud and striding off down the path.

“Jarrow, if you don't mind—if I can ask—” she called after him. “Why are we doing this?”

Red Gold winced at her volume, glancing theatrically across the fields to the farmhouse. He mimed something that North could not translate, then turned and carried on walking.

“It's about the wedding,” said Ainsel in an undertone.

Everything in North jolted to her throat. “Haven't you spoken to him yet?”

“Not yet.” Ainsel fussed with his hair and glanced back at the coracles, although they were lost behind the houses. “Look, I will. But I have to choose the moment properly. I know my father, and I'll know the right time. Just wait.”

North wondered what that was like—to know your father. Ainsel was the only one on the
Excalibur
with a parent still alive. He didn't seem to realize how special it was.

“You have to tell him, Ainsel. If I say I won't marry you, he'll make me leave the
Excalibur
. But he won't kick out his own son. I just want to stay in the circus with my bear and my—with the crew.”

“I don't want to get married any more than you do, North. But if he thinks we're going against him, he'll just dig his heels in further.”

“But you have to tell him before—”

“I'll tell him! Just shut up about it.”

Ainsel was lingering, picking at the notches in the wood, and North was thinking scathing thoughts about how he was so prettily useless he couldn't even climb a stile, when she realized that he was waiting for her to go first.

“Oh,” she said. “Thanks.” She climbed over it as fast as she could. Her jumper hung loose, but she didn't want Ainsel to look too closely.

They remained silent as they walked through the farmland. The only sound was the wind in the trees and the tinny jingle of bells from their clothing. Ainsel was ungrateful and dull, but North had known him her whole life; she should try to think of something to say, anything to break the awkward silence, but she couldn't. Never mind friendship or familiarity. It was too early to think straight.

At the edge of the trees, they paused. North had never been inside a copse before, and she could guess from the look on Ainsel's face that he hadn't either. The woods were old—some of the trees were prehistoric, people said—and they'd all heard stories about the awful things that landlockers did in there. She bent and peered into the copse. The ground was clear, but above that the trees twisted together, interlocking black shapes too dense for them to see far. Scraps of colored fabric were tied around some of the branches. There were little piles of things at the base of several trees: shiny objects, scraps of paper, soft-looking moss. A shrine? An offering? North looked over her shoulder to see Ainsel reach out his hand to touch a twig, then think better of it.

“Jarrow?” hissed North into the dimness beneath the trees. In answer, the shush of leaves. She tried to edge her body in sideways, but it was too overgrown. She reached up and took hold of a thin branch, ready to snap it off and make room to slide through.

“North! No!” Red Gold came tearing around the edge of the trees, arms outstretched as if to catch her. “You mustn't!”

She stepped back on to the path. “It's okay. There's no one around to see.”

Red Gold slapped her hands away from the trees, even though she'd already stepped back from them. Her skin burned. “That doesn't matter. Don't you know that the trees are sacred?” He elbowed past her and examined the branch she'd touched, as if she'd left dirty fingerprints on it.

“Oh come on, you can't believe in—” North stopped at the look on Red Gold's face. As a dampling he did not need to worship the gods of the land, but apparently he did anyway.

“This is where we're from, child,” he said.

“But I'm not—”

He sucked his teeth and made a tutting sound. “Not you, North! Me and my boy. We're landlockers, you know. The land is where we're from, and the land is where we'll return.” North looked away so that Red Gold wouldn't see her expression of disgust. “And when you're married,” continued Red Gold, “it will be on land.”

“But when did you decide this?” Ainsel seemed to be struggling not to shout. He swallowed hard and lowered his voice. “How long do we have until—when is the happy day?”

North tried to keep her face neutral. Bad enough to go on to land, and bad enough to have to marry Ainsel—now Red Gold wanted to combine the two? But it would be fine. Ainsel would tell him. There would be no wedding, on land or at sea.

The ringmaster brought his great paw down on his son's shoulder. “I decided, and that's all that matters. You and our north child will be married when we get to the North-East 19 archipelago. The capital, by the World Tree. It's not usually allowed for
landlockers who aren't—well, who don't currently live on land. But I've bought special permission. Because you are special, my boy. You're special because you're mine.”

North's heart began to beat in double-time. It would take four months to get to North-East 19, give or take a day, if they didn't get stuck in the doldrums crossing the equator.

“Jarrow,” said Ainsel, his voice uncertain. “Father. I have to tell you something. North and I, we—and don't blame North for this, it's nothing to do with her, she's always happy with your decisions. It's entirely my choice, although she does agree with me about it, though she agrees with you too, of course, and—”