The Icerigger Trilogy: Icerigger, Mission to Moulokin, and The Deluge Drivers (95 page)

“They are willing, but sometimes they cause more trouble than their well-meaning efforts are worth.”

September nodded ready agreement. “I saw Jacalan trying to raise a sail in a seventy kph gale. We’re lucky we didn’t lose her.”

“Tell me what you require,” said T’hos unhesitatingly.

“We know that Poyolavomaar is home to many fine sailors of the ice. We would take some temporarily into our company to aid us in our journey. It would make much smoother our expedition to the southern continent.”

“The southern continent? Why would you wish to go there? Are you returning so soon to our friends in Moulokin?”

“No. We go another direction entirely; not south by southwest but by southeast.”

T’hos frowned. “You sail upon empty ice. Though that is far from the routes our traders ply it is said there is nothing in that direction for thousands of
kijat.
No cities, no towns, not even barren unclaimed islands. A few dealers in furs and metal have penetrated that far to tell us only that there is no reason to go farther.”

“Nevertheless, that’s where we’re going,” Ethan told him.

“You should not.” The Landgrave looked troubled. “That is the part of the world they say has gone mad.”

“Should’ve guessed,” September murmured. He jerked a thumb back toward the rubbernecking researchers. “Our thoughtful associates apparently aren’t the only ones who think something out of the ordinary’s going on down there.”

“The travelers who described this madness heard it from others who heard it from another who heard it from one they say was probably half-mad himself,” T’hos muttered uneasily. “One must be cautious in such matters. The credulous are all too ready to believe whatever they are told. As Landgrave I must be more careful. But it is one thing to deal with one who is mad, as Rakossa was, and another to think of what someone means when they talk of the whole world going mad.” He rose half out of his chair and gestured to his right.

The Tran who shuffled forward was older even than Balavere Longax. His chiv had seen so much use they had been worn down nearly flush with the thick pads of his feet. No more for this elder long hours of carefree chivaning across the ice. Like the poor humans his wizened eyes touched upon he was reduced to walking.

He listed slightly to the left, like a tree that has been permanently bent by the wind. The long staff he leaned on was pointed like a skier’s pole. His mane and facial fur had gone snow white. His eyelids opened halfway only, afflicting him with a perpetually sleepy air. His infirmities notwithstanding, he managed two-thirds of a respectful bow.

“I greet our friends from Sofold and from the sky. I remember you from your previous visit, though we were not then formally introduced.” He smiled, a patriarch who had outlived his tormentor. “I was not in favor in the court of Tonx Ghin Rakossa. I am afflicted with a disarming habit of saying what I think.”

“Get you run through every time,” September said knowingly.

“T’hos had resumed his seat. “This is Moak Stonetree, my most respected adviser. He it was who first learned of the rumor you would seek in person.”

“What’s all this nonsense about the world going mad?” September had never been much on protocol or subtleties.

Stonetree made certain the point of his staff was driven into a crack between two smooth flooring stones. His gaze narrowed as he fixed on the tall human. “A rumor proven is a lie confounded. Truth balances itself precariously betwixt the two. I have passed along only what I have learned from others.”

“Trappers and outreachers will say anything to draw attention to themselves.” Elfa snorted derisively. “The more their tall tales are believed the readier they are to embellish them. They enjoy frightening with imaginative stories of the world beyond the wind those who remain safe and secure in their cities.”

Stonetree nodded respectfully. “All that you say is true. Yet so wild and bizarre is this particular tale that one can only wonder at the inventiveness of whoever initially declaimed it. It has the singular virtue of remaining unchanged through several retellings.”

“Means little,” observed Ta-hoding. “Such travelers take care with what they swap far out on the ice, be it money, skins, or stories. Keeping such an odd and elaborate fantasy coherent would only add to its effectiveness, and to the amusement of telling and retelling it.”

“I hope that you are all right,” Stonetree said solemnly. “I hope that this is but a fanciful invention with which to afright children. However, it is sometime since my childhood and I find that
I
am frightened.”

“Is that all the stories say,” Ethan asked him, “that the world is going mad? Or are there details or descriptions? How does a world begin to go mad?”

The old adviser turned his patient gaze on the smaller human. “The tale says that in one part of the southern continent the ice has become a corpse.”

Ethan had to ask the oldster to repeat himself. September wasn’t sure he’d understood clearly either. The giant looked for explanation to their fellow Tran, but Ethan spoke up before Ta-hoding or Hunnar could do so.

“I don’t know that term. What’s an ‘ice corpse’?”

By way of reply Stonetree picked up a half-empty goblet and ceremoniously turned it upside down. Water ran out on the stones, escaping into the cracks in the floor.

“Do you now understand?”

September shook his head in frustration. “I never was one for oblique explanations.”

“It’s water,” Ethan told him. “When ice dies it becomes water. A corpse.”

“Okay, I buy the relationship. That still doesn’t tell us why someone would think the world’s going mad down there.”

“It is wrong,” Stonetree told him firmly. “We make ice corpses so we can drink. That is natural. To find it where we have made it not is unnatural. It is perverse. It is—madness.”

“Wait a minute,” said Ethan suddenly. “You’re talking about open water? A hole in the ice sheet?”

“Just so,” said Stonetree, relieved that the skypeople had finally grasped the notion.

“That’s impossible. Even at the equator it’s impossible.”

The old adviser sounded tired. “Just so.”

Ethan swallowed hard. At its thinnest point, the ice sheet that covered Tran-ky-ky from pole to pole was thirty meters thick. Because of the planet’s perturbed orbit the equatorial regions would not warm sufficiently for standing water to form on its surface for at least another several thousand years.

“It’s got to be volcanic activity, like Milliken and Jacalan and the rest suggested.” September was staring hard at the stone floor as though seeking inspiration in the cracks. “Nothing else could cause this damn ice to melt like that. Nothing!”

“How large do the travelers claim this ice corpse to be?” Ethan asked T’hos’s sage.

“There the tale becomes slippery. Some say it is no more than a small pond as might be made by hunters who have built themselves a fire upon the ice. Others declare it to be
kijatin
in extent. There is no proof because no one wants to go there. Demons make corpses of Tran as well as ice.”

Ethan tried to imagine how a group of unsophisticated Tran would react if they stumbled across a large area of open water. What would Earth’s ancient Polynesians have thought if the tropical seas surrounding their island homes had suddenly begun to freeze solid?

“Nobody makes a corpse of me, not while I’m alive,” said September with a disarming grin. “We’ll find out what’s going on there because that’s where we’re going.”

“If there is too much truth to this, I fear you will not return.” Stonetree shifted his stance, resting his aged legs. “A pity, for you have done much good for Poyolavomaar and for all Tran.” He gestured with a withered finger. “One piece of advice I will give you: If you encounter demons, leave them alone. Let them have what ice they wish. Perhaps they will claim only a small area and leave the rest of the world sane.”

Ethan indicated the scientists, who had concluded their tour of the royal hall and were casting impatient glances in the conference’s direction. “Our scholar companions have instruments which will take the measure of any demon. Whoever comes with us need not fear.”

T’hosjer considered. “I will find sailors for you who are not afraid of traveler’s tales. I will also give you a guide to help lead you to this place of seeming indecision.”

“We don’t need—” Ethan started to say, intending to explain that Hwang and company’s instruments and satellite reconnaissance measurements would take them straight to the region in question without the need for a guide, when September cut him off.

“We’d be very grateful for a guide and for all your help, T’hosjer. Anyone brave enough to lead an expedition of aliens to a land of demons is someone I’d like to have riding point for me. So long as your sailors aren’t tempted to bail out if the going gets rough.”

T’hosjer drew himself up to his full height. “The sailors of Poyolavomaar will do as their Landgrave bids them, no matter their own feelings. You need not fear desertion. Stonetree will make the arrangements.” As the Landgrave turned to bark orders at his adviser September leaned over to whisper to Ethan.

“Have to watch your thoughts, young feller-me-lad. T’hosjer here’s already offered to fill out our crew. To refuse his guide, who’ll probably also serve as his personal spy on the trip, would be a bit of an insult.”

Ethan looked abashed. “I let my enthusiasm get the better of me. Sometimes I forget the Tran aren’t regular folks.”

“You’re right about that. They’re a damnsight finer than regular folks. For a salesman you ain’t much of a diplomat.”

“Sorry. They’re not always the same thing.” He sat back in his chair as T’hosjer turned his attention back to them.

“Stonetree will speak to Orun Malc-Vierg, who is marshal of our fleet. He will find volunteers from among his bravest and most experienced sailors. There is honor to be gained in traveling with you, and much to be learned. I do not think there will be trouble filling your requirements. Fleet sailors are not superstitious trappers. As for your guide, it will be someone from my own court, knowledgeable, brave, and close to me.” He turned and beckoned toward the crowd of silent courtiers.

An extremely attractive and unexpectedly young Tran female slid over on an ice path to join them, moving with leonine grace and power. By Tran standards she was even prettier than Elfa Kurdagh-Vlata, but there was nothing soft-looking about her. Her attitude as her eyes flicked over them bordered on the imperious. She was silently challenging each and every one of them to object to T’hosjer’s selection of her as guide.

“This is Grurwelk Seesfar,” said T’hosjer by way of introduction. “As a child she explored that very same distant land you seek in the company of her father, a well-known and respected explorer.” He nodded to her. “You have the honor of guiding our allies back to that region.”

“I have been listening to your conversation. Too much talk. But I am pleased that I have been chosen to assist our friends from the sky.”

“You mated?” September asked casually. “And if so will your mate be coming along also?”

She looked sharply at the giant. She had yet to blink, Ethan noted. Among the Tran the absence of a gesture could have considerable significance. Not blinking for long periods could be construed as silent defiance.

“Mated I was. Widowed I am. My mate and my father vanished during a visit to that same area you aim toward during a hunting expedition more than a year ago. Since that time I have tried and failed to find others willing to accompany me on a search for them. All the fault of these childish stories. I was preparing to go by myself, and now providence has brought you and your curiosity to Poyolavomaar. I will be glad of your company and gladder still of your aid.”

“Whoa,” said September. “You’re coming along to help
us,
remember?”

She ignored him as she turned her icy stare on Ethan. “I know you have strange weapons and devices, instruments capable of dealing even with demons. I know this because of what you did to destroy Rakossa the tyrant and because of what I have just overheard. If demons have imprisoned my mate and my father, you will destroy them for me!”

“We don’t know that any demons are involved,” Ethan said quietly.

“There are!” Light flashed from her nictitating membranes. “They stole away my father and my mate. I will find them and bring them back.” So saying, she spun on her chiv and skated back into the crowd without waiting politely for a formal dismissal from Landgrave. T’hos simply smiled tolerantly.

September looked at the ruler of Poyolavomaar. “Not a good idea. She talks tough and looks tough, and I’m sure she knows the area as you say, but she’s in on this because she’s after revenge on something or somebody that probably doesn’t exist.”

“She will do as she has promised to do,” T’hosjer assured him.

“She can pledge her loyalty a thousand times over. That’s not the kind of reassurance we’re after.”

“I am curious that you think no demons dwell where you are going. If not demons, what then is causing the ice there to die?”

“We don’t know that’s what’s happening there,” Ethan reminded him. “There’s a system of internal heating that—” The expression beginning to appear on the Landgrave’s face made him stop, turn, and beckon Milliken Williams.

The teacher did his best to give T’hosjer a crash course in volcanism, geophysics, and plate tectonics. It was impossible to tell how much of it made sense to the young ruler. Finally September stepped in.

“We’re searching for the cause. Whether volcanoes or demons or hot springs or whatever, we don’t know. That’s why we’re going there. Whatever it is, we’ll find it and find it fast.” He leaned back in his chair. “I have a ship to catch.” He nodded toward the crowd of courtiers which had swallowed their guide-to-be. “And I’d still prefer someone to lead the way who doesn’t have a personal, highly emotional stake in the outcome of our travels.”

“Seesfar
is
high-strung,” T’hosjer admitted, “but she is the only one to have traveled in the region you intend to visit.”

“That’s settled then,” Ethan said quickly before September could think of another objection. “I’m sure she’ll be a great help.”