The Quartered Sea (18 page)
Missed Councils were unimportant since the queen had no use for his counsel.
Air kigh sent for news would not go out of sight of land. They'd never been asked before, and no one knew what Songs to Sing.
He had bards all along the coast, north and south, waiting for a message. Water kigh dispersed at the best of times and not even Benedikt could keep one on a straight course from so far.
There were no messages today just as there had been no messages on any of the ten previous trips.
He turned, walked in to shore, and began the long climb up the hill.
I should have stopped him somehow. I should never have let him leave the pattern
. But all he'd done was fight with him, allowing the boy no room to back away from his foolishness.
If my pride has gotten him killed
…
His pride. And the queen.
* * *
"Look, look at this!" Jelena brandished the bardic scroll at Otavas as he entered their apartment. "It came this afternoon while you were out riding. It's from Benedikt! They made it safely as far as the Astobilies fifteen days ago. They're sailing west from there. The captain expects steady winds and smooth seas!" She tossed the grimy scroll into a chair and grabbed him by the collar. "Isn't this amazing!"
"Amazing!" he repeated, reflecting her smile.
"I wish I was with them!"
"I'm glad you're not."
"You'd be with me of course."
He widened his eyes. "So we'd be lost at sea together? I don't think so."
"Don't be an idiot." Releasing him with a kiss, she scooped up the scroll again. "Everything's fine."
* * *
"Hentee! Come and see!"
The boy put down the stick he'd been poking sand crabs with, sighed, and straightened. "If it's another dead sacfish, Mija…"
"It's not." At the other end of the small beach, his sister continued to dig, throwing sand behind her like a puppy. "It's made!"
"Made?" Hentee started to run. Children who returned stuff lost from the village fishing boats were often given shells from the deep water. His best friend Hootay had a big old shadow shell with only two broken spines. More than anything else, Hentee wanted a bigger shell than his friend.
By the time he reached his sister, she'd paused to study what she'd found. It was flat and round, bigger around than his head, and it gleamed a shiny gray against the black sand. Nudging her aside with his hip, Hentee bent and picked it up.
"Hey!"
He ignored her. The bit that had been in the sun was warm and the rest, the buried bit, was cold.
Mija pushed up against his elbow, digging her head against his shoulder. "What is it?" she demanded.
"I don't know." Palm flat against her scalp, he pushed her away. "Mamon needs to shave your head again." If the edge had been sharp, he might have thought it a weapon, but the strange stuff it was made of sort of rolled under itself all around.
"You know what I think it is? Do you? I think it's a plate."
"It's not like any plate I ever saw."
She hissed through the space where her front teeth used to be, her opinion of his greater experience obvious.
"It has a picture in the middle." He rubbed at the raised image with his thumb and both children leaned in for a closer look. "I think this is a boat."
Mija hissed again.
"No, look. This is the part that floats and this is the mast and this here in behind is the sail."
"Wrong shape."
"Different shape," Hentee corrected smugly. He knew he was right. Tentatively, he licked at the edge. All he could taste was salt. It rang against his teeth.
"What's that in front of the sail then?" One fat finger poked at the ship.
It was flat on the bottom and had points on the top. "A flower. This never came off one of our boats, Mija."
"Then from where?"
It was round and shiny gray. Hentee looked toward the horizon where a pale moon was just barely visible against he sky. "From Xaantalicta."
Mija followed his gaze and her eyes widened. "Do you think she dropped it?"
"I don't know. But I heard Papon say it's almost time for the change."
Loud voices approaching the far end of the beach jerked them both around.
"It's the big kids," Mija whispered. "They'll take it!"
"Not if they don't see us. Come on." He grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the jumble of rock that marked the end of the sand. "We'll hide in here until they go."
"But Sorquizic will be rising soon! Mamon says we're not to go into the rocks when Sorquizic is rising!"
"Don't be such a baby. Sorquizic won't be rising for ages yet." Half lifting, half dragging, he got her up onto the first rock. "This is ours, and they're not getting it."
The word
ours
worked like he knew it would. Twisting free of his grip, Mija began to climb. When she was safely out of sight, he tucked Xaantalicta's treasure under one arm and followed.
"If they look over that edge, they'll see us," she told him as he dropped down beside her.
He looked up the way she was pointing and realized she was right. "Then we'll wade out around this rock and hide on the other side. They'll never find us there."
"Never?"
"I promise."
Looking dubious, Mija slid into the water.
Since he was taller, Hentee moved to the outside and together they waded around and onto a tiny enclosed triangle of sand.
Waves lapping at the backs of their knees, both children stood and stared.
"Did Xaantalicta drop this, too?" Mija breathed at last.
Hentee shook himself as his sister's voice broke the spell. "Don't be silly. It's a man."
"But he's all yellow."
"It's a man," Hentee repeated but with less certainty. It looked like a man, that was true, but it was bigger, much bigger than even his Papon who was one of the biggest men in the village, and Mija was right, it was very yellow. The skin was almost brown, but there was yellow hair on its head and darker yellow hair on its face and around its pee-er and on its chest instead of a man's tattoos. Nestled in the hair on its chest…
"Is it dead?"
"No. Now shut up." Handing Mija Xaantalicta's treasure, Hentee waded ashore and squatted by the great yellow thing's side.
"What, Hentee? What?"
"I don't know." He reached out slowly and pinched the leather thong between thumb and finger, lifting the disk that hung from it up onto its side.
A narrow beam slanting out from the late afternoon sun found its way through a cleft in the rocks and touched the disk with glory.
Hentee swallowed hard. "Gold. Mija. It's gold." Under the band of sunlight, skin and hair gleamed golden as well. "Tulpayotee. He's sent a warrior to fight the change!"
Mija hugged their treasure tighter. "You shouldn't be touching him. I'm telling!"
"I'm not touching him!" Still holding the thong, Hentee turned to glare at his sister. "I'm just touching…"
A huge, damp hand closed around his.
Hentee screamed.
"You say a pair of children found him on the beach?"
"Yes, gracious one."
"They ran for their father who ran for the Ooman who ran for you?"
"Yes, gracious one."
"Good. I like to have these things straight in my mind. If rumors of his existence come to me from other sources, I'll know who is to blame."
"Yes, gracious one."
"You may go."
"Thank you, gracious one. I am unworthy of your time."
The only sound for some moments was the shuffling of sandals growing increasingly distant.
"Take him to my personal physician. Tell her; if the golden man dies, so does she."
Chapter Six
AFTER death, so said the priests, the fifth kigh—the kigh of self—is gathered back into the Center of the Circle to rest and be cleansed until it is spun a physical form again. Benedikt was vaguely aware of being carried, of warm, wet cloth, bright light, and of liquid voices he thought belonged to the kigh who had saved him. For if all things were enclosed in the Circle, would his kigh not be there as well? As bits of memory floated by—the storm, the Song, the cowardly retreat from sudden pain—the thought of the kigh was the only thing that made bearable the knowledge of his failure.
He was swimming for the surface and for air, fighting against a great weight of water. Behind him, in the darkness, swam horror. Above him, in the light, was rebirth. His heart pounded. Surely his lungs would burst. One arm broke through. And then the other.
He opened his eyes.
The light was dim, the silence that of a large, almost empty space. He wore the body he'd spent twenty years growing into although he wore it with unaccustomed awareness.
These are my feet. These my legs. I move my fingers so
… His tongue reported oil on his lips but couldn't identify the flavor.
The soft shuff, shuff of approaching footsteps froze him in place, eyes half closed, hardly daring to breathe.
He felt a touch against his foot, saw a small, dark hand.
The touch moved lightly up his leg, he saw arm and shoulder…
A girl. No, a woman, full breasts and hips pressed against her cream-colored shift, but she was so small he could easily tuck her under one arm. Her skin held the deep, rich tones of old copper and both of her upper arms were marked by an intricate design of interlocking black patterns. When he dared open his eyes a fraction more, he saw a profile dominated by an imposing angle of nose. Etched with silver, her dark hair had been gathered at the nape of her neck and fell down her back in a single braid.
One hand resting just above his knee, she turned. Her eyes widened and she started, fingers tightening on his skin. Then she frowned, said something he understood to be an admonishment—she clearly considered it his fault she was startled—and quickly left the room.
Benedikt had barely begun sorting out this new information when she returned accompanied by another woman, no taller, perhaps ten years older, and clearly of higher status. What he could see of this second woman's shift had been bleached white, and over it she wore some kind of loose multicolored coat. She had a black pattern drawn on one cheek and her multiple braids had been decorated with small white feathers.
