The Ruling Sea (15 page)

Now Ensyl and Ludunte alone were left to her. By immutable law they must obey her every command, yet if she ordered them to disobey Taliktrum, the clan leader, she would be condemning them to join her in disgrace.

She looked at Ludunte, and thought for the first time what a terrible burden she had placed on the two of them.
Mother Sky
, she thought,
I’ve ruined everything
.

Since the arrival of Pazel, the tarboy who could speak their language and hear their natural voices—and Dri’s terribly unpopular decision not to kill him—her reputation for wisdom had been thrown into doubt. Over the course of the summer, as the
Chathrand
plowed west toward Simja, she had fought for the life of the boy with her brother, Lord Talag, with whom she had shared the rule of Ixphir House for decades. It was an ancient house and a proud family. Their direct ancestors had founded it, abandoning the nomad practice of living in ships for the first time since her race was stolen, in cages and specimen jars, from across the Ruling Sea.

The whole of that House was now aboard the
Chathrand:
six hundred ixchel men, women and children, following a dream of escape that had come to Talag in childhood and pursued him to his death.

There, again: the blunt blow to the heart. A vision of her brother in the mouth of Sniraga as the huge cat leaped away down a passage. His limbs were scarlet; he flopped like a dead thing in her jaws. They had never recovered his body.

“Feel that thunder,” said Ludunte, pressing a hand to the wall. “A storm will be here by morning.”

Diadrelu had had no time to grieve for Talag; with his death she had become sole leader of the clan. Talag had been about to recognize his son, Taliktrum, as a full Lord of Ixphir. That task had fallen to Diadrelu—but she had not done so. Taliktrum was of age, and had passed every test of strength and courage. But what of judgment? Dri could not see herself standing before the clan.
Here is your liege, your shield and protector, trust him with your lives
. Ritual words, some would say. But for Diadrelu they contained a promise she could not give lightly.

For with Talag dead, his son would have joined her as co-commander the instant his title was conferred. And he was not ready. Talag had been a genius, if angry and vain. Taliktrum was merely ambitious. Like his father he distrusted the very air humans breathed—but he never realized that Talag’s anger, however blinding, was born of a careful study of history. If Taliktrum actually believed in the same dream as his father—to lead their people to safety on Sanctuary-Beyond-the-Sea, the island whence they’d come—he did so without the least curiosity as to what they might find when they got there.

When Taliktrum was a child, Dri had loved him as best she could. But she doubted that he had ever looked at her and seen a loving aunt. For his tenth birthday she took him on a daring expedition: an ice-skate by moonlight on the frozen River Ool. He had been cross to learn that skates could be worn and used by anyone, not just ruling elites. “Why do we bother with them, then?” he asked, bewildered.

“There’s the rain now,” said Ludunte.

No, Taliktrum had seen only the Lady, the office, the power in her hands. It had taught her a lesson, that cold appraisal. It had made her distrustful of titles forever.

Now this boy of twenty had the power he had always wanted, and she had none. To a people used to being slaughtered by humans, sparing Pazel’s life had been bad enough. Revealing their presence to a cabinful of humans was simply unthinkable. The clan assembled; a Council of Witness was elected to hear the case, and three hours later her people stripped her of command. Dri knew it might have been worse: Taliktrum had wanted her guarded day and night, and barred from all further contact with those he mockingly called her “tame ones.” What would he do if he learned that she had sworn to stand beside those humans, even before her own kin, until Arunis fell and the Nilstone was somehow put beyond use?

“Mistress,” said Ludunte. “He is on his feet.”

She took his place at the spy-hole. Arunis was standing in the center of the three rings, watched by his motionless dog. Taking care not to brush the circles with his cloak, he reached for the shelf and took down the lamp, a ceramic water jug and a small wooden box. The first two items he placed on the floor just outside the circles. Then he opened the box and took out several handfuls of downy weed of the sort used for packing breakables. Tossing these aside, he at last removed a black kerchief bound carefully with string. Gingerly he untied the string and unfolded the cloth.

“Rin’s blood,” said Diadrelu.

On the kerchief lay a handful of human bones. There were three teeth, what might have been a fragment of rib, and an entire, articulated finger. All were yellow-brown and clearly old, perhaps even ancient. The mage looked at them warily, like things that might jump from his hand. Then he returned the box to the shelf and took down a small brass bowl.

“What is that devil up to now?” asked Ludunte.

“More than prayer, I think,” said Diadrelu.

Arunis sat again upon the floor. The kerchief he spread before him, within the innermost circle. The bowl he placed between the rings of ash and salt, and Dri saw now that it contained a few teaspoons of a pale, lumpy substance like crumbled cake. From the folds of his cloak he produced a match. Lighting it by the oil lamp, he held it above the black kerchief.

“Lords of Night,” he whispered, “unbar your ways, unlock your gates and posterns, withdraw your jealous guard. Let the one who dwells with you gaze on these relics of himself.”

He dropped the match into the bowl. The yellow substance blazed ferociously, crackling and spitting. The air filled with a reek so sharp and bitter it even passed through the ixchels’ tiny spy-hole, and Dri reared back for a moment, fearful she would cough. The dog whined. Ludunte was almost gagging.

“What is it? A drug, a poison?”

Dri could make no answer. When she looked again, the walrus-oil lamp was out, and the fire in the bowl was reduced to a low, sputtering flame. Arunis had not moved a muscle.

And then the flame spoke.

“Hideth venostralhan, Wytter.”

Ludunte stifled a gasp. Dri seized his arm in warning, though she herself felt stabbed with horror. The voice was cold and dry and powerful, but what made it truly ghastly was its indifference. She had no idea what the words meant, but they were said with the drawling unconcern of one who would cut off another’s limb out of boredom, or perhaps his own. It was appalling even to know that such a voice could exist.

“He has brought it, Sathek,” said Arunis. “He has brought it to this island, not three miles from here, and I must have it for my king.”

The voice from the flame spoke again, with the same lazy savagery.

“Your time in this world has passed,” said Arunis. “But through the Shaggat I can complete your work.”

A flat, slow sigh: a death sigh, or the ghost of a laugh.

“Yet I must have it,” said Arunis. “With or without your help. Only if you help me our victory will be swifter. Imagine him when the Swarm returns. The Nilstone in one fist, your scepter in the other! Armies shall wilt before him, like petals in the frost.”

“Saukre ne Shaggat prelichin.”

“He will be flesh again. Mark my word. Not even Ramachni of Nemmoc can prevent it.”

They spoke on. The sorcerer was angry and pleading by turns, but the voice of the other never changed. The fire dimmed in the bowl. Whatever it was consuming was almost gone.

“M’lady, the fumes—”

“Hush, Ludunte!”

“I ask nothing for myself,” hissed Arunis, leaning over the dwindling flame. “Near death have I been, and wrung dry of magic, yet I seek no help on that score. But can you not stir yourself for the sake of what you built? Can you truly wish it left forever with that old Babqri fool? Do this for yourself, Sathek. Let me be your instrument of revenge!”

The sorcerer spread his palm an inch above the jumbled bones.

“Do this, and when I regain the Nilstone I shall build a tomb for your relics the size of a castle, upon a peak in Olisurn. Deny me, and I shall toss them into the bay.”

The fire winked out.

“Sathek!”

The sorcerer froze, listening intently. The cabin was black. With their exceptional night vision the ixchel could still see well enough, but Dri could not tell if his expression was one of triumph or defeat. She kept her hand on Ludunte’s arm, warning him not to make a sound.

For several minutes Arunis did not seem to breathe. Then suddenly he rose to his feet and leaped out of the circles. Rushing to the porthole, he tore frantically at the bolt and threw open the round glass window. The sound of rain filled the cabin; Dri could hear it lancing against the floor. Arunis bent and peered through the opening, then gave a laugh that must have carried through several decks.

The dog yipped from beneath the bed. At the sound Arunis looked at it for the first time, and an alarming thought seemed to strike him. Rushing to the bed, he snatched up the dog and leaped back within the three circles, holding the squirming animal tight against his chest.

A thump. Something had alighted in the porthole. It was about the size of a gull, but it was not bird-shaped. It was so black Dri found she could not make out its features. Did it have two legs, or four? Was that a tail or a lanky braid?

“Go,” Arunis told it, and the fear was naked in his voice. “Go and get it, creature, and bring it to me.”

The thing made an animal yowl and leaped at the mage. But at the edge of the first circle it stopped short, groping at the air as if entangled in a web. It spat and clawed, but could not break through. In a fury the creature circled the cabin, smashing cups and flasks and inkwells, overturning the table, emptying the shelves, as Arunis shouted
Go, go!
and the dog barked murder. But the thing would not cross the lines on the cabin floor.

“Your master set you a task, incubus! You dare not return to your sphere without seeing it done, and the night is half spent already. Obey him!”

The creature hurled itself once more at Arunis, and once more the circles proved impossible to cross. Hissing with rage it returned to the porthole, then seemed to twist and look back. Lightning crackled over the bay, and in its glow Dri saw a face out of nightmare, a baby fused with a rabid dog, and then the thing was gone.

Arunis leaped to the porthole and slammed it fast. Dropping his pet, he staggered back to his bed and threw himself down. Gasping, he covered his face with his hands.

Dri motioned to Ludunte:
We climb
. In a few seconds they were up the wall and crawling away across the ceiling of the adjacent cabin. When a good distance separated them from the mage, Dri sat down and began to work the cramps out of her legs.

Ludunte spoke in a hoarse whisper. “He summoned a fiend, m’lady. Right before our eyes.”

She looked up at him sharply. The boy was in shock.

“Even now,” she asked, “will Taliktrum deny the peril this mage represents? Does he think Arunis will suffer a nest of crawlies to divert this mission for ends of their own?”

Ludunte swallowed. His mouth twisted in frustration.

“I begin to understand,” said Diadrelu. “He placed you here alone
because
you are loyal to me, didn’t he? So that whatever you might observe should be tainted and unconvincing to the clan. After all, you’re just the sworn servant of a madwoman.”

“No, no—”

“And then of course there were the fumes. Perhaps we hallucinated. Who wouldn’t prefer to think so? Especially if believing meant turning away from that old story, ixchel against all humans everywhere, and admitting that
we must find some to put our faith in
, or die with them all alike?”

“M’lady, do you order me to speak?”

“No!” said Dri quickly.
“Héridom
, I order you
not
to. You must be able to stand before Taliktrum and declare in all truth that you never told me anything. If he intends to spy on me, I’d rather he use you than anyone else. I depend on you now more than ever.”

Ludunte gazed at his feet for a moment. Then he raised his head and asked, “Where did Arunis send that creature, do you know? To attack your friends in the stateroom?”

Dri shook her head. “His ultimate goal is to recover the Nilstone, but he sent the incubus ashore.
Not three miles from here
, he said. Whatever he wants is on the island, and in the hands of the one he called
that Babqri fool
. A Mzithrini, in other words. Well, it is time we left. Go and close the hole.”

“M’lady, I do not have the spyjack crank.”

Dri thought she had misheard. She got to her feet, and there was cold fury in her voice.

“They left you tending a spyjack with no means to close it behind you?”

Ludunte nodded reluctantly.

Dri took a deep breath. “Listen to me,
sophister
. You will never again consent to watch a spyjack you cannot close—not if the ghost of Yalídryn the Founder himself should rise and demand it. Go to Night Village and fetch a crank. There is no shortage of them. Report what we have seen to Taliktrum, then come back and close the hole. Those are my express commands.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Night Village was the mercy deck: the nearly lightless floor just above the hold, where the ixchel dwelt in a fortress of cargo-crates, ten yards from the bow.

“Report all that we have seen to Taliktrum,” Dri continued. “It may be some time before I return.”

Ludunte looked at her fearfully. “Where are you going, Mistress?”

She hesitated, then smiled and laid a gentle hand on his arm. “Where the clan must not follow,” she said.

She did not go directly where she had planned, however. There was one other matter to attend to first.

Hercól Stanapeth still slept in his valet’s cabin on the berth deck. Diadrelu had no means to enter the stifling little chamber, but as she wriggled between the ceiling and the floor above she heard him move. A rustling in the darkness, then a slight scrape. A pale shaft of light sprang up through a crack she would never otherwise have seen. Hercól was lighting a candle. Dri crawled forward to the crack and looked down.