A Sword From Red Ice (31 page)

Waker always paddled from the bow while his father
guided the boat from the stern. Chedd paddled from the center, though
he wasn't very good at it, and tended to cheat after a while when his
shoulder got sore. So far Effie had not been assigned any tasks.
Which was just as well really, as it was hard getting used to the
boat.

It was a new and distressing experience, being
afloat. Hailsmen had never been rivermen—probably because no
navigable river flowed close to the roundhouse—and it wasn't
unknown for clansmen to live and die without once setting foot in a
boat. Effie hadn't really given them much thought before, even when
she'd stayed with Mad Binny out on Cold Lake. Just being outside was
trial enough, let alone being outside on dangerous, changeable,
death-dealing water. She couldn't swim, even though two summers ago
Raif had tried very hard to teach her at the beaver pond in the
Wedge. It would have helped, she had to admit, if she'd actually got
in the water. Poor Raif tried everything to coax her in—letting
her know how warm the water was, promising to keep hold of her at all
times, and then finally attempting to bribe her with cakes—but
she wasn't having any of it. So she had watched from the rocks as he
did swoopy things with his arms and kicked his feet. It didn't look
very hard, and she'd decided it was a bit of a worthless skill, like
dancing, and promptly dismissed it from her mind.

That had all changed five days ago when Waker had
made her step into the boat. "Easy, girl," he'd warned as
he held the gunwales to steady the long, thin watercraft. "Bend
at the waist, keep yourself low."

That was all very well, but it was only her second
day in leg irons, and she was still working on the techniques
required to walk with only two feet of slack. That was one thing
Chedd excelled at, the shuffling, the sidling and—when all else
failed—the one-legged hop. He was pretty quick on his feet, she
had to give him that. In the end she couldn't manage to step in the
boat and had to be picked up. Waker had not been gentle as he plunked
her down on the seat.

Things were getting a bit better now, but there
was always the fear of falling in the water. The boat rocked and
swayed, especially when Waker and his father stood to use the poles.
Chedd said farther upstream there were rapids where the water frothed
and bucked like a rabid raccoon. He said they'd probably die trying
to pole against them. There was a lot wrong with those two
statements, Effie decided. Waker and his father obviously had
experience of the river, and if they could circumvent an entire
roundhouse they could certainly find a way around some rapids. Plus
she doubted very much that either one of them would attempt anything
that placed themselves and the boat in danger. And finally, if there
was anything less like water than a rabid raccoon Effie Sevrance
would like to see it.

"Girl. Cover the fire. We leave within the
quarter." Waker didn't even look at her as he spoke. They'd
finished repairing the ice damage and the boat was now back in the
free-flowing water beyond the ice. As Waker's father held the craft
in place, Chedd and Waker began to load the supplies. They traveled
light, without tents or fire-irons, and it made for swift camps and
departures. No comforts were afforded. Waker's father had a distrust
of fires and let one be lit only for the time it took to boil a
kettle for the trail tea. Yet even when the fire burned for only half
an hour and left the smallest possible footprint, Waker was
meticulous about covering all traces of it when he left. Effie had a
feeling she knew why.

She'd been observing the way he and his father
traveled for the past few days. They were sneaks. They knew the back
ways and the side ways, the ways through the reeds and the ways under
the deeply shaded canopies of weeping willow. They knew exactly where
they would stop each evening. Campgrounds and hideaways, stock ponds
for fishing, mussel beds for musseling, duck-nesting banks for fresh
eggs: they knew them all. And did not want to share them. Leave a
burned-out fire or any other trace of habitation and their secret
places might be lost. They inhabited a world right under the noses of
a dozen clans yet floated by undetected. It was a type of power,
Effie recognized, to possess such stealth.

For a wonder the sun came out as she raked over
the fire coals with a willow switch. It even felt a bit warm if you
squinted. The wind had started chopping up the water and Effie
reckoned they'd be in for an unpleasant day afloat. Normally they got
a much earlier start, but the business of the tower had thrown
everyone off. Plucking at the lore suspended around her throat,
Effie checked on Drey. Still nothing.

"Girl, in the boat."

Effie released her lore, but not before she saw
Waker's sharp gaze skim over it.

Boarding the boat was still somewhat of a problem.
She'd never been the most graceful girl—even when she'd had the
full use of both legs—and she just couldn't seem to manage the
combination of water, boat and leg irons in a single flowing
movement. Her dress always got soaked and then she'd have to sit on
it all day. It got wet now, despite the fact that she hiked it up to
knee height in knee-deep water. She couldn't quite work that one out.
With an awkward little move she'd named "the storker" she
lifted her right leg as high as the leg irons would permit and then
took a one-legged hopping jump into the craft. Positioning was
everything. Land low and in the center and you were all right. High
and off-center and the boat started rocking like a rabid raccoon in a
storm.

Luckily today she got it just right. Chedd was
already sitting on his seat, one down from the stern, and he turned
around and aced her with the double thumbs. Grinning, she thumbed him
back. He really wasn't bad. For a boy.

Waker's father stepped in next and she was pleased
to see he had a paddle, not a pole. That meant he wouldn't be
standing, and that made for a more stable day in the boat. Waker
pushed the boat into motion and then vaulted onto his seat. They were
off.

Father and son worked well together, paddling in
perfect time on opposing sides. Waker's strokes were deep and
efficient and you could feel the power of his shoulders pulling the
boat. He was not big and bulky like a hammerman but he had an
efficient and enduring type of strength. He could paddle upstream all
day. His hair was black and flat and he pulled it back at the nape of
his neck with a fine moonstone clasp that was not clan-made. It was
his only jewel. His thigh-length moose-hide boots were thickly waxed
and shed water, and his pants and coat were cut from dense, velvety
otter hides. The only way to discern his clan was through subtleties
in his gear and person. He did not carry a sword—that in itself
was telling—rather a long spike-like knife that he kept in a
sheath made from the green and scaleless skin of the salamander.
Riding next to the spike-knife on his gear belt was a second, shorter
knife this one sheathed in leather covered with frogskin. Frog and
salamander: the twin knives of Clan Gray.

Once Effie had spotted them she noticed other
indicators of his clan. His powdered guidestone was kept dry in a
swim bladder that he wore on a thong around his neck. The brass
buckle of his gear belt had been stamped with water marks, and the
little fingernail on his right had been excised, exposing a pad of
purple flesh. At the time of their first yearman's oath all Graymen
had one fingernail removed. Effie didn't know whether Graymen were
allowed to choose which of their nails would be taken. She did know
that Waker's father had the exact same scar: little finger, right
hand.

On impulse Effie spun around in her seat to look
at Waker's father. He was staring straight back at her, as if he'd
anticipated her turn. Anticipate this then, she thought, feeling
slightly unbalanced. "What's your name?"

Both Chedd and Waker Stone turned at the sound of
her voice. Generally there was no speaking in the boat: it was one of
the rules. Waker's father continued paddling in smooth, uninterrupted
strokes. His jaw was slack, but he looked at her as if he knew
exactly what she was up to. Which was strange as she wasn't even sure
herself. Frowning, she turned around to face front.

"Girlie, girlie, girlie, girlie. Wonder why
it wasn't early?"

Hearing the croaky, gleeful voice coming from
behind, Effie spun back, but she was too late. Waker's father's jaw
had already fallen slack. His little beady eyes were triumphant.

Gods, he's weird. Disgruntled, Effie turned her
back on him and fixed her attention on the river.

The boat had found its channel and was moving
upstream. They were about thirty paces from the north shore, which
still consisted of mud banks glazed with ice. You couldn't see the
southern shore because of the densely wooded island midstream. Effie
spotted a ruin amidst the fire pines, and wondered what clan, if any,
claimed it. Chedd had sworn blind there were river pirates living on
the islands, but Effie didn't believe him. How would pirates make a
living? Waker's boat was the only craft in sight.

As the morning wore on the going became more
difficult. The wind fought the boat and they were forced midstream by
tree debris and rocks. Waker and his father muscled the boat forward,
their paddles cutting parallel troughs through the water. Gradually
the mud banks and reeds gave way to woods. Trees grew right up to the
river's edge. Some were actually standing in the water. Effie
wondered how long it would be before the river level dropped and they
got some relief. When she spied a fisher eagle diving in water just
off the shore, she couldn't help but speak again. "Chedd,"
she hissed. "Over there. It's got a fish."

Chedd had been engaging in fake paddling for the
better part of an hour and was glad of the distraction. "She's a
beaut," he whispered with appreciation. "Look. On the
island. You can see her nest."

Effie glanced at Waker's back, checking that this
hushed conversation didn't offend him. He had to be able to hear
it—they were only separated by a distance of seven feet—but
perhaps because they were keeping their voices extra low he'd decided
to tolerate it. The back of his head, decorated with the palely
beautiful moonstone clasp, held steady and did not move.

"How do you know it's a she?" she
whispered, gaze following the line of Chedd's pudgy finger to the
eagle's nest.

Chedd shrugged. "Just do."

Effie shrugged back. The eagle had what looked to
be a green pickerel in its hooked talons. The fish wriggled wildly
as the eagle flew toward her nest. Once she was overland, she
released her grip and let the fish plummet toward the beach.

Chedd turned his neck to look at Effie and they
both executed a collected shoulder-scrunching wince at the moment the
pickerel hit the rocks. "Eew," Chedd sighed with feeling.

"Double eew," Effie agreed, watching as
the eagle swooped down to retrieve the smashed fish.

"Uh-oh. Trouble coming."

"Ssh," Effie hissed. In his excitement
Chedd had forgotten to lower his voice. Waker had to have heard that,
but a quick glance at the back of the Grayman's head told Effie
nothing.

Color crept up Chedd's neck. "Sorry," he
muttered. "I forgot."

Finally Effie understood what Chedd had meant by
trouble coming. As she looked on, a pair of ravens broke through the
trees and swept in toward the kill. The eagle saw them coming
straight for her, plucked out a piece of the pickerel's belly,
gobbled it down and sprang into flight. She was nearly twice the size
of the ravens, but Effie guessed she was a smart bird who knew when
she was outnumbered. The ravens, night-black creatures with oily
wings, fell upon the fish carcass and started cawing and squawking
and battling each other for the best pieces.

"What happened to females first?" Effie
whispered, fascinated.

Chedd corrected her in a voice so low it took her
a moment to understand him. "They're both female too."

"How do you know that?" she demanded.

Again Chedd shrugged. "Dunno. Just do."

Effie fell silent, thinking. She looked at the
back of Chedd's chubby neck and then out toward the island and the
ravens. Out of habit she reached for her lore. The stone was
wind-cooled and heavy. It told her nothing. Waker's father steered
the boat toward the shore, taking advantage of the deepening channel.
The shoreline was still heavily wooded, but the land was beginning to
rise and rocky draws and undercuts lined the bank.

"Chedd," Effie said after a while,
leaning forward so she could whisper in his ear. "How did you
know about the ravens before they broke the trees?"

"Didn't know," he replied, defensive.

He was a bad liar and Effie wasn't about to let
him get away with it. "You did know, because you said trouble
was coming when there was nothing there."

Chedd shrugged expressively, his shoulders moving
upward in three separate stages.

"Has anyone ever said anything bad about
you?" Effie persisted. "Like you might be . . ." She
lowered her voice to its absolute minimum. "Chanted."

Chedd nearly jumped off his seat. He shook his
head so vigorously he rocked the boat. "No. No. No. I'm training
for the hammer," he said, as if this automatically disqualified
him from suspicion. He thought for a moment and then added, "My
da's a hammerman too."

Effie frowned. She could tell by the set of his
shoulders that Chedd had entered what Mog Willey called "the
clamdown." Once someone had entered the clamdown the only thing
to do was leave them alone. They would open up only in their own good
time.

Light goldened as the sun moved to the west. The
wind died and the chop left the water. Effie couldn't see anything
but water and trees. Pines and hardwoods warred for space along the
shore. Over time her legs had grown stiff and she raised them a
little bit to get the blood pumping. The chains were wet and
dripping; there was always an inch of water in the boat. As she
watched the chains swing between her feet she thought of Chedd and
Waker and Waker's father. Something was lying at the far edge of her
memory and she was trying to make it roll toward her. Of course as
soon as she tried it rolled the other way. Memories were tricky
little animals to catch.