Black Spice (Book 3) (17 page)

Lerica
picked at a shell in the sand.  “You haven’t said much all day.  Is there more
to it than worry about Aiyan?”  Then she looked at him in that way she had, and
he couldn’t help but say it.

“He
was
beaten
,” Kyric said, blinking back tears.  “He was beaten.  Soth
Garo was a better swordsman, and Aiyan simply got beat. 
He wasn’t good
enough
.”

“Soth
Garo had some advantages.”

“But
all Aiyan had to do was defend himself for a few seconds.”

“He
had to give the signal to the Bantuans,” Lerica said.  “Maybe that distracted
him.”

“Nothing
so small would have distracted Aiyan.”

“So
now you’re angry with him for getting himself stabbed?  Sweetie, he couldn’t
help it.”

“I know,” Kyric said, “that’s why I’m so
mad.”  He made claws of his hands and dug them into the sand, squeezing hard,
trying to strangle the whole world.

The
evening was mild, but Kyric was hot in the depths of the night.  He rolled back
and forth, a burning sensation in his leg keeping him awake.  Aiyan mumbled on
and off deliriously, at one point crying out in the Essian Tongue.  When the
wind died after midnight, the silence echoed loudly in Kyric’s head.

His
eyes flew open at first light.  Aiyan was staring at him.

“I’m
ready to go,” he said with a tone of finality.  “I thought maybe Ilara’s song
had done enough, but I think all it did was stop the bleeding.”

“What
do you mean?” Kyric said, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.

“Believe
me, I want to live.  But I’m not getting better.  I’m getting worse.  I can
feel my life and my spirit ebbing away.  As a warrior, I would rather have died
in my moment of victory.  But I will not die in bed if I’m allowed a choice. 
Tonight I will let my spirit go.”

Kyric
suddenly felt weak.  “Can’t you . . . can’t you hang on a little longer?  Isn’t
there a chance you could still mend?”

Aiyan’s
eyes flashed with some of his old fire.  “That cannot be.  I would know it. 
I
would know it
.”  He took a sip of water.  It was hard for him to swallow.

“I
have a couple of errands for you,” he continued, trying not to cough.  “Please
invite all the friends I have made here to join me on the beach this evening
and hear my final words.  When you have done that, bring my sea chest from the
ship.  Then we will talk.”

When
Kyric returned, two young priestesses were there, offering Aiyan a bowl of
mashed breadfruit and washing his face and hands.  They combed and oiled his
hair, then braided it in the style he always wore.  He had them remove all the
bedding then shooed them away.

He
sat up, removing a few things from his sea chest.  “Take my sword and clean it
while you listen.”

As
he spoke, Aiyan handed Kyric a vial of oil and the powder ball.  “Ivestris must
be returned to Esaiya.  It has been wielded by true warriors before me, and it
must be again.  Only the swords which burned in the first light of Sorrin’s
blade can hold the flame.  Some have been lost over the years, and not so many
remain in the hall of Elistar’s shield as once did.  This must be done.  Also,
the masters of the order need to hear an account of what has happened here.  I
have to know if you are willing to do it.”

Kyric
held the sword in front of him and removed the sheath.  “I would do anything
you ask of me.  But what of the barrier around Esaiya?  How can I pass through
it by my own hand?”

“The
Unknowable Forces will permit it.  I know this.  They will allow you to come to
Esaiya if your heart truly burns for it.”

Kyric
had begun wiping the blade with a dry cloth.  He looked up.  “How do you know?”

“Before
any man can step upon Esaiya as a candidate, a knight or master of the order
must agree to serve as his benefactor.  I am yours, and I have been all of
these days.  I spoke of you to Master Zahaias — or I should say that he spoke
to me.  He told me that you are welcome on Esaiya, and he has promised to act
as your benefactor should I be killed.”

“But
I don’t know anything.”

Aiyan
shook his head.  “You can’t go back to hiding behind that.  One of the
dualities of the way is that we can never learn all that we need, yet we must
act decisively with what we know.  Denial of knowledge will not prevent
arrogance.  Pride and humility must both be overcome if you are to go forward.

“I
find it endearing that you are unaware of your natural talent in the weird
arts.  It took me years to reach the level you’re at.  With Master Zahaias for
a teacher, you could go farther than any of us.  But to be blunt, I don’t envy the
time you will spend with him.  I was never at ease in his presence.  He always emits
a terrible intensity.”

Kyric
reached for the powder ball.  “Just don’t look them in the eyes, and it’s not
so bad.”

Aiyan’s
voice tightened as he fought a surge of pain.  “So.  Will you return the
sword?”

“Of
course.”

“And
will you stay on Esaiya as a Candidate of the Order?”

“Where
else would I go?”

Aiyan
motioned to the chests of spice outside the tent.  “Those alone will give you
enough money to live for years.  And Lerica will be rich.  You have other
choices.”

Kyric
shook his head.  “I’m not sure that I do.  Maybe I should consider it more
seriously.  But I’ve looked through his eye; I’ve seen his future.  It’s as you
warned me — it doesn’t take long before you’ve gone too far.  Besides, could I
really be with Lerica without putting her in danger?”

Aiyan
didn’t answer at first.  Then, “It is my hope that you could.”

Kyric
finished cleaning the sword.  “One more matter.  What about my swordsmanship? 
You said I needed years more practice.”

“A
. . . dispensation has been granted.  But don’t worry, the masters of Esaiya
would not loose you upon the world unprepared.  You may, however, have to spend
more time there than is usual.”

Kyric
set the sword aside and unwrapped the protective leather from the ebony
scabbard.  He began to polish it with wood oil.

Aiyan
laid down to rest.  “Take Ivestris to Esaiya,” he said.  “Leave the locket with
me.  All else is yours.”

“And
if we make it to Aeva, everything is arranged with Princess Aerlyn?”

“Yes,”
Aiyan said, suddenly very tired.  “Tell her . . . tell her I’m sorry.”

The
midday rains never came, and while Aiyan rested, several dozen Tialuccan
warriors wandered down to the tent a few at a time, sitting together at a respectful
distance.  More and more joined them as the day went on.  As the sun swung low
in the west, Aiyan sat up and said to Kyric.  “Here, help me get dressed.”

Kyric
got the white buckskin leggings on him, then managed to slip the blue tunic
over him without too much hurt.  He had to stand Aiyan on his feet to get the
sash right.  When they came to the sword, Aiyan said, “Forget the belt, just
slip it into the sash.”

When
he was done, Kyric peeked out at the beach.  “They’re all there.”

With
one arm over Kyric’s shoulder, Aiyan was able to walk.  When they stepped out
of the tent, all the Tialuccans keeping watch rose together and approached
them.  They bowed.

“Ulendi
Aku,” said one.  “We have been told that you go to your death.  We would hear
what wisdom you have found in your time as a warrior.”

Aiyan
scanned their faces.  “I don’t know if I possess any wisdom.”

Another,
a young one, blurted out, “Tell us what is best in life.”

Aiyan
looked out to sea, then back to the crowd of warriors.  “To sit beside the
waters, to drink
rass
wine and listen to the song of the
mashan
. 
That is what is best in life.”

They
walked on to the beach, and Kyric thought that they must be a sight, one man
leaning on another who leaned on a crutch.  Aiyan’s stride grew longer as they
went, his eyes becoming sharper.  He took the last few steps on his own.  Those
he invited stood in a semicircle.  Caleem and Tonah had come in full battle
armor, with their spears and shields, Ilara and Ubtarune in feathered capes and
headdresses.  Ellec wore a suit of solid white that Kyric had never seen before. 
Lerica shone in her freshly-oiled black leather.

Aiyan
lowered himself to his knees, sitting back on his heels, and signaled everyone
to sit as well.  Ubtarune went to stand in front of him, and presented him with
a huge blue and yellow feather.  It had to have come from a Gavdi bird.

“This
is the greatest of all our magic,” he said.  “It will see that your spirit is
carried on the wind.”

Aiyan
nodded and placed it under his arm.  Ubtarune returned to the others and sat. 
Aiyan waited until the disk of the sun slipped below the horizon, then suddenly
he drew his sword across his locket, and blue fire leapt from the cutting edge.

The
flame burned brightly in the waning light.  He held the blade high, showing it
in turn to each one of them, then he sheathed it and laid it on the ground.  He
removed his locket from the chain and opened it, placing it on the sand in
front of him.  The tiny blue flame flickered in the breeze.

“Thank
you, my friends,” Aiyan said, his voice suddenly deep and rich.  “Your presence
here honors me.  To the Tialucca, I say that it has been my privilege to serve. 
To my friend Ellec,” he looked directly at him, “I hope your return voyage
brings many blessings.”  He shifted his gaze to Lerica.  “May you find that
which will hold you in balance, Lerica Panthrum.  And Kyric,” he said more
softly, “know that I am proud to have been your first teacher.”  He raised his
head.  “The Powers protect you all.  Farewell.”

He
bowed to them all, and to the flame.  Then he spoke for the last time.

“
Selai
Asol
.”  It was an invocation in the Essian Tongue, used for creation and
for unmaking.

He sat still.  He bowed his head to his
chest and closed his eyes.  The flame went out.

“How
do your people treat the remains of your fallen heroes?” King Tonah asked Kyric
the next morning.  They had laid Aiyan’s body in the large pavilion, and all
the people of Tiah had spent the night filing past him, the incense in their
hands casting a smoky haze over the place.

“The
Ulendi Aku of the Tialucca,” Tonah continued, “watch for us from their tombs in
the sky.  All the people agree that Sir Aiyan be allowed a place among them.”

Kyric
blinked.  “Do you mean that your most honored dead rest inside the bird heads,
uh, the totems on top of those poles?”

“They
do.”

Kyric
thought about it.  Somehow it didn’t seem right for Aiyan.  Then he had an
idea.

“You
honor my teacher, but I would make another choice.  Let me tell you what is
done in my land with our greatest heroes.”

All
was ready by the end of the day.  Caleem insisted on sacrificing his own boat. 
Ellec supplied the whale oil.

They
brought Aiyan’s body to the shore where the great totem heads, the watching
heroes of the Tialucca, stood on their poles.  A pyramid of wood filled the
hull of the waiting boat and they set Aiyan there, locket on his chest and the
Gavdi feather in his hands.  They raised the sail and set the boat on a course
for the setting sun.

Kyric
waited, longbow in hand and arrow nocked.  Some of the Tialuccans looked at
him, but he waited until the boat made it to deeper water, a couple of hundred
yards out.  He knew he could make the shot.

Lerica
held the torch.  Kyric touched the head of his arrow to it and watched the
cloth catch fire.  He loosed it and it found its mark.  At first there was a thin
trail of smoke, then the boat went up all at once, the flames roaring skyward,
the smoke black against the red sun.

Kyric
couldn’t help but think it was highly theatric.  Aiyan would have loved it.

They
stayed in Tiah another ten days.  While repairs continued to the ship’s hull,
Ellec decided to make a full inspection and refit much of the rigging.  This
also gave him enough time to take an oxcart south and trade with the Manutu.

Kyric
spent his nights in Lerica’s bed, but it wasn’t like before.  She made herself
small and slept with her back against the bulkhead.  She got up before sunrise,
as always, and when she left the cabin he would lie awake in the dark.

He
spent the days in monkish solitude, carving wood and lying listlessly on the
beach.  At lunchtime one of Ilara’s girls would find him and redress his wound. 
He had hoped to spend some time with Caleem, but Caleem had become the
ambassador of the Tialucca, traveling the island to speak with other clan
leaders about the future of Mokkala and the spice trade.  Before he left for
his diplomatic tour, Kyric gave him the figurine of the whale serpent he had
carved.

“So
you can look at it, and know that you didn’t imagine it.”

Once
Calico
had been outfitted and business concluded, Ellec was anxious to
depart, as if a Baskillian ship could come around the headland at any time. 
Kyric didn’t see any need to hurry.  Back home it was still the dead of winter.

The
day before they sailed, Kyric, Ellec, and Lerica were invited to one last
coffee hour with King Tonah and Queen Opela.  No one else was there, and the
conversation was a bit stiff.  Tonah asked Ellec if he would come back next
year to trade again, and Ellec had to tell him that it was unlikely that he
could ever return, but that he would remain hopeful.  Opela presented gifts of
clothing to them.  A yellow sleeveless dress for Lerica, and a bright red vest
for Ellec.  Kyric received a pair of the pajama-like shorts.

At
length, Tonah asked him, “Will you now take Sir Aiyan’s place and wield the
fire sword?”

Kyric
glanced at Lerica.  He had been waiting until they put to sea to speak with her
about this.  “Before I could do that,” he said to Tonah, “I would have to train
long and be tested in the fortress of the flaming blade.”

Opela
looked from him to Lerica and back.  “Are the two of you not promised to one
another?”

“No,”
said Lerica, rather quickly.  “We are not promised in any way.  We have . . . a
kind of love for each other.  That’s all.”

Opela looked disappointed.  “To share
love and have no promise, that is sad.”

Kyric
didn’t sleep that night.  Lerica spent the entire time on deck, supposedly
conducting the final preparations for the voyage home.  He would have liked to
be the one stomping around the ship, but his leg wouldn’t permit it.

The
morning came on a stiff, gusty breeze.  No one had come from the town to see
them off.  As they fended away from the dock and raised sail, Kyric saw a large
crowd gathering on the headland. 
Calico
turned northwest, and when the
ship passed the hero totems, the Tialuccans all waved, like they did when
meeting a friend in the street.  Kyric wondered who had taught them that Northerners
waved goodbye.  The ship pushed into the open sea, and he limped to the taffrail
to look back.  They were still waving.

That
night he dined with Lerica in the cabin where Aiyan had slept.  That was its
true purpose in fact.  Now Ellec wouldn’t have to share the captain’s cabin at
mealtimes.

Lerica
slashed at her fish, clearly angry, eating like it was a contest.  “You never
told the king if you intended to do it,” she said, “if you planned to join the
Order of the Flaming Blade.”

“No. 
I didn’t.”

“It
doesn’t matter to me.  I have no idea what will happen if we make it back to
Aeva.  I guess we’ll just have to see how much money I end up with.”  She
gulped a cup of wine.  “But I have to be honest,” she said, giving him the
hardest look he had ever seen from her.  “This trip has been a nightmare, and
it’s a Goddess-damned miracle that we both lived through it. 
No amount of
money
. . . is worth what I’ve gone through.”

He
didn’t know what to say.

“I
mean what is your big reward, getting to go to this Castle Esaiya?  Does that
make it worth it for you?”

“It’s
not like that,” he said.  “Mokkala wasn’t a test, and Esaiya isn’t a reward.”

“What
is it then?”

“My
hope is that it’s sanctuary.”

“Anyway,”
she said, “I’m done with this sort of thing.  When all this is over, I’m quit
with Uncle Ellec, and I’m quit with you too.  Don’t get me wrong.  I still care
about you and still enjoy being with you, but even if you don’t join them, the
weird is going to follow you wherever you go, and it doesn’t intend you any
good.  I can see that much.  It wasn’t Aiyan that took us in search of that
horrible slave camp.  It was you and your weird dreams.”

She
looked him in the eye, and it was with compassion.  “You wear this dark halo,
Kyric.  You’re a good man, but the more good you do, the darker it gets.”

So
that was it. 
I’m too weird even for her
.  It was ironic, he thought,
coming from Lerica — a woman both more and less than human.

“The
brighter the flame, the sharper the shadow,” he said, not looking at her.

He
stirred his plate, the scent of mangos and nutmeg rising.  Fresh fruit swung in
bunches from every overhead on the ship.  They had so much spice that Ellec
told the cook he could use it in the evening meals.  Kyric wasn’t the only one
who had become accustomed to it.

“I
wish it could be like it was when we were sailing into the unknown,” he said.  “We
seemed to stand outside of time.  Every day was like a blank canvas waiting to
be painted.”

“Yes,” she said, taking a deep breath  “It’s
too bad.”

Ellec
decided to return by way of The Turtle.  If he could find it, that would confirm
his bearings and reckoning, and make his own charts far more valuable than
Aiyan’s rudders.  Kyric hadn’t thought of that.  Elistar’s breath, this man was
going to be wealthy.

The
equatorial winds proved shifty once again, and it was nearly three weeks before
Ellec sighted the pole star.  During the days, Kyric talked to Lerica as much
as ever, but he found he had little to say at the dinner table.  He was aware
that he had become withdrawn.  He couldn’t help it.  Since Aiyan’s death he had
turned to introspection as a way to cope with the loss.  It was like being with
an old friend.

Another
spontaneous party for the crew was allowed, and if the one they held when
crossing the line southbound had been strained, this celebration swayed in
relief.  Kyric drank and danced with Lerica, not feeling the soreness in his
leg after the third cup of wine.  She drank more than he, and they laughed and
forgot themselves, stumbling to her cabin long before the festivities ended,
falling into her bunk amid giggles and making love like they had at first.  So
he was surprise the next day when she asked him to move back to the dining
cabin.

“It’s
not that we can’t ever be together again,” she said.  “I just need to be alone
with myself right now.”

They
reached the latitude of The Turtle at the end of the fourth week.  Ellec
steered a course due west, thinking it might not be far away, but after a few
days he decided that it had actually lain to the east, and set the ship on a
northwest tack.

“Must
be a crosscurrent between the island and the line,” he said.  “It wasn’t so
noticeable on our outbound voyage.”

The
wind picked up after that, and
Calico
made good time, broad reaching
with a steady breeze off her beam.  Only ten days later they sighted Pygmy
Island, an uninhabited piece of land off the southern tip of Terrula.

“We
cannot make it to Aeva without stopping for water and fresh food,” Ellec said
to Lerica and Mr. Pallan that morning as they stood on the quarterdeck.  He
waved Kyric over to include him as well.  “From here we have the option of
taking a shorter route along the west coast of Terrula.  We could skirt the
northeast tip of Jakavia and get to Aeva a week sooner.  But that would mean
putting in to one of the Jakavian colonies up the coast for resupply.  They
would ask questions that we wouldn’t have answers for, and we might incur some
kind of official inspection.  I can guarantee that any agent of the Jakavian
crown who discovers our cargo will immediately impound it.”

He
looked at Kyric.  “Unless we had a letter of patronage from your Princess
Aerlyn.  They wouldn’t dare search the ship if we were acting under the
authority of the state of Aeva.  Is it possible that Aiyan possessed such a
letter?”

Kyric
went to look, curious that after so many days at sea he hadn’t gone through
Aiyan’s papers.  He didn’t find anything to connect him with the princess
except in the book of poems Aiyan had written.  The last several entries were
about her.  It wasn’t moon-eyed schoolboy poetry.  It was good, and Kyric set
the book aside for later.

He
also found an untitled play.  An entire play.  Kyric flipped through it — it
seemed to be a comedy about a noblewoman who was an identical twin for her
maid.  Then he came to some lines he had heard before, said by the male lead. 
They were the very lines Aiyan had quoted when he saw Aerlyn at the reception,
comparing her to the seasons.  Kyric shook his head.  Tricky fellow.  Aiyan had
said it was from a play.

With
no proof of patronage, Ellec wasn’t willing to sail into a Jakavian port.  “So
we will go the longer way,” he said, “and resupply in Ularra.  No one there
will look twice at us, but we should get in and out quickly in any case.  And
absolutely no one but myself will be allowed to go ashore.  I will not let one
slip from a drunken sailor ruin this.  We’ll hold the crew at gunpoint if we must.”

But
it wasn’t necessary.  The crew made a pact to watch one another and not set
foot on shore until the spice was sold and it came time to divide the profits. 
The crew worked for shares on this voyage, Lerica explained.  No worthy sailor
would serve on such an expedition for mere wages, and no worthy captain would
ask them to do so.

The weather held fair as they continued northward
on the east side of Terrula.  They stayed out of sight of land for the most
part, and Lerica seemed grateful she didn’t have to look at the shore where the
slave camp had been, but Kyric was glad for the evenings when they bore close
and the land breeze swept away the aroma of spice, replacing it with the
earthy, fertile scent of the jungle.

Kyric
woke with a start as Lerica stuck her head into his cabin and said, “Get
dressed and come up on deck.”

Ellec’s
spyglass was glued to his eye when Kyric got to the quarterdeck.  The sun
hadn’t risen yet, but it was light enough to see.  They were approaching the
Straits of Terrula, and through the morning twilight, he could see some kind of
ship about ten miles ahead.

“Appears
to be a whaler,” Ellec said, still looking.  “But these aren’t whaling waters.”

“She
could be outbound from Ularra,” Lerica said.

Ellec
grunted.  “She hasn’t enough canvas spread to be going anywhere.  They’re
loitering.”

“They
could have come across a stray.  You do see them around here from time to
time.”

“There’s
hardly any smoke.  They’re not doing any rendering right now.”  He lowered the
spyglass and looked at her.  “I don’t like it.”

Kyric
grinned in disbelief.  “Are you suggesting that they’re pirates?  I thought
those days were long gone — there are patrols from Ularra and such.”

Ellec
frowned.  “There is no patrol here now.”

“Well
if they are pirates,” Lerica said, “changing course would be a dead giveaway. 
But if we hold course we’ll come close enough for them to see that we’re
loaded.”

A
call came from the lookout.  “She’s coming about!”

Ellec
raised the spyglass again.  “Question answered.  They’re putting on more sail
and heading straight for us.  Damn.  If we had got here two hours sooner we
would have passed them in the dark.” 

That
gave Kyric an idea.  He turned and headed back down.

“Where
are you going?” Lerica said.

“To bed.”

He
rose from the floor of the cavern, inching forward until he felt rough stone. 
The darkness appeared to be a little less dark to one side.  He went that way,
coming to an opening where moonlight filtered in.

It
was cold.  He stood above the barren shore of a frozen ocean.  The sky was
still black.  The coastline lay dotted with boulders and unusual rock
formations.  Sculpted by wind and waves, one of the larger rocks stood out
clearly as a dragon, its mouth open and facing the sea.

Kyric
walked down to it, circling around to stand in front it.  He looked at it more
closely.  Its sides seemed to expand ever so slightly, like it was breathing.  “Send
forth your breath,” he commanded in the Essian Tongue.  “Breathe, dragon!”

A
blast of hot air shot out of the dragon’s mouth, spreading across the ocean of
ice.  A thick, churning fog rose, blotting out everything beyond the shore.