Dangerous Waters (33 page)

Black Turtle Isle, in the domain of Nahik Jarir

6th of For-Summer

H
OSH FELT HORRIBLY
exposed, walking between the lapping wavelets and the smudged line of dead seaweed that marked high water’s reach. His eyes darted constantly from the sand to the fringe trees lining the shore.

He stooped to pluck a white shell from the grimy beach, chipped and broken from tumbling in the surf. That didn’t matter. He dropped it into the bag he’d fashioned from a rotting rag.

Standing upright, he looked out across the anchorage. No more galleys had returned since the morning. So two ships were still missing. That wasn’t good, not under these skies. The
Reef Eagle
had returned four days ago, the galley master cutting their voyage short to make sure of getting away from the mainland before the Ruby moved into the arc of Death, where the stars of the Sea Serpent currently writhed.

Both the Amethyst and the Diamond were in the arc where the Hoe would be lurking below the horizon, and where for some reason which Hosh couldn’t fathom, Brotherhood was somehow tied to short-term ventures. All of this warned of wasted effort, apparently.

For the present the jewels were scattered around the heavenly compass, their positions off-set and irregular, and two ships were missing. The entire corsairs’ encampment was full of men on edge. Every Aldabreshin could read the heavens, as easily as a Caladhrian could read the temper of a dog or a horse.

‘What are you doing there?’ One of a trio of slaves hailed Hosh from the tree line.

Hosh sighed and stood there, waiting for the men now approaching him. There was no point in running. That would only provoke them and he had nowhere to go. Besides, once a rival slave had established that Hosh had no food to steal, or had stolen it if he had, even the worst bullies tended to lose interest. Where was the prestige in defeating such a wretched specimen? So Hosh took care to look as wretched as he possibly could.

‘What have you got?’ The first tore the makeshift bag from Hosh’s hand, spilling the shells on the sand.

The second man dropped to his knees to grab them before looking up, his face ugly with dashed hopes. ‘Dry and empty.’

‘What are you doing, fool?’ The third didn’t wait for an answer. He just punched Hosh hard in the belly.

He dropped to his hands and knees, waiting for a knee in the ribs, a brutal fist to the back of his head. Instead he heard a tumult of silver whistles sounding along the shore. His would-be tormenters ran inland, slipping on the loose sand in their urgency.

Hosh quickly scrabbled for his scattered shells. He didn’t get them all but they weren’t worth the risk. Not when Grewa had sent his envoy. Getting to his feet, ignoring the pain in his gut, he ran up the beach and across the dusty expanse edged by the fringe trees.

No one paid him any heed as he ran through the noisome encampment between the pavilions and through the ironwood trees now sadly tattered by axes. Everyone was hurrying. It wouldn’t be wise to be late to the bloodstained hollow, not under the current skies.

The slopes were already crowded, corsairs and slaves alike intent on the man bringing word from the trireme’s blind master. He surveyed them, impassive, the sunlight striking iridescent green shot through his blue silk tunic.

‘Grewa has assessed the portents,’ he declared without preamble. ‘The most favourable day to strike north will be the first new shining of the Opal.’

A cheer greeted his words, albeit somewhat muted. Hosh raised his own hurrah while doing his best to tally the days without anyone seeing him count on his fingers. The Opal shining meant the reappearance of the Greater Moon ten days from now.

The envoy fixed his pale-eyed gaze on those around the hollow who weren’t applauding this news.

‘The stars of the Bowl with their promise of plenty will rise on the eastern horizon as the Opal shines in the arc of Wealth between south and west. Directly opposite, the Pearl will join the Ruby in the arc of the sky which promises Death to our foes.’ He smiled with cruel satisfaction. ‘While Amethyst and Diamond offer solid reassurance once they have moved together into the arc of Home.’

Where, if Hosh didn’t miss his guess, the stars of the Hoe would also have shifted, by Aldabreshin reckoning anyway. With the Hoe below the horizon and warning of wasted effort, Hosh reckoned he could see more than one raider in the crowd who would have disputed this reading of the heavens. No one voiced open disagreement though. Not with Grewa.

The envoy smiled serenely, apparently oblivious to those scowls. ‘Grewa will lead us north on the first tide after the Pearl slips from view.’

Four days until dark of the Lesser Moon. Until Hosh was chained to his oar in the
Reef Eagle
again. He sighed.

‘Hosh.’ A hand clapped him on the shoulder as the crowd began to disperse. It was Nifai, the overseer.

Hosh knew he owed the man a considerable debt. Nifai left him in no doubt that he fully intended to claim his due.

After the chaos of Corrain’s escape, the
Reef Eagle’s
whip master was ready to flog every slave senseless, whether or not they’d been ashore. When he’d recognised Hosh as Corrain’s broken-faced shadow, he’d drawn a blade to cut his throat there and then.

Hosh had thrown himself at Nifai’s feet, snivelling piteously as he spewed desperate lies. He’d only followed Corrain for fear of being murdered by the brute. But Hosh had outsmarted the dull-witted mainlander. He’d learned the Aldabreshin tongue.

Hadn’t he promised to help Nifai in his trading? Would he have made that offer if he’d been planning to flee? Truly, he was glad that Corrain was gone.

Trimon be thanked, Hosh had already heard a few choice titbits of news before uproar flared around the cooking fires. Those must have tilted the balance in his favour. So now he was Nifai’s pet.

The overseer was nodding with careful approval. ‘Grewa is a wise leader and reads the heavens with great wisdom. Don’t you agree?’

‘Without doubt,’ Hosh concurred. He also knew Nifai would want to know anything Hosh heard to the contrary.

Well, Hosh’s mam had always said that Misaen made folk with two ears and two eyes and just the one mouth. So listen and look for four breaths before you think of drawing one to speak. That was proving good advice.

Did Nifai truly believe in Grewa’s interpretation of the sky? Had the man believed him, back on Khusro Rina’s trading beach? Hosh wasn’t sure. But the overseer had defied the whip master. The tail only follows the
loal
, so Nifai had said. It has no wits of its own. Hosh had followed Corrain without sharing in his scheming.

A loal was one of those dog-faced beasts with man-like hands and long furry tails. Hosh had seen one caged on the trading strand. He’d fallen behind to get a better look, so a gap had opened up between him and Kusint, filled with thronging Aldabreshi. That was why Hosh had been taken wholly unawares when Corrain attacked their unwanted oar mate.

Amid the Archipelagans recoiling from the chaos engulfing the cooking circle, Hosh had been seized by panic. He’d lost sight of Corrain entirely. Which way to go? Which way was inland? Which way lay the shore?

Before he could decide where to run, men with staves had waded into the mêlée. Hosh guessed they had the warlord’s sanction for subduing a riot at the cost of broken bones or cracked skulls. Whether the stars were shining kindly upon him, or Ostrin or Trimon or some other god from home, he had made it back to the beach.

Nifai’s grip tightened on Hosh’s shoulder. ‘When the rains close the sea lanes to the north, we will double our wealth in trade with the western domains. Grewa will see our losses made good.’

It hadn’t been losing a couple of slaves that had so enraged the whip master. Hosh had learned later how heavy the penalties were for disturbing the Rina domain’s peace.

The blind corsair had paid a crippling price in metal looted from the mainland. All his galleys were ordered to quit the trading beach at once. The only reason the whip master hadn’t reached for his scourge was because the slaves were needed to row. Fail to reach the sanctioned sea lanes fast enough and the
Reef Eagle
and all aboard it would be forfeit to Khusro Rina. They would be the warlord’s slaves, from the galley master down.

Hosh stood patiently as the overseer’s eyes grew distant, contemplating his likely gains.

‘There will be new mainlander slaves from these next raids.’ Nifai gave Hosh one last pat on the shoulder. ‘You will tell me what you learn.’

Heartsick at the prospect, Hosh nodded nevertheless. He had no other choice.

Nifai’s gaze sharpened as he saw Grewa’s envoy head for the ironwood trees. ‘You may go.’ Dismissing Hosh, he sauntered over to contrive a casual encounter with Ducah, who’d also come to hear the envoy’s pronouncements. The bare-chested corsair was frowning ominously.

Hosh definitely wanted to keep well out of that vicious brute’s way. He weighed his shells in his cupped hands. He had enough to be going on with. He joined the slaves dragging their feet back to the corsairs’ encampment. Unnoticed amid the crowd, he made it to spurious safety in the shadow of the
Reef Eagle’s
master’s pavilion.

‘Hosh.’ A woman was sitting on the back steps.

‘Imais.’ He offered her a tentative smile.

She was one of the more approachable of the women. Mixed blood by the shade of her skin but Aldabreshin by her speech and from some distant domain. Her dialect was very different to that of these northern reaches so she spoke slowly and sparingly to him, to be sure he understood.

Corrain had insisted that the pavilion women whored themselves but Hosh had never seen Imais seek some corsair’s attention. It was easy enough to see which girls were ready to spread their legs. They relaxed on the shaded steps running across the front of the pavilion, draped in silk and drinking wine.

Latterly Hosh had concluded that Corrain didn’t always know what he was talking about. Since he’d learned the Archipelagan tongue, since he’d been here alone, he’d learned more about the other slaves than he ever had under Corrain’s thumb.

Most of the Aldabreshin slaves had been born to slave parents, granted, but a good number had been left without home or family after storm or disease ravaged their island home. Surrendering their freedom in return for shelter and food seemed entirely customary in such circumstances, as incomprehensible as Hosh found it.

Even the younger ones had travelled or been traded across any number of domains. Some, to Hosh’s horror, reckoned this blighted isle offered a far better life than whatever brutality they had endured thus far. Those were the keenest to shed an oar’s chains for a raider’s curved blade, to swear their allegiance to the blind corsair.

He saw Imais was studying a tall glass jar with a spray of vizail blossoms hanging upside down inside it. ‘What have you got there?’

As she turned it, Hosh saw something move. ‘Is that a mouse?’ He moved closer and saw there was indeed a small rodent clinging unhappily to the stems.

‘Mouse and scorpion.’ Imais held the jar out so he could see.

Even though the top was secured with tightly tied cloth, Hosh shuddered. He’d never imagined there could be such vile things as scorpions before he’d come to this island. Back home he’d thought spiders were bad enough.

‘Vizail wilts.’ Imais gestured at the jar and then up at the sky.

Hosh nodded his understanding. The Vizail Blossom constellation currently held the most portentous position on the eastern horizon, gradually drifting away until the Bowl appeared.

Imais nodded at the jar. ‘Last day, we see which is alive. Mouse or scorpion.’

Hosh wondered what meaning would be read into that omen. Would it be something he should pass on to Nifai?

Every corsair conversation that wasn’t about the practicalities of managing ships and slaves eventually turned to portents. The Archipelagans scrutinised everything from the spread of jetsam cast up on the shore to the way that goat bones cracked, cast into the fire at the end of a feast.

Men scratched circles on the ground as soon as the setting sun kissed the horizon. They hurried to turn their backs before casting peeled twigs over one shoulder. They barely let them settle before reading their alignments. Any lit candle was watched for the hue and vagaries of its flame. Hosh had seen candles set in triangles and circles, sometimes with shards of coloured glass cast between them, every reflection studied.

Imais put the jar carefully down and reached for a shallow bowl. It held a thick waxy leaf with a small ember in its hollow. She sprinkled a little powder onto the charcoal and inhaled the sweet-smelling smoke. ‘We share?’ she offered.

‘No, thank you.’ Hosh smiled apologetically.

He had tried the dream smoke once, when he’d been returned to this accursed island. When he’d been driven to utter despair by his fear and loneliness. Corrain had always forbidden it, offered in their early days here. He told Hosh he knew of strong men dying from their first sniff of the disgusting barbarian vice. Yes, and he’d insisted that Archipelagans shunned any form of liquor or narcotic. So much for that.

Hosh had decided he didn’t care. Since he was going to die, he might as well do so insensible. Alas, he’d discovered that while the dream smoke had soothed his cares, it hadn’t killed him. Worse, the after-effects of inhaling it left his face throbbing with as much pain as when his nose and cheek had first been broken. The passing relief of the sweet-scented daze wasn’t worth that, not again. Not when the daze would pass and he’d wake to this same relentless misery.

‘No ships back?’ Imais blew on her ember to stir a little more smoke.

‘No ships back,’ Hosh confirmed.

The woman shrugged and sprinkled more resinous powder on her coal. ‘You bring shells?’

‘I do.’ Hosh sat down in the shade and spread his rag on the ground. He used a handy stone to smash the white shards into smaller pieces. A little more work and he’d have a useful heap of coarse, clean sand.