Fable: Edge of the World (10 page)

The king looked around at his army, making an unbiased assessment. They were already severely rationing the water. Progress had slowed due to weariness and thirst—of animals and the men. He made his decision.

“We will divert to Sky Blue Lake,” he said. “We will take an extra day to rest both man and beast.”

“I knew there was a reason I liked you,” Ben said. “Good call. Also, not to put too fine a point on it, but everyone stinks.”

Not surprisingly, they made better progress once word of the detour had spread. Cheered by the thought of a full day of rest, all one could drink, and a swim, the pace was happily picked up, and spirits were raised.

The detour road was steep but still easily passable, even for the remaining heavy weaponry. The sand turned to earth and stone, then to dried grasses, then finally to green. Up ahead the king glimpsed the shimmer of water. “I do hope that’s really the lake and not a trick of the eye,” he said, mindful of the mirages that could befall thirsty, weary travelers in a desert.

Shan smiled. “No, my lord, it is Sky Blue Lake.”

The king returned the grin. “Break formation, all! Don’t drink too much all at once or you’ll get sick!” In the happy rush that followed, Ben doubted that many obeyed that second order. But it didn’t matter. Several men, heedless of who saw them, shucked armor, clothes, and weapons and dove, whooping, into the luscious blue water.

Ben could take it no longer. “I’m for it, too,” he said. “Kalin, you might want to look away for a moment.”

She chuckled. “You have nothing I have not seen before, Mr. Finn. Enjoy your swim.”

Oddly for Ben, her frankness made him blush a little, so hekept his trousers on as he plunged into the cool, sweet water. He opened his mouth and took a huge swallow. It tasted wonderful, sweet and clean. He took another few gulps, then dove deep.

She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

She swam a few yards below him, her black hair floating out behind her like ink, her skin blue as the sky that reflected on the water. Her lips curved in a smile, and she crooked a finger, beckoning him deeper. Eagerly, he obeyed the silent summons, except he realized that the water, which usually muffled sounds, was now full of singing.

He reached her and she was cool, cool as the water, and she floated into Ben’s arms, wrapping legs and arms around him and pressing her cool blue lips to his. The kiss was like drinking fine wine, and Ben lost himself in it, closing his eyes as her naked body pressed against his and her mouth devoured his hungrily.

“What’s wrong, Shan?” asked Kalin, as they approached the lake in a more leisurely fashion than the more enthusiastic among them.

“The nomads,” said Shan, looking around. “Their tents are here, but I don’t see them. Or their animals.”

“Interesting winds up here,” the king said, stepping up beside them. “Sounds almost like singing.”

Shan whirled, eyes enormous. “What?”

“Singing. Can’t you hear it? It sounds like women singing.”

“No,” breathed Shan. “Majesty! Call your men back!
Now!
”

“What’s going on?” the king asked. “Why do you—”

Suddenly the water was churning, white froth disturbing the calm blue surface. Eight or ten men were already well out into the lake, and another dozen or so followed. Not just followed, they were racing eagerly toward the water, vanishing almost at once.

The king cupped his hands around his mouth and cried, “Stay back! Retreat from the lake! Retreat!
Retreat!
”

Something grabbed Ben’s arm. His eyes snapped open wide as he was tugged out of the woman’s embrace. Her mouth was open, and he saw with horror that she had sharp teeth, and all at once, he saw thin red ribbons of blood drifting from his own lips.

Ben gasped, inhaling water, and struggled against the strong hand that hauled him inexorably to the surface, the horrible, bright surface with its aching heat and sunlight—

“Breathe, dammit, Ben!” shouted a voice. Ben began to cough, expelling water and heaving as he gulped in air. He was being pulled toward the shore, but he didn’t want to go. The song, the sweet, pure, beautiful song, was calling him back, to his home in the water with the—

“They’re sirens!” came the male voice again. “Don’t listen to them!”

Ben wanted to. He struggled, but he was weak, so weak, and the farther he got from the water, the more his heart ached.

A sleek head broke the surface, and he realized she was coming after him, calling out to him,
stay, stay with me
. Ben cried out, his heart breaking within him, salty tears filling his eyes as he reached back to her.

He was thrown on the ground, a knee wedged firmly in his back. Hands were clasped over his ears, hard. He couldn’t hear the song anymore, and he wept for that.

They’re sirens
.

Ben blinked the tears out of his eyes. “Bloody hell,” he muttered. “Sirens?”

The pressure was gone from his back. “Sirens,” the king repeated firmly, “and you were almost theirs.”

Ben gave an unsteady laugh. “First time I’ve ever been completely seduced by a woman’s charms,” he said. The king helped him to his feet, steadying him. Ben looked back toward the lake. He could still hear the song, but it was distant enough now to be
merely heartbreaking, not the unbearably devastating loss to his soul it had been a moment earlier.

“How many?” he asked grimly, to keep reminding himself of what had nearly borne him down forever into the depths.

“About twenty or so.” Twenty or so good men lost—to those … things. “I’m very glad you weren’t one of them.”

“That makes two of us,” Ben said. “How did you stop them?”

“Shan noticed that the nomads’ tents were here but neither they nor their livestock were. And I heard the singing. They may be legends or folktales to us, but they’re obviously real enough here. Once I understood what was going on, I was able to use my Will to quiet their song long enough to help rescue the survivors. Including one very lucky Ben Finn.”

Ben smiled weakly. “One very
grateful
Ben Finn. I guess this means no water.”

“No water, no purchasing of sheep for mutton dinners or hardy horses for traveling,” said Kalin grimly.

“So in other words, we wasted a day and lost twenty-odd lives,” said Ben morosely. The king nodded mutely.

There was nothing more to say. In silence, the men who had survived a brush with a seductive but watery death dressed, rounded up the horses and oxen that had paused to graze, and fell in line to march back the way they had come.

Nothing, not one thing, had gone as planned, and the king had to fight back a sinking sense of impending disaster.

T
hree more horses died, all of them simply collapsing and refusing to get up, the only moisture in them seeming to be the froth on their muzzles. Even one of the oxen succumbed to the killing thirst. It was an ugly fact that with the death of twenty-three men, the water rations went further. It made the king so sick to think about it he sometimes skipped his own rations till Ben caught him at it and chewed his ear off.
What were you thinking? You’re the bloody king! We can lose anyone else in this army except for you, don’t you know that? Without you, we’re all buzzard food! So drink your damned water!

Normally even Ben wouldn’t speak to him in that manner. But Ben confronted his friend and liege privately, and the king saw how parched Ben’s mouth was, and how he barely had moisture enough to form the words. And, frankly, Finn was right. So the king began drinking his proper share of water. His body felt better, but his heart was heavy.

After what seemed like an eternity but was in actuality only four days, they caught a glimmer of green to the east of the road. This time, the king sent someone ahead to scout it out. The young soldier returned chewing on roast mutton impaled on a
stick and carrying a bulging waterskin. With his mouth full, he said, “The good people of Sweetwater Trees welcome His Majesty the King of Albion and his people!”

A cheer went up, and they all moved toward the oasis with a lighter heart. Sweetwater Trees was a sizable place. As was indicated by the village’s name, there were acres of waving trees laden with exotic fruit and what looked to be fertile fields, irrigated by channels of water diverted from a river that flowed from the nearby small cluster of mountains. Small homes made of stone and dried mud, shored up with timbers from the local trees, dotted the landscape. The village’s leader met them on the outskirts of the village. He was small and wizened, reminding the king a great deal of Sabine, but without that ruler’s hyperactivity. He spoke slowly, in a grave voice.

“I am Pahket, leader of Sweetwater Tree village. We welcome Your Majesty with open arms. If you are to continue along the Great Trade Road, you will need supplies. We will sell them to you at a fair price and invite you to share a meal with us this evening.”

“You are most gracious, and your offer is most welcome. This is my friend and trusted comrade-in-arms, Benjamin Finn. And this is Kalin, leader of Aurora, and Shan, a Samarkandian who has agreed to be our guide. We will recompense you fairly for what we purchase, and if my soldiers may camp close by, I promise they will cause no trouble in your village.”

“Of course, of course! We are familiar with hosting travelers though not usually so large a party! Welcome to Finn and especially Kalin, whose people we have traded with happily in the past.”

After the horrors of the night attack by the hollow-men-crewed ships and the seductive sirens, the normalcy and peace of the place offered balm to the spirit as well as the body. “The
oasis offers ample water, so all your men and beasts may drink their fill as well as refresh your supplies,” Pahket said as they walked. “We cannot cook enough in time to feed you all this evening, but we will supplement your soldier’s rations with fresh meat and milk and cheese from our sheep.”

“You are very generous, Pahket,” said the king. “I confess, I am a little stunned by our reception here.”

The dark eyes went hard for a moment. “What makes you say that?”

The king had been wondering how to broach the subject, and now seemed as good a time as any. “Because we have heard of a great darkness that has come to plague the good people of Samarkand,” he said.

Pahket looked away. “You mean the Empress,” he said in an unhappy voice. “Indeed, since she captivated our beloved Emperor, dark times have befallen us. We host few visitors these days. Aurora is too afraid to trade with us, and the road is very dangerous. So this is why you travel with an army and great weapons, not caravans.”

“It is our hope to confront the Empress and put an end to this evil,” said the king, encouraged by Pahket’s words.

“That would be a great blessing to this troubled land,” said Pahket, though he looked as if he suddenly bore a heavy burden. The king understood. Bad as things were, people sometimes were more afraid of change.

“The king of Albion has no desire to rule in the Empress’s stead,” said Kalin, whose mind was clearly going down the same path. “He helped my people throw off the darkness from Aurora, and the only ‘disruption’ to our society has been the saving of lives and the reintroduction of peace and prosperity.”

“I have no reason to doubt Aurora’s leader,” Pahket said.
Which, the king noted, was not quite the same thing as saying,
I believe you
.

“The darkness that troubled Aurora spread to my land as well,” the monarch continued. “There is a chance the same thing will happen here, and I must defend my own realm by helping yours. But trust me, ruling one kingdom is quite enough!”

Pahket laughed at that though it sounded a trifle forced, and the king wished there was something more he could do to convince the village’s leader. The lingering shadow of the conversation was dispelled once they reached the village. Many people had gathered to greet the king and his friends, their eyes wide seeing so many visitors. They bowed as he approached; clearly word that they were hosting royalty had spread.

The afternoon passed in a most pleasant fashion. Everyone drank water that was clean, fresh, and cool for the first time in weeks, and enjoyed a swim to wash out the sand and sweat of travel. Even as the king stood waist deep in the flowing water, looking back at the village, he saw cartloads of supplies—large water gourds, sacks of quick-cooking grains and dried meats, and baskets of fresh fruit—being pulled by donkeys heading off toward the northern area of the oasis, where the soldiers were camped. Men and women both led the donkeys.

“I have to say,” said Ben, “I wonder how far Samarkandian hospitality goes.” His eyes were not on the carts but on the women.