Singer from the Sea (62 page)

“Oh, by heaven,” cried Awhero.

“I’ll get him,” said Jorub, throwing off his robes and diving into the water. As he thrashed toward the child, some errant eddy took the small body and turned it, moved it away. The little feet flipped, the little arms paddled, up he came while his would-be rescuer plunged about below, searching for him.

Jorub rose, spewing water, to see Awhero holding the child and shaking as though she had just taken death by the hand.

Jorub climbed out, panting. “How did you get hold of him?”

“He … he washed up toward me,” she said, holding the baby tightly. “When you jumped in, it must have made current.”

Dovidi made a little crowing sound, half question, half joy.

“He’s none the worse for it,” said Jorub.

“No,” she murmured, drying the baby’s neck and shoulders. “No. I guess he … held his breath. Instinctive, you know.”

“He was asleep next to me when I lay down,” said Kamakama. “I never felt him move.”

“In future, we’ll keep him away from water,” said Awhero, with a tremulous smile. “Unless we’re with him. And awake.”

Jorub settled onto the blanket. “Genevieve said the Aresians had come. Is that true?”

“It is true, my boy; they came with vengeance. Kamakama and I were afraid they’d find bodies out on sands, so we moved all we came upon.”

“There were sixty-eight, last holy days.”

“We moved twelve. Maybe Joncaster did, too.”

“It wouldn’t be good if Aresians found out, would it?”

She said, “Hand me that pack, boy. The baby’s milk is in it.” Then, after a few moments she answered him. “No. It wouldn’t be good if Aresians found out.”

The messenger bird arrived at Refuge Six shortly after Melanie and her group arrived there. They immediately unloaded four of the five sleds and sent them away, Enid and Ithil driving two of them, and two men from the shelter the other two, leaving Melanie to escort Genevieve on to the standing stone.

“We’ve been days on this trip,” said Genevieve. “How can they get back there tonight?”

“We’ve been days,” Melanie replied, “because we’ve gone slowly, the long way, not wanting to waste fuel. This matter is worth the waste of fuel. Come morning, you and I will head for the standing stone while Enid and Ithil go past Refuge Five and the other two sleds take the high route to Four. Each sled will pick up a man to help with the work.”

“Heavy, horrible work,” cried Genevieve.

“Horrible perhaps, but not heavy. The bodies will be mere husks, dried leaves. The business about bleeding on the lichen is probably unpleasant, but Joncaster says to give it only a taste. That’s why we’ll have men on every sled.”

“You’ve decided it isn’t tapu to bleed on it?”

“We’re not killing it or using it. Those would be tapu. Is this tapu? I don’t see why it would be.”

Genevieve stared at her hands, clenched to prevent the spasmodic, purposeless movement they seemed determined to make. “It seems impossible that the lichen would have such a different effect just from the hormonal content of the blood! If that’s what it is.”

“It could equally well be something in the DNA,” said Melanie, taking Genevieve’s hands and uncurling them, stroking them quiet. “It could be that any women’s blood does the trick, and the nursing-mother bit is pure superstition.”

“Or, perhaps, the two states of being are different only in degree,” said Genevieve. “And the ones who turn to wood are still alive. Certainly Prince Delganor seemed wooden enough to me! I wonder how Aufors found out?”

“It may have been an accident. After all, he was wounded.” Melanie dug her hands into Genevieve’s neck and shoulders, kneading the flesh. “Joncaster is extremely good in emergencies. He will see that Aufors is properly cared for, believe me.”

“It is important to take time to move the bodies,” Genevieve agreed, gritting her teeth at the idea of any delay. “Isn’t it?”

“Very, very important.”

Two sleds, one bearing Genevieve and Melanie, one bearing Jorub with Awhero, Kamakama and the baby, arrived at the standing stone within an hour of one another. The pillar, split from the face of a black cliff, was a well-known landmark, as was the black stone serpent at its base, a tapering tail that plunged into the sea then rose and fell in a rounded hump and rose still again in a long neck and horned head that jutted out over the deep offshore crevasse. From a distance, it did resemble a serpent swimming out from the land, particularly when glistening with spray. Above the tumbled stone, at the base of the cliff, was a hidden cavern with a freshwater seep hole above a stone well.

When Awhero came to the cave carrying the baby, Genevieve wept with joy, clutching him to her so tightly he struggled and complained, then began nuzzling at her. This refreshed her tears.

“They gave me medicine,” she said to Awhero. “To dry my milk. Oh, poor baby, I can’t feed him!”

“We have food, lady,” Awhero answered. “We have food, and drink here at this spring, and shelter above us.”

Melanie said, “You’ll feel better if you take a few moments to rest and eat something and play with your son before he forgets who his mother is!”

“Ah, Dovidi, Dovidi, would you forget your mother?” she asked the child.

“Very unlikely,” muttered Awhero. “Seeing who … and what … his mother is.”

Genevieve flushed and began to babble to the baby as the others set up their camp within the cavern, distributing food supplies and sleeping mats and repeatedly sprinkling the sandy floor with water to make it cooler.

Not far to the north, Joncaster eased a sled across a stretch of rocky ground. “You think we got all of them?”

“I think so,” said Etain, not for the first time. “We divided up the territory pretty well.”

Joncaster murmured, “Is the Colonel still unconscious?”

“He moaned a little, a way back. He’s still way too hot.”

They drove on, unaware of the float-craft that slipped silently along the dunes behind them, one that followed Dunnel’s loping form as he unerringly spied a fan of sand expelled by an ejection valve or a carved line that curved against the wind, both evidence of a rigid skirting that had dug into the dune. Other trackers found footprints and drag marks and mummified bodies so broken and shattered it was impossible to know whether they were male or female, not that the Trackers particularly cared.

“It’s probably how they bury their dead,” opined Dunnel, who had allowed the hover to catch up to him while he rested a moment on the sands.

“Where’s that Havenite prince? Dunganor?” asked Terceth.

“Dalgabor, sir. I have him shackled to the aft rail.”

Terceth went to the aft rail where Delganor sweated in the sun. The man looked seriously unwell.

“Hot,” murmured Terceth. “Would you like some water?”

“Of course I’d like some water,” said the Prince, through his teeth.

Terceth poured a cup of water from a nearby canister and offered it to the Prince, who drank greedily then remained with his head down for a long moment, panting.

“You seem stressed,” said Terceth.

“I am accustomed to a certain medicine which I have not had for some time. Normally, I take it every few days …”

“Pity,” said Terceth, taking the emptied cup. “When we find your man, if we find him, we’ll return to the city. Surely you have a supply there?”

The Prince grimaced. “I had a supply when we were captured. The Shah’s minister was … carrying it for me, for safekeeping.”

“Ah,” said Terceth, making a mental note. “Indeed. Well, when we return, I’ll inquire.”

He returned to the cabin and turned the floater to follow the Tracker toward the sea and then south. A little later, they came upon him, staring out to sea.

Following his gaze they saw a ship moving southward quite close to shore, and through the glasses they could see its men were all at the far railing, peering into the distance.

“Can we get out there, Captain?” Terceth called to his pilot.

“Of course, Prince Terceth. Do you want all our men?” “Best, yes. The crew of the vessel may not surrender peaceably.”

“I’ll round them up,” said Dunnel, speaking rapidly into the device pinned to the shoulder of his robes.

The Frangians on the ship had been following a vision of whatever for some time. Their search images did not include a hover vehicle coming at them from behind, low over the water, and their first awareness of the Aresians came with the men who vaulted over the rail. There was only momentary confusion, and the Frangians’ immediate surrender did nothing to contradict the Aresian’s impression of Havenite spinelessness.

“Now where were you going?” Terceth inquired of the man identified as the Captain.

“Well,” said he, trying to focus on this new whatever when the former whatever was still very much on his mind, “we were going to Mahahm, to pick up P’naki for the Lord Paramount of Haven. But then we saw a wonderful whatever, so we set off to pursue that …”

“P’naki?” asked Terceth. “And what’s that?”

“It’s a medicine, to prevent batfly fever.”

“And where does Mahahm get it?”

“Why as to that, sir, I don’t know.”

“So you’re following this creature, eh? You wouldn’t object if we came with you?” said Terceth.

“But, sir …” said the head Tracker.

“Peace, Dunnel. I’ve nothing else to do at the moment. The ship is headed the same way we are. Why not enjoy a sea voyage while they search for this wonder. Perhaps we will come upon the man we are seeking….”

In the cave at the standing stone, Genevieve lay asleep by the pool, Dovidi beside her. Awhero, Melanie, Kamakama, and Jorub had disassembled the drive mechanism of Jorub’s sled and were painstakingly cleaning out the sand it had gulped at the previous halt.

“I suppose we should wait for Joncaster and them,” said Jorub. “Though we could just leave a message.”

“She won’t go,” said Awhero, in a low voice. “Look at her. Smiling in her sleep. First time since she left Mahahm-qum, probably.”

“She knows he’s safe,” argued Melanie.

“Knowing isn’t having,” said Kamakama. “He’ll be needing her, too, when he comes.”

“Wise head on young shoulders,” remarked Awhero, with approval.

“Soon to be lopped off,” said a cold voice.

They were aware too late, for the Marshal was already in the entrance to the cave, pointing a complicated weapon at them and obviously ready to use it at the first movement. “Wake her,” he snarled at Awhero. “Bring her and the child over here. The rest of you, sit against the wall.”

Reluctantly, Awhero rose to her feet and stepped to the blanket where Genevieve and the baby slept. As Awhero knelt down, she saw that Genevieve’s eyes were already open, peering deeply into Awhero’s with complete awareness.

“I’m coming,” she murmured, rolling over to gather Dovidi to her in one smooth movement that brought her to her feet. “Good day, Father,” she said in a casual voice. “I am relieved to see you well. We had heard the Shah was creating much havoc, and we feared you might be caught up in it.”

“And your fear for me set you running as far away as possible,” he sneered.

“No,” she said. “My fear for Dovidi did that. Particularly as you were already with the Shah by the time we knew anything about the furor.”

“A dutiful daughter would have inquired from the Shah as to my safety.”

“You ordered me not to concern myself with your safety, Father. Don’t you recall? Besides, even a dutiful daughter would have had difficulty doing anything else, since the house and the ship were under attack by a mob.”

“How did you get out?” he demanded, waving his weapon at her and at Awhero, who went to join Jorub and Kamakama against the wall.

Genevieve leaned down to pick up the baby’s blanket. “I had watched the malghaste leaving the house, and I went out by their route.”

“Well, it is time to return. The Prince has need of you.”

Genevieve joined the others against the wall and sank down next to Melanie, resting her back against the stone as she cradled the child. “The Prince has a need to slaughter nursing mothers,” she said. “Have you seen them do it, Father? Have you seen the great, strong, proud men cut women’s throats on the desert? How unfortunate that my separation from Dovidi has dried my milk. I can no longer provide years of extra life for the Prince.”

The Marshal turned pale, then furiously red, as though he had been drained then refilled to overflowing, eyes swollen with fury. “You are what?”

She merely looked at him, unspeaking. He had heard her. He might kill her now, she supposed, which she would prefer to having her throat slit on the desert. If he was as furious as his face, he would probably kill them all.

“We gave her medicine to dry her milk,” said Melanie. “It was the only sensible thing to do.”

The Marshal growled, and Awhero made a tiny motion, pressing her hand against Genevieve’s thigh. She rolled her eyes toward the entrance, just enough for Genevieve to see. Gilber was just outside. As the Marshal turned to look around him, Gilber slipped out of sight. The Marshal focused on his captives once more.

“I am to be elevated,” he muttered in Genevieve’s direction, chewing his cheek as though it were a cud. “You are my candidate, dedicated to the Prince’s use, whatever use that is. You have had your youth. You have had your years of joy. Now, you will serve me. Put the child to your useless breasts and pray he can suck the juice back into them, or he will die before you!”

“The baby just ate,” said Awhero in a whining voice. “He won’t be hungry for some time. It’s possible his suckling will make her milk flow, I’ve known it to happen.” She nodded, rolling her tongue in her mouth and swiveling her eyes like a witless witch. Genevieve relaxed against the stone. Awhero was playing for time.

“You,” snarled the Marshal, pointing at Kamakama. “Get me food. My rations ran out two days ago. You,” he indicated Jorub, “reassemble that sled. It’ll make my trip back to Mahahm-qum an easier one.”

“You’re going back to Mahahm-qum?” squeaked Kamakama, his voice splitting and sliding. “Back to the Aresians?”

“What Aresians?” the Marshal demanded.

“Men from Ares have taken the city, Father,” said Genevieve. “They’ve also taken Havenor. They are here to find the source of your promised elevation, for they, too, have many men wanting to ascend onto that height.”