The Destroyer Goddess (44 page)

"What
specifically
are you planning to do?" Ronall prodded, then drank some more fire brandy.

"Why do you bother doing that?" Tansen asked, eyeing the
toren
with misgivings.

"Force of habit."

"It's just going to come right back up."

"As you said, I'm an optimist. I'm convinced that if I keep trying hard enough, I can get drunk. Or at least less sober."

Tansen shrugged, well aware there was no point in trying to come between Ronall and a bottle. Of all the strange caretakers he had chosen for Zarien, the
toren
was the strangest yet. However, the only alternative was to leave Zarien here with no one he knew, which would be even worse. And at least the boy got along with Ronall. 

Fortunately for Tansen's already morose mood, Ronall didn't pursue the subject of the brilliant plan which Tansen didn't have for restoring the Lironi alliance. Instead, the
toren
hung his head over the side of the boat and vomited.

Feeling a little seasick himself, Tansen moved away from him.

Let me off this boat soon, Dar, and I may even be moved to make an offering to You after all these years
.

Maybe it was fate. Maybe this journey was destined to be one of the worst experiences of Tansen's life so that he'd be positively eager to go ashore now, despite his fear of what he would find—and how he might fail—when he got there.

Now Zarien came to stand beside him at the railing. The boy tensed as they approached the vast cluster of bobbing boats, then turned and—rather rudely, Tansen thought—issued navigational instructions to their boat's pilot.

"Zarien," Tansen began, annoyed, "don't tell these people how to sail their own b—"

"The Lascari are here." Zarien's voice was choked.

Tansen tensed, too, momentarily forgetting about the Lironi and their bloodfeuds as he realized what this meant. His son's clan were here. What was left of them. "Shall we go talk to them?"

"
No!"
Zarien's expression was horrified, even afraid—as if he expected Tansen to
force
him to speak to his clan.

Tansen put a hand on his shoulder, worried, concerned—and already forgiving the strain and irritation of the past few days. "Calm down. We don't have to." Then, as the boat they were on shifted, he realized what Zarien's navigation instructions had signified. He lowered his voice and guessed, "You're trying to make sure we don't drop anchor anywhere near the Lascari, aren't you?"

Nearly shaking with tension, Zarien nodded.

Tansen gazed at his son and wondered exactly what was going on in the boy's head. Fear of being shunned by his own clan, as he had been shunned by a distant relative in the Bay of Shaljir? Fear of being shamed in the midst of so many sea-born? Perhaps Zarien was even afraid that, when his clan learned about his death and rebirth, they would insist that, despite his family's fate, he was obliged to obey Sharifar's dictates.

"
Siran
," the head of this sea-born family said, interrupting Tansen's thoughts. "Do you want to go ashore right away?"

"Yes." And he would kiss the ground when he got there. 

Me, the sea king? I think I'd rather crawl all the way back to Dalishar than get on another boat after this
.

Tansen had never liked the sea to begin with, and this trip ensured he would never contemplate another sea voyage without getting profoundly depressed.

The sea-born man asked, "All three of you are going ashore?"

"No. Just me."

"What?" Zarien blurted.

"Oh." The tattooed man didn't bother to hide how disappointing he found this news.

"What do you mean, 'no'?" Zarien demanded.

"The
toren
and the boy will stay here until I send for them," Tansen advised the sea-born man. 

"
What?"
Zarien repeated.

"And when will that be,
siran?
" the man asked warily.

"I'm not sure. Until then, you will stay far from shore—"

"But, father—"

"And let no one board this boat except for my emissary—who will carry my
jashar
as proof that he comes from me."

"I understand,
siran
." The sea-born man looked dour with resignation. Tansen couldn't blame him for wanting to get rid of them all. They had not been pleasant passengers. "I'll have my eldest take you ashore in the oarboat,
siran
."

"Thank you," Tansen replied as the man turned away.

"You're leaving me here?" Zarien demanded incredulously.

Tansen gave all his attention to his son now, trying to keep his voice soothing and reasonable as he explained the situation.

Zarien had no interest in being soothed—let alone reasonable—and his protests soon grew loud enough to attract the attention of people on another boat. There were hundreds of vessels all around them now, anchored so closely together that Tansen suspected he could probably get to shore just by going from deck to deck until he reached land.

"Keep your voice down," Tansen ordered Zarien.

The boy lowered his voice to a burning growl of bitter resentment. "You said you would never just go off and leave me. You lied." 

Tansen forgot that he had intended to be patient. "Start acting your age," he snapped. "And use your head. Do you really want a dozen
shallaheen
to beat you to death with their
yahr?
"

Zarien made frustrated, inarticulate noises.

"You and your problems," Tansen continued, knowing he'd hate himself for this later, "are not the most important things in Sileria right now."

"Or even to you!" Zarien accused.

"Or even to me," Tansen agreed. "I have a war—"

"Fine," Zarien said. "Fine! Then go. Just go. Go without me.
Fine
."

Seething with frustration, Tansen tried again: "It's for your own safe—"

"
Don't
say it again."

"Don't use that tone with me." 

Darfire, I sound like my mother
.

"You don't have to hear 'that tone' if you'd just go ahead and
leave
."

Trying to remember that he was the adult here and really needed to keep sight of that fact, Tansen forced himself to take a breath, pause, and take another one before he spoke again. "I'll send for you as soon as I know it's—"

"I don't care," Zarien said sulkily.

Tansen tried to keep in mind how alone Zarien must feel without him. He tried to see how hurt Zarien was, and how much the boy struggled with feeling like a burden. 

He's a child
, Tansen reminded himself. No matter how brave or smart, no matter how extraordinary his circumstances, Zarien was still a child, and so he was responding like one. 

Tansen didn't want to part like this, in anger and harsh words, but he didn't know how to put a stop to it. What in the Fires did other fathers do when their children behaved this way? Had he ever made Armian as crazy as Zarien was making him right now?

Oh, yes,
he recalled.
Yes, I did.

"I..." Tansen watched as Zarien folded his arms and looked out at the horizon. "I'm leaving the
toren
in your care."

No response.

"He'll keep you company."

Nothing.

Tansen wanted to shake the boy. Instead, he tried, "When this is over, if the Lascari are still here, I could talk to—"

"Stay out of it." Zarien's voice was sullen. He shifted his gaze to the deck.

"You wouldn't even have to see them, if you don't want to. I could—"

"It's
my
problem." There was a bitter satisfaction in Zarien's tone as he added, without looking up, "And not the most important thing in Sileria, after all."

Tansen was about to remonstrate when the sea-born man interrupted, from the other side of the boat, "
Siran
, the oarboat is ready."

"What a shame," Tansen said. "We've run out of time for quarreling."

One corner of Zarien's mouth twitched downwards. He shrugged and looked out at the horizon again.

"When you come ashore," Tansen said, filled with sudden inspiration, "I'll show you Gamalan."

Finally! Zarien was startled into meeting his gaze. "Gamalan?"

Tansen nodded. 

"Where you were born?"

Four words in a row, none of them hostile. This was progress.

Tansen risked a quick smile. "And where, like other
shallah
  boys, I learned to lie, fight, and tell tall tales."

Now Zarien made a genuine effort to be pleasant. "And smuggle?"

"Yes, and smuggle. If we have time, I'll show you where."

Zarien nodded. Still sulky, but evidently agreeing to a truce for now. 

"
Siran?
" 

Tansen acknowledged the prodding of their sea-born host and said to Zarien, whose face looked so young and unhappy beneath its tattoos, "I have to go."

Zarien nodded again and turned away.

Clearly dismissed, Tansen crossed the deck, eased himself over the railing, and climbed down into the oarboat. Restless and edgy, he offered to help row. They had only gone a few strokes when he heard Zarien calling to him. He turned and saw the boy hanging precariously far over the railing as the boat bobbed gently on the water.

Zarien called, "It won't be a long time?"

"No." Tansen hoped he wasn't lying. "It won't be long."

"You'll send for me? You promise?"

"Of course I'll send for you." He didn't understand how Zarien could think otherwise, but he saw it wasn't enough, so he added, "I promise. As soon as I know it's safe."

Still looking unhappy, Zarien watched him float away.

In the distance, where the ever-tumultuous summit of Mount Darshon rose high in the cloudless sky, Dar rumbled with angry menace, reminding Tansen that the fate of Sileria was not entirely up to him.

It was a dark place full of light, a bright place shadowed by darkness. A vast cavern, heavy yet airy, immense yet encroaching.

Fire and water were all around her. The churning lava of the restless volcano extended its reach to this forgotten place, dripping into the water that flowed through strange tunnels lit by unfamiliar glowing shapes. Each time lava touched water, angry hissing filled the air and steam rose to obscure her vision.

Elelar's lungs ached as she inhaled the hot, damp air. Her head throbbed as she rolled it sideways, trying to get her bearings. She was lying on rock, solid and black, glassy in its smoothness. There was a muted roaring all around her.

Where am I?

She had thought the glowing lumps on the cave walls were candles, but now one moved. Elelar gasped and opened her eyes wider, focusing with more serious intent. 

Now she recognized the phosphorescent shapes which helped the lava illuminate this strange, skyless place. She had seen such glowing plant and animal life in the ancient tunnels beneath her home in Shaljir, whenever she went there to meet with the Beyah-Olvari. Some of these little glowing things had a thousand legs, others had no legs at all.

Elelar's grandfather, Gaborian, had always told her that such creatures were even more frightened of her than she was of them. Now, as then, she hoped that was true. And just in case it wasn't, she made the monumental effort of sitting upright and tucking her feet underneath her.

Am I dead?

"How are you feeling?"

Elelar whirled to face... "Cheylan?"

He wore only his dark green leggings, no shirt or tunic. It was hot in here, and
toreni
were not as fanatically modest as
shallaheen
; but Elelar nonetheless found his state of undress disconcerting as he came close to her.

He smiled. "You were unconscious for a long time. I was worried."

"What's happened?" she asked. "Where are we?"

"A safe place," he replied.

"Safe from what?"

"Mirabar wants to kill you," he said.

"I know." When he looked momentarily perplexed, Elelar asked in confusion, "Where is she?"

"She can't hurt you here," he assured her. 

Her mind was still befogged from the volcano's sudden tantrum on the mountainside. "Why are you hiding me from her?"

Cheylan came even closer. "I couldn't let her kill you." He stretched out a hand to stroke her hair—and froze when she jerked away from him.

"Are you afraid?" he asked.

"No..."

"Do you think I'm a demon?"

"I think," Elelar said, "that you owe me an explanation."

He lowered those glowing golden eyes and nodded. "All right."

"Well?" she prodded impatiently, starting to feel a little more like herself.

"I knew what Mirabar intended. Baran's madness has infected her. I had to take you out of her reach, get you to safety." Cheylan gestured to the strange cavern of fire and water which surrounded them. "There is no safer place in all of Sileria. I have always come here when I needed a refuge."

"Why didn't you tell me any of this before?" she asked suspiciously.