The Key to Creation (22 page)

“Wh—what?”

At the rail, Enoch gazed out at the shadowy vessels floating among the weeds. “Look at the ships anchored here. See how warm and welcoming the lights are. We have a community of sailors, all with a common bond. You would be welcome among us—and we both know Captain Vora would not miss you. He’d say good riddance.”

“But I don’t know any of them,” Silam said.

“You know me, and I’d vouch for you. In fact, many of your crew have friends and loved ones aboard those ships. I wouldn’t be surprised if at least a dozen joined us before the
Dyscovera
sails on.”

Silam was deeply troubled as he weighed his options.

Enoch persisted. “Come with me, just for a little while. I’ll let you meet my new shipmates, find you a bunk.” He pointed to one of the dark hulks among the wrecks, outlined by the starlight.

“But how do we get over there? Do we take one of the ship’s boats?”

“No need for that—the water’s warm, and it’s not far. We can swim.” Enoch’s eyes narrowed, and his voice took on a sharp edge. “I’ve spent enough time in that water.”

Before Silam could reconsider, the pale man urged him over the side to scramble down the rope ladder. As the frightened sailor descended rung by rung, Enoch dropped into the water, stroked out among the seaweed. He trod water, whispering urgently for his friend. “Quickly, before someone stops you.”

Silam hesitated on the last rung, then dropped into the water and swam toward Enoch.

Before he had gone more than a body’s length from the
Dyscovera
, the seaweed began to move around him. One of the fronds grasped his ankle and drew tight. With a yelp, Silam tugged at the strand, trying to tear it free. Then more of the hairlike weed curled around his waist and grabbed his shoulders. “Enoch, help me!”

The other man floated, stroking gently. “It’s perfectly natural.”

Silam yanked a knife from his waist sheath and hacked at the weed, but more green strands coiled around him. One encircled his neck, choking him. He thrashed and screamed for help.

Above on deck, Javian, Mia, and other sailors rushed to see what was happening. They threw a rope to the struggling man in the water, but it was too late.

Silam Henner was cocooned in green webbing, and fleshy leaves dragged him under the surface. The seaweed gently stirred and closed over the opening he’d made.

Satisfied, Enoch Dey swam back to one of the ghost ships.

The
Moray

When the
Moray
docked at another town, Captain Belluc and his crew were anxious to go ashore for a night of carousing. Asaddan’s relationship with the galley captain had been strained since their clash over the Aidenist prisoner, but Belluc tried to make amends. He knew full well that the Nunghal was Soldan-Shah Omra’s friend and a welcome guest at the Olabar court.

“They make a sweetwine here unlike anything you’ve ever tasted, my shaggy friend,” the captain said with forced joviality. “Come with me for an enjoyable night. We’ll find food, drink, and women—they have plenty of all three for sale.”

Asaddan stood at the gangplank and peered out at the dock marketplace as the stalls closed for the evening. “The women look fat.” He was not in the mood for celebrating.

“With enough sweetwine, they look more attractive.”

The townspeople lit lanterns, and the inns and restaurants opened their doors to welcome customers from the newly arrived galley. These people knew the
Moray
well, as had other towns. As the passengers and crew disembarked, Asaddan pondered what he should do. He did not want to make Belluc suspicious.

“Very well, I’ll dine with you and taste the sweetwine. I hope their inn serves something other than fish—how I long for a juicy buffalo steak.”

“I have heard of those animals.” Belluc worked hard to make light conversation. “Do they smell like the fur of your vest?”

Asaddan stroked his garment with pride. “All Nunghals wear buffalo hides.”

The bald captain’s scalp furrowed. “Maybe someday I’ll have a chance to taste the meat…but I don’t exactly look forward to it.”

Asaddan forced himself not to look back at the galley as they walked down the creaking pier. The hatch was open, leading to the slave holds where the rowers remained shackled to their benches while the crew went ashore. Belluc clearly suspected nothing, and Asaddan had to pretend an interest in the captain’s company.

He had been in a foul mood ever since watching Ciarlo keelhauled. The poor man’s wrists were bloody from the rope, his shoulders nearly torn from their sockets. Asaddan had gone below to tend the man, brushing aside the surly crew, and used brute strength to wrench the injured Aidenist’s dislocated joint back into place. He shared his own rations with the Tierran, used strips of cloth to bind the wounds, applied field healing techniques that any Nunghal rider knew.

Exhausted and in pain, Ciarlo had thanked him, but did not ask why a stranger would care about him. Instead, he gave Asaddan a sincere blessing (one that would have offended a devout follower of Urec, though it pleased the Nunghal).

Despite his swollen arms and bruised muscles, Ciarlo was ordered back to work the following day; Asaddan noticed that the man’s companions worked harder so his weakness would not be apparent. Despite his physical pain, Ciarlo told more stories from the Book of Aiden, again recounting how the Traveler had healed his lame leg. Some of the men found the tale dubious, while others were awed to hear of the miracle. Asaddan didn’t know what to think, since he had no proof that Ciarlo had ever been lame in the first place. Still, the man’s voice and demeanor had the ring of truth to them.

Meanwhile, Captain Belluc was baffled by his interest in the prisoner. “Why would you bother?”

“Because I’m not convinced the man did anything to deserve his punishment.”

“Then you don’t know what Aidenists have done to our people. He deserves to die either way. The only difference is how much work I can squeeze out of him before he perishes.”

Asaddan shook his head. “I know very well what the Aidenists have done, and I’ve seen how cruel they can be.”

“Then you understand.”

“I have seen more than enough cruelty.”

Now, in port, the two men ate dinner at an inn that Belluc recommended (the meal was fish, as Asaddan had feared, though spiced heavily enough that the flavor was not quite as offensive). The galley captain was cheerful, especially after Asaddan insisted on paying for three of his companions’ glasses of sweetwine to every one that he consumed himself.

With increasingly slurred words, Belluc talked about his travels on the
Moray
along the Middlesea coast. He described women he liked at each port of call, brawls he’d gotten into. But for all his talk, Belluc really had not traveled very far. His route was set, from Sioara to Kiesh and back; he never varied his destinations, nor did he intend to, even now that the Ishalem canal was open and the whole Oceansea coast was waiting for direct trade.

The innkeeper sent two women with false smiles who offered to service them. Although the women were not quite as unattractive as Asaddan had feared, he had little interest in them. When Belluc tottered away with the taller of the two, and the second led Asaddan to her room, he simply paid her and slipped out through a back door, knowing that Belluc would be occupied for some time. This would have to be his chance.

Asaddan sprinted through the town to the docks, where he slipped aboard the
Moray
. Only two unhappy crewmembers remained aboard, both in a foul temper because they were forced to stay behind on watch. To spite their captain, they had fallen soundly asleep, unconcerned about the ship in a familiar port.

Asaddan crept down into the hold, where chained prisoners dozed upright on their benches, hunched over the oar shafts. Though he was injured and should have been sleeping, Ciarlo was awake, his eyes bright in the shadows when he saw Asaddan’s arrival.

The Nunghal kept his voice low. “I suspect you’ve had enough of this ship. I’ve come to take you out of here.”

“How can you free me?” Ciarlo asked.

Other prisoners began to whisper, but Asaddan hushed them. He held up a small iron pry bar and grinned. “Simple enough.” He wrenched down on the bolt that held the shackles and snapped it free. The sound was too loud, and all the tense galley slaves held their breath, but they heard no response from above.

“Will you free my companions as well?”

“I hadn’t intended to.”

“Don’t they deserve a chance?”

Asaddan set the metal pry bar down on the bench where the next man could reach it. “That’s up to them. You’re the one I came for.”

While the slave frantically began to work on his chains, Asaddan led the injured Aidenist up the ladder through the hatch. Ciarlo winced every time he had to bend his arms, but he asked for no help. On deck, he stared into the starry night sky and breathed the clean open air.

The guards remained sleeping. Asaddan had little trouble binding and gagging them before they could make a sound. It would give them the extra time he and Ciarlo needed.

Before he led the Aidenist off the ship, Asaddan went to the captain’s cabin and set a stack of gold coins outside the locked door, a fair price for the purchase of a galley slave. Then he hurried Ciarlo down the gangplank and onto the dock. They slipped into the night streets of the town.

Behind them, other escaped slaves began to emerge, and Asaddan wanted to be long gone before anyone raised an alarm. “We’ll make our own way to Olabar, my friend. I know someone there who might be able to help you.”

Desert Harbor

Blown by the hot winds, five bright sand coracles drifted over the expanse of blond dunes. Even the sparse brown grass of the hills looked like paradise to the travelers after their long passage across the Great Desert.

The coracles were not the same as the typical airborne vessels flown by Uraban merchants each season. Instead of wickerwork, tanned buffalo hides were stretched tight over the wooden basket frames.

For their first attempts, the Nunghal travelers had filled the braziers with dried buffalo dung, which was in great supply across the plains; those attempts, though, generated barely enough heat to lift the coracles into the air, and the baskets had crashed without going very far. So Khan Jikaris dispatched riders to explore the land until they found exposed veins of black coal—the same stuff the Uraban merchants used—which proved to be an appropriate fuel.

Finally, the first Nunghal expedition set off. Khan Jikaris had never been so far from his open grassland, his tent city, or his wives. The women, who did not often agree, were unanimous in considering him foolish to embark on such a ridiculous adventure. He hadn’t listened to them (in fact, he rarely did). He felt enthralled, and a bit nauseated, as the heat from the coal fire lifted the balloon and carried them out into the desert.

Queasy, he leaned over the side of the basket and vomited out into the open air. Two of his companions laughed at his discomfort, and he forced them to push fingers down their own throats until they too vomited in a gesture of solidarity.

The khan had grown quite fond of the annual visitors from the strange lands to the north. Each year, they brought fascinating and desirable items and told remarkable stories. He anticipated the arrival of the sand coracles as much as he looked forward to the Nunghal clan gatherings on the southern sea.

Several times in the past, Imir had encouraged Jikaris to visit Uraba, but since he was the khan, he had always let the strangers come to him. But this year there was no sign of any strangers from across the desert. Week after week, the khan waited for the colorful Uraban coracles to arrive, and eager anticipation faded into disappointment, until the watchers simply wandered off and went about their own business.

Some, however, encouraged the khan to go investigate himself. It began as a joke, but to his annoyance the pressure mounted, and Jikaris felt pushed into a corner. It wouldn’t do for some blustering young rider to label his reluctance as
cowardice
, which would force Jikaris to defend his leadership of the clans. Though he was old, no one had yet demanded that he surrender his title to someone younger and stronger. In point of fact, few Nunghals particularly cared to become khan, since the independent clans weren’t easily led.

But Jikaris did want to know why the foreigners hadn’t come on their usual journey. Perhaps some great disaster had occurred, a plague or a storm that had killed everyone in their land. (He had no real concept of how large Uraba was.) Or, worse, had the Nunghals committed some offense that caused his friends and trading partners to turn their backs on him?

Honor-bound to investigate, Khan Jikaris commanded his people to build coracles and prepare for departure. Many of his clansmen understood the sand coracles, since they helped repair and rebuild the battered vessels each season before the Urabans sailed back across the Great Desert.

Once up in the air, however, even the khan of the Nunghal-Ari could not command or guide the floating ships. They were at the mercy of the winds. After many days of forlorn drifting and grumbling among his crowded companions—no doubt this grumbling was reflected in the other four coracles—they spotted the end of the desert and a small Uraban encampment.

“We’ll soon be on the ground again, where we can stretch our legs and run!” Jikaris was happy to take credit for the success of their voyage. He could hear the loud Nunghals in the other craft cheering.

However, the settlement they approached was almost empty. With all the stories Asaddan and Imir had told, he’d imagined that the Uraban capital would be much more extensive. He spotted only a dozen or so structures, some of which were tents. Two surprised young men ran out of a dusty shed, shouting in excitement when they saw the coracles.

As the Nunghals banked the coal fires in the braziers, the coracles settled toward the ground. Two of the craft crashed heavily, tumbling the occupants onto the grassy ground. Jikaris got up, brushed off his breeches, and stood tall as a handful of Uraban people ran forward to greet them. The khan tried not to show his disappointment, though he had expected a more extravagant celebration of his arrival.