The Tree of Water (44 page)

In the dim light I could see the outline of several ships, all of them moored in the shallows of the southern coast. King Vandemere led me up to a long dry dock and invited me to follow him down it.

Alongside it stood the most beautiful ship I have ever seen in my life. I felt suddenly guilty, disloyal to my family's business, because this vessel was as magnificent a sailing ship as I had ever seen, even more splendid than any ship my father had ever manufactured. Then, a moment later, I noticed some scrollwork on the hull and some cables that looked very familiar.

My father's hallmarks.

“You—you bought a ship from my father?” Ven stammered, delight giving way to confusion.

“Actually, I have bought many ships from Pepin Polypheme,” the king said, chuckling at the look on Ven's face. “But this is one I have commissioned specially—just for you.”

“For
me
?”

The king's laughter grew louder.

“Good heavens, Ven, you're turning white! Yes, for you.” King Vandemere grew more serious. “It's clear to me that you should go exploring for a while—get off the Island of Serendair and go out into the wide world. The tunnel from the Gated City into the harbor has recently been destroyed, but one should never underestimate the power and determination of Felonia, the Thief Queen. It's best if you are not around for a while. And besides, this way you can travel
on
the water, and go to many marvelous places, maybe even home for a visit. Then come back and tell me what magic you have seen in places beyond my realm.”

Ven was speechless. He could feel his ears burning, and his curiosity was blazing like the fires in the depths of the sea.

“Thank you, sire,” he said finally when his voice returned.

The king patted the hull of the beautiful ship. “You're welcome. Do you like her? Don't be polite—she's your ship, and you need to be happy with her.”

Ven hurried down the dock, taking a good look at the new vessel.

“Well, I'll have to conduct an Inspection,” he said. “But, given my history, I'd like to do it here in the boathouse, rather than on the open sea, if possible.”

“Whatever you think is best.”

Ven stopped at the prow and stared up at the figurehead.

It was the likeness of a beautiful girl, with glorious-colored scales beneath her armpits that continued on down into a magnificent tail inlaid with mother-of-pearl. The scales of the tail gleamed even in the dim light.

The statue's emerald-green eyes were open wide, as if they were taking in the world with excitement. Her rose-petal mouth bore a wide, happy smile,
brazen
, Ven thought in delight. And on her head, a red cap embroidered in pearls was carved into the wood of her hair.

“Oh, my” was all he could bring himself to say.

“I've spoken to Oliver Snodgrass, who's come home while you were away. He said he would be willing to captain her for you, at least for your maiden voyage, if you want him to—”

“
Want him to?
Are you kidding, Your Majesty?
Want him to?!
”

The king smiled broadly. “He's been putting a crew together—should be ready by tomorrow morning, I would guess. He's at the Crossroads Inn, signing up a bunch of new sailors—”

“My—my friends? They can come?”

“Of course they can come—it's
your
ship.” The king laughed out loud at Ven's now-red face. “So what are you going to name her?”

Ven took a breath. Then another. Then finally, after three more, he could speak.

“I have the perfect name for her,” he said. “But it's bad luck to tell it before the ship is christened—believe me, I know. Is there any way we can get a bottle of rum down here tomorrow, sire? We can name her right before we launch on the morning's tide.”

“As you wish.” The king patted his shoulder. “Now, we'd best be off to the Crossroads Inn and get you set up with Captain Snodgrass. I'm sure you two have a million things to discuss before you set sail.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty!” Ven shouted. “Thank you so much—but, er, I have one more thing I have to do before we head home. I'll be right back.”

The king nodded, and Ven bolted out of the boathouse. He ran down the dock outside it as fast as he could to the water's edge, put his hand to his brow, and scanned the water, which was just beginning to turn gold in the light of the morning sun that had finally broken through the clouds.

“Amariel!” he called softly, hoping not to draw the notice of the local sailors and any fishermen heading north to the pier. “Amariel!”

A moment later a beautiful multicolored tail broke the surface, waving.

“Amariel!” Ven called again. “You have to meet me here tomorrow morning, at Firstlight.”

Amariel's head popped out of the waves.

“Why?”

Ven grinned broadly.

“It's a surprise,” he said. “But you won't have to wait very long to see it—because it's named after you.”

 

Read on for an excerpt from Ven's first adventure,
The Floating Island
.

1

The Albatross

The morning of my fiftieth birthday found me, as the last twenty had, sneakily examining my chin in the looking glass, searching for a sign, any small sign, of a whisker.

And, once again, as on the previous twenty birthdays, I found nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

It may seem strange to you that I was able to reach the age of fifty years and still have my face remain as smooth and hairless as a green melon, and you would be right. Many lads of my race begin sprouting their beards by the tender age of thirty, and nearly all of them have a full layer of short growth, known as their Bramble, by forty-five. It is all but unheard of among the Nain for a boy to reach his fiftieth year without at least some sign that his beard is beginning to grow in.

But then, this is certainly not the first thing about me that the rest of the Nain in the city of Vaarn think of as odd.

If I were a human, by the age of fifty I would be entering the later years of my life, and my hairless chin would be of no consequence. In fact, it might even be seen as an advantage, since human men have the rather astonishing habit of removing their beards with a sharp knife known as a razor each morning, a practice that horrifies the Nain. This intentional sliding of knife over throat also permanently cements the distrust they feel for the race of humans. A man's beard is the story of his life to the Nain.

And on that morning it didn't seem as if I would ever have one—a beard, a life, or a story worth telling of it.

How quickly Fate turns things around.

Being fifty years old as a Nain is the same as being about twelve or thirteen in human years. We live about four times longer than humans, and grow more slowly. You might think that living four times as long as humans we would have special wisdom upon reaching those teenage years that humans do not have. I certainly thought so. On the night before my forty-second birthday I floated this theory past my mother, who looked at me doubtfully.

“Neh,” she said, scorn in her voice. “It merely means you have four times as many years being pigheaded and stupid.”

She had a point.

But while Nain can be somewhat pigheaded, I know they are not stupid. They are just uncomfortable in the air of the upworld, with the wind blowing and the bright sky and the commotion of those taller people walking about.

Nain much prefer the dark tunnels of the earth, the warm, solid feel of mountain rising around them, the clanging of anvils and the noise of digging that their deep world absorbs. Being out of the earth for any length of time bothers them. It makes them feel as if things are, well,
loose.

So when my great-grandfather, Magnus Polypheme, chose to leave Castenen, the underground kingdom of the Nain, and make his way in the world of human men, it was considered more than strange.

It was a scandal.

Magnus the Mad, as he was known, was by no means the first Nain to leave Castenen. Nor was he the first Nain to choose to live among the humans that were the largest part of the population of the Great Overward, where I was born. Nain, in fact, lived in cities all over the vast continent. Oftentimes they were the merchants who sold the wares that were produced within the mountain kingdom of Castenen to humans in their towns and villages.

But not my great-grandfather. He chose instead to move to the city of Vaarn.

By the sea.

To work on building ships.

Even the upworld Nain couldn't figure that one out.

On the morning of his fiftieth birthday, as Ven Polypheme hurried excitedly to the docks, the light of the sun disappeared for a moment, as if it had been suddenly blotted out.

Ven shielded his eyes and looked up into the dark sky just in time to catch sight of the largest feather he had ever seen, wafting down toward him on the hot wind.

Momentarily blind as the sun returned, he reached out and caught it, an oily white feather tipped with blue-green markings.

It was as long as his forearm.

He had no time to wonder where it had come from. His father's voice filled his ears.

“Ven!
Ven!
Did you see it?”

Ven looked down the long wharf. Pepin Polypheme, a rather portly Nain of close to two hundred and fifty years, was hurrying toward him, puffing and wiping the sweat from his forehead with his pocket handkerchief.

“Did you see it, lad?” his father asked again.

Ven held up the feather.

“Not the feather, the bird!” Pepin gasped as he came to a halt beside his son. “The albatross—did you see it?”

Ven shook his head. “I saw its shadow as it passed overhead, but I was too busy trying to catch the feather to see the bird.”

The older Polypheme shook his head as well, spattering drops of sweat into the hot air, and sighed.

“I fear that may turn out to be the story of your life, my boy,” he said regretfully. “Catching the useless feather, missing the giant, rare,
lucky
bird. Ah, well. Come along.”

Ven sighed as well, wondering if he would ever be able to do anything but disappoint his father. He slid the feather into the band of his cap and followed Pepin along the planks to the pier where the ship his family was outfitting was moored. Like all Nain he was stocky, but he was tall for his age, so he kept up easily with the old man.

“Have they decided what to name her yet?” he asked Pepin, who was waving to the head shipwright.

His father scowled at him. “You should know better than that. No one hears a ship's name until she is christened. It's bad luck.”