Dark Heart (52 page)

‘A sheet will do,’ he replied, and took one from the bed.

She raised an eyebrow. ‘You look ridiculous.’

‘Not as ridiculous as the puffing men must look,’ he said, thoughtlessly.

She reached over and placed a finger on his lips. ‘No other men, I told you,’ she said.

‘Sorry, Miss Sai.’

‘You’ve spoken of a daughter,’ she said, ‘but not of her mother. There is greater sorrow yet, fisherman. How wide must I cast my net to encompass it all?’

‘Why? Why do you care?’ he whispered.

‘Because I can save you,’ she replied in a small voice. ‘Because I could not save another.’

So he told her, told it all, the noble and the sordid, and her young face displayed nothing but understanding.
This is a miracle,
he told himself. Candles burned down, flickering into darkness as knots decades old began to loosen within him. He spoke for hours, spoke until his throat was raw.

‘Ai, I was right,’ she said, rubbing her fingers across his forehead. ‘I could see it. I have a gift, you know. I can tell things about people.’

‘Before this journey I would not have believed it,’ he said, his mouth against her soft hair. ‘But I have seen so much I cannot explain. I believe in your gift. I am grateful for it.’

‘You fascinated me, fisherman, because I have never seen a man so strong, yet so burdened, so close to breaking. Had we slept together tonight, it would have broken you. You would have seen your daughter under you; you would never have lived with it. I know, I know, I’ve seen it. My own father, I’ve seen it.’

‘What did he do to you?’ Noetos asked, staggered at her confidence in him, her openness, and in the new sensitivity unfurling in his breast. Her story would have held no compulsion for him a week ago, so filled with his own hurt he had become.

‘Are you sure? My story is not full of bravery like yours.’

‘I would not refuse you, Sai,’ he said.

‘Cylene,’ she corrected. ‘Cylene is my proper name.’

I knew it,
said a voice in the back of his head.

What? What?
he shouted at it, staggered and shocked at her invasion.
Have you been listening?

Father, I…let me explain, but not now. This is what the voice told me: her name is Cylene, she is from Sayonae, and she helped kill her twin sister in order to save her father, who had become her lover. Listen to her story, Father, and keep acting sympathetic as you have done until now. It is important!

Acting? I’m not acting!
But his daughter had gone.

‘Fisherman? Are you all right?’

‘Yes, sorry, I haven’t had much sleep. Tell me your story, Cylene.’
No, I don’t want this wonderful girl drawn into our troubles!

‘I am the thirteenth child and sixth daughter of the Umertas, horse-breeders and too-proud residents of Sayonae,’ she said, her eyes swimming with tears, her whole body an open entreaty to him, begging him to understand. ‘Six minutes older than the seventh daughter of the family. My tragedy is I killed my sister as a rival to the love of my father.’ She took a deep breath and her eyes steadied. ‘I am dead inside, fisherman, completely dead; so I chose a profession where life is not required, where acting is everything. Do you pity me yet?’

‘I have seen dead men,’ he whispered to her. ‘I have seen their faces. I have looked into their eyes. You are not dead, Cylene.’

‘I have tried to die,’ she said. ‘I should be dead. My father, he was a great man, but he had needs, strange needs for which he used his daughters.’

‘I have heard of such things,’ Noetos said carefully, determined not to be shocked, to keep a straight face, for her sake.

‘My older sisters hated it, hated him, but were trapped. I didn’t hate him. I loved him. I begged him to put the others aside, to love only me, but he delighted in my sister.’ Her tears were hot; he collected them in a calloused hand. ‘I hated her. So I told him she was set to betray him, to tell the authorities, the men of the town.

‘He took her on a walk one afternoon, not long after our eighth birthday. They went to the cliffs to pick wildflowers. He came back alone.’ She could hardly speak; his heart felt it was about to rip apart. ‘She fell, he said, but he winked at me. That night, after all the searching was over, when he came to me, he told me he’d pushed her. He’d watched her body break on the rocks, then seen the waves bear her away.’ She licked her salty lips. ‘I tried to scratch his eyes out. He never came to me again.’

She burst into great heaving sobs, a deepest agony of spirit. For many minutes she simply could not speak, so intense her pain.

‘I play dead,’ she said eventually. ‘It’s the only way to stop the hurting. Oh, fisherman, I am going to split in two. What can I do? What can I do?’

We have to tell her.

Arathé, please leave me alone. This is important.

Yes, Father. Take another look at this poor creature. Tell me, who does she remind you of?

And he saw it. He held her at arm’s length and he saw it, saw it for true. Had been seeing it for a week or more, but his mind had denied it.

‘You are certain your sister is dead? That your father killed her?’

‘He said so,’ Cylene replied. ‘He taunted me with it. It must have been so.’

I will not tell her,
Noetos said.
She would not credit the source of our knowledge. I’m not sure I do.

It’s complicated, Father. Lenares has joined the Falthans, and they passed through Sayonae a week or so ago. Do you see where this is going?

Cylene’s family mistook Lenares for her sister? Was the reconciliation a happy one?

Arathé sighed: the sound was like a cold wind through his mind.
No, Father, it was not.

They held each other throughout the night, two needy souls entwined by desperation. And, when morning came, they parted; he to steerage, her to the captain’s cabin, his secret knowledge of her unspoken.

‘HOW LONG AGO WAS IT?’ Anomer asked insistently. ‘Less than three months, according to what I can remember. How long, Arathé?’

‘Three months or so, as you say.’ Her fingers moved desultorily in the exhausting heat.

‘He has no business doing this,’ he said. ‘Less than three months since Mother died. He should still be in mourning. Three years would still be too soon.’

‘Anomer, I’m trying to sleep.’

‘You always have an excuse to avoid this discussion. Are you on his side? Is this not important enough to you? Are you becoming like him?’

She propped herself up on one elbow, which slowed her speaking but established eye contact. Anomer had always been slightly in awe of his sister, and many times had not been able to look her in the eye. Now they were again eye to eye, she on her bunk, he kneeling beside it, and it would not be he who backed down.

‘Anomer, it is you, not me, who is becoming like him. Four months ago I was in the hands of the Recruiters, who used me however they wanted. Everything I had was at their disposal. They helped themselves to my body, to my magic, to my strength. As a result I become easily tired, brother; hadn’t you noticed? Even Father doesn’t overtax me. So who is the thoughtless one now?’

The first of many rebukes. Anomer steeled himself.

‘We’re all tired, sister.’ He used the same inflexion she had. ‘We’ve been in this steam-room for two weeks now. No one on board is in better condition, I promise you. So, if not now, when can we talk?’

‘Very well,’ she said. ‘You say he feels no remorse for what he did to Mother.’

‘Exactly.’

She held up two fingers and waggled the first. ‘Point one: what happened to Mother was not his doing. She made her own choices, and you were there. You told us she ran to the Hegeoman’s house, which is where the Recruiters captured you. Had she not invested herself so heavily in Bregor and his wife, she and you might have escaped the Recruiters.’

‘Circumstances. And who drove her to make that investment? You know what he’s like. I cannot find it in myself to blame her.’

‘Yet women are not helpless, Anomer. We can still make choices. What happened to Mother was at least partially the result of her own choices.’

‘Was it her choice that saw Saros Rake come down on top of her? That led to a sword through her belly? Father’s plan was flawed from the start.’

‘The flaw was in trusting the alchemist and the traitorous miners,’ Arathé signalled. Her fingers had slowed even since the start of their discussion. Perhaps the heat really was affecting her as she claimed.

‘He didn’t even grieve at her graveside,’ Anomer said.

‘That, I’ll admit, counts against him. I don’t understand why he didn’t.’

A flicker of guilt smouldered in Anomer’s chest: it had been Bregor and himself who had driven his father away from the site of her burial. He repressed it. If it helped Arathé understand what sort of father she had, if it dimmed him in her eyes, he would allow her to continue believing it.

Anomer leaned forward, not quite meeting his sister’s gaze. ‘So yesterday he came and tried to apologise. Claimed he’d decided to let his guilt go. I told him I’d seen no evidence of his ever having picked it up in the first place. Oh, he became angry at that. Give him credit, he kept his temper, but it was an effort.’

‘Progress, then.’

Anomer sighed audibly.
Always she sees the good in him.

‘Of a sort, Arathé, or perhaps he’s feeling a little more vulnerable now you’re not making your magical strength available to him. I admire you, by the way, it was a courageous decision. He could have fallen at any time during that storm, could have been lost overboard.’

‘I was ready to help him had he needed it,’ she said. ‘Besides, it was your idea. It took cowardice, not courage, to agree to it. I should have stood up to you.’

‘Nonsense. Once he realises he’s not invulnerable, he’ll begin to put more trust in those around him.’

‘I thought we agreed that’s what caused the debacle at Saros Rake.’

She was doing it again. He was accounted a quick thinker, but he had never bested his sister in an argument. She could twist anything he said and use it against him.

‘You said that,’ he said. ‘I didn’t agree.’

‘You didn’t argue the point. Oh, Anomer, why do we so often end up fighting about Father?’

‘Both strong-willed, I suppose; another legacy of our dear father.’

‘Did you accept his apology?’

‘Of course not! How many lives have his actions cost? Why, it may only be his guilt that prevents him making further mistakes.’

‘You’re harsher than he is,’ Arathé said, as her eyes began to droop. She summoned the energy from somewhere. ‘He rescued miners from execution; how is that an action that cost lives? You could argue that his wiping out of the Neherian court, and his defeat of their army, saved many more lives than were lost. What if he’d walked away, minding his own business? Would the Neherians now be besieging Sayonae, or Malayu itself?’

‘There must have been a better way to do it,’ Anomer said sullenly. She was winning again. ‘A way that didn’t involve the slaughter of the defenceless. I know they weren’t blameless, but the images we saw from the ballroom of the Summer Palace were inexcusable.’

‘No different from the havoc you caused among the miners who tried to take the huanu stone.’

‘I’ve made my decision. When we land at Malayu, I’m leaving him and returning south. Bregor asked me to join him, you know, to help him in re-establishing Raceme. I think I’ll take up his offer. More productive than the misguided revenge Father is bent on seeking.’

‘Very well,’ she signalled, her fingers stiffly making the symbols. ‘But should he come to me, I’ll listen to him.’

‘I’d like you to come south with me,’ Anomer added.

‘And I’d like you to reconcile yourself with our father,’ she countered. ‘We do not always get what we want, even Father has realised that. Still, he should understand that he cannot take our support for granted. I’ll speak to him soon.’

‘As you like. I’ve done speaking.’

He stood, stretched the tension from the muscles in his legs, and turned towards the interminable card game at the stern end of the room, presided over as always by Tumar. Behind him the curtain closed, leaving him feeling yet again as though he’d lost something more than a mere argument.

The only time Arathé felt at ease was on her infrequent excursions above decks. The steerage deck had become quite unbearable: sleeping there actually deprived her of energy. A combination of constant noise, oppressive heat and noisome fumes had ground her down until she found herself more and more sustaining her strength by borrowing—stealing, really—from those around her.

Walking the open deck, or standing at the rail, watching the water break on the ship’s bow or churn behind its stern, gulls crying, clouds parading their ever-changing shapes, the wind whipping at her hair, was as life was to death. Steerage passengers were allowed two hours on deck if weather permitted, one hour in the morning, the other before dusk. Those hours rushed by, the pleasure she derived from them seeming to make the interminable time below decks even less bearable than it otherwise might have been.

She stood quietly, one hand on the foremast, and watched her fellow steerage passengers take the air. Six families made up over half those in steerage; of those, two families had ten members each. Sadly, the Fallows had lost their youngest daughter last week. No one had even known she was ill. She had come down with a fever, apparently, nothing exceptional, but she had insisted the light hurt her eyes and that her neck was sore. A few bewildering hours later her little body had been cooling on the deck, shrouded in sailcloth in preparation for a sea burial. Her parents had wanted to take the body home, but the captain had refused. Two weeks out of port, he said, in this weather, would corrupt the body beyond what anyone could stand. Besides, there was the risk of disease. No one knew what the girl had died of: there were no lumps or pustules, and her sputum had been clear. The only sign of her illness had been a rash on her chest and back. Truth, half those aboard had rashes. The captain decided not to impose disease measures, but the other passengers drew away from the family until it was clear none of them had caught the fever.

Her mother’s eyes were still hollow, circled in black; Arathé doubted she was sleeping. The rest of the family, though, frolicked about on the deck: the father played loop-toss with his three youngest sons, all beautiful dark-haired children. There had been a death, yes, but life continued; a lesson her brother Anomer had yet to learn, it seemed.

Life not only continued, it burgeoned, even in this awful autumn heat. One of the single men—one who might have been of interest to Arathé before her time in Andratan—waited for his girl beside the main mast. She was the oldest of eight children in what was now the largest family aboard, and it was clear from Arathé’s repeated observation that her parents did not know of the liaison.

Arathé smiled. Here she came now, a young thing indeed, probably no older than sixteen years of age, measured against the man’s mid-twenties. She looked around, eyes wide, and located her parents walking back towards the hatch. Time almost over for another day. As soon as the mother’s sunhat disappeared, the pair were in each other’s arms. Arathé doubted the couple would keep knowledge of their liaison private much longer. There were few secrets on a ship.

Her attention turned to her father. He stood amidships, leaning against the port railing, staring towards the setting sun. His preoccupation was not a secret.

Ah, there she is.
Miss Sai emerged from the hatch and walked slowly across the main deck towards the broad ladder—really a stairway—leading to the upper deck and the captain’s cabin. She took an age to make the journey; a deliberate action to keep her on view as long as possible. Most of the men’s eyes followed her, hunger in many of them, while the women pointedly looked away or stared malevolently. She ignored them all.

But one pair of eyes contained a hunger beyond mere bodily desire. He had turned from his contemplation of the sea and now watched her as she reached the ladder. And there, as she had done every day for the past nine, she turned and smiled her heartbreaking smile at him. Just a momentary contact, all they could reasonably obtain without raising the captain’s suspicions.

The trouble was, he already knew.

Miss Sai turned her head back and ascended the stairs, her carriage and gait belying the notion of a slattern—yet that was what she was. A woman employed to have sex with as many men as possible in order to make a profit for the captain. And should anything distract her from that task, the captain would remove it.

So he’d said to Arathé the day before yesterday. He had called her into his cabin, his face set in a grimace as he’d explained the situation.

‘I have made a mistake,’ he said. ‘I gave Miss Sai to your father as a reward; he’d been extremely valuable, even heroic, during the storm. But he has formed an unwholesome attachment to her. I’ve seen him mooning after her as she advertises herself around the ship. So has the first mate. I doubt he realises how ridiculous he looks, or what comment he is attracting. I am not yet certain what to do about it.’

He’d sucked on his teeth a moment, then leaned forward. ‘I see and hear more than the passengers think. Have to. It’s the secret of running a good ship. And there are reasons I need to keep everything above board, as they say. I’ve approached you instead of your brother because, from what I hear, your father is more likely to listen to you than to him. So convey my message well, or I’ll have to tell your brother.’

Arathé had put her answer down on paper for him.
If mooning was a sign of attachment
, she’d written,
half the men on the boat are guilty. Your slattern does her job too well.

‘My slattern is half in love with your father,’ the captain said. ‘If this attachment interferes with her duties I will put your father in the brig. I want you to tell him so.’

A fine reward for all he has done to assist you
, she wrote.

He shrugged. ‘This is a friendly warning. It’s not about fairness, it’s about business. Sai is the best I’ve ever had, and I don’t want to lose her. You tell your father to stay away from Miss Sai. Is that clear, Arathé of Fossa?’

She had agreed without making a fuss. Her father was not the fickle man Anomer painted him to be. Nothing had happened that night with Cylene—fortunately, given the complication of her heritage. Her father had known that, which was why he acted responsibly. Besides, she could hardly defy the captain. Their swords were deep in the cargo hold, and would be returned only when they stood on the Malayu docks. Out here on the ocean the captain was the only authority. So she had nodded, written a brief thanks to the captain for his forbearance, and promised to deliver the message.

Two days had passed, in which she’d hoped to behold proof that the attachment was temporary. Unfortunately, the evidence pointed in quite the opposite direction. Her father’s eyes remained on Miss Sai until she disappeared behind the mizzenmast. Two women whispered together directly below Arathé, Noetos’s behaviour clearly the topic of their conversation.

To make matters worse, the captain emerged from the hatch just as Miss Sai vanished from view, but not before he took in the scene. He turned about, scanning the deck until he saw Arathé, then came up beside her.

‘Remember our agreement, Arathé of Fossa?’ he asked. She nodded to him, embarrassed.

He walked to the upper deck ladder, then waited, clearly expecting her to do something immediately. She sighed, descended the steps and walked over to her father, who had resumed his unthinking contemplation of the ocean.

‘Father, we must talk,’ she signalled.

‘What? Is it time to go below?’

She glanced over her shoulder to where the captain waited. ‘We’ve been given a few minutes longer,’ she mimed, slow enough, she hoped, for him to understand.