Farlander (22 page)

‘And schools of assassins?’

Ash stiffened by his side. ‘We are not entirely assassins, boy.’

Puffs of grey smoke erupted along the ship’s right side. Anchors were dropped, dragging through the water and then up on to the beach, with clumps of seaweed now snared in them. Lines followed, and men on the beach grabbed hold of them and ran them to the mooring masts. Skittish in the vagrant breezes, the
Falcon
descended slowly.

Trench approached as his men vaulted overboard to secure the lines, his kerido hanging from his neck. The captain still walked with a limp gained in the battle.

‘I got you home,’ he said to Ash.

‘Yes. My thanks.’

Trench shook Ash’s hand, then Nico’s. On his shoulder the kerido chattered its own farewell. Berl was not there to say goodbye, unfortunately. The boy was confined below, sweating feverishly in his bunk. He had lost a foot in the action.

Nico rocked as the flat-bottomed hull settled in the sand. He hoisted his pack onto his shoulder. Strange. Now that the
Falcon
was rested on land, he was almost sorry to be leaving it.

‘Come,’ said Ash, and stepped down the bouncing gangplank.

*

In the end, after all the warnings, Cheem Port was something of a disappointment.

Ash strode along with such speed and purpose that it was hard for Nico to take in much of the town at all. They stayed there only long enough to procure light provisions and two mules to carry them on their journey to the south of the island.

It was the stench of the place that initially appalled Nico the most. The streets were churned into mud after a recent rainfall, and sewage ran freely along their sides or down the middle, in fetid ditches, the overwhelming smell made even worse by the corpses of dogs and cats and at one point, ignored entirely by those who passed by, the body of a young woman stripped of her clothes.

Outside a store, Nico helped lash the newly bought provisions to the sides of each mule. Just as he was finishing this work, he was forced to jump out of the path of the city guards, a brigade of swarthy Alhazii mercenaries in harlequin armour, who moved quickly down the street, chanting something foreign and frightening. A short time later he and Ash passed the same guards in the process of breaking up a taverna riot. It was a mêlée, nothing less: men lay hollering in the mud outside while, within, steel clashed over the sound of numerous raised voices.

They hurried away from the scene, heading south through the city. Ash shouted in Trade at the grimy street urchins, scattering them from his path with the help of a few tossed coins. The children tugged at Nico’s sleeves, pleading for food, for pennies, for tarweed, for dross. Prostitutes stood about everywhere; each was naked, and covered from head to toenails in golden paint. They flounced their breasts at Nico as he strained to look back at their bright nipples, the only parts not painted.

The slave markets were harder to bear. Through wooden gates he caught glimpses of men, women and children huddled together in rags while they were auctioned like so many cattle.

‘Embrace the flesh!’ shouted a street preacher, perched close by one such auction. ‘Embrace the flesh or you shall be enslaved, as all the weak are justly enslaved!’

‘What is he preaching?’ asked Nico.

Ash spat at the preacher’s feet as they rode by.

‘Mann,’ he eventually replied.

*

Unlike Bar-Khos, Cheem Port boasted no walls, and Nico was surprised when the dwellings either side of the road dwindled to outlying shacks and then to nothing, and then they were clear of the city entirely. He swayed rhythmically on the back of his mule, feeling his tension begin to fade.

The road wound its way between the foothills bordering the coast, never straying from sight of the sea and the ships that tacked across it. Cheem was an island composed of mountains and very little else, and most of its arable land was ranged along the coast or in the many narrow valleys that rose up towards the heavily forested peaks. For most of the day they followed the same road, passing a few hamlets and lonely cottages, where folk eyed them suspiciously and without greeting. By late afternoon they turned west into one such valley and rode upwards through sparse farmland until it gave way to heather and wild grasses suitable only for grazing hill sheep. On the slopes to either side, the trees began to cluster into silent forests of black pine.

A change came upon Ash as they rode into the high country, a softening of mood that went beyond even his usual calm countenance. His eyes mellowed. His lips pursed with satisfaction as he inhaled the fresh, still air.

‘You seem happy to be back,’ observed Nico.

A grunt was all that he got for his interest. The old man rode on in silence, and Nico had thought his comment forgotten when, ten or fifteen minutes later – as the setting sun ahead intensified the last of the day’s colours, and all around them the cooling evening air hung with the scent of resin – the old farlander spoke.

‘These mountains . . . they are home to me now.’

They made camp in a lofty clearing surrounded by aging jupes, their silvered leaves tinged red and golden by the setting sun. Nico’s back was stiff after their long ride, his backside bruised. He watched Ash take one of the green leaves he always carried in a pouch and stuff it into his mouth; another headache. The old man set about spreading out blankets and some provisions for the night, then rubbed the mules down with handfuls of grass as they stood pulling wildberries from a bush. Nico cut some resinous bark from a nearby cicado tree to light a fire, and then gathered dead wood to feed it.

At last Ash settled himself down in a display of evident relief. He watched the darkening sky and drank from a wooden gourd as Nico prepared the fire. The boy used his flint and a piece of steel to strike sparks into the bark he had already ground into powder, then blew gently until flames took hold. The damp wood tossed white smoke into the air, contrasting vividly with the black mountain peaks that surrounded them.

‘It’s getting cold,’ said Nico, rubbing his hands and holding them out to the newborn flames. He had regained some weight since setting out from Bar-Khos, but he was still thin enough to feel the cold keenly.

The old man barked a laugh. ‘I will tell you about cold sometime.’

‘Your vendetta that took you to the southern ice, you mean?’

Ash nodded, but said no more.

He had merely nodded the same way the last time it had been raised, before they left Bar-Khos, Nico asking one thing after another about the old man’s previous vendetta, and receiving only the briefest answers. It had caused Nico to grind his teeth together in frustration, and he did so again now, desperate to hear more of these legendary far-off lands he had only ever heard of in stories and song.

‘Is it true that they eat their own kind?’ Nico tried.

‘No, they only eat their enemies. They leave them to freeze overnight then pluck the meat from their corpses.’

Oddly, that awful image caused Nico’s stomach to rumble. He was starving after their long ride. He tossed a fresh stick into the fire, then another.

‘You still haven’t told me how you ever made it back to the coast. You said you had already lost your dogs by then.’

A hiss of breath through clenched teeth. ‘Another time, boy,’ Ash said. ‘For now let us just sit here a while and enjoy the silence.’

Nico sighed, rocking back on his haunches. He did not look at the old man.

‘Here,’ said Ash, holding the wooden gourd out to him.

Nico ignored it for the moment, instead watching as a soft gust fanned the flames so that they sparked into the night. ‘I am not one for drink,’ he declared at last.

Ash considered that. ‘Your father . . . he was a drunk?’

Now it was Nico’s turn to avoid the question. He rubbed his hands together again, blew into them. He could see from the corner of his eye that Ash was watching him.

‘And what you feared in your father, you now fear most in yourself.’

‘He could get angry on the drink,’ Nico admitted. ‘I do not wish to go the same way.’

‘I understand that. But you are not your father, boy, just as he is not you. Here, now, try a little. All things in moderation, even moderation itself. Besides, it will keep you warm.’

Nico sighed again, then took the gourd from the old man and sat studying it for a moment.

‘Careful now. It is potent brew.’

Nico put it to his mouth and tried a sip. He gasped at its brackish sting against his throat, and coughed.

‘What
is
this stuff?’ he rasped, passing back the gourd.

‘Barley water – and a few drops of sweat from the wild Ibos. They call it Cheem Fire.’

Nico did not like the sound of that. Warmth pulsed through his belly, but he knew enough to realize that it was an illusory heat. His father had once explained how falling asleep drunk in dropping temperatures could be fatal. ‘You think it wise to get drunk tonight?’ he asked.

The old man swatted at him as though he were a fly. ‘Let your hair down, boy. Besides, a hangover will help us for what we have to do tomorrow.’ Which of course made no sense at all to Nico, but he said nothing more.

They ate a supper of cured ham and a loaf of keesh shared between them, washed down with cups of chee brewed from the water of a nearby stream. They drank more Cheem Fire, and became merrier still as the light faded and the stars gathered overhead. The fire crackled and sparked against a darkness made blacker still by the light of the flames. They warmed their feet against it, their boots off.

‘Is it far from here?’ Nico managed, after some time gazing into the flames, that were hissing and dancing with life, almost lost in his thoughts.

‘What?’

‘The monastery. Is it far?’

The old man shrugged. He had picked up a stone, and was tossing it deftly into the air with one hand.

‘Why do you shrug?’

‘Because I do not know.’

He must be drunk
, Nico thought. ‘But if you live there,’ he tried again, ‘how can you not know how far we must travel?’

‘Nico, trust me, will you? It will all make sense in the morning. For now, drink up, and enjoy. After tonight, when we finally reach Sato, you will have much hard work and tough training ahead of you.’

Reluctantly, Nico accepted the gourd once more. He took another fiery gulp and returned it, then lay on his back to watch the stars, one elbow crooked beneath his neck. It was getting colder.

From the corner of his eye he could see Ash still clutching the stone in his hand, as he studied the seal that hung about his own neck. Nico turned to study him: the man wore an expression of sombre self-reflection.

I might have known
, thought Nico.
He’s a maudlin drunk, just like my father.

Ash looked up from the seal, to see Nico staring at him. He grunted and tucked it back beneath his robe. ‘What?’ he said.

‘Nothing, Ash . . . Master Ash. I have a question.’

The old farlander sighed. ‘Then ask it.’

‘You said the seal you are wearing is dead now. But that it once belonged to a patron.’

‘Yes.’

‘If you use the seals as deterrents, why then do you not wear your own seal? Why do you not protect yourself with the threat of vendetta?’

Ash’s teeth flashed in the firelight. ‘At last,’ he said, ‘a question worthy of discussion,’ and he again threw the stone up, spinning, and snatched it out of the air.

Ash leaned closer, as though to confide in him. ‘I will tell you something, Nico, and you must remember it always.’ His breath was hot, spicy. ‘Revenge, my boy . . . revenge is a cycle that has no end. Its beginning is violence and its offspring is violence. In between, there is nothing but pain. ‘That is why we R
shun wear no seals to protect ourselves. In truth we hope always to provide a deterrent, and nothing more. For we know better than most that vengeance serves no positive value in this world. This is simply the profession which our life paths have led us to.’

‘You make it sound as though what you do is wrong?’

‘We do not see it in terms of either wrong or right. Our work is morally neutral, and this you must understand, for it lies at the heart of the R
shun creed. It is like this: we are rocks on a slope, set into motion by the movement of other rocks. We simply follow the natural fall of events.