Ocean of Dust (21 page)

Cook discovered Lissa scrunched into a ball,
a wad of hair pressed against her tear-stained cheeks.

"What, in the name of Anjan, happened here,
child? Your hair! Branda, help her up."

Lissa shrugged away Branda's outstretched
hands, and didn't stand until she had silently gathered every last
strand. She clutched it all to her chest.

"Branda came screeching to me that Alice
attacked you with a knife," Cook said, turning Lissa about and
scrutinizing her arms and legs.

"I'm not hurt," Lissa muttered, her voice
lifeless. "She cut off my hair-"

A tear bubbled out of one eye and trickled
down to her lips. She touched a hand to her bare neck.

"They held me down. He threatened
Branda."

"Who?" Cook asked.

"Lyndon."

"That girl's gone too far this time," Cook
growled, and turned to the man behind her. "Grad, ask the crew
chief to apprehend them both. Inform the deck master we are coming
to see him."

"Aye, ma'am." He hurried away.

Cook led Lissa and Branda up to the outer
deck. The crew chief, Farq and the captain were engaged in a heated
discussion, and a crowd had gathered at a respectable distance. To
one side, Nib had a firm hand on the shoulders of Alice and Lyndon.
Alice sobbed openly, the first time Lissa had ever seen her cry.
The girl had an angry red, swollen eye. Lissa tensed her belly,
willed herself to get angry, but simply gave a long sigh.

Half of the sky had turned a murky black. The
storm was so close she could see the clouds boiling and flickering
with lightning. She turned away, wanting to go below and hide. Cook
dragged her before the three men.

Farq was breathing heavily so she stared at
her feet and tried to slip behind Cook.
No questions. Not now,
please.
Seemingly from a distance, Cook addressed the captain,
who said something in return, but Lissa fixed her gaze on a
knothole in the deck. Farq would be furious that it hadn't been
sealed. Cook nudged her and she blinked.

"Disembark her," the captain told Farq. "No
questions."

He strode away.

Lissa took a wobbly step backward. What did
that mean? It sounded ominous. Did he mean her or Alice? Surely, he
meant Alice.

"Sam," Farq thundered. "Lock her up and don't
let her out this time. If I see her face again, it will be her last
breath."

"I'll lock the boy up separate," the crew
chief replied. "There's been enough mischief."

"No. Return him to work."

"But he was an accomp-" Cook began.

"I said, no, woman."

Cook's arms wrapped around Lissa, and she let
herself be escorted below. Alice cursed as they dragged her back to
the rope locker. Lissa shook uncontrollably when they reached the
galley, despite Branda holding her hand and stroking her arm.

"She's in shock," Cook told Branda. "Make her
hot jalak-brew with plenty of sweet-crystals. Lissa, lie down for a
while."

* * *

Cook's sympathy lasted only until the next
morning. With Alice locked up again, she worked Lissa and Branda
extra hard for the next two days. Between them, they cooked
mountains of bread, meat and cakes; enough to feed five times the
crew. Lissa’s head felt lighter and colder. Images of her hair
strewn across the floor haunted her all day and she kept thinking
of how long it had taken to grow. She gritted her teeth and worked
harder.

"Why are we cooking so much?" she asked after
two days without uttering a word.

"Flux storm," Cook grunted. "We can't outrun
it forever."

Lissa glanced at Branda.

"We not use ovens during storm," Branda said.
"It dangerous."

"Stop flapping your gums," Cook snapped.
"We've got to prepare for an eight-day without them."

A sense of urgency had taken over the crew.
Instead of gambling and smoking, they worked double watches
securing the ship. There was little laughter and much muttered
conversation.

"What are these flux storms like?" Lissa
asked.

Branda grimaced. "I seen two. I stay down
here."

"Why are they dangerous?"

"Stay out of trouble and do as you're told,"
Cook wheezed.

"Could they sink the ship?"

Cook rolled her eyes, snorted and walked
out.

Later, Branda offered to trim Lissa's ragged
hairline. Lissa pushed her away.

"Don't touch it. I don't want anyone touching
my hair ever again."

Branda wailed and fled from the room.

"I'm sorry," Lissa called after her. "Come
back."

Branda stiffened, but kept going.

Lissa returned to her storeroom and collapsed
onto a sack of tubers, holding her head in her hands. The room
closed in, and the low ceiling seemed to press down on her.
I
hate this place.
How far was the next port? She trembled with
the need to get off the ship. Sighing, she tapped her foot rapidly
on the floor. Her fists tightened.
I can't live like
this.

She bolted upright and blew all the air out
of her lungs. Alice wasn't going to win. Mampalo and the physiker
believed in her, even the Klynaks did. The navigator didn't, but
she would prove him wrong.

She jumped up and headed topside. When she
emerged from the hatch, a strong wind blasted her with dust. She
coughed and turned downwind. The crew worked furiously like a nest
of hive-bugs, as they took down globelights, secured ropes, and
lashed equipment to ladders and rails. They wore bandanas against
the swirling dust, but their skin was bright red. Sheets of the
grey powder lashed over the ship and swept across the deck to pile
up in the corners.

Hazy circles marked the position of both suns
above the overcast. Inky clouds chased the ship, flickering white
as lightning stabbed within them. Thunder crashed, rumbling across
the sky like the Gods at war. Her head throbbed.

She clasped one hand across her nose and
mouth and ran up the aft stairs two at a time, gripping the rail as
the ship pitched. She knocked on the navigator's door. Upon his
command, she marched inside and the wind slammed the door behind
her. The howling of the wind subsided. She brushed a thick layer of
dust from her clothes. He had fastened the rear windows shut and
pulled the drapes, as if doing so could deter the storm biting at
the ship's heels.

His head jerked up. "Are you determined to
pester me at every opportunity?" His eyes flicked to her empty
hands. "What do you want?"

She met his gaze. "I want to fix your book,
sir. I allowed it to get wet, and I intend to make it good."

"The blasted book again? Didn't I tell you to
leave me alone? And what ridiculous thing have you done with your
hair? It's a complete mess."

Her lip quivered and she stumbled against the
door, as if struck. She blinked away a tear.

"My father told me to take responsibility for
my actions."

"Did he?" He pursed his lips, and waved a
hand toward the low table. "All right, take the book and get to
work."

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

She kneeled beside the table, upon which sat
a fresh globelight, a stack of paper, pen and ink, and the damaged
ledger. Had he expected her to return? She stared at his back and
chewed her lip. Her eye was drawn to the measuring device he used
on his chart. Mampalo’s book had stated that the instrument could
be used to estimate time and distance.

"I don't hear work being done."

She snatched up the pen, opened the damaged
book and wrote on the top sheet of paper. Thunder drummed above the
ship, and she caught glimpses of lightning through the rear drapes.
His cot squeaked as it swung with the movement of the ship. Her
globelight slid from one end of the table to the other and back.
The ship was really heaving.

When he commanded her to stop, she had
completed six pages. She wiggled her cramped fingers and
stretched.

"Bring them here," he said. "Return
tomorrow."

She placed the sheaf of pages into his
outstretched hand, curtseyed, and hurried out before he could
scream at her again for filling in the smudged numbers.

The walkway and deck were dark as night
though it was barely mid-afternoon. The ropes above her lashed back
and forth, whacking against the rail or the mast, empty of their
usual globelights. Only a couple remained to illuminate the open
hatches. She descended slowly, probing each step carefully,
slipping in the piles of dust.

"Who goes there?" a booming voice challenged.
A globelight bobbed toward her, and she craned her neck to look up
at Sam, the crew chief. Even his beard had gathered dust.

"Tonight's a bad time to be on deck," he
shouted above the shrieking wind.

She nodded.

"Sorry about what happened to ye."

She blinked and looked into his eyes. They
held her gaze for a long moment and his lips parted in a thin
smile.

The sky thundered. She jumped and tripped on
the hatch cover, teetering on the edge. As lightning lit the deck,
his arm snapped out and lifted her to safety.

"Thank you," she said, and took a firm grip
on the ladder.

"Nothing but trouble, that Alice. Not you,
you're a hard worker." He shook his head. "Bad business."

* * *

Lissa awoke, screaming.

Searing pain tore through her head, like a
wild tusk-solag bashing its horns against her skull, trying to
break out. The burning feeling lanced down her body. Now it felt as
though the creature had squatted on her chest. She snatched short,
sharp gasps of breath and then rolled out of her scheepa onto the
floor. There she lay, shrieking, eyes flicking around the dimly lit
storeroom.

"Lissa," Branda cried, sprinting into the
room and crouching beside her. "Are you hurt? What happen?"

"Help her up," Cook said, appearing in the
doorway, dressed in sleepwear and holding a globelight aloft.

Lissa saw them as blurry shapes, and their
words had a dream-like, hazy quality.

"The pain," she moaned. "Please stop the
pain."

"Fetch the physiker, child. At once."

Branda ran from the storeroom.

Time to be strong.

The whispering voice cut clearly through the
swirling mess of pain and confusion in Lissa's head. She closed her
eyes, wincing each time her body spasmed in reaction to the
stabbing pain. The single whisper became a humming chorus, which
seemed to spread out within her, calming the fire, roping the wild
beast inside her head.

What's happening? Help me.

You must confront this. We can guide you,
but we cannot do it for you.

She dug her fingernails into the wooden deck,
sucked a breath through clenched teeth, and sat up. The room
blurred and tumbled, a grey world washed clean of color. She heaved
and threw up her dinner over Cook's feet.

The woman jumped back. "What's wrong with
you, girl? Where's that damn physiker?"

Fight the pain,
the chorus said.

I can't!

You must get out of the belly of your nest
that moves. There is something you must see.

She focused on a shimmering post, crawled the
few feet and pulled herself up it and to a standing position.

"Don't try to get up," Cook cried. "Lie back
down. You must rest until Criandor gets here."

No. Keep moving.

Lissa trusted the whispers. They had saved
her life. Her arms and legs tingled, and her mouth tasted of warm
sick. She blinked hard and color returned to the world. Her
surroundings sharpened.

"Fresh air," she mumbled and lurched past
Cook into the hallway, her hands following the wall. The humming
increased its pace. She took one step toward the ladder and then
another. The world flowed around and behind her like a dream,
distorted and unreal. Time lost its meaning. Another step. She
struggled onwards and upwards, not caring whether Cook followed.
Where am I going again? Why?
It didn't matter. Another
step.

She emerged onto the outer deck and
froze.

The entire sky shimmered in garish, violent
colors; more shades of orange, blue and purple than she had names
for. Jagged flares pulsed out of the clouds, some fizzling, others
impacting the deck or rail, where they sprayed color in all
directions. No sound or thunder accompanied them, but each sent a
stab of fiery pain between her eyes. The sight was beautiful and
terrifying all at once. As the flares danced about the ship, the
clouds descended, bubbling over the rails. She imagined the ship
afloat in the clouds.

"Help her," a familiar voice yelled above the
fury of the wind.

The physiker hurried toward her, hunched over
his cane. She squinted through showers of color exploding around
her. Was that Branda and Pete too?

"I must confront this," she heard herself
say.

He grabbed one of her arms and Pete took the
other. Branda tugged on her skirts.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Lissa said, tipping her
head back and scanning the sky.

"What?" Pete asked.

"Let's get you inside and lay you down," the
physiker said.

"I have to see some-"

You have seen. Go with them now.

Why had they wanted her to see the flares of
color? Why didn't the colors have the same effect on anyone around
her? How could nobody else see them?

She went limp and let them carry her into the
infirmary. The navigator was there, perched on the edge of a cot
bed. His face was pale except for his twitching veins that pulsed
blue. With each aerial burst of purple, his eyes flicked to the
window.

"The colors-" she began, catching his
gaze.

"Drink this." The physiker pushed the tip of
a vial between her lips and poured.

She choked a little before gulping down the
earthy-tasting fluid. He pushed her gently down onto the bed.
Lightning flickered outside, and then a deafening boom shook the
room. Pete and Branda jumped.