The Dreamtrails (87 page)

“I will go there now,” I said, and thanked her. I had just reached the bottom of the steps leading down to the main deck when I heard someone call my name. Seely was sitting on a coil of oiled rope, her arms clasped around her knees.

“I did not expect to see you again so soon,” I said, going over to her.

She smiled shyly. “No more did I. But when Jak heard there was a ship going to Sador, he was like a man possessed, for he has long dreamed of bringing his experiments there.”

“What experiments does he wish to take to Sador?”

“I am sure you know that he has long been trying to breed a strain of taint-eating insect that can tolerate the light and drier conditions?” Seely said, and I nodded. “Well, some time ago, he succeeded with the help of Ines, but the new strain has little tolerance for cold or damp. They would survive well in the desert lands, but there was no way to get them there without a long arduous trip overland. Until now.”

“That explains a good deal,” I said. “What did Dell say about your both leaving?”

Seely laughed. “What does Dell always say?”

“She foresaw it?”

“She foresaw our return, which is even better, because it means we will survive whatever is to happen on Norseland,” Seely said, turning to look out over the shimmering waves. She got up and went to lean on the rail of the ship, saying softly, “You know, I thought I would be frightened or sick on a ship, but it is so strange and beautiful out here. I almost wish the journey would never end. On the other hand, Jak says that when he has finished in Sador, we will travel to Obernewtyn before coming back to the west coast, and I long to see Gavyn.” She yawned and said reluctantly that she had better sleep, for she would need to be fresh to relieve Jak, who was now watching over the insects.

Her cabin lay in the direction I was walking, and I asked if anyone had told her that Gavyn had dreamed of seeing her at Obernewtyn.

Seely gave me a startled look. “How queer that you should speak of Gavyn dreaming of me, for only last night I dreamed of him. He was walking along a high narrow ridge with Blacklands spread on both sides of him. The sky was dark and stormy, and the light was a queer sickly yellow. A host of dogs walked all about him, and that great white dog that attached itself to him at Obernewtyn was with him, too, padding along at his heels.…” She shrugged and laughed.

We came to one of the hold entrances, and Seely stopped, explaining that her cabin was on a lower level. Continuing on alone, I reached the last cabin on the port side of the ship. Its door was carved with a half-moon and several stars, just as Jakoby had described. I knocked, and a gray-haired, whip-lean woman with a heavy jaw and thick brows that met over the bridge of her nose answered the door. Without allowing me to speak, she told me tersely that the map chamber was out of bounds to any but shipfolk. She began to close the door, but I explained hastily that Jakoby had sent me, which earned me a long, disapproving look. But she opened the door to let me in, muttering that her name was Gorgol, and no wonder Jakoby would not follow any rules but her own, given her mother’s behavior. This was not the first time I had heard hints that Jakoby was disinclined to obey rules, but no one had ever mentioned her mother before.

The cabin was small, but every wall was covered in beautifully made wooden shelves piled with scrolled maps and ornately worked map cases. I gazed around, realizing with amazement that there must be more than a thousand maps in the tiny space, and a door behind a wide counter revealed a second smaller chamber running off the first, also walled in shelves and filled with maps.

“What do you want to see?” Gorgol demanded, having
moved behind the counter. When I told her, she frowned. “I have maps that show a portion of the darklands coast, but they do not show Land’s End.”

“What is Land’s End?” I asked.

“The name given to the place where the darklands end. I have seen maps that show Land’s End, but I accept nothing that our own ships have not mapped, for few mapmakers trouble themselves with scale. Instead, they rely upon visual landmarks or time references, both of which can result in great inaccuracies.”

“Have you ever seen a map of the Red Queen’s land?” I asked.

“I have, but I would not place any great reliance upon what it showed.”

“What did it show?” I insisted.

She shrugged dismissively. “A peninsula shaped like a long fang and named Land’s End and then a vast shoal-filled sea beyond which lay another land with more black coasts. According to that map, the Red Land was to be found by traveling northeast along these black coasts. But the distance from here by the coast route to Land’s End is too far for any ship to manage, and those who go to Land’s End must sail across the Endless Sea to it.”

“Can I see the map showing the darklands?” I asked.

She turned to lift a battered-looking map case down from a shelf behind her. Opening it reverently, she drew out its map, spreading it on the counter. I leaned forward to examine it and saw that the map showed the west coast. I followed it along to where it became Blacklands. The words
black coasts
were scribed on them, and they were inked black some way in from the line that marked the edge. The thick black coastline was cut off by the edge of the parchment.

I looked up to find the Sadorian woman studying me as if I were a peculiar, ill-made map. I asked if she had a map that showed the next part of the black coast. She carefully rolled the first map, restored it to its case, and placed it on its shelf before locating another map. This one, once spread out, showed nothing but a long thick black coastline with inlets and coves and even the mouth of a river, but the unrelenting blackness told its own tale. I was still studying the map when Gorgol said brusquely that I should not pay too much attention to it, for the scale was wrong, it being the work of a young mapmaker; however, I then noticed two very small islands right at the upper edge of the map. In minute spidery writing were the words
Romsey
and
Bayleux
, presumably the islands’ names. Given what Gorgol had said, there was no way to tell how far they were from the shore, but as they had not been inked black, it seemed they were not tainted. I leaned closer and thought I could make out the small symbol used by mapmakers to designate fresh water. That would make the map profoundly important, because while seafarers could catch fish and eat certain seaweeds to sustain themselves on long journeys, they could only carry so much fresh water. Knowledge of a spring on an untainted island could mean the difference between life and death to a ship’s crew or the chance to extend the length of the journey.

“Do you have a map that shows the next part of the coast?” I asked.

In the end, Gorgol showed me seven more maps, all of which fit one against the other and detailed more or less accurately the shape, if not the scale, of the coastline right up to the beginning of the darklands. On the final map, two more islands had been drawn in and marked with the freshwater-spring symbol.

“It has taken long years to accumulate these maps, which are very nearly accurate,” Gorgol said, rolling up the last map. “A shipmaster once told me that he had seen a map to the Red Queen’s land from Land’s End. He said, though, that it was impossible to reach Land’s End by traveling along the coast. One had to venture across the sea.”

I frowned, wondering how Salamander had learned the open-sea route to the Red Land. The obvious answer was that he had originally come from the Red Queen’s land. “Is Land’s End tainted ground?” I asked.

“Land’s End is free of taint, but it is surrounded by darklands, and the man I spoke to told me that beasts from the darklands creep there at night seeking prey, so no one stays there past dusk. All ships anchor offshore in the dark hours and return to complete their business in the light of day.”

“Their business?”

“The trade of slaves, chiefly,” Gorgol said. “Ships from the Red Queen’s land come to buy slaves and others come to sell them. Of course, sellers would earn more if they took the slaves all the way to the Red Queen’s land themselves, but the journey is said to be even more dangerous than what has gone before.”

Gorgol demanded to know if I was finished, and I shook my head, asking if she had a map that showed the coastline in the other direction, past Sador. With patent disapproval, she brought three maps from the smaller adjoining chamber. Each was enclosed in a map case of thick green felt laid snugly over wood. Gorgol drew out the map from the first case and unrolled it. This one showed the entire coastline of the Land and of Sador and a long stretch of black coast beyond the desert lands. I ran a finger along the Land’s meticulously detailed coastline, noting that all the beaches were
carefully marked in, as were the narrow inlets, one of which concealed the great sea cavern where the Hedra had hidden. I had never seen any map that showed them before.

I ran my finger around the great, variegated scoop of cliff that was the narrow coastal route to Sador, thinking of Bruna and hoping she had already reached home. The map continued, showing the coast where a long white spit ran out from a split in the cliffs to form Templeport. The map also showed the land behind the desert lands as a black-edged wasteland many times greater than Sador and the country on both sides of the Suggredoon; even then there was no telling how much farther it extended, for the black desert ran off the parchment in three directions.

“It is magnificent,” I told her, beginning to reroll the map, and for a moment, as she took it from me, her expression was slightly less cold. Once she restored the map to its case, she unrolled each of the remaining maps in their green cases, but both merely showed continuations of the black coast. Gorgol produced four more such maps, one of which showed a stretch of gray and then a small patch of clean ground. The next one had two more clean patches, and one of them showed the tiny freshwater-spring symbol. But when I examined the last map and glanced inquiringly at Gorgol, she shook her head, anticipating my request for yet another map.

I was about to roll it away when I noticed some faint markings on the edge of the parchment farthest from the black coastline. I leaned close, unsure if the markings were anything. “What is this?” I asked Gorgol.

She frowned. “Some years ago, one of our ships was blown out of sight of the black coasts in a storm, and another land was sighted. It ought to have been left out, for no landing
was made and no proper measurements taken, and by the time the storm blew over, they were once again within sight of the black coast. I suspect that whoever made the sighting was so utterly confused by the storm that he mistook the black coasts for another land.”

I nodded and asked if she had a map that showed together all the sections I had so far seen. She gave me a martyred look before going back to the adjoining chamber. This time she returned with a single black enameled map case. The map proved to offer a less detailed drawing of the vast landmass of which the Land and Sador were but the smallest part. I was astounded, for Sador, the Land, and Westland were little more than pinpricks at the edge of a vast black shape.

“Can this land be so vast?” I muttered.

“No one knows how vast because as you see, the map is incomplete,” Gorgol said, taking it as a question. “No one has ever managed to circumnavigate it to know the distance from Sador right around to Land’s End, because there is no fresh water beyond those springs shown.” She tapped the vast black hinterland. “This is speculation, of course, for no one has been to the interior, but it is reasonable to assume that the center of this land must be as dead as its edges.”

My head was beginning to ache from the stuffiness of the little cabin, so I thanked Gorgol and went back outside. It had been too warm in the map chamber, but now the wind felt cold through my thin silk clothes. I hurried back toward my cabin, intending to get a shawl and find a sheltered place on the deck to sit until the wind had blown away my headache. As I had hoped, Maruman was still deeply asleep. I reached out and stroked his fur, thinking of the dream I had had of him as a young cat, playing on the dreamtrails, and I
wondered if I would ever understand what it meant. Maruman gave a soft, contented snore. I lay down beside him and pressed my cheek to his head.

I was so glad to have him and Gahltha with me that I would have been in bliss if I were not so worried about Rushton. I would try to stay out of his way, but somehow I must prevent him from going ashore on Norseland. I would speak to Jakoby, Dardelan, and Gwynedd when I could do so privately and tell them what Domick and Dell had said. Maybe they would come up with a plan to prevent Rushton from going ashore. I did not feel tired, yet I found myself slipping toward sleep. It was a pure pleasure to know there was no reason I should resist its lure.

I
SANK, SHIELDED
, through dream and memory, not wanting to be ensnared by them, for I sensed that they would all hold tormenting visions of Rushton’s face and smile in better times.

Hovering above the mindstream, I thought of Domick, wondering what his death had surrendered into it. Did all of a person go into it—all his dreams and slight experiences and mundane activities as well as his great or evil deeds? Then again, who could say what deeds were great or small in a life? That which seemed great to the person who lived that life might not be deemed so by those who lived in the aftermath of it; a deed that seemed of everlasting importance might prove to have slight consequences. At the same time, some very small act done without much thought could lead to eternal good for humans and maybe all creatures. For the same reason, no one could judge whether a deed or even a life had been worthy—not the one who lived that life nor those who lived at the same time, for all were hampered by their limited vision. How should a stream judge the rocks it glides over or the twig that it carries along? It did not even choose its own course. Therefore, it was foolish to ask if Domick’s life had brightened or darkened the stream. The answer was that his life had been given to him; a gift. He had lived it, and now he gave back the gift, and the stream was enriched by all the flavors, sweet and
sour and bitter and bland, that his dying had released.