The Other Lands (65 page)

“Wind?” Birké asked. His lip curled back, exposing his canines. He seemed to find the idea barbaric. He waved until he got Tunnel’s attention. “You use wind? The power is
in
the boat. Just think it to do what you wish.”

“Think it? Be serious!”

“What?” Tunnel appeared, fresh from organizing the others, positioning them to best cast the boat off. Birké answered him, speaking in Auldek, gesturing toward Dariel. Tunnel brushed past him and grabbed Dariel by the wrists. He slammed his hands onto the wheel. “You brigand, yes? Act like it! Hold the wheel. Drive the boat.” Dariel began a sputtering protest, but Tunnel spoke over him. “I know you’ll do it.” He added the last sentence casually. As he turned away, he pulled Birké with him.

Alone, seeing the motion on the deck below him, feeling the rocking of the boat, Dariel realized that the prow had already been cast off. It floated free of the dock. These people know nothing of boats! They think a boat moves because the pilot thinks it into motion? This is a fool’s mission, and I’m captain of it.

“How about waiting for captain’s orders?” he shouted.

A few of the crew looked up, perplexed. Dariel waved them away. This, apparently, was read as a sign to cast off the other lines. Before he could stop them, the entire vessel was loose and pulled by the outgoing tide. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the jagged teeth of the nearby skerries, no longer exciting. Terrifying instead. He cursed to himself and then out loud to everyone. They were about to be dashed against stone, end of the mission and end of his hopes. How had that happened so quickly?

“I never said to cast off!” he yelled, though it was a futile. The “crew” had all they could handle keeping themselves from sliding off the deck, especially as it began to roll more in the growing chop.

Just think! Drive the boat by thinking? He still gripped the wheel, tugging it as if he would rip it off. And then he realized how strange his hands felt on the wheel. The material, whatever it was, hummed against his palms. He half pulled back, but his hands did not want to leave the thing. It held him. He could have jerked them away. He knew that. It was a gentle pull, filled with energy. It was waiting for him.

“By the Giver,” he mumbled. The ship was waiting for him! Whatever was going to drive it was not in the motion of the air, nor in the pull of oars against water. It was in the vessel itself! He felt it so clearly it was almost as if the boat spoke as much to him.

Tunnel, standing on the heaving deck, drenched by the waves sending spray high into the air, his arms outstretched for balance or in threat or both, roared, “Daarrriiiieeeeellllll! Drive it!”

It was the prod the prince needed. Without loosening his grip on the wheel, he craned his head around. They were nearly upon the rocks. They rode on the pull of water being sucked out to sea so forcefully that within a few seconds the stern would crash against the rocks with shattering force. Dariel imagined the prow of the ship slicing through the water. His head flew back, pulled by the force of the vessel being wrenched forward. For a split second he believed it was the force of impact, but in the next moment he realized there had been no impact. The boat flew away from the rocks with a speed that amazed him.

He yanked his body back into position just in time to wrench the wheel to starboard so that the boat would not slam back into the pier. The crew tumbled and slid about the deck, grasping for holds; all except Tunnel, who still managed to stand upright, grinning and laughing and roaring with glee, “Daarrriiiieeeeellllll! Rhuin Fà! Rhuin Fà!”

The next few minutes of his life were as hair-raising as any he had yet lived. The boat was a wonder, yes, but he had so little control of it. It responded to his thoughts, but it was hard to remember to think constantly. He would let his attention wander for a moment, only to realize they were about to smash up against some rocks. He would start to shout commands before realizing he had all the command he needed in his hands. It should have been easy, but he brought the vessel near to destruction a dozen times before they slipped out of the fingers of reaching stones and found deeper, open water.

There he pressed the vessel forward. They sped through the night, the prow of the boat slapping down each time they came to a wave crest, sending up spray. Had he ever sailed as fast as this? He was not sure, could not truly tell with the night so dark around them. He did believe he could go even faster, and longed to do so in the light of day, with no fear of crashing into some outcropping of rock.

By the Giver this is a ship! This is a ship!

How could they destroy it? It seemed a mad idea. The power of it! The things he could do with a vessel like this! He could be Spratling again, but a Spratling like the world had never seen before. He would run rings around the league, around anyone!

“Don’t enjoy it too much,” Skylene said. He had not noticed her come up beside him. “Remember why we’re here.”

“You can’t still want to destroy this,” Dariel said. “Feel it. This is a wonder. Do you know what I could—”

“We must destroy it.”

“Why?” Dariel asked.

“Because it is evil.” She leaned near him, brushing his shoulder, and spoke loud enough for only him to hear. “You believe it’s so wonderful because of the power within it. But it’s what makes the power in it that
is
so horrible. Ships like this one … they run on
souls
, Dariel. The essence of children. Quota children. That’s what’s trapped within them. They burn souls. Think of a child sent into slavery. Think of that child tossed into the furnace of this boat, firing it from the inside. That’s what this is. I know it’s enticing. Evil often is.” She paused and then said, “You might want to slow.”

He had been watching her profile as she looked forward. He swung his head around and eased back. As the prow dropped and some of the exhilaration of speed left him, he saw what had prompted her. For some time the long shadow of an island to the east had crept closer as they sped along it toward the south. Now, from an inlet of the island, came a blaze of light and motion. It must have had a deep anchorage, for a league brig nestled close to the shore, lit up with blazing pitch lanterns. Small vessels ferried supplies and people ashore. Men worked on the docks, unloading supplies. Even as they watched, new lights flared in windows of buildings all along the shore. The league, it appeared, was taking the place over.

“What island is this?” Dariel asked.

“Lithram Len,” Skylene said. “They must have just found it.”

“Where the soul catcher is?”

She nodded. “Go slowly and pull us back nearer the mainland coast. We should not be seen, especially now. The People need to know the league has found the island.”

Dariel sailed as she instructed. He managed to cut behind a slim barrier reef that hid them for some time. Beyond it, he increased speed as the glow receded behind them. It was only then, when he thought about something other than piloting the boat, that he chewed over what he had just seen. The league were on Lithram Len. The soul catcher was on Lithram Len. No, he had never seen the thing himself, but he had seen Devoth shake off one death—pull an arrow from his heart and live on. That was enough to make him believe in the device.

If they find the soul catcher chamber itself, he thought, and learn how to use it …

Dariel drew up, his face glazed by a thought so sudden that he forgot to see through his eyes or animate his features for a moment. The vessel, sensing the waning of his focus, lost forward momentum. The bow drooped and the stern rose and the rocking of the waves took them in its rhythm.

“What is it?” Skylene asked.

“Wait a minute,” Dariel managed to say. But that was as far as he got. He had to think through the idea that had just gripped him. It was a mad idea. Dangerous. An idea that would have him dealing with forces he did not yet understand. Neither Mór nor the elders had asked it of him, and if he proposed it, he would be asking the crew—these friends so new to him—to risk their lives as well. He should just drive his energy down into the boat and feel it surge forward, continue this escape, find a way to get the others ashore, and then sail away without them. Go home.

Tunnel bounded up from belowdecks. “Why have we stopped?”

Why even think what you’re thinking? Dariel asked himself. When did their fight become yours? He tightened his grip on the wheel and intended to answer Tunnel by pushing the boat back into motion. Though he thought that, his will was not behind it. The boat continued to rock, dead in the water. Others gathered near, talking among themselves as they approached, and then joining the hush of those waiting for him.

It had been so long since he had thought of a venture like this. He could not help but think of Val. What had he said, one of the last things he told Dariel before sacrificing himself to destroy the league platforms? “I’ve been waiting to understand how best to say good-bye to the world. Now I’ve found it.” That’s exactly it. Dariel felt something similar now. Not that he needed to say good-bye. It was not death he felt near him, but life. Real life! A purpose that began here and might lead who knows where?

“What if …,” he began. “What if we don’t take this boat to Sumerled? Not just yet, I mean. What if instead we go to Lithram Len? What if we destroy the soul catcher ourselves, even if we have to fight the league to do it?”

“Dariel,” Skylene said, “there are only ten of us.”

“A perfect number. Who would expect it? We’ll catch them unaware.”

“You want war with the league,” a voice—he could not pinpoint whose—said.

“Haven’t you known that was happening all along?” Dariel asked. “They’ve never done anything but make war on us, on both sides of the ocean—we’ve just been too dull to see it. War with the league! That’s exactly what I want. I fought them before, but I didn’t finish it.” With this acknowledgment, he felt a sudden need to laugh. Mirth spilled out of him, unexpected, all consuming, wonderful. “Let’s strike them first.” That seemed such a wonderful notion, so very right. It felt like the challenge he had been waiting for. It was business unfinished, and, he was sure, it was the start of the path to his fate. He had never, ever, felt that so clearly.

“What do you think? Let’s fight them, starting here and now. We’ll find a way. I didn’t plan this, but we’ve seen what we’ve seen. We have to do something about it.”

The crew remained quiet, all of them looking at one another, considering. Dariel could not read them. Their altered, tattooed, and adorned faces seemed as expressionless as he had ever seen them. Even Skylene gave him nothing. Tunnel did, though.

He slapped one of his thick arms down on Dariel’s shoulders. Pointing at Skylene, he said, “What did I tell you? Rhuin Fá. That’s what Tunnel said. Dariel Rhuin Fá!”

C
orinn would have to reach all the way around the curve of the world and touch a mind that did not expect it, but this should be within her powers. Dream travel. She had witnessed it before. She knew it could be done. Lying in bed beside Hanish Mein, she had listened as he spoke across great distances—even through the barrier between life and death—with his ancestors. The Tunishnevre had been a spiteful coven of the undead, with their own source of power, one that came from the curse that had denied them true death. And that curse had come from Tinhadin. Santoth sorcery. As such, it should be within her power as well. After all, the Tunishnevre, when speaking to Hanish, had demanded he murder her. They had failed. They went to the real afterdeath instead, as did Hanish. Corinn still lived and ruled and had a son. Who, then, was more powerful?

This was but one of the myriad things that she held in her mind after the Numrek uprising and the League of Vessels declaration that a war was coming once more across the Ice Fields. She had, in a surprising way, found a sort of pitching, tumultuous equilibrium. Once she knew that Aaden was safe—and she did
know
that with enough certainty to put worry for him behind her—she rode the noise and confusion of unfolding events with a calm certainty.

Much of this came from her realization that she had known something like this was coming all along. She had known not to lower her guard. She might have been tempted to forget it briefly, lured by Mena’s enthusiasm and Grae’s attentions, drawn even to notions of higher nobility in her rule, thinking she might leave the people free of sedation and ways to bring some of Aliver’s high ideals to life. As much as she had held power grasped in one hand, she had tried to loosen the clenched fist of her other hand. That had been a mistake. Even the flexion of her fingers in considering the possibilities became an invitation to disaster. That was why she had not been ready and had not seen the treachery standing right behind her for so long. That’s why Aaden had nearly died.

Unforgivable.

When faced with violence right before her eyes she did nothing but watch. She was completely unprepared in that moment. While Mena fought, Corinn stood and stared. That could never happen again. She had been lax in her study. Spending time summoning furry creatures for Aaden? Casting euphoria spells at banquets and creating flying insects? Foolishness! Even the water she fed into northern Talay was done for the wrong reasons. It was needed, yes, but she had enjoyed the approbation of the masses too much. She had delighted in hearing herself called mother of the empire. And what was that but a title she had commanded her people to use? No, the truth was she had been wasting time, wasting power.

Such neglect was completely and utterly unforgivable. She swore that she would never be that weak again. It amazed her that she had let slip so much of the strength that had helped her grasp power and steer the Known World out of Aliver’s war and back toward prosperity. She had now to remember the person who had climbed to the throne nine years ago. She had to be that person again, tempered by experience, mother to a child whom she would never, never let come to harm.

Part of this included determining the real extent of the threat coming toward them. Trust the league’s version of events? Hardly. Sire Dagon could profess his complete and utter honesty until he went hoarse; she needed to hear from other sources before she could decide how to act. Dream travel seemed the only possible way. It was, at least, worth a try.