The Pages of the Mind (11 page)

Kral joined me at the forward rail as I scanned the horizon for my first glimpse of the islands. Jepp, nearby as always, scowled at him, but he ignored her as if she didn't exist. He watched her only when he thought she wasn't looking. “You won't see them yet,
nyrri
,” he said. “You'd need a long-distance glass. But see there?” He pointed at a cloud that billowed up, then caught some high wind and streamed away like a river in the air. “That's the plume from the volcano.”

“Does that mean it's erupting?” I asked. Surely we wouldn't go ashore if so. Or I wouldn't, which would be disappointing. Not seeing much of Ehas was one thing. I'd likely never have another chance to the see Nahanau.

“They make the smoke without the lava at times. We shall see when we get there.”

“How far is the barrier from the islands?”

“Not far, though we didn't take the shortest route before, so we're not certain. We'll stop here long enough to drop off the supplies and meet with King Nakoa KauPo. Hopefully we'll be able to convey to him who you are and to expect more of your people.”

“What do you mean—does he not speak Dasnarian?”

“No.” Kral seemed surprised. “Why would he? The Nahanauns are only a protectorate. They are very unlike us. Very different language and culture. You have no idea how different.” He glanced away, suddenly ill at ease.

“But you know their language?”

He shook his head. “I have no gift for tongues as you do. I limp along—I know the words for food, water, shelter.”

“But you promised to translate.”

“Don't be concerned. I'll speak for you, as I do for all under my protection. If he agrees to meet with you, I shall inform you.” He nodded at me and I wanted to stomp on his foot for his arrogance. He strode off again. Fine. I would piece it together on my own. Perhaps it would be similar to the Tala tongue, with them being more or less neighbors.

“Did he say you didn't need to talk and he'd speak for you?” Jepp sidled closer.

“Yes. You're getting quite good.”

“Nothing like boredom to make even language lessons interesting.” She shrugged off the praise, but she seemed proud. Jepp hadn't thought she could learn another language, beyond a few useful curse words and sexual requests, but she'd demonstrated a surprising facility for it, once she actually focused. Both she and Zynda were getting reasonably fluent, a good thing, as I might not be always with them to translate in Dasnaria. That had been the key to getting Jepp to learn—she recognized the strategic value, if nothing else. “Anyway,” she continued, scowling at his back, “he's an ass, but we won't be here long enough for it to be an issue. I don't know volcanoes, but by the look of that plume, you might have to stay on the boat.”

I fumed at that, feeling much like the mountain in question, much as I'd felt at the base of the pass into Annfwn when Ursula commanded me to stay safely behind. I had no wish to be foolhardy with my choices, and Goddesses knew, I lacked many survival skills, but I'd already spent much of my life taking the circumspect way, playing it safe by keeping my head down and my mouth closed. I knew exactly what that got me, which hadn't been a bad life.

But I wasn't at all sure it was the best life, either.

We sailed into the harbor of the biggest island a few hours later. By then the volcano towered overhead, dominating the sky much like another Sentinel. Only instead of fog-wrapped, glassy silence, this one rumbled as a disturbed god might, not yet angry, but leaning in that direction. Like Uorsin had been most days toward the end—quiescent for the most part, then erupting at the least thing. Never predictable. I really wished I'd thought, in my packing frenzy, to include a few books on volcanoes, and what set them off.

As I looked, I recalled some scrolls I'd found in the Tala's collection in Annfwn. The drawings, vividly inked, had caught my eye and stayed in my memory. They showed islands dominated by perfect conical peaks, draped in jungle foliage—and dragons flying through the sky. No dragons in sight here, but the islands were uncannily like those.

Ash filtered through the air like snowfall, settling on my arms and leaving dusty smears behind, like the wings of moths. A heavy stink filled my nose, burning acrid at the back of my throat unlike any smoke I'd encountered—though I recognized a faint cousin of it from the depths of Windroven. The narrow entrance to the harbor stole all my attention. Formed of two points that came close together but did not meet, sporting two great beasts facing each other.

Dragons.

They'd been carved from the rock of the landscape and then built up with matching stone. As fearsome as the Sentinels and probably twice as high as the tallest, they reared up toward the sky, toothed jaws gaping wide. As we passed between them, the detail became clearer—their great tails looping down the rock ridges, the scales exquisitely executed. The wings, like those of bats, lay folded against their backs, but so lifelike that the membrane seemed as ready to take wind as the sails of our ship. A shiver ran through me as we passed between the towering sentinels. Warning received.

As Zynda had reported, the harbor appeared to be far more elaborate than I'd expected of such a remote realm. No city or many buildings were in evidence, though the heavy jungle foliage could easily obscure anything but a castle. Piers and docks of the same elaborately carved rock, however, vividly displayed the high level of civilization. Everywhere sculptures twined through the architecture. Cranes and pulleys stood waiting, with a cart-and-rail system beyond to convey goods. No space wasted that could be decorated. Cranes and herons stalked in stony splendor along the pylons of the piers, the floor of which formed the back of a sleepy tortoise. Snakes twined to form the pillars of the arcade.

The place was eerily empty, however, with no ships at harbor. The ghost twin of the Port of Ehas, as abandoned as that place bustled.

“Are they all dead?” Jepp wondered in a hushed voice. Between the abandoned harbor, the fuming mountain, and the lingering hangover of doom from passing through first the Sentinels and then the dragons, she sounded as I felt. Not afraid, precisely. But ready to be.

“No,” Kral replied, striding up. He'd donned his full armor again—they all had—and I felt exposed in comparison. It seemed another ill omen that they dressed as if preparing for war instead of a diplomatic mission, though Kral told me not to be concerned, as it was protocol. Maybe I'd been around the Hawks, Vervaldr, and Tala too much, with their more relaxed ways and preference for fighting leathers over mail, but the armor made me as nervous as it had that day the general first strode into Ordnung's hall. “They moved the ships to protect them from burning. Look there. King Nakoa KauPo and his entourage.”

I followed the line of his finger to see the group emerging through a vine-draped archway and striding onto the stone dock. Surely that was the infamous King Nakoa KauPo, leading the way, just as Ursula would want to do. Our ship drew up to a berth at the deserted pier, the men throwing out ropes to secure the
Hákyrling
in place, and I tucked myself into a corner of the rail out of the way, where I could observe and take notes in my journal. As the king and his party came near, it became clear that the Nahanauns were as naked as the Dasnarians were armored. Darker skinned than Jepp, King Nakoa KauPo's chest was bare, decorated with tattoos a few shades deeper. They reminded me of the dragons and other creatures carved into the rock, the muscles of his chest and abdomen similarly hard and ridged as the volcanic formations. As if he'd been created of the same substance and then animated. A fanciful thought indeed. Something about this place brought out my imagination—in a dark and twisted way.

He wore his black hair loose like the Tala, but not as long. Instead it coiled around his shoulders like a living thing, and what I took at first for ash dusting the dark locks turned out to be silver and white streaks threading throughout, like lightning spearing through thunderheads. More than his coloring evoked that image, as his expression was also stormy, brooding and stern. Some of what I'd taken for tattoos turned out to be what looked like flexible scaled armor at the vulnerable points of his shoulders, elbows, and ankles and over his groin. His only other garment was a sort of skirt—though that seemed the wrong word for it, as it wasn't feminine in the least. More like the
kyltes
the Vervaldr sometimes wore when off duty, short and mainly to cover the groin. He went barefoot as they all did, with some sort of similar shields over his ankles, and wore a copper torque at his throat.

Utterly fascinating.

Male and female warriors attended him, the women with the same scaly plates over their breasts, but their slender, toned waists also bare. They carried bows and spears instead of swords, and all looked as fierce as Jepp. None had the white streaks King Nakoa KauPo did. Was it a sign of age or something else? Not age, I thought, as his face seemed not lined enough. Ridged, yes, set in those brooding lines, but not wrinkled. I found myself sketching that face, rapt.

At that moment, though I hadn't moved, he looked up, fixing me with a stare so penetrating I startled. His eyes were black as the obsidian Sentinels, and equally as sharp and forbidding. He studied me, as if equally fascinated by me, though I couldn't imagine why.

“Danu take me.” Jepp whistled. “We
have
to go ashore, if only for one night. Look at those people. I'll never forgive myself if I don't taste one—male or female. I wonder if they'd be willing to do a threesome with me. I'll ask. What can it hurt? After all, we're only here a night, if that.”

“You'll have a difficult time asking,” I told her quietly, as if King Nakoa KauPo could hear me. It seemed as if he did, as hard as he stared at me, a ridiculous thought, as he couldn't understand Common Tongue. “Remember—they don't speak Dasnarian.”

Jepp gave me an arch look. “You might be the smart one with all your knowledge, but the language of the body is one I know and communicate in very well. Some things don't require words.”

Between Jepp's salacious remark and the discomfort of King Nakoa KauPo's intense regard, I flushed. His expression didn't change from the stark lines, but his full lips curved into a slight smile, though he couldn't possibly guess at our conversation. He dipped his chin and turned to greet Kral, now that the gangplank was down and the general, along with his own set of guards, strode ashore. They raised hands, palm out, and King Nakoa KauPo gestured to the ship. Kral pulled something palm-sized from his pocket and handed it to Nakoa, who glanced at it, at me again. Nodded.

Then he turned and beckoned to me.

9

J
epp stepped protectively in front of me, even before Kral made the turn to face us.

Kral frowned at Jepp, a black scowl that seemed to indicate he thought she'd done something to incite him. He spoke to the king, using dismissive gestures. Even Jepp could read that body language, and she growled under her breath. “Why did the king gesture to you like that?”

“Perhaps that is him agreeing to meet?” I peered around her, seeing the men argue, growing more annoyed with each other, getting nowhere at all. “He was staring at me before that.”

“I noticed that, but I thought it was because you look so different. Now I wonder,” Zynda said as she came up on the conversation. “There's something about him and this place . . .”

“What?” Jepp's body took on battle readiness and she watched the king and his guards with wary aggressiveness. “Be specific.”

“I can't necessarily,” Zynda answered, tersely for her. “Magic isn't a black-and-white thing. But there's the sense in the air of some pending spell, for want of a better way to put it.”

“I don't like it,” Jepp told her. “Can you do something? Get one of those blue globes ready.”

“No.” Zynda said it firmly enough that Jepp risked a glance at her. “I won't. I won't use my magic against another human being. Not under these circumstances.”

“If Dafne's life is—”

“If it comes to that, I will consider options.”

“Better start considering fast,” Jepp muttered in worsening temper.

Below, King Nakoa KauPo gave up his explanation and moved to the gangplank. Bemused and still scowling, Kral stepped aside and walked with him up and onto the ship, throwing Jepp glances all the while that managed to be both annoyed and cautionary.

“Wrong woman, boyo,” Jepp said under her breath. “This time it's not my fault.”

“It's not mine either,” I said. “I didn't do anything.”

King Nakoa KauPo walked toward us with graceful strides, his lightning-streaked locks shifting as he walked, black eyes fixed on me with the intensity of a snake about to strike. Jepp squared herself between us and Zynda flanked her. The king stopped before them, assessing the knives in Jepp's hands and her fighting stance. With his height, he looked over them easily, to me, where I pressed up in my corner, holding my journal over a heart that pounded unreasonably.

He spoke, smoothly, in a mellow singsong tongue. I sighed for it mentally. Another pitched language, by the sound of it. Ever so much harder to learn and nothing like Tala, from what I could tell. So much for the hope that I'd be able to piece together some of it quickly. He held out a hand toward me, saying the same thing again, only more gently, like one might speak to a skittish animal. His forbidding expression, however, did not reflect his tone. He transferred his gaze to Jepp and her knives, stepped closer. She struck out.

A warning swipe, but fast enough to demonstrate her considerable skill and determination. The king's guards shouted in anger, leveling their spears and arrows. The Dasnarians drew their swords. Nakoa KauPo only raised his brows—also black-and-white threaded together—holding up a hand that told his guard to stand down, even as Kral snapped out Jepp's name.

“You can't attack King Nakoa KauPo,” he said. “Don't be an idiot. You'll get us slaughtered.”

“I will if he tries to hurt Dafne. That comes first.”

“He won't hurt her. He's interested in her.”

“How do you know?” I retorted, standing straighter at the mild insult. “Can you understand what he's saying?”

King Nakoa KauPo listened to me intently, lips moving slightly as if he tried to parse my words. He said something to Kral, then held out his hand to me. Preemptory. Demanding.

“Maybe he wants your little book,” Kral said. “Give it to him.”

I clutched my journal tighter. Not that. All my notes and drawings. The sketch. That must be what it was. He saw me sketching him and thought that I'd stolen a piece of his spirit, just as the Remus Islanders believed. Goddesses protect me that all he wanted was the journal, much as I hated to give it up.
You'll get us slaughtered.

The volcano rumbled, the sound traveling through the ship, sending waves through the harbor, water clapping against the wooden sides of the hull. King Nakoa KauPo glanced at the mountain and back to me, extending the hand he still held out to me a bit farther, repeating the same words in that coaxing tone that belied his stern expression.

“Just give it to him, Dafne,” Jepp said.

With a sigh, I complied, passing the journal between my friends and reaching to place it in his outstretched hand. King Nakoa KauPo took it with an expression of interest and a nod of acknowledgment that surprised me. He didn't seem angry in truth. As I became accustomed to his brooding visage, I read him better. He seemed . . . curious. Intensely interested. As he flipped through the pages, even showing care to keep the loose notes and maps in place, his eyes skimmed over the words and lingered on the sketches. He then turned to the page I'd been on, studying the drawing of himself.

Making a sound of maybe satisfaction, he looked at me again, eyes so black I couldn't make out a pupil in them, though surely he had to have them. Unless he wasn't fully human. His full lips curved as they had before. Not a smile exactly, but a lessening of his sternness.

Then he handed the journal back to me.

Surprised, relieved, and grateful, I reached to take it and clutched it again to my breast. I inclined my chin to show my gratitude and added a curtsy. He watched, then held out his hand, saying the same thing, more slowly, with insistence.

“Not the journal, then,” Jepp noted ruefully.

“He wants Dafne to go with him somewhere,” Zynda said.

The king waved his hand at the volcano and held it out to me again.

“The magic is getting thicker,” Zynda said in Tala, so only I understood. “It's like a wave cresting, ready to break. I could shift to defend you, but I can't fight this level of magic easily, and not at all in animal form. You have to go, Dafne. Convince Jepp before this gets ugly.”

“Let's just see what he wants,” I told Jepp. “I'm supposed to meet with him anyway. You can stick with me and so can Kral's men. You'll be ready to protect me and there's not so many of them. Harlan said that the Dasnarians could take on a force ten times their size.”

“I don't like it,” Jepp replied. “Kral is an idiot about many things, but he wouldn't think we'd be slaughtered were that not true in this circumstance.” But she moved aside enough to show her cooperation. She spoke directly to King Nakoa KauPo. “I know you don't understand me, but listen to my tone. This woman is under my protection. I will not allow you to harm her.”

“Is she threatening King Nakoa KauPo?” Kral asked me with curt anger. “If she gets my men killed . . .”

“You guaranteed her safety,” Jepp told him in Dasnarian, giving him a thin smile for his surprise. “If your men die defending her, then you're only living up to your word.”

“Don't presume to lecture me on questions of honor,” Kral growled at her.

King Nakoa KauPo looked between them, then turned to Jepp, putting his back to Kral. He pressed his palms together in front of his heart, saying something to her in a respectful tone. Then held out his hand to me.

“As good as we're going to get,” Jepp decided. “Go slowly, though, Dafne.”

She didn't have to tell me that. My heart thudded as I stowed my journal safely in a pocket of my full skirts and made myself take the first step, then another. This close, the tattoos that wrapped over his biceps and chest resolved into finer detail. Despite whatever overall symbol they made, each was composed of smaller pieces, scales like a lizard's.

Or a dragon's.

Probably a dragon, because the copper torque around his neck appeared to be one. Again, much like those illustrations I'd seen in Annfwn. Remarkably lifelike, the sinuous creature seemed to coil around his thick throat, inset ruby eyes glinting.

He said those words again, encouraging, soothing.

I placed my hand in his.

He covered it with his other hand, fingers closing over mine, hot as the sun behind the cloud of ash. The volcano rumbled and the ship rocked. His mouth moved in that not-smile. “Nakoa,” he said.

“Dafne,” I managed, stilling the urge to pull my hand away. He held it, not tightly, but so firmly that I wouldn't be able to withdraw my hand without causing offense.

“Dafne,” he echoed. Then smiled in truth. He said something longer that sounded pleasant and ended with my name. Then he bent over my hand, still holding it in both of his, and pressed his lips to the back of it. He said something, kissed my hand, and repeated it a third time.

“Uh-oh,” Zynda whispered, using the Tala idiom for trouble.

“What?” I asked, almost afraid to. Except even I could sense something of it. The thickness in the air, like the static before lightning strikes. Zynda didn't reply.

Nakoa raised his head, studying me with that intent stare. He tugged my hand and turned slightly, inviting me to come with him. I followed, Jepp falling in behind me, muttering various curses and warnings under her breath. For which of us I didn't know. Nakoa guided my hand through his bent elbow, laying my palm on his forearm and covering it with his other hand. Intended as comforting, judging by his touch, but also effectively trapping me.

I breathed into the panic, trying to let it go before it swamped me, and concentrated on the present.

I almost expected his skin to feel scaly, so realistic were the tattoos, but it was silky smooth, without hair like most men have on their arms. And hot, as if he burned with a fire within, not unlike the volcano. He escorted me off the ship, his people forming a double line that we walked through. They bowed as we passed, murmuring something that sounded reverent, pressing their palms together before their hearts as their king had done. Nakoa paused at the end of the dock, looking down at me. He patted my hand reassuringly, then let go and crouched to my feet, assessing my boots with both curiosity and disdain. As he unlaced them and drew them off my feet, I searched Zynda's face for clues. Her tight expression did nothing to reassure me.

Nakoa's people watched us also with tense alertness, faces showing hope, trepidation, and the bright anticipation of witnessing something of great moment. Setting my boots aside, Nakoa slid his hands up my calves, under my skirt and over my knees. I stopped him, in a flare of embarrassed alarm, and Jepp took a half step toward me. Nakoa frowned up at me, glancing at Jepp, and saying something while tugging at my sock.

“Fine,” I told him. “But
I
will take them off.” The knit stockings that tied over my knees were too hot for the muggy island heat anyway. I pushed his hands away and reached under my skirt, trying not to raise it too high, and untied the ribbons. Pulling off the stockings, I rolled them carefully so my hidden daggers would not fall out and stowed them in another pocket. One reason skirts were so much more convenient than fighting leathers, though it might have been better had I been dressed as a fighter. I felt oddly naked and vulnerable to be barefoot. At least I had my other knives, hidden away.

Satisfied, Nakoa stood and offered his arm again. All of this was so strange. He raised his brows at my hesitation, so I took it. He patted my hand in approval and I began to feel like one of Andi's horses, trained to accept the bit and saddle. Holding my hand in place again, Nakoa led me down three steps off the stone pier, my bare feet sinking into the soft, damp earth.

A flash rang through my head and the ground seemed to move under my feet.

No, it
did
move. The island shook and a plume of smoking ash roared up from the volcano. I cried out and clung to Nakoa's arm for balance.

He planted himself, steadying me, holding me upright even as his people sent up an excited chant, singing in the direction of the volcano. Nakoa did not sing, but kept his gaze on the volcano, stroking my hand. My head cleared, though a dull ache remained in the wake of whatever that had been. Jepp had hold of my other arm but was turned away, in furious conversation with Zynda, who met my eyes over Jepp's shoulder. She gave me a small shake of her head, more communicating that she couldn't do anything than that she didn't know what had happened.

The chant finished and Nakoa gestured to a path that seemed to lead in the direction of the volcano, walking us both forward. Jepp and Zynda fell in behind, and it was an obscure comfort to hear Jepp's mutters. I didn't blame her, feeling the urge to send up a prayer of my own. We stood on foreign land, but the extension of the barrier might put these isles under the protection of the Three. Following instinct, I drew Glorianna's circle in the air with my free hand, inscribed Moranu's crescent, and bisected it with Danu's sword, adding a fervent, wordless wish for this to turn out well.

Nakoa took note of my gesture, interest softening some of the sterner lines around his mouth, but did not slow or break stride. We went up the path, soft packed dirt, that wound and switchbacked along the mountainside. As we climbed, the vista fell away below us, the sea shimmering blue-green, the
Hákyrling
clearly visible in the harbor. I'd fortunately gained some conditioning, going up and down Annfwn's cliffside roads. A year ago I could not have sustained the pace. As it was, I grew out of breath keeping up with Nakoa's much longer strides. He glanced down at me in puzzled concern—apparently none of the island women spent more time reading than climbing volcanoes—just as I yelped, stepping on a hot ash I missed seeing.