WARP world (42 page)

Her nove–she needed to get it off so she could breathe. Hands raised, she strained to reach the laces in the back but the shackles held her wrists too close together. Her lungs burned. She craned her neck and tugged down on the leather with her fingers until one side gave way a little.

On her left side, part of her dathe were exposed. Enough to buy some time. Bit by bit she worked the collar down until most of both sides were free. She gave herself a few seconds to suck in oxygen and sound the underwater landscape.

Swimming against the current was impossible, even without the shackles. But Dagga would have every constable in Alisir spread out downriver to fish her out if she tried to make it to shore. No one knew about her dathe. For now, the safest place was right here under their noses. But she couldn’t stay under forever.

With her hands, she pulled herself along the hull, to the stern, and the rudder that jutted downward. She held onto the rudder and waited for what felt like hours, her mind racing as she imagined a map of Alisir, of the Gwai River, of all the possible escape routes. If it came to it, she could drift out to the big water. But then what? With these shackles, she couldn’t swim for any distance. She would be at the mercy of the tides and the currents.

A school of rukefish swam by, heading upriver, chased by a spinner. The scene reminded Ama of simpler times, of her midnight swims and dreams of escaping from the Banks.

The reminiscence halted suddenly. A spinner.

It was a long-shot, but she let go of the rudder, pushed off and down. Arms tight to her body, shackles against her navel, she brought her legs together and pumped, the same way the spinner used its long, wide tail.

With her dathe to help her, she saw the shape of her water brother turn from the hunt and head in her direction. The noise of the shackle chains would naturally appeal to the spinner’s curiosity.

That’s it,
Ama thought,
let’s play, my brother.

Despite her effort, the current was pulling her downriver, as the spinner circled around her. With its stubby snout, it nosed at the dangling chain, taking it into its mouth once or twice, jerking Ama’s hands from side to side, before spitting the chain out. When it passed under her, and rolled, Ama took a moment to stroke the slick fur of the spinner’s belly.

Please, help your sister.

The animal circled once more then jetted away, distracted. Just as Ama was contemplating the ride to the river mouth, the spinner appeared again. With determined tail pumps, it dove down, then bolted to the surface for one of the spinning jumps it had been named for. After it splashed back down, the playful animal, which was almost twice as long as Ama, slid beneath her.

Nen praise you!
she thought, as she stretched her bound hands out and slipped them over the spinner’s head.

Together, they plowed against the current, upriver, past the docks, past the city. The spinner corkscrewed and twisted, dove down and rose up. A smile locked on Ama’s face for the entire ride.

Escaped.

From her hiding spot in a thicket alongside the road, Ama watched the comings and goings of the Welf village. Travel through the woods had been excruciatingly slow, thanks to her shackled hands and feet. At every noise, she had been ready to dive for cover. When, at last, the village had come in sight, she had been faced with a dilemma.

She could trust her fellow Kenda to help her, or to at least not to betray her to the authorities. Welf? They were another matter. Blindly loyal and obedient to the Shasir, she could count on most to turn her in. The rest could only be bribed, and her coin was long gone. But she needed to free herself from the shackles; there was no way around it.

Night. She would have to wait for darkness, creep into the village and try to find something either to smash the chain or pick the locks. And hope she wasn’t found out.

She rolled to her back and armed the sweat from her forehead, the loose length of chain wrapped securely in her left hand. Wherever Seg was, she hoped he was faring better than she was. As soon as she dealt with her restraints, she would head for the rendezvous site. That would be Seg’s destination; he had made clear the importance of returning to his people, and his world. And if he didn’t make the rendezvous, she would have to convince his people to find him. Assuming they didn’t kill her on sight.

“He’ll make it,” she whispered.

Behind her, on the road, she heard a Welf singing above the rattle and groan of a push-cart. Probably returning home from a happy day of groveling beneath the boots of the Dammies. She couldn’t decide who angered her more–the cloud sniffers who used these backward people as their pawns, or the naïve Welf who let them.

Eyes closed, she laid motionless and listened as the singing grew louder. The tune was simple, nonsense rhymes and endless repetition. Her eyes flew open suddenly. The song, the voice, they both were familiar.

Ama rolled to her elbows and squinted out to the road. It was impossible to tell for certain, but the cart and the Welf’s height and build were the same. Could this be the boy, Tev, who had helped her gather provisions during her last visit to the Alisir docks?

Hope banished caution. Ama snatched a small stone from the ground, hauled back with both hands and tossed it. It dropped just short of the Welf. She scrabbled in the dirt and found another, cocked her arms back further this time and let it fly. The stone bounced off the boy’s hindquarters. He stopped, looked around and scratched his head in bewilderment.

Ama gave a short whistle. His head swiveled, searching for the source of the noise. She whistled again, louder this time and rose up just enough for him to see.

There was no one else on this stretch of road at the moment but she was pleased to see he did not call out or draw too much attention. He turned the cart and pushed it across the road, stopping right in front of the spot where she was crouched. His face scrunched and then burst open, a surprised smile lighting up his face.

“Captain Ama?” he asked, wise enough to keep his voice low.

She nodded and raised a finger to her lips.

“You’re in big trouble, everyone’s looking for you. First they says you killed Lord Uval, then they says you killed one of the Sky Fathers,” he whispered, his face narrowing with concern.

“I know, and I don’t have time to explain the truth. Look, I don’t want to get you in trouble, but I need some help. I promise there’ll be some coin for you if—”

“Don’t want your coin,” Tev shook his head emphatically.

Ama’s face fell.

“Don’t know about t’other part, but Lord Uval was a bad man,” Tev continued. At another time, Ama might have laughed at his exaggerated expressions–the broad, guileless smile, switching rapidly to the childlike scowl. “I knows he sent men to kill Jibri. Killed him they did, and stole the extra coin you tipped. I saw it, saw it clear as air.”

“Killed Jibri?” her voice dropped away as she fit the pieces together. Jibri, the dock runner who had run her creds to the Port Captain, hadn’t been killed for his coin; he had been killed because he knew too much. “Tev,” she said, then raised her arms to display the shackles, “I need to get these off. Will you help me?”

Tev looked up and down the road, then nodded at her with his lips pushed together in another exaggerated expression of determination. “Yup, stay put.”

He backed up the cart, until it was alongside the tangle of brush. He lifted the empty sacks inside and gestured for Ama to climb under. When she did, he covered her up carefully and patted her shoulder.

“Best others don’t know ’bout this,” he said, lifted the handles, and walked the most wanted woman from M’eridia to Malvid into his village.

Inside the shelter of Tev’s tiny cottage, Ama examined her wrists. The skin was red and raw but it would heal and, for the moment, the pain was dwarfed by the overwhelming relief and gratitude she felt. If she still had the coin Seg had paid her, she would have happily given it all to Tev. As it was, he brushed away her thanks and praise, which seemed to make him uncomfortable.

“You keep this,” he said, passing her the lengths of metal he had used to pick the locks, “might need ’em again, yup.”

“You may be right about that,” she said, and thanked him once more as she dropped them into the small sack he had found for her.

His cottage was no more than a one-room shack, with furs on the floor for a bed, a small stove, table and washbasin. Despite his poverty, Tev had shared a meager dinner then packed up extra bread and a hunk of cheese, for her journey. They sat on the furs, waiting to be sure the villagers were asleep before Ama headed out again.

“I’m sorry about Jibri,” Ama said, quietly.

Tev sniffed and wiped a tear from his eye, “Was a good friend and true. Lost my da when I was a sprout, never knew my ma. Jibri kept care of me, helped me find a living, yup. He’s in the Cloud Temple sure as rain, though. And he’s smiling to knows I helped you.”

“I hope so,” Ama said. She had her doubts about the Cloud Temple but she hoped that Jibri had found peace in death wherever he went.

“You be careful out there, now. Ever since word comes that you be hunted, the Kenda been doing all kind of fightin’ and such. Word come out that they was taking away any Kenda shows the blue and yellow flag. Next day those flags be everywhere, every house and boat and shop. The blue coats be mad as haffsa’s, yup.”

“I’ll be careful, believe me,” Ama said. She did not share her elation at that news with her host. The Kenda were finally making a stand. How long had she wished and prayed for this? And the timing couldn’t have worked more in her favor. If her people were keeping the authorities busy, that meant less attention on her and Seg. For this rebellion to succeed, Seg had to return to his people and his world.

Ama and Tev listened for a moment and heard nothing but the ocassional animal noise. Tev brushed his hands together, and both he and Ama stood. She collected the small sack, then laid a hand on his forearm.

“Tev I want you to listen carefully to me. I can’t tell you why, but your people are in danger from…from powerful demons, sent by the O’scuri. If you see any trouble around here, big fighting or fires, I want you to run and hide. Even if the blue coats tell you to fight, promise me you won’t. Go to the mountains, to the woods, take anyone who will listen and hide until it’s quiet. Swear you’ll do that.”

Tev was busy making elaborate gestures with his hands, petitions for protection from the Lords of the Sky, but when he finished he raised both hands, palms up, and said, “I swear, Captain Ama.”

She grabbed him in a rough embrace and kissed him on the forehead, then slipped outside, into the dark.

Four days left to make the rendezvous. She looked up at the moon and offered a quick prayer to father Nen and mother Min, then jogged out of the village.

The cartul was dilapidated but covered, pulled by a hulking gresher and driven by an old, stooped Welf, with a small girl seated beside him. To an untrained eye, the clothes they wore were little more than rags, but Seg could see the small embellishments—the colored ribbons in the child’s hair, the man’s buttoned shirt—that signified some special occasion.

He limped toward them, part cover, part genuine; his feet were badly blistered and the knapsack rubbing against his shoulder forced him to move slowly.

“Blessings of the Sky Gods upon you, children of the soil,” Seg said, his voice grave but infused with the lilting tones of the Welf. He held up a grimy hand, palm skyward, in greeting and was careful to stand downwind.

This was his first contact since the Largent Valley. A risk, but necessary if he was going to find Ama and escape to the rendezvous in time. He had just finished a long hike, through the night. But as hard as he was pushing himself, his destination stretched too far in the distance, and exhaustion and hunger were starting to slow his progress. He needed rest, and he needed to move; the cartul held the answer to this conundrum.

“Blessings on you,” the old man returned, stopped the cart and raised his palm in return. He swung to face Seg, his eyes white and clouded, his gaze guided solely by sound. The girl, who was perhaps six or seven years old, sat silent beside him, clutching his sleeve. “Is it a fellow pilgrim we meet?”