[Lanen Kaelar 01] - Song in the Silence (15 page)

When, rarely, the Harvesters find late fruit on
the trees, it is brought back with care, most valuable of all—for that fruit,
eaten without its bitter skin, can heal all wounds save death alone. The
Harvest journeys are said to have been the founding of several of the Merchant
Houses, and certainly kept the older ones wealthy.

However, despite the enticements of the
Merchants—Harvesters are paid the weight of the leaves they bring back in
silver—Harvest ships had always set out shorthanded. Few in those days feared
the True Dragons, for most considered them no more than legend, but the Storms
were real and known deadly, and in a hundred and thirty years before we set out
none had returned of all the ships that had essayed the passage.

If I’d had any sense, I’d have been terrified. I
couldn’t wait to go.

I know it sounds strange, but I hardly remember
the first time I saw Corli itself. It is in my memory little more than a jumble
of impressions. I know it was wet, and that I was lost after I left loss’s
boat. I think I considered asking directions, but decided instead that I
wouldn’t mind being lost for a while.

A few moments stand out from the mist. I remember
leaving the quay and wondering towards the harbour, getting wetter with each
step. There was an inn with a tire where I had soup, and the landlady gave me a
cloth to dry myself. I waited there until the rain stopped. The next thing I
remember is being at the dock, seeing the great ships for the first time and
being amazed at the size of them. To my eyes, used only to loss’s little
riverboat, they looked huge, their sails like furled wings gathered onto the
yards.

Unfortunately, I remember very well what happened
when I got to the harbour. I went to the first dock I came to and asked where I
might find the Harvest ship. I drew any number of blank looks and a few lewd
remarks, so I walked on along the pier. I needn’t have bothered to ask. Fifteen
minutes’ gawping walk from that first ship, I heard a crier. After selling the
horses in Illara I knew enough to admire his lung power. Then I managed to
understand what he was saying.

“Come aaall ye, come aaall ye! Sail for the
Harvest! Sail in three days’ time for the Dragon Isle! Silver for leaves!
Silver for leaves! Silver for all the leaves you can carry! Come aaall ye, come
aaall ye!”

I hesitated a moment before approaching him. I
had meant to go up and mention Bors’s name, but decided in the end I would
rather not be indebted to him if I could help it. And I noted that for all the
crier’s enticements he was being given a wide berth by the passing sailors.
Apparently lansip was not as real to them as death by drowning in the Storms.

The moment I came close enough for speech he
dropped the foghorn of his voice to a more bearable level. “Come to sign
on as Harvester?”

“That I am. What are the terms?”

“Same for everyone, unless ye’ve been to sea
before.”

“No, I haven’t.”

He grinned, and the sight wasn’t for the
fainthearted. He had more gaps than teeth. “I never asked,” he said.
“Ye’ve not the look.” Then in a practiced singsong he recited,
“Terms is silver, weight for weight, for all the lansip leaves ye gather.
We provide passage, bags for the leaves and half your rations—and ye’ll work
for that half, let me tell you. You supply your own bedding, clothes—and get a
waterproof or ye’ll regret it—and the other half of your provisions. If ye
disobey orders we’ll not answer for your safety.” For the first time his
voice softened the merest touch as he added, “And ye must know that no
Harvest ship has returned in a hundred and thirty years. There’s rumour the
Storms are weakening near to nothing this year; but all in all we’ve no better
than one chance in two of coming back alive. Consider it well ere ye
decide.”

Ass that I was, I barely paused for breath.
“I’ve decided. I’m coming.”

He signed me on with no further argument. He gave
me a list of the items I would need for the voyage and pointed me to a scribe
nearby. With the infinite smugness of the slightly educated I thanked him and
said I could read for myself. He nodded and said, “Then you’ll have read
that you signed on as assistant crew from this minute. Take the day to find
your gear and be here at sunset, you’ll sleep on the ship and take up your
duties from eight bells at the change.”

He might just as well have been a dog barking for
all I understood him. “What change? Did you say eight bells? When
is—”

“Midnight, ye useless thing. Now hop to it,
get your gear into a sea chest and get on board before the sun’s down. Move!”
he yelled, his voice rising to its former level. He turned from me and began to
cry again his enticements for Harvest workers.

I left a bit dazed—part from shock at what I’d
done, part from the sheer volume—and turned towards the town. Thankfully most of
what I needed I found in a series of shops near the harbour.

I’m afraid I spent a small fortune in Corli. I
know I was badly cheated in some places, but I really didn’t care. I found a
small, strong sea chest, some heavy tunics and stout leggings (they were not at
all surprised by my clothing in Corli, even in those days), and as recommended
I purchased that curious and smelly garment sailors call a tarpaulin. It stank
of tar and I wrapped it in my old blanket (though on the journey I wore it
seven days out of seven and would not have traded it for its weight in solid
silver). I got myself a new pair of good boots, some extra bedding, rations and
a small luxury—dried dates and figs from the southern reaches of the South
Kingdom, since even I had heard of the poor rations at sea. I packed away my
old clothes, leaving my skirts and my fine new cloak at the bottom of the chest
and everything else on top where l could reach it. I spent what little time
remained to me wandering about Corli Harbour, becoming accustomed to the smell
of fish and salty air, watching the sea in fascination.

I reported as ordered at sun set. I carried my
belongings on board in the fading light, jostled from behind by my fellow
Harvesters, directed by the regular crew, who barely tolerated us. I stared all
around me as I was led to my “berth” belowdecks—a tiny space in which
to sling a too—short hammock and a smaller space in which to stow my gear—and
told to sleep while I could. It was only just after sunset. I managed perhaps
two hours’ sleep before we were all roused by a loud voice calling something I
couldn’t understand, but which by the movements of my fellows obviously meant
“Get out of bed and get to work.”

It was eight bells at the change. Midnight. We
all worked in the steamy hold, hard as ever I had worked on the farm, scrubbing
the floors—they called it swabbing the decks—preparing the ship for I knew not
what. Come dawn—about six bells in the dawn watch, or seven in the morning on
land—I found out. We were all hurried back up to the main deck and put to work
loading cattle and what I judged to be not near enough hay to feed them. What
they were there for I could not even guess. For a brief while I worried that I
had been fooled and that this was a trading ship, but soon there were more
canvas sacks to be loaded into the hold than I had ever imagined existed. They
were new and surprisingly good quality, and I eventually realised that they
were waiting to be filled with lansip leaves.
     
.

My heart beat absurdly fast as I worked. The very
touch of the rough canvas thrilled me. I was living my dream at last, and even
the terror of the journey had no power over me.

For the next two days, with sleep snatched
between watches, all I remember thinking was that if this was a dream I wouldn’t
mind waking. I’d had no idea. When we weren’t scrubbing or sleeping, we were
learning about the ship and its workings. I had never imagined such strange
terms in my life, still less thought I would need to know them. The ship’s
Master had us practicing every waking moment until the movements began to feel
familiar. Surprising how quickly such things come to seem normal.

My next clear memory is of the dark before
dawn—five bells in the dawn watch, so late in the year—the day we were to sail.
The sky was just beginning to lighten with the promise of morning. The smell of
the sea, ever present in the town, was stronger yet at the dockside. The gulls
cried their eternal longing, other birds fought with them for the foul bits of
fish the incoming fishermen spilled on the dock. A light breeze blew from the
water, blowing away the smell of the land altogether. It was clean and sharp
with salt.

We had gained steadily in numbers since I came on
board, but there were still a number of empty hammocks, so we all had plenty to
do. There was a lot of cursing by the Master as we raw beginners fumbled with a
rope (which I was beginning to think of as a line, but could never call a sheet
without giggling) and despite all our practice nearly tripped each other up
trying to follow orders. He was a hard taskmaster, but even I could guess that
our lives would soon depend on knowing what he wanted done and doing it as
swiftly as possible. Still, I managed to glimpse the gangplank being hauled on
board and the last line cast off from shore. It all went very quickly. We were
madly busy as we left our anchorage and I felt the ship begin to move. We were
on our way.

I will never forget the feeling of hauling on a
line to help set the sail, glancing towards the quay and watching the land draw
away from me. With a moment’s thought I stand even now on that deck. I can feel
the gentle glow of the sunrise on my face as we set out. The air is salt and
chill, with a hint of much colder to come.

I remember thinking, This ship is as unlike
Joss’s riverboat as a full-blood stallion from a gelding pony; a different
creature altogether. The river has its own kind of life, and all moving water a
certain rhythm of its own, but a river flows only in one direction. For the
first time I feel the sea rock the deck beneath my feet. It is a stronger
feeling than I expected, and the sea wind is wilder, with more on it than salt.
I remember my terror two days past at first seeing so much water, and shiver
again with it even as I laugh at myself. I think even the bards cannot describe
this feeling, this world so close to our world and yet so far. It is strange
and wondrous to feel living water not dead rock beneath my feet, and the air
cold and clean and other.

Thanking the Lady for my farm-hardened hands, I
finished helping to set the sails, unfurling the wings of the ship to catch the
breeze. It was a wondrous feeling.

Just as well. It had to last a long time.

The space we had to live in was horribly cramped.
I was easily the tallest person among the Harvesters, and I realised why after
my first night on board. No tall person with sense would ever go near such a
craft. I could hardly stand up in the morning—which was just as well because
there wasn’t room for me to straighten there belowdecks. Once I could finally
stand upright I found a free instant to ask the Master if there were a few feet
of deck unused at night where I might sleep. That was where I first learned
that, despite the empty berths (which by the time we left were packed with
various odd items that would fit nowhere else, and securely stowed using the
harnmocks for netting), every inch of space was taken up by at least two things
and I was lucky to have the space I had. There were so many people on the ship
at that time that I never saw the half of them, especially if they were not
among those of us who were working our passage.

I spent such free time as I could find with an
older woman from the East Mountains. Rella was a small woman, she came not as
high as my shoulder, but her strength was near the equal of mine. She was
sturdily built and managed most things well enough, but she could not hide the
crooked back that made many of the others shun her. I barely saw it, for to me
she was a window on a world I had not yet discovered. Her accent was strange
and she used words I had never heard, and she was the first person I bad met
from the East Mountain Kingdom. I got her to talk about her home and every ward
was gold to me, and she was grateful for the attention. She took to looking
after me in her own gruff way. It felt good to have someone to talk to, even
someone as curious as Rella.

The first week of the voyage is mostly a blur,
for which I am thankful. The few clear memories I have are of badly cooked
food, horrible smells and some of the hardest work I have ever done in my life.
There was always too much to do, cleaning the ship constantly, tending the
cattle we carried, drilling in the ways of the ship until we could all but do
them blindfolded. There was more to keeping a ship in order than I had
imagined, but I was glad enough for the exercise. The days were cold and
growing colder and anything that kept us moving I was grateful for.

The weather grew worse the farther west and north
we sailed.

At the end of the first week even the greenest of
us had gained some semblance of sea legs, and the worse of the seasick had
recovered. Others had taken to life at sea as if born to it. I leaned a little
more to the second than the first, and thank the Lady I was not seasick, but it
took me ages to find my balance on this moving creature. At first I fought the
movement and lost every time. Once I started to think of it as a willful horse
I seemed to manage a little better, but as the weather worsened I had to spend
more and more time just staying upright. I caught a glimpse of the Captain as
he passed by one afternoon to take a reckoning on the mysterious instruments he
used, and as if he had shouted I heard his thoughts turning on the Storms.