Authors: Graeme Ing
She swallowed hard.
"This is going to sound silly..." She
searched their faces for support. Even Coy eyed her suspiciously.
"I can't explain how, but I can swim."
Jancid snorted. "Ain't no one can swim in
dust, missy. You'll drown."
"I've done it before. In the downpour on
Us-imyan. It swept me into the ocean and that's when I found out I
could swim in it. I made it to the ship."
"Ridiculous," the captain said. "We need a
sensible plan, not some flight of fancy."
"But-"
"I thought you were smarter than that," he
said, and turned away.
Her shoulders dropped and she stared at him.
He had trusted her to find the island, given her the navigator’s
secret letter, but now he thought she was a stupid girl. His belief
in her had felt good. She didn't want to let him down. For the rest
of the evening she sat in a corner, not caring if they thought she
was sulking. None of their own plans sounded viable, and eventually
they let the fire burn down, and wriggled about in an effort to get
comfortable in the tiny cave.
She made herself as comfortable as she could
on the rough floor and pretended to close her eyes, but peered
through her lashes at Coy who knelt by the entrance. He had
volunteered for first watch but seemed more intent on practicing
writing with his finger in the sand. Once she heard the two men
snoring, she edged beside him, put her finger to her lips and
slipped outside onto the moonlit beach. He followed, and she led
him to the dark expanse of dust rippling gently and mixing with the
sand.
"You gonna try it?" he hissed, his eyes
wide.
She nodded. "Don't wake them until I'm long
gone."
"Promise. Can you really swim in there?"
She was betting her life on the Klynaks. What
if they didn't save her this time? She glanced back to the cave and
chewed her lip. She could laugh and tell Coy that she'd only been
joking.
He removed his cap and gave it to her.
“I can’t swim with that on,” she said.
"Then carry it. For luck. I believe in
you."
The moment to back out had passed.
"Thanks." She forced a smile. "See you
soon."
"Be careful."
They stood face to face for several
heartbeats, and then she scrambled out onto the rocky headland. Her
shirt was no protection against the freezing night air as she
perched on a boulder at the ocean's edge. She wrapped her arms
about her chest. Further out, the surface sparkled in the
moonlight, but remained a dull, matte color at the shoreline. Coy
watched her from the beach, with the pitch-black forest behind
him.
More alone than ever before, she heaved a
heavy sigh and stepped into the dust. It clung to her skin, and
scratched gently as she walked in deeper, and when it reached her
waist, it warmed her and began to pull her down.
Can you hear me?
Silence.
Please, I need your help to get back to the
ship. I need to save my friends.
How much did they understand about her world,
and would they even care about the danger she was in?
An object broke the surface in front of her,
and she recognized the hairless, striped head. She still couldn't
tell if the short stumps were ears or horns, but as it rose, a pair
of red eyes regarded her. The stumps twitched and glowed green from
within.
We will take you to your nest that travels,
but we will not fight your battles for you.
I understand, and I don't want you to. I
must prove myself.
To whom? The captain? Farq? No, to
herself.
It will be like before
, the whispers
hissed in her mind.
Do not fight the substance of life.
Something slipped around her waist, startling
her. It felt damp and sticky against her skin. Her lip quivered,
and her stomach churned. It was worse knowing what was about to
happen, and she shivered despite the warm cloak of the dust. What
she imagined to be a tentacle tugged at her, and with a whimper,
she sucked in a final breath. Then she was under the surface,
enveloped in suffocating dust. She scrunched her eyes closed and
resisted the urge to scream.
Breathe. Trust us.
She couldn't, she mustn't. She had done so at
Us-imyan and lived, but every part of her urged her to fight it or
choke to death. The creature dragged her deeper.
I can't.
Help her.
The whisper sounded
different. It had always been a rasping, authoritative voice, but
this one was gentler, quieter. Her muscles relaxed and she became
drowsy. Nothing could harm her now. She took a breath and dry dust
flowed down her throat and into her lungs. Her body spasmed but
then she accepted how easy it was to breathe normally. A resistance
against her body suggested she was being pulled at high speed. She
calmed her mind and listened to the gentle humming of the
voices.
You drugged me last time? When you saved me
from the rain?
Your species has lived outside of the
substance of life for a very long time. We do this to make it
easier for you
, the gentle whispering voice said.
We are at your nest that travels
, the
rasping voice said.
An image popped into her head of an elongated
wooden bowl with odd protrusions, and tiny creatures crawling
around inside and out. Was this how they saw the ship?
The creature ejected her from the ocean and
she opened her eyes to see herself flying through the air. She
coughed up dust, unable to cry out, and her limbs flailed until she
crashed onto the ledge outside the infirmary windows, sliding into
a heap in the corner. She wrapped one arm around the railing, and
covered her mouth to muffle her hacking cough.
Thank you
. There was no reply.
She lay there on her stomach, spitting dust
from her lungs and blowing it from her nose. Gentle waves lapped
against the hull below her but there was no sign of the Klynaks.
The ship was quiet except for creaking timbers and bored voices
chattering on the command deck high above. A single light shone
from the infirmary, so she peered cautiously through the window. A
man lay on one of the cots. He looked dead until she spotted the
barest movement of his chest. There was no sign of the physiker. In
any case, it was the navigator that she wanted to see. If his
letter was any guide, he could be trusted.
The rear of the ship was ridged with wooden
beams and handholds, set out like a gigantic ladder. Quietly, she
climbed up to the navigator’s cabin and slipped over the rail onto
his balcony. Closed drapes flapped in the open doorway. Hearing
voices inside, she crouched low.
"I didn't ask for this." The navigator
sounded irritated.
"Cook say you must eat, sir," Branda
said.
Lissa gasped, then clapped both hands over
her mouth, holding her breath. Branda was safe! She longed to rush
inside, hug her friend and tell how much she had missed her. Poor
Branda probably thought that she was dead. She rubbed tears from
her eyes, also pulling away clots of dust from her eyes and
nostrils.
"Set it there, and pour me some juice," he
said.
Lissa's mouth watered at the thought of fresh
juice. She could drink a whole pitcher. How it would soothe her
dry, scratchy throat. All she had to do was slip inside, and Branda
would fetch whatever food and drink she desired. No, that would put
Branda in danger. If she knew Lissa was alive, Farq would find out
and beat Branda senseless. Lissa gritted her teeth. Branda might as
well be a hundred leagues away.
He made a spluttering noise. "Didn't anyone
salt this?"
Branda squeaked. "I run back and get
some."
"Forget it. Leave now."
The door closed, but Lissa made herself wait
before she stepped into the room, coughing quietly to announce her
arrival. The navigator spun around in his chair, his fork raised.
His eyes grew large and the veins on his forehead pulsed.
"What are you doing here?" He glanced past
her. "Where's the captain?"
"He's on the island. I came back alone." She
perched on the couch and eyed the pitcher of juice. "Jancid and Coy
are with him. Farq destroyed our boat. Grad and Sawall got killed
by the plant thing, and-"
"Stop babbling, girl. You're here by yourself
you say?"
She nodded. "The others are hiding in a cave
from Farq and-"
"How did you get on board?"
She paused, remembering the captain's
reaction. "Is that important?"
"Of course it is. I need to know why you are
sneaking in my window and not the captain."
"You won't believe me."
"Just tell me the truth."
"The Klynaks brought me," she murmured, and
her shoulders slumped.
"Don't be flippant with me. I said the
truth."
"I knew you wouldn't believe me."
He scowled at her. "We'll get to the bottom
of this later. What's the captain's plan in sending you here
alone?"
"There isn't one. I thought you'd know a way
to rescue him and take back control of the ship. But first we need
to stop Farq from burning down the island."
She glanced at the uneaten plate of food on
his desk. He and Branda had been talking about salt.
"Aggleberry bread," she murmured.
"What? You're not making any sense,
girl."
Ignoring him, she thought back to age five,
when her mother had let her bake her first fruit-bread without
adult supervision. She chose her favorite, aggleberry, and spent
ages precisely measuring the ingredients and mixing them in the
right order. Then she stood guard by the oven all morning while the
bread baked. Her mother took the first bite and spat it out. It was
inedible. Her mother had scolded her for using salt instead of
sweet-crystals.
"I know how to stop him," she said. "I need a
disguise. Boy's clothes."
"That's probably a good idea," he agreed. "If
you’re caught, Farq will kill you, and he won't be lenient on me
for talking to you. I'll see what I can do. Don't leave this room
until I return, and then I want to hear this plan of yours. And for
Anjan's sake, be quiet."
The door closed behind him. What if he went
straight to Farq and returned with a gang of men? She took a step
toward the open balcony door, then paused and sank into his chair.
She needed his help and would have to trust him. The aroma of
spiced meat and hoobin-beets tickled her nose and she licked her
lips. She wolfed down his dinner. The meat was barely warm, and he
was right, it was under-salted, but the complex flavors were
delicious after nothing but oodspal, beans and fruit. She washed it
down with two mugs of juice.
What was keeping him? She wandered around the
cabin, looking at charts, until she came across a mirror and
gasped. Her face was gaunt and dirty, and her hair had grown into
an unbrushed mess. Its auburn color was hard to miss. Jaws
clenched, she took a knife from the desk and hacked her hair closer
to her scalp; short enough to hide under the cap that Coy had given
her. The boys preferred caps to the wide-brimmed hats the men wore.
Had Coy anticipated her need for a disguise?
The door opened and she jumped. The navigator
strode in and upended a sack on to his bed, spilling clothes into a
heap.
"Get dressed. I'll be back shortly." He
hurried out.
She found a worn and loose shirt, and a pair
of pants that fit her, then she hid her petite feet in a pair of
shoes two sizes too large, padding the toes with cloth. A faded red
sash around her waist and Coy's cap finished her disguise.
A long time passed. She listened to shouts
and men thumping up and down stairs, but had no idea what was going
on. A distinct and familiar whooshing noise came from beyond the
closed door. Cautiously, she opened the door a crack and peered
out. Several hanging globes illuminated the main deck, where men
clustered and stared up at a copy of Lyndon's weapon assembled on
the starboard winch platform. Its metal pipe angled into the sky,
pointed toward the island. Farq and two men stood beside it.
She crawled out onto the walkway. Farq barked
orders and men brought urns and sweet-crystal sacks up from
belowdecks. They poured a quantity of each into the pipe, and moved
clear. A ball of blue fire erupted from the open end with a
deafening whoosh. It climbed high into the sky, raining sparks over
the dust ocean, and then arced down to impact the beach, exploding
in fiery arcs of blues and purples, and igniting a huge area of
trees. The distant cries of forest animals sounded like screeching
phantoms on the wind.
There was no sign of the navigator but she
couldn't wait any longer. She slid silently down a rope to the deck
and hid in the shadows. Now to test her disguise. She took a deep
breath and swallowed hard, then stepped into the light, cap pulled
low over her eyes, trying to copy the way Coy or Pete walked. Her
gaze flicked about the deck and she steered away from Pete on the
far side, certain he would see through her disguise.
The men paid her no attention as she walked
past them and climbed down to the mess deck, where the rest of the
crew snored loudly in their scheepas. The smoky air tickled her
throat, but she coughed quietly.
A hand clapped hold of her shoulder.
She jumped to one side and turned her squeal
into a deep clearing of her throat.
"You," said Siman, the smaller man that had
kidnapped her from the street at home.
He was certain to recognize her. She glanced
around the dim room, looking for an escape.
"Stop slacking and bring up more
sweet-crystals," he hissed. "Are you listening, boy?"
Her heart pounded and her hands trembled.
"At once, sir. Sorry, sir," she grunted and
stepped onto the ladder.
Her trip along the galley hallway became a
blur, as she fought to control her shaking body. That had been too
close. The hatch to the hold loomed before her, a dark, gaping hole
in the floor. She stopped at its edge, listening to the huffing and
panting of men below. Her hairs prickled on her skin, remembering
the night she had spent trapped in its stifling blackness. She
shook her head, ducked into a storeroom, and scooped salt from a
burlap sack into a bucket.