The Ruling Sea (33 page)

She pounced on it, and the smell made her moan. Hercól’s warning stood no chance. Setting the candle on the counter, she dug her nails into the dry outer skin, found purchase, ripped.

Instantly her craving vanished. The skin of the onion came off in a single sheet, and beneath the crackling outer layer it was strong and supple as leather. Thasha turned it over in her hand. The onion itself meant nothing to her now. It was the skin she needed, the skin that had called out to her in her sleep.

She spread it flat beside the candle, with the slick inner surface facing up. She brought her face close. And where her breath touched the onion-skin, words appeared: words written in fire.

She had seen their like once before, on her bedroom ceiling in Etherhorde. Pale blue fire in a handwritten script—Ramachni’s script. The mage was speaking to her at last.

Forgive me, Thasha: I am weak, and fall back on what tricks and small powers I can to send word to you. Worse still, Arunis has painted your ship in spells of warding and interference. I had a long search for a means of reaching you that he would be unlikely to detect
—
if only because a craving for onions should strike him as too foolish to investigate
.

The sorcerer taxed me more than he knows in our last battle
—
and far more than I wish him to know. But return I shall at the promised time, and fight again at your side. Before that day I may be able to send another message, or messenger
—
and then again, I may not
.

For today, three warnings: First,
YOU MUST READ THE
P
OLYLEX.
Knowledge cannot spare you pain, indeed it may increase your suffering, but what is that compared to the doom on the world? If you have left off reading it, as I suspect, my advice is to start at the bitter end and work back to where you stand
.

Second, keep an eye on anyone who spends time with Arunis. Like me he is hiding his battle-wounds, but whatever the extent of his powers, his cunning remains. I am worried also by the way he controlled Mr. Druffle: the human mind is easily swayed, but rarely seized by force. What is certain is that he will do the same to others, given the chance
.

Third, beware your own great heart. Our enemies will try to use it against you, having failed to kill you or make you afraid
.

You, Pazel, Neeps, Hercól and Diadrelu were singled out by the spirit in the Red Wolf. That spirit, be it Erithusmé’s or some other’s, believed you could defend your world from the Nilstone. But this much I have learned from afar: your guess was right. There were seven, not five, burned by the molten iron of the Wolf. You must find the other two and enlist them, no matter who they are
.

I will not lie to you, my champion: you stand over a precipice, upon a bridge so frail that it will crumble at the slightest misstep. And yet you must gain the other side. We all must, or perish together in the fall
.

Ramachni

P.S. Here is a fourth warning: do not open that green door behind you. Keep your loved ones from it too
.

Thasha blinked: the mage’s scrawled signature was fading, fading—gone. And when she raised her eyes, she saw that the entire letter was gone as well. Just as before, the act of reading had erased them; the only place where they remained was in her mind.

Three warnings … anyone who spends time with Arunis … two more bearing the wolf-scar …
How could he possibly expect her to remember everything? She wasn’t a mage; she wasn’t even a particularly good student, as Pazel had reminded her over their Mzithrini lessons. But after a moment of panic, Thasha found herself growing calmer. The message was frightening, but not so complicated. And if Ramachni believed she could remember it, then she would do so. She would hurry back to her cabin and write it down.

Her eyes fell once more on the ancient door between the sinks.
Keep your loved ones from it too
.

As she emerged from the galley, Hercól called softly to Pazel and Neeps. The tarboys came running. “What happened?” asked Neeps breathlessly. “Did you find your onion?”

“Please tell me you got what you wanted,” said Pazel.

“Not exactly,” said Thasha, relocking the door. “But don’t ask me any questions. I’ll tell you everything in the morning.”

“Then there’s something to tell?” said Neeps.

“Lots. But tomorrow, please! Let’s get some rest while we can.”

Hercól reached for the key, and paused a moment, feeling the tremor in her hand. “Yes,” he said softly, “I think we shall need it.”

16
Dhola’s Rib

5 Freala 941
114th day from Etherhorde

A sharp rap of wood on wood. Jorl and Suzyt erupted in howls. On the bench under the gallery windows Pazel jerked awake, hit his head on the window casement, tangled his feet in the blanket and fell to the floor.

It was pitch dark. Outside the stateroom Hercól was shouting “Madam! Madam!” The dogs bayed; Neeps flopped over with a groan. Pazel heard Thasha sweep from her cabin. They collided; she cursed, pushed a dog to one side, and threw open the stateroom door.

Yellow light flooded the room. There in the doorway stood Lady Oggosk, dressed in a sea-cloak, holding a lamp and a walking stick of pale, gnarled wood. Hercól stood beside her, distressed by the old woman’s intrusion but unclear whether to prevent it by force. Oggosk pointed at the youths with her stick.

“Get dressed,” she said. “We’re going ashore. The captain has need of your services, Pathkendle.”

Hercól loomed over her, furious. “I do not know how you passed through the barrier, old woman. But you give no orders here.”

“Shut up,” said Oggosk. “You’re coming too, girl. Bring a weapon. And bring this valet of yours; he’s useful in a fight. The Sollochi runt I will not allow.”

Thasha looked at her coldly. “We’re not going anywhere with you. Are we, Pazel?”

Pazel was distracted by the hope that he was dreaming, and by the memory of Oggosk’s threats, and above all by his collision with Thasha’s soft, invisible, bed-warmed body moments ago. “Of course,” he blurted. “That is—no, absolutely. What?”

Lady Oggosk turned him a scalding look.

“We are at Dhola’s Rib. The sorcerer is already halfway to the beach, with his
Polylex
in hand. If we sit back and wait he is going to learn the secret of the Nilstone’s use—today, right under our noses. You won’t be bickering with me then. You’ll be dead, and so will I, and so will the dream of Alifros. I will see you on deck in five minutes.”

It must have been too small, or too unimportant, to appear on the chart in her father’s cabin. As she dressed, Thasha snatched a look at her own
Polylex
, tearing through the pages by candlelight.
Daggerfish. Death’s Head Coin. Deer’s Tongue. Dhol of Enfatha. Dhola’s Rib
.

In the outer stateroom Hercól was shouting her name. Thasha read only:
a thin, curved islet between Nurth and Opalt, abandoned by man
. Then she slammed her
Polylex
, hid it in a place not even Hercól was aware of, and sprinted for the topdeck, still carrying her boots.

The island was invisible as they pulled for shore: Thasha could see only a dark silhouette blocking the stars of the Milk Tree. They were in the twenty-foot skiff, rowing hard but freezing nonetheless, for the wind was carving spindrift from the wave-tops and flinging it in their faces. It was frightening work, making for a shore you couldn’t see. Rose held a lantern at the bow; Oggosk sat curled in her sea-cloak. Four hulking Turachs sat behind the duchess, armor clinking as they rowed. Hercól and Drellarek took an oar apiece.

Thasha’s rowing-partner was Dr. Chadfallow. The man’s nearness made her bristle: he lied, he conspired; he had brought the Nilstone aboard in the first place! And despite his help in exposing Syrarys’ treachery, Thasha could not bring herself to believe that he’d known nothing of the Shaggat.

On the other hand, Dastu was along. That was a stroke of luck, even though his orders (he’d confided in a whisper) were to keep an eye on her and Pazel. There had been a slight hint of mischief in his voice: enough to let Thasha know that he might not follow those orders to the letter.

A blast of spray caught Drellarek in the face. He growled with fury. “How did this happen? What fool let Arunis put a boat in the water?”

“No one authorized it,” Rose shouted back. “The sorcerer launched the dory with the aid of one tarboy—Peytr Bourjon.”

“So Jervik’s not the only tarboy he’s got his claws into,” said Pazel quietly.

“They are not so far ahead,” Rose was saying, “and it is always possible that they have struck a rock, in this darkness. In that case we will try to rescue Bourjon, and let Arunis drown, as he should have forty years ago.”

“He will not drown,” said Hercól.

“But what does he
want
out there?” demanded the Turach commander.

Oggosk pulled back the hood of her cloak. “I told you he has the forbidden
Polylex
. That book holds more than knowledge embarrassing to kings. Priests and mages feared it too, for what it revealed of their own arts—the
worst
of their arts, the black charms and curses they would rather keep from the minds of men. Arunis may have stumbled on one he thinks he can use against the power that resides on Dhola’s Rib.”

“I hear music!” said Dastu suddenly. Thasha heard it too: a strange, rich, hollow sound, as of many notes played together by a crowd blowing horns. The sound came from the darkness ahead.

As they rowed on, the sky began to glow in the east, and the shape of the island emerged. Thasha did not like what she saw. It was a giant rock, nothing more: high and jagged at one end, smooth and low at the other. The ridgetop looked sheer and lifeless.

The landing, however, was not as bad as she feared. The beach was narrow but sheltered and gently sloped, and a sandbar broke the force of the waves. Everyone leaped into the cold surf except Oggosk, who waited until the others had dragged the skiff well ashore before allowing the captain to lift her down.

The mysterious noises blended eerily with the moan of the wind. Soaked and shivering, Thasha glanced up again and saw patches of sun on the ridgetop. A great building loomed there, carved from the native stone. It might once have been a mighty keep or temple, but time and countless storms had melted its edges to a waxy smoothness. The domed roof bulged out over the walls, then tapered swiftly to a weathered peak.

Higher up, where the sand gave way to rock, they found the dory beached on its side, oars tucked under the hull. Rose bent and placed a hand on the gunnel. “Still dripping,” he said. “Arunis is just minutes ahead of us. You—” He pointed at a pair of Drellarek’s soldiers. “—will remain here and guard the shore. The rest of you will climb with me.”

“Captain Rose,” said Drellarek earnestly. “Why go any farther? Maroon him here! Tow the dory back to
Chathrand
and set sail! He’s made no progress turning the Shaggat back into a man, and he nearly got us into a shooting war in the Bay of Simja. Let Arunis plague us no more, Captain. With any luck he will starve!”

“On Dhola’s Rib men die of thirst before hunger,” said Chadfallow, “and there are quicker ways than thirst.”

“Thirst, hunger! What do we care?”

“One of my crew is with him, Sergeant Drellarek,” said Rose.

“That Bourjon imbecile?” scoffed Drellarek. “Good riddance! If he’s taken up with the sorcerer, then he’s long since broken faith with the ship.”