The Sage (27 page)

“We
must hurry, for the ship sails on the tide, whatever that is,” Yocote told
them.

Illbane
took a large, empty leather pack from under his cloak.

“Large
enough to hold the chest, Culaehra, and then some, though we shall have to pack
spare clothing around it to hide its shape.”

“An
excellent thought!” The big man hefted the chest. Lua quickly folded some cloth
into the bottom of the new pack, and Culaehra set the chest in after it. He
straightened up with considerable relief. “That will be easier to carry.”

“Yes,
and well-disguised,” Kitishane pointed out.

Culaehra
nodded as he swung the huge pack onto his back. “Aye. No sense in announcing to
one and all that we have a small, very heavy chest, is there?” The pack settled
into place, and a look of surprise came over his face. “It is lighter.”

“Only
a mild little spell,” Yocote said uncomfortably. “Walk braced for sudden
weight, Culaehra—I am still quite new to this.”

“The
relief is vastly appreciated,” Culaehra assured him, “even if it does grow
heavy again.”

But
he remained moody as they walked the streets of the little port with the tall
masts ever before them. Kitishane eyed him uneasily and finally asked, “What
troubles you, companion?”

“Your
forgiveness!” Culaehra blurted. “How can you overlook what I tried to do to
you, Kitishane? How can any of you?”

Kitishane
shivered as the memory returned and drew a little away from him. “I do not
think of it, Culaehra. You have changed so much that you scarcely seem to be
the same man. I think of you separately from the stinking woods-runner who
brought me down.”

Culaehra
winced at the words, but did not even feel an urge to retort. “Then I am a fool
to remind you of it. You are too good for me to understand, Kitishane—you, and
Lua, too.”

“But
not Yocote?”

Culaehra
shrugged. “He is a man, like me—and I have no illusions. He would cheerfully
summon a tree to fall on me if he did not think he would need me to save his
life again.”

But
the gnome heard, and his head swiveled about to stare with eyes hidden by his
goggles. “Do you truly think so, Culaehra?” he asked with a frown. “Well, so.”
He turned about and strode beside the sage again.

Following,
Culaehra watched him, frowning. He had to admit that the gnome had not
had
to make his load lighter; it would not ensure his being able to help Yocote
when needed. He fell back a pace so that he could watch all his companions from
the back as he followed them, pondering the riddle of human goodness. By the
time they reached the ship, he had almost begun to believe in it.

“Quickly,
board!” The captain waved them up impatiently. “Quickly, ere we miss the tide!”

They
hurried, though Culaehra's stomach roiled at the way the gangplank swayed
beneath his weight. Two sailors hauled it in the second he was aboard. “Settle
yourselves against the side of the pilothouse,” the captain ordered, then
turned to stride away down the deck, yelling something about casting off,
though he didn't say what they should cast, and something more about cracking
on sail.

Culaehra
lowered his pack to the floor gratefully and sank down beside it. “Do you
understand one word of what they are saying, Illbane?”

“I
understand 'off,' 'on,' and 'the,' “ the sage told him. “The sailors have their
own language, and I have never been to sea long enough to learn it.”

Culaehra
looked up, interested to hear the old man admit to not knowing some definite
thing.

Kitishane
leaned closer and muttered, “Do not sailors think it is unlucky to let a woman
on board?”

“The
deep-water sailors do,” Illbane told her, “the ones who sail out of sight of
land for a stretch of weeks or even months, when there is time for them to work
up fights over a woman's smile. But these coasters, who are out of sight of
land for only a day or two at a time, have no such dread. Indeed, they make too
much money carrying passengers to be able to afford such belief's, for many of
those passengers are female.”

The
wind filled the sails above them, and the ship began to glide out toward the
horizon. Yocote hopped with excitement. “Bear me up on your shoulder, Culaehra,
I pray you! I can see so little down here!”

“I
wish to see less,” Lua moaned, burrowing against Kitishane—but her human friend
only gathered her close as she, too, stood, looking out at the vast sheet of
water with shining eyes.

“Do
look, Lua!” Yocote cried from his perch on Culaehra's shoulder. “It is amazing!
I never even thought to see nothing but water and sky! There is so
much!”

Lua
lifted her head for a quick peek, then stilled, staring through her goggles.
The sight was amazing indeed.

“Drink
it in while the daylight lasts,” Illbane said. “Brace your feet wide, and hold
onto whatever piece of the ship comes to hand, for we will rock like a babe in
a cradle.”

Culaehra
and Kitishane caught at the nearest piece of wood or the ropes that wrapped
about them, and just in time, for the ship began to rock forward and backward
like a trotting horse. Lua cried out in alarm, but the other companions only
grinned with delight at the sensation.

“When
the light fails, we must set watches,” Illbane told them, “so that one will
always be awake, even as we did in the forest.”

Culaehra
gathered that sailors were not entirely to be trusted. “I could not sleep
anyway, Illbane.”

“You
must,” the sage said firmly, “or you will not be able to fight if need arises.”

Culaehra
could feel his fighting readiness rising at the words. Illbane really did
not
trust the sailors—but who could trust anyone, with a chest of gold
about? Especially gold that rightfully belonged to a god!

But
no one tried to steal from them that night, though Kitishane and Culaehra took
it in turns to stay awake and watch. Illbane and Yocote sat up all night, but
sat in shamans' trances. Still, Culaehra knew from experience how alert they
could be in such a state, and took comfort in the thought that of their party
of five, there were three always on guard.

Strangely,
Illbane had allowed each of them only a few mouthfuls of bread and a gulp or
two of water. In the morning, though, he fed them properly. “Why did you starve
us last night, Illbane?” Lua asked.

“Because
I am new to shamanry,” Yocote answered for the sage, “and he needed to be sure
the spell I cast against seasickness would hold.”

“Since
it has held well,” Illbane said, “you may all eat your fill,” and they did.

They
grew bored watching the sky and the sea that day, but Lua taught them games to
play with the pebbles she had gathered. As the sun was lowering, though, an air
of tension began to grow. Watching the sailors, Kitishane could almost see the
apprehension thickening the air about them. As one passed near, she called out,
“Goodman, is danger near?”

He
stopped and stared down at her as if wondering how much to tell. Finally he
said, “There may be, lass. Do you see that island ahead and to port?”

Kitishane
looked. “Aye. What of it?”

“Peaceful
people dwelled there centuries ago—but a wild tribe came to these shores and,
not content with the mainland, built boats and invaded the island, slaughtering
all the peaceful folk who could not run fast enough. Those who could, fled to
the shore, but found the invaders had chopped their boats into kindling, and
left guards upon their own craft. The islanders tried to swim the strait, but
the wild tribesmen came running down to the shore and shot them with arrows,
then took to their boats and rowed out among them, shooting as they went, even
spearing the peaceful folk like fish. In despair, some of the islanders managed
to grapple gunwales and overturn the invaders' boats, but they, too, drowned.
At last, when all were dead by iron or dead by water, the invaders moved into
the islanders' cottages and held their own drunken festival of victory. But the
drowned bodies rose to the surface, blue with cold, and their ghosts reentered
them. They swam back to the island, where they found the invaders all too drunk
to stand, and slew them with their own swords. Then they went back to their
graves at the bottom of the strait, but it is said that ever and anon they come
up to test the virtue of sailors, and if they find them wicked, drive their
ships upon the rocks to wreck them. Then they drag the seamen down beneath the
waves, to drown.”

Yocote
and Kitishane shuddered, and Lua stared at the sailor in fright. “If you know
this, why do you sail through this strait?”

“There
is a riptide on the far side of the island; this is a far safer route, and a
shorter one, if one wishes to sail across this bay to the harbors on the far
shore. Besides, the Blue People rarely rise, and even then have been known to
spare ships. It may be years, or even decades, between their last rising and
the next.”

Culaehra
turned to Illbane. “Is this true?”

The
sage shrugged in irritation. “It may be. There are many strange things in this
world that I know not of, Culaehra.”

Culaehra
stared at him for a moment, then turned away, feeling gratified that Illbane
was not infallible.

“What
shall we do, then?” Kitishane asked.

“Hope
the Blue People do not rise,” Illbane said simply.

“What
if they do?” Culaehra felt the beginnings of dread pooling within him.

“Hope
that they declare us virtuous.”

Culaehra
had little hope of that.

The
ship moved onward, but the wind slackened and the sailors began to mutter
fearfully.

“To
your oars!” the captain barked. “Have you never seen a wind die before?”

The
men went to the six benches that lined the gunwales and unshipped long, long
oars. They set them in thole pins and began to row. The ship moved on into the
strait, but slowly, slowly. The wind died completely.

“They
come!” A sailor shot to his feet, pointing; his mate caught his forgotten oar
just in time to keep it from slipping away.

The
companions turned to look. Behind the ship, all along its wake, dark heads were
breaking the surface. A few had even begun to set up small wakes of their own,
arms rising and falling as they swam after the ship.

“Row!”
the captain howled. “For your lives, row!”

The
sailors bent to their oars in a frenzy, but they lost the beat, and oars
clashed and tangled. They lost precious minutes in freeing their blades.

“Together!”
the captain bellowed. “One! Two! Three! Four! Bend! Push! Rise! Pull! Bend!
Two! Three! Four!”

“They
rise ahead, too!” Lua cried. She had climbed to the pilothouse rail and stood,
pointing a trembling finger.

The
ship rocked and came to a shuddering halt. Culaehra ran to the side to look
down and forward. Blue faces looked back up at him all along the side of the
ship; blue arms rose from the water, pushing against the side.

“Ship
your oars!” the captain cried.

The
sailors tried, but called back, “We cannot!” “They are stuck!” “The Blue People
are holding them fast!”

Three
sailors moaned, dropping their oars, and raised arms in prayer.

“Forget
the oars and draw your knives!” the captain thundered, and strode among them
with his sword raised—a long, heavy blade meant for cutting rope.

“What
use, against those already dead?” a sailor groaned.

“It
is better to die fighting than to wait to be slaughtered like oxen!” Culaehra
drew his sword. “We may not be able to slay them, but if we can cut them into
pieces, perhaps we shall live!”

The
sailors took heart enough to draw their knives, but white showed all around
their eyes.

“Is
there no way to fend them off?” Lua wailed.

“Aye—prove
your virtue!”

“How
can we do that?” Culaehra cried in disgust.

“They
will set you riddles that only the virtuous can answer!” the captain called
back. “Is there any one among you who can puzzle out answers?”

“Perhaps!”
Yocote's eyes lit. “We can try, at the least! Can we not, O Sage?”

Several
of the sailors looked up at the word “sage,” a sudden wild hope in their eyes.

“Perhaps
we can,” Illbane said thoughtfully. He strode to the side and called down, “Ho!
Blue Folk! Why will you not let us go by?”

“You
know why,” answered a deep, gurgling voice.

“I
do not know! I have only heard rumor!”

“Believe
you so,” answered a croaking rasp of a voice. “ 'Tis enough for to doom her!”

“Illbane!”
Kitishane cried. “They answer in rhyme!”

“What
'her' does it speak of?” Lua asked, her voice trembling.

“The
ship,” Yocote explained. “I have heard the sailors speak of their ship as
'her.' “ But his eyes were alight with excitement.

The
sage stood still for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was deeper, more
vigorous. “Let me hear the answer from your own lip! Why do you seek to stay
this ship?”

A
voice hissed approval from below. “He answers in rhyme.”

“Prove
you are worthy to go your way!” the gurgling voice challenged. “There is one
among you who went astray!”

Culaehra
tensed. “He speaks of me!”

“Let
Illbane speak to them.” Kitishane caught at his arm to hold him back, but she
was too late; he had already shot to his feet, and strode now to the rail. “Culaehra!”
she cried, a wail of despair.

“I
was outlawed from my tribe for seduction and breaking faith!” the big outlaw
called down to the hundred blue faces below. “I bullied and despoiled everyone
I met thereafter! If you have any quarrel, it is with me!”

The
sailors rumbled with surprise, then menace, but the gurgling voice called up, “We
died from the work of Bolenkar. It was he who sent the wild tribe upon us.
Should we not then seek revenge upon any whom Bolenkar sends?”