A Gathering Of Stones

2

The Miyachungay cast off and started upriver an hour after dawn, her slatted sails clacking and booming in the wind that came sweeping onshore most mornings as if it had dragons on its tail. After counting and recounting her coins, Korimenei had paid the premium that bought her a tiny cabin for herself; it wasn’t much larger than a footlocker, but it had a bar on the narrow door so she’d sleep in peace and comparative comfort. As a cabin passenger she took her meals at the Captain’s table, which meant she’d eat well and since the cost was included in the price of her cabin, she felt she’d made herself a satisfactory deal.

She stayed in the cabin as long as she could that first morning. She was uneasy; she didn’t know how to behave as a traveler; she didn’t know what the rules were. Settsimaksimin had translated her directly from Cheonea to the school in Silili. And she hadn’t traveled after she’d got to school,

Shahntien Shere kept a thumb firmly planted on her students. She’d gone from one tight supportive society to another. She didn’t want to make mistakes. The short trip downcoast on the Merchanter hadn’t helped, she’d stayed in her cabin the whole way. She was scared to stick her nose out now. It was funny. She could see that. She could even laugh at herself. It didn’t help. She sat on the bunk with Ailiki on her lap, singing nursery songs to her, trying to convince herself she didn’t mind the stuffy darkness of the room.

The walls closed in on her; the cabin was turning into a coffin.

“I’ve got to do it sometime, Aili my Liki. And you have to stay here, my Lili. Watch my things for me, hmm?” She tapped Ailiki on her tailbone. “Shift yourself, luv. I’ve got to unpack my meeting-people suit,”

She’d bought Temueng traveling gear, a padded jacket and loose trousers gathered at the ankle over knee-length leather boots, a veil that went over her head and extended in two broad panels that hung before and behind, brushing against her knees. The veil had embroidered eyeholes, a knotted fringe on the edges; it was heavy cotton, a dusty black, and she hated it. Bumping elbows, knees, buttocks every time she had to shift her body, she changed to her new clothes and pulled the veil over her head. She coughed; she couldn’t breathe. She knew that was stupid, she was doing it to herself. She reached under the veil and pushed the cloth away from her face, groped for the door and went out.

When she climbed onto the deck the wind took hold of her; it nearly ripped the veil off her and used the loose cloth of her trousers as a sail. Blinded and more than a little frightened, she clung to the doorjamb and struggled to get control of her clothing. Hands closed on her arms; someone large and strong lifted her, carried her down the ladder and set her on her feet in the companionway.

“Get rid of that damn veil, woman; it’s a deathtrap. You’re no Temueng; what are you doing dressed up like one?”

Korimenei dragged the veil off and glared at the man. He was a big man, broad rather than tall, his eyes on a level with hers. His shoulders were wide enough for two, his bare arms heavily muscled, his hands large and square; she remembered the strength in them. A Panday sailor. His ear dangle had three anchoring posts it was that heavy; it was ovals of beaten gold set with pearcut emeralds; it swayed with every movement of his head, the emeralds catching the light, winking at her. He was grinning at her, his green eyes glinting with an amusement that infuriated her even more. “Who do you think you are and why’s it any business of yours what I do?”

“I think I’m Karoumang, Captain and Owner of this vessel and it makes all kinds of trouble for me when a passenger falls overboard because she’s too lamebrained to know what the hell she’s doing.”

“Oh.” She passed her hand from her brow to her nape, feeling the straggles and bunches dragged into her hair. A mess. She must look terrible.

“Here. Let me have that thing.” He took the veil from her, hung it over a lamp hook. “You can retrieve it later. You still want to go on deck?”

Hands pressing her hair down, she nodded. It seemed safest not to say anything.

He followed her up the ladder, grabbed a handful of her jacket as the wind caught her again. “Been on a riverboat before?”

She hesitated, then shook her head.

“First thing to remember, when we’re moving there’s wind, no wind, we stop.”

She snorted, tried to pull away. “I’m not a child.”

He ignored that, kept his hold on the back of her jacket and moved her along, threading through the bales and barrels piled about the deck, roped in place or confined by heavy nets. “Second thing, wind takes us upriver. Down, the river takes us and we fight the wind. One way or another there’s always wind.” He piloted her past the mainmast, the noise of the sails and the singing of what seemed hundreds of ropes was all around her; it was like air, always there, so much so that in minutes she scarcely heard it, underscoring what he’d just said to her. “Third thing, this is a cargo boat. We take passengers, but not many of them. The cargo comes first. Passengers, even cabin passengers, should stay put when we’re moving. If they think they need air, they should get air when we’re tied up at one of our calls. Or they should join the deckers in the cage and stay there.”

He stopped her by a heavy ladder with a hand rail; it led to a raised platform in the bow. “Up,” he said.

She glared at him, considered telling him what she thought of him; she wasn’t quite sure what she did think of him, so she kept silent, caught hold of the rail as he took his hand away. She went up those steps quickly; in spite of her irritation she was enjoying the brisk scour of the wind, the sounds and sights around her, everything new, everything strange and exciting. Even Karoumang, or perhaps especially Karoumang. Her body responded to him even as her mind said be careful, woman. As she stepped onto the narrow flat, she kept hold of the railing, made her way along it until she was looking down into the yellow water foaming about the bow. A small boy who was an exact miniature of Karoumang looked up from his perch in a bag net suspended from a stubby bowsprit; he waved a small grimy hand and went back to his watch, green eyes like Karoumang’s intent on the water ahead. A tarnished silver horn hung on a thong about his neck, swaying with the movement of the boat.

Karoumang leaned over the rail. “Lijh’t aja, i’klak?”

“Tijh, ahpa.”

Korimenei looked from the boy to the man. “Your son?”

“One of them. I was asking about snags and he was saying there aren’t any So far.” His eyes laughed at her as he turned to face her. He set his left arm on the rail, leaned on it. “Enigma,” he said.

“The river?”

“You.”

“Certainly not. Nothing difficult about me, I’m simply going home.”

“Not up this river.” w_hy?”

“Nobody like you north of here. Croaldhu, I wouldn’t be surprised, Yuntipek I am. Married?”

“None of your business.”

He inspected her, paying no attention to her words. “I don’t think so. No man worth the name would let you run around alone. Virgin?”

“Definitely none of your business.” She thought about leaving; this conversation was getting out of hand. She didn’t want to leave. She glanced at him, looked quickly away.

“Hmm. I’ll let that one hang. Twenty one, two… no, I’d say twenty-nine.”

“Twenty-four.” She snapped it out before she thought, glared at him when she realized what she’d done.

He stopped smiling, narrowed his eyes at her. “Over age, alone, no guards, no chaperone. Not someone’s daughter coming from a visit or going to a wedding. Not wed, not courtesan, not player, not trader. Priestess or acolyte? No, the attitude’s all wrong. You’re no holy she. Holy terror, maybe. Student?”

She thought that over for a moment, then she nodded. “Was.”

“Croaldhu? No. You have the look, but your accent’s wrong. And there’s that attitude. You’re a little shy, but there’s fire under it. You’re edgy, but you’re not afraid of me or anyone else. Not womanfear. You think… no, you’re sure you can back me off. I outweigh you and outreach you. If I took a notion, I could pull you limb from limb in about thirty seconds. Or tear those idiot clothes off you, throw you down and do the usual. I don’t see anything you could do to stop me. You’re looking at me now like I’m the idiot.”

“Your word, not mine.”

“I see your shyness is starting to wear thin. Silili?” She thought that over, shrugged. “Why not. Yes.”

“Which school?”

“Does it matter?”

“Curiosity. I’d like to know.”

“The Waymeri Manawha, Head Shahntien Shere.”

“Sponsor?”

“How do you know about that?”

“I have a son with Talent.”

“Ah. He’s in school?”

“Will be, come spring. The Mage Barim Saraja has agreed to sponsor him. For a fee big enough to buy an emperor, though as-a favor don’t repeat that. Yours?”

“Why should I tell you?”

“Why not?”

“Why not. The Sorceror Settsimaksimin.”

“One of the Four Primes, eh? I am impressed.”

“So I see.”

“I am.” He moved away from the rail, bowed at the waist, his hands pressed palm to palm before his nose. He straightened, chuckled. “No lie.”

“Curiosity satisfied?”

“Whetted.” He arched a brow at her. “With questions I’m not going to ask. Where you came from and what your story is.” He waited a moment to see if she was going to respond; when she didn’t, he rested both arms on the rail and gazed ahead at the river which was a broad empty stretch of ocher fluid; there was no other traffic in view, only this boat riding the wind upstream. “How you came to the notice of a Prime, what there was about you that interested him.” He looked along his shoulder at her, letting his appreciation show. Odd. She liked it. It was essentially the same as the looks she’d got from men in Jade Halimm and those made her sick. The looks that saw her as prey for the taking. In those long narrow eyes, green as the stones in his ear dangle, it had a different flavor somehow. Definitely she liked it.

“What your rank is now,” he murmured, “and what it’s apt to be when you come to full strength. What you are.” He counted types, tapping his fingers on the rail. “Charm spinner, diviner, dowser, shaman, necromancer, witch, thaumaturge, wizard, magus, sorceror. Do I have them all? Probably not.” His brow shot up again. He seemed to be enjoying this, playing his little wordy game with her, then his pleasure faded. “Where you’re going and why, what you’re doing here, now.” He looked away, the exaggerated Panday curves of his wide mouth straightening to a grim line. “A favor, Satiri. Keep it off my boat.”

“There’s nothing to keep,” she said. “On or off. I’m just traveling. That’s the truth, Karoumang Captain. I’m going somewhere, but where’s a long long way from here and nothing to do with you.” She put her hands on the rail beside his; they looked anemic, sickly almost, next to his rich coppery brown; her arms were thinner than his, much thinner, despite the bulk of the quilted sleeves, and pale like her hands with pale pale pinkish brown freckles scattered through the fine colorless hairs, blitchy blotchy like a red and white cow. She was glad they were hidden. She felt anemic all over, spirit as well as body; her irritation at his prowling round her, sniffing at her, which had armored her so feebly against him, had gone away altogether and left her stranded. She wanted to touch his arm, to see if it was as hard and sleek as it looked. She tried not to think of her initiation, of the golden, glorious chthone who’d made her every nerve a river of fire, but her body was remembering. When she sneaked a look at Karoumang from the corners of her eyes, it seemed to her he was outlined in shimmering gold light, that he was as beautiful as the god had been. She wanted to see him naked like the god; she pictured him naked, lying beside her, his hands on her, his strong hands moving on her. The breath caught in her throat; she tightened her fingers on the rail.

He was frowning at the water ahead. Abruptly, he leaned over the rail and spoke to his son. “Aja ‘tu, i’klak? Meta’ istan.” He pointed to a line and some dots on the water around a half mile or more ahead of them, a long, dark thing with several stubby outthrusts that was rapidly coming to meet them. “Angch t’tant.” He waved his hand at the horn. “Lekaleka!”

“Eeya, ahpa.” The boy steadied himself, eyed the object for a few beats until he was sure he know its course, then he put the horn to his lips and blew a pattern of staccato notes.

Karoumang swung around, hurried to the rail, his eyes moving swiftly about the ship, following his crew as they went to work with a minimum of effort and a maximum of effect while the echoes of the horn notes still hung in the air; he watched the sail panels change conformation, watched the helmsmen on the overhang shift the tiller the proper number of marks to take them from the path of the snag. He relaxed, came back to Korimenei, smiling. “A good crew; they save me sweating.” He leaned over the rail. “Baik, i’klak.”

The boy laughed. “Babaik, ahpa.”

“He’s a clever boy,” Korimenei said. “Reminds me of my brother. How old is he?”

“Nine. The only one of the bunch with a call to the water.” He took her hand, spread it on his palm. “What small hands you have for such a tall girl.”

“Not so small, it’s as long as yours almost.”

“But narrow. Bird bones, light as air.” He turned the hand over, drew his forefinger across her palm. “Do you read these lines?”

Her breath turned treacherous on her again. She called on the discipline the Shahntien had hammered into her and when she spoke her voice was light, laughing. “I play at it. It’s only a game.”

“What other games do you play?” He stroked her palm absently, as if he’d forgot what he was doing.

“Girl’s games,” she said, deliberately misunderstanding him, “but not many of those. There wasn’t time. The Shahntien kept us at it.”

“And now?”

“And now I follow my own inclinations.”

“And what are those?”

“What do you want them to be?”

“What shall I say?”

“That I’ll be a student again, a day, a week, to Yuntipek, perhaps.”

“You think I could teach you?”

“I think you are an expert on a subject I know little about. I think you enjoy such teaching and I like that. When the teacher enjoys, it’s likely the student will.”

“Sometimes there are consequences to this exchange.”

“Not for a fledgling sorceror from the Waymeri Manawha who has urgent claims on her time and energy.” She chuckled. “Though distant ones.” She was pleased with herself, enjoying the suggestive obliquities.

He laughed, placed a kiss on her palm. “Shall we begin the lessons after supper tonight?”

A tiny gasp escaped before she could swallow it.

He squeezed her hand. “Would you like to stay here or go below?” A glance at the bank gave him time and place. “We’ll make a call in a couple hours. We have cargo to unload, probably pick some up, so we’ll be there a while. You can go ashore, if you want to walk around. I wouldn’t advise it. It’s a chern village, you might see things you won’t like. These country chernlords are an ugly bunch. Even a fledgling sorceror should watch what she says and does around them.”

“Karoumang teacher, it’s not lectures I need from you,” she smoothed her fingers across the back of his hand, “… but demonstrations.”

“You need a whole skin to appreciate them, ketji. Stay on board at Muldurida. The next call up the river is a freetown and friendlier. Saffron Moru. We’ll tie up for the night there.”

think I’d like to go below for a while. Do you mind my being a bit afraid?”

He threw back his head and laughed, a big booming sound that came from his toes. “N0000,” he said. He took a handful of her jacket. “Let’s hit the wind, ketji.”