Longing Ring

22

The dreams. Fragments of the past, shaped into a language of sights and sounds only the unconscious could comprehend. The memories came now, but only because his awareness was safely shut off from the truths buried within. His mind coiled around the key question. What had happened between the arrival of the shadow in the corner of his room and the death of his mother? Somewhere between those two events was the moment of true terror.

J'role's thoughts searched and searched, but each time only found the void.

He woke, startled by the dank, wet smell of the ship. The gentle rocking. The darkness. It took him a moment to remember where he was. When he did, he also remembered how tired he'd been, and wanted to roll over and fall back asleep. But his body was alert now, and curious. Despite his wise desire for more rest, part of him wanted to be up and about.

After fruitlessly tossing and turning several times, he sat up, realized he was wide awake, and climbed out of the bunk. He stood a moment, his bare feet touching the wooden floor. Cold. Wet. Comfortable. He listened, hearing the breathing of his father and Releana. Then, echoing up through the wood of the ship, the rhythmic churning of the ship's paddle wheel. Beneath that, the slapping of water against the hull.

He realized his body did not hurt as much as before. A questor of Garlen had obviously arrived and tended their wounds. For that J'role was very grateful.

Standing in the cabin he had the strange sensation that he was watching over his father and Releana. It comforted him.

He indulged in the feeling for a moment, then left the room, closing the door behind him.

J'role wandered down the corridors, looking for Voponis, but found neither him nor any other t'skrang. After turning and twisting through the ship's warren-like structure for a while longer, he suddenly found himself outside. Night had fallen while he slept, and stars dotted the sky.

He stepped out onto a ledge running the length of the ship, a board no more than two feet wide. Below, the dark waters of the Serpent roiled away from the Breeton as the ship cut a path toward its meeting with the Chakara. The paddle wheel churned through the water with a clean, rhythmic swooshing, sending a spray of water back down into the river.

J'role began to walk carefully along the ledge toward the front of the ship.

A shadow suddenly rushed at him, and he pressed himself tight against the wall. "Good evening," a sailor said in dwarven, swinging by on a rope, his loose clothes flapping as he passed, the rapier at his side momentarily brilliant in the starlight.

J'role waited a moment, letting his breathing calm down, then sighed and continued on.

Soon he reached the bow of the Breeton, where the wide ship narrowed, though the ship's font was flat. Thick metal spikes and two wooden prongs fifteen feet long adorned the flat edge, and J'role thought they might be for the purpose of ramming other ships.

"Good evening," said Captain Patrochian, and J'role jumped nearly falling into the river below. "I'm sorry," she said, grabbing him by the shoulder. "Didn't mean to startle you.

Out for some air?”

J 'role nodded, then turned away slightly, embarrassed that he could not say more.

The river stretched out before them, amazingly wide. The rushing surface of the river caught the reflection of the stars, which seemed to bob and toss in the water. J' role thought of all the times he'd looked to the stars for answers, searching for patterns he could not read. Now the stars floated along the watery path the ship traveled, as if finally leading him to his fate.

“I love this river," the captain said with warm cheer. Her thin tail slowly snaked its way back and forth across the ledge, making J'role wonder briefly whether it had a will of its own. After a moment, she asked, "Are you far from home?”

J'role decided he was and nodded.

"Any rivers like this where you come from?"

J'role shook his head.

"Is the land dry?" She asked the question in a friendly way, not pressing him. Curious.

J'role nodded. He then mimed casting a spell, his hands wide apart and busy. Then he bent down, and slowly raised his fingertips all the way from the floor to his standing height, as if following the growth of a plant. He reached into the air and mimed plucking a fruit, then took a bite.

"Ah. Yes. Magic for the crops. We had to do that at first. Or rather, my parents did. But the Serpent is so fertile …" Her voice trailed off, obviously full of love for her home.

J'role wondered what that would be like, to live in a place that one loved, that one didn't want to escape.

Ahead, on the far right side of the river he saw a riverboat docked among several of the spires rising out of the water. J'role pointed at the tableau.

"I'm sorry …," the captain said, uncertain.

J'role raised his arm vertically, then pointed again.

"Ah. The spires. Those are the tips of our homes. We t'skrang live in communities under the waters of the Serpent. The spires lead down to our towns. That's where we hid during the Scourge."

How extraordinary! J'role wondered if he might someday visit an underwater town. He would wait until he could ask the captain if he might visit. With words. Until that day, his focus would be on finding the means to remove the creature from his head.

An image flashed through his mind: his body on the ground, bloody gashes across his wrists. The creature in his thoughts laughed.

"You've seen the elves?" the captain asked abruptly. "Your father said …”

J'role nodded, somewhat surprised by the captain's question. What interest would a citizen of an underwater town have in the elves? Didn't living in such a strange place offer enough delights?

"I've never seen them. My parents heard stories of course. Passed down through the generations in the kaer. They're supposed to be wonderful."

Yes, wonderful and terrible. And he had seen them and Captain Patrochian had not. She stared over the bow of the Breeton, out over the river, eyes full of anticipation of excitement. She had what she wanted, her ship and her travels, yet seemed to long for even more.

Turning back to J'role and meeting his eyes, she gave him one of her frightening smiles, the corners of her mouth pulling down grotesquely. "You are not yet a man, but you have already seen a great deal, haven't you?”

At first J'role thought she was talking about the elves and other extraordinary sights like their thorn men. But a part of him suddenly realized that the captain was referring to the darker, subtler sights that he could not remember, but knew were buried in his memories somewhere. He answered her question with a nod.

"Have you ever swung over the stars at night?"

The question confused him. He shook his head no.

"Come." She addressed him the same way she did her sailors-with the expectation of being obeyed. They walked along the ledge until they came to a hook driven into the wall. Wrapped around it were several ropes. She grabbed the end of one and said,

"Watch."

With a mighty push from her legs she swung in a wide arc out over the river. The rope hung from a wooden arm that pivoted on a thick pole, and her momentum carried her toward the rear of the ship. J'role thought she would slam into a wall, but she pulled up her legs and braced them against the impact. At the exact moment the captain made contact with the wall she pushed again with her legs and swung out over the water once more. She swung back toward J'role with a mighty rush, landing on the ledge with perfect balance, wrapping the rope around the hook in the same deft motion.

"You try."

"Me?" J'role almost said. But before another thought could come to him, she'd unhooked one of the ropes and was holding it out. "Just hang on tight. I'll catch you on the way back. Stopping is where the training comes in. And make sure to look down."

She put the rope in his hands. As he thought about giving it back to her, he felt the rough hemp fit comfortably against his palms and fingers. It was just like climbing a wall, he realized. And if he could climb a vertical pit lined with writhing roots, he could certainly cling to a rope.

Without hesitation he turned toward the wall, and with a sharp exhalation of breath he pulled up his legs, braced his feet against the wall of the ship, and pushed. .

He swung out into the darkness, the red lights of the ship flashing in and out of his sight as he spun wildly around.

"Look down,” the captain cried.

He did.

The stars. .!

The stars bobbed up and down in the wake of the Breeton's passage. They whirled around beneath them as if he'd flown up from the earth and now lived among them.

"The wall!" the captain shouted. At her warning he looked up and gained his bearings. As his body rushed toward the wall, J'role used the thief magic to balance himself and pull his legs up toward the wall.

Even sooner than he expected his feet slammed into the wall, buckling his legs. As if he'd been practicing for years, he pushed off the instant his forward momentum stopped, and was out over the water again.

He looked down again. This time he saw his own shadow, his silhouette, rush through the night sky. He gasped as he watched his life finally given a place in the stars.

"Grim!" the captain said, and he looked up to see her only a few feet away, an arm outstretched. He pulled his legs up again, and slammed into the wall feet first. The captain reached out and grabbed the rope, one hand on the hook for balance. J'role nearly swung back out over the water, but Patrochian held him fast and pulled him close to her.

Her body shook with laughter

"Well done, softskin! Well done!"

The motion of her laughter passed from her into his body and he found himself floating in his emotions. The thief magic sulked away like a disappointed child, promising to return when he had room only for it. He wrapped his arms around Captain Patrochian to prevent himself from falling off the ledge, and she held him tight.

"Well done," she said again. "How would you like to put yourself to some use during the rest of the trip? Nothing required, of course. Just something to occupy you so you don't go restas while on board. You seem to have the spirit."

J'role looked up at her, uncertain what she wanted from him. In that moment a chill passed through his flesh.

She caught-the expression on bus face. "No, no. Only if you want to. Maybe you'll like it."

An offer, he realized. Simply an offer. She was giving him something-a chance to work aboard her ship. She loved the Breeton, and so it was an offer to share something dear to her. His fear changed to embarrassment. He realized he did not know how to accept a gift that he had not first begged for.

But he wanted to try. He nodded.

The captain kept him busy doing anything that needed doing, and Releana soon joined in.

From the storage holds to the engine room, they carried the magic coals that moved the paddles. They cleaned the fire-cannons, the long tubes that fired the magical balls of fire at enemy ships. They helped the crew carry the cargo on and off they ship as they docked at one port after another along the Serpent.

J’role had never had much opportunity to work. He'd coveted the food his fellow villagers grew, but had never seen any appeal in the act of working. His only occupation had been lounging around, carefully observing the moods of his neighbors for the right time to beg for scraps. Though begging was intense work, emotionally draining in its shame, it did not offer the physical release and satisfaction of cleaning the ship and hauling goods aboard.

His muscles strained, his breathing quickened, sweat formed over his skin. The physical thrill was heightened, not by his magic-which separated him from others-but by his cooperation with Releana and Voponis and the other t'skrang. Though many of the sailors shunned him out of fear of his silence, J'role quickly became a fiercely active work force on the Breeton.

He went to bed tired each day, fell into a deep sleep, and woke up ready for more work.

He ate hearty meals on a regular basis, each one as sumptuous as the food Garlthik had bought with his ill-gained diamond.

The days passed, and the Throal Mountains loomed ahead, their tops vanishing into white mist. Like his future, existing, but unseen.

"The dwarfs only control a small portion of the mountains," said Voponis, gesturing at the towering mountain range. "But that small part is still very large. Instead of their homes being laid out flat, like ours in the Serpent, they stretch up and down within the mountains. The surface of the mountains is wild territory, full of strange creatures." He looked embarrassed. "Or so I'm told."

"Grim," Captain Patrochian said, suddenly behind them. Her voice was brisk, as always when J'role was "on duty." "Need more coals for the paddle wheel."

He nodded and rushed off, with barely a glance to Voponis.

The coals were kept in small boxlike containers of a golden metal called orichalcum. The orichalcum could contain magical elements, such as the coals of elemental fire used to power the paddle wheel and fire the snip's guns.

The ship had forty such containers, and Releana told J'role that they were as valuable as the magical fire elements within. She explained that there were magical elements for fire, earth, wood, water, and air. Orichalcum, an enchanted earth alloy, made transportation of the elements safe. She had never seen the boxes before, but had been told about them. All magicians, she said, knew about them, and most sought out containers made from the metal.

The boxes were stored in neat stacks of two layers, four deep and five across. They were cold to the touch, but J'role knew some contained fiery coals that perpetually burned until released from their boxes for use in conjunction with magic.

Boxes that were empty remained on their side, with the small square door on one side left open. Bending down to pick up one of the filled boxes, he suddenly heard voices coming through the wall in a neighboring hold. One he recognized as Nikronallia’s. The other was familiar, but he couldn't place it immediately. Curious, J'role leaned closer to the wall, finding a crack that let him peer between two boards.

"Have you spoken to the crew, as I told you?" asked Garlthik One-Eye. He sat on a pile of stained tarps, his thick, gray-green body reclining on the cloth like some decadent king holding court. J'role nearly gasped out loud.

"Those I trust," answered Nikronallia.

"And how many is that?" Garlthik seemed bored with the question, as if Nikronallia was certain to disappoint him.

J’role watched with fascination as Nikronallia twitched with concern and tried to please the one-eyed ork. "Most. All but seven. Most can't stand her flaunting of the customs."

"And the Breeton meets with the dwarven envoys tomorrow?"

"Aye. We must-"

"We will. Tonight. We can't risk word of the mutiny traveling downriver ahead of us. But tonight … in the darkness. There will be no time for warning to reach the other ship."

"The dwarfs will be the ruin of us all …," the t'skrang said bitterly, looking down at the ground.

Garlthik shrugged and stood up. "Not my concern," he said. Nikronallia opened his mouth to speak, and Garlthik raised his hand. "I told you I'd help you," he said. "I needed passage across the river, and this is my fare. But I don't care who rules. I just want their money. Now, of course, I want the boy." "And you shall nave him."

Garlthik blinked at him. "Do you think I need your permission?”

"No."

"Then grant me no favors. And once the dwarfs are dead, you'll sail us to Throal."

"But. ."

"We'll all go That's where I'm headed. But kill the father and the other one during the mutiny. I just want them gone."

Nikronallia nodded.

Garlthik paced absently, and then smiled. "To think I should stumble across the boy this way. When you came down to tell me he was on board …"

"And you will kill the captain? Tonight?" The fear in the t’skrang’s voice revealed why Garlthik was necessary for this mutiny. Apparently no one on the ship felt capable of taking Captain Patrochian’s life. "Tell me when."

Nikronallia hesitated, as if he had one more question to ask but could not bring himself to do it.

"I'm as good as you've heard," Garlthik said impatiently. "Your captain shall sleep in her own blood this night. Have no fear."

"She is …"

"She is dead by my hands. Consider it already done."

Nikronallia hesitated again, his departure imminent, but delayed. "How did the boy escape you then?"

A terrible ire crossed Garlthik's face, but then his expression softened to something pitiable. "That magician you told me about. He has an affinity with the Horrors. There are some things even I am afraid of."

Nikronallia’s wide eyes widened more, then he nodded and left.

Fearful of being caught, J'role quickly pulled away from the crack, searching for some excuse to look busy.

He remembered the request for the fire coals, and reached down and picked up one of the golden boxes. His breathing felt tight in his chest as he walked toward the door and turned the thick metal ring to open it. Everything done plainly, easily. See. Not doing anything. Just an errand. Captain told me to.

He stepped out into the corridor and closed the door behind him.

He turned. Down the corridor stood Nikronallia, staring at him.