In six seconds he’d learned that about Nauana, and he knew he could spend the rest of his life with her. He would have hesitated to make that statement, save that he’d opened himself to her, too. She was no longer under the illusion that he was a god-made-man-though she had allowed as how his divinity might be manifesting in the same way a fledgling’s molting reveals its true plumage.
He would have rejected that idea, but every Naleni youth had been raised on the tale of Wentiko, the Dragon god, who believed himself an ugly worm until he blossomed into a dragon. Intellectually, Jorim recognized the story as one that taught people to value the person within over the external appearances, but the physical manifestation of the internal also resonated. Everywhere one looked, people grew and changed. In some, the growth was for the better. And, in others, it was a surrender to the outside world because they did not believe enough in what was inside.
Am I a god within? In the past he would have laughed outright at such a notion, but now he’d been given cause to wonder. Growing up, he and his siblings would joke about how Qiro thought he was a god-and indeed many people treated him with more reverence than they showed the gods. If being skilled at something allowed one to reach the state of jaedunto, wasn’t it possible that one could manifest as something greater? He would have once rejected that idea because everyone knew there were only nine gods and could be no more, but the whole idea of another god forcing his way into heaven opened up a plethora of possibilities.
Discussions like these occupied the time he spent with Nauana outside training, while his magical education continued unabated-and even accelerated. He could not communicate with her telepathically even as well as he could with his blood kin, but he understood her better. That, coupled with his understanding of essence and how to use it, allowed him to progress quickly. While he still was not as proficient as Nauana, there were indications he had the capacity to handle far more power than she did.
Still, plans had been for him to continue his studies, but then a runner came in from Micyan, a coastal village two days distant. He collapsed from exhaustion, having run all the way with no food, no sleep, and insufficient water. He reported that the Mozoyan had attacked his village.
The prospect of the Mozoyan’s return goaded the Amentzutl into action. The city of Nemehyan sat atop a mountain, which was reached by a long, switchback causeway that came up from the plains. Those plains had seen a savage battle against the Mozoyan just over a month before-or “earlier in the week,” if one was using the centenco calendar. In fact, a tall, pyramidal mountain of Mozoyan skulls marked the Amentzutl victory over their enemy. In that attack the Mozoyan had come in from the northeast, and the prospect of their arrival from the coast meant defenses would have to be shifted.
Captain Anaeda Gryst sent the Blackshark north along the coast to look for any signs of the advancing Mozoyan horde. Because the Amentzutl had no maritime tradition to speak of, Micyan had not been built on a harbor. But the ship would be able to land troops at the closest natural harbor for a scouting run and, toward that end, a company each of Sea Dragons and Amentzutl warriors boarded her.
Jorim opted to travel north on the Blackshark and Shimik came with him. Nauana stayed behind to work on the defenses with the other maicana, and Tzihua came aboard to lead the Amentzutl contingent. Anaeda Gryst remained at Nemehyan and organized the remaining Naleni troops to help defend the city.
Being back on a ship and on the ocean delighted Jorim as Nauana had clearly known it would, which was why she’d not asked him to stay behind. Jorim stood near the prow, laughing as spray wet his face. The wind cooled him, and though he could have worked an invocation that would have warmed him again, he did not. He simply relished the scent of the sea, the vision of the sky, the taste of brine, and the sounds of the ship and the people working it.
This is the essence of life itself. Traveling, exploring, going into danger, all of these were things that he loved. They made him feel alive. If I have to spend the rest of my life imprisoned in Anturasikun, I will die.
He glanced down at Shimik, who stood beside him, legs spread, paws on hips. Shimik looked up at him and grinned with a mouthful of peg teeth.
“I know, Shimik, this is wonderful.”
The journey up the coast took most of the afternoon, but with a steady wind they made good time and put into the harbor with no difficulty. But though they had traveled close to the shore on the way up, and the sharpest-eyed watchmen had been on duty, they’d seen no sign of the Mozoyan.
The ship’s commander, Lieutenant Myrasi Wueltan, lowered the ship’s boats and landed the troops quickly. Two trips for each boat got all the troops ashore, and despite the disparate array of weapons and armor between the two contingents, they all moved quickly to secure the white sandy beach.
Shimik clung to Jorim’s back as the cartographer joined Tzihua near the head of the column moving inland. The scouts had seen nothing so far, but they had only penetrated the thick rain forest a hundred yards or so. The undergrowth made it hard to see and even harder to travel. Soldiers using steel swords or obsidian-edged war clubs hacked a path through the jungle.
Despite the noise of their passage, the animals did not seem the least bit concerned. A troop of tiger-striped monkeys happily derided their efforts and even pelted some of them with the green rinds from ichoitz fruit. Shimik mimicked their calls accurately enough that one bull dropped through the canopy to a branch twenty feet up, started shaking it and hooting loudly.
The Fenn leaped from Jorim’s back, scrambled along another branch and headed straight for the bull. They hollered at each other, shaking branches and posturing. Jorim feared there would be a fight, but then Shimik flashed his claws at the monkey and the monkey fled in terror.
Shimik dropped to the ground and accepted the exaggerated bows offered by all of the warriors.
The column carved a track for another hundred yards before the scouts reported back again. They’d reached the road the boy had used to make his run south. They saw no sign of his passing, nor any of the Mozoyan. As nearly as they could tell, nothing was out of the ordinary.
Jorim frowned. “Twelve hours ago, the Mozoyan raided Micyan, and have not headed south. I can’t imagine they expected we would be warned.”
Tzihua shook his head. “You have seen them in combat. They do not think.”
“Then why the raid?”
“The most simple reason of all. They were hungry.”
“You think these were stragglers? Would there have been enough to overwhelm a village?”
The Amentzutl giant shrugged. “We tracked the survivors as far north as possible. Most died; a few disappeared. They were not made for life on land. Those that lived returned to the sea.”
Jorim nodded. While they’d located the place where the Mozoyan had gathered for their attack on Nemehyan, they’d found no ships, boats, or any other indication of how the Mozoyan had reached land. They concluded the enemy had swum to shore, and the idea of a sea filled with man-sized demon-frogs with mouths full of shark’s teeth was enough to fuel Jorim’s nightmares.
“Sending troops along the road to Micyan is the best plan.” Jorim thought for a moment. “We probably should have the Blackshark head up the coast and see if there is any sign of the Mozoyan. I don’t think they could have cut a path as we did, but they might have come ashore anywhere, and it would be useful to know where.”
“I agree.”
“Good. I’ll run back and let Lieutenant Wueltan know what we want, then I’ll come and join you for the march.”