With Chane's enraged face still fresh in Welstiel's thoughts, he stared into that one near-colorless pupil and wondered…
Did he indeed now have only five ferals? Or were there still six, the last one not chained to his own will?
CHAPTER SIX
Hkuan'duv silently slipped out of his quarters just before dawn so as not to disturb Danvarfij. He made his way through the ship's passages to its "heart-room" at the stern. Avranvard would soon try to contact him.
He was disturbed that she possessed a word-wood from this vessel. Such were reserved for a ship's hkomas or its hkoeda-"caregiver-journeyer"-the Shaper who lived with each vessel through its life. In order to speak with Avranvard, he needed to be in the place from which this vessel's hkoeda had grown the word-wood.
The passage turned right across the ship's breadth, and the hull's rhythmic thrum sharpened as he stopped before three oval doors at the stern. The doors to either side provided access to the ship's twin rudders; he stepped up to the center one.
After his decades of service and a too-long life, only a few things still entranced Hkuan'duv, like the wonder of these vessels, the Pairvanean- Wave-Wanderers. He tapped two fingers lightly upon the door to the ship's heart-room and waited.
"You may enter… Hkuan'duv," said a soft voice from within.
He gently cracked the door open and looked inside the room. His eyes settled on its central feature.
The floor flowed up from the chamber's sides into a hulking mound of tawny wood, like the back of an infant whale arching beneath the belly of the ship. Its smooth, glistening surface rippled faintly like the root of a great tree. This was where the vessel's root-tail trailed out into the waters below. Its constant snaking could drive the vessel at speeds difficult for a human ship to match.
Along both side walls, ledges grew from the hull, but the room contained little else, except for its occupant.
A woman in a plain canvas tunic and breeches, her feet bare, sat on one ledge. Her hair was pleated tightly across her skull in neat curling rows, further exposing skin paler than most an'Croans'. She sat with her back flush against the hull.
"Easaille… you do not sing to your ship?" he asked, and settled beside her.
"It slumbers for a while," she answered, "and its dreams run deep in the ocean."
"I must ask again for a private moment here," he said, "but I will try not to disturb the ship's rest."
A ship's hkoeda rarely left anyone alone in a heart-room, and his frequent requests were a severe imposition. But Easaille stretched her arms and rolled her shoulders with a smile.
"More secret talks with some other ship's hkoeda," she teased in a soft voice, and leaned her face toward him in mock jealousy. "Or is it some female hkomas you court so covertly?"
"I am too old for such things," Hkuan'duv answered. "And why would I seek such company elsewhere… if I come here?"
Easaille rolled her eyes at his faltering attempt to return her flirtation. She patted his leg and left quietly.
Alone, he stood up and lightly placed his bare hands against the great arch of the root-tail's base. He slid his fingers over its smooth, vibrating surface, and wondered what it would be like to be hkoeda… to slumber in the depths and in the dreams of a Pairvanean.
Avranvard's voice disrupted his thoughts. Are you there?
Resentment, rather than relief or anticipation, welled in Hkuan'duv. "Report."
My hkomas is troubled. Tomorrow, we make an unscheduled stop, and he is angry that he was not previously informed.
Hkuan'duv frowned. "Who requested this?"
Sgailsheilleache… but he will not explain why, only that it is necessary.
Hkuan'duv puzzled over this unexpected change. "Does he plan to go ashore?"
I do not know this either. He will say nothing of his purpose… not even to the hkomas.
Avranvard sounded petulant, and her lack of respect left Hkuan'duv cold toward her difficulties. Why had Most Aged Father entrusted such a juvenile outsider to function as informant?
"Report tomorrow at noon and after the evening meal," Hkuan'duv said.
Without waiting for acknowledgment, he lifted his hands from the root-tail's base.
All these changes meant the hkomas of his ship would need to stop and linger until the other vessel moved on. As he left the heart-room, Easaille came down the aft starboard stairs. He nodded quickly at her coy smile and headed back toward his quarters.
As the ship had slowed and anchored, Chap looked over the starboard rail-wall at a wild shore of gray-tinged sand and beached seaweed with nothing but a thick tree-line behind.
No harbor. Not even a small enclave. And only a rise of high mountains beyond granite foothills broke the skyline.
Chap perched on a storage chest with Wynn behind him and watched the skiff being lowered into the water. He grew more puzzled and unsettled with each passing moment. The day before, Sgaile had announced this unscheduled stop.
"What is he up to?" Wynn asked.
I do not know.
Sgaile, Osha, Leesil, and Magiere came up the stairwell below the aftcastle, seemingly all talking at once. Osha looked openly confused, but Magiere appeared angry.
"What are you hiding?" she demanded. "Leesil's just supposed to go ashore with you, and you won't tell us why?"
Leesil stood behind her, waiting for an answer. He and Magiere had dressed for cold weather with new coats over their hauberks and weapons strapped to their backs. Sgaile shouldered a canvas pack with a coil of rope lashed down its side and his open distress surprised Chap.
"You were not even to come!" Sgaile said to Magiere.
"That's done with, already," she answered, "and not open to debate."
Leesil, caught between the two of them, let out a deep sigh.
"I have told you all that I am permitted to," Sgaile returned. "This voyage was arranged by Brot'an'duive-and Cuirin'nen'a, Leshil's mother. I know little of their intentions, but I swore to Brot'an'duive that I would carry out his instructions."
Chap caught the strain in Sgaile's voice, driven by more than Magiere's bullying, and wondered at Sgaile's reluctance for whatever task was at hand. Letting Magiere, or any human, become involved in the affairs of his people was no new burden for Sgaile.
"It is not something I can speak of," Sgaile added. "And not just because of human presence. Before now, this task has only been for the Anmaglahk. Even Leshil's involvement is unprecedented."
"Yes?" Magiere answered. "All the more reason for me to come along."
"All right," Leesil sighed. "It's settled, so leave it alone."
Sgaile slowly shook his head. "We will travel inland from here."
"How long?" Magiere asked.
"Days."
"Sgaile!" she warned.
He pursed his lips. "Three days in, three days out-considering extra precautions for your presence. The hkomas and crew will wait with the ship."
"Six days," Magiere whispered, turning away.
Chap realized he had witnessed the tail end of an extended argument, and he tried to dip into Sgaile's memory. He caught a flash of a dark place where only a glimmer like lantern light reflected off a strange sheer wall of silver. Then came a brief glimpse of a tan elven hand holding a dull black oblong of stone, perhaps ground smooth by the tides over years. For an instant, Chap thought he saw marks scratched into its surface.
The memories sank from Sgaile's thoughts and beyond Chap's awareness.
Chap's companions were not the only ones who had changed during their time among the an'Croan; Sgaile had been altered as well. The mind of a seasoned anmaglahk should have been nearly blank of rising memories. These brief glimpses showed that Sgaile's self-control was wavering. It was not a good sign.