The long night she’d spent afterward, kneeling in the muck and shivering alone, was the second-worst memory she would carry. When she contacted Most Aged Father again the following dawn, he told her of a coming an’Cróan vessel already slipping silently through human waters.
Run for the coast, he told her.
She fled across land to reach the south shore of the nation of Belaski. In the end she had to fight her emotions as she nearly wept at the sight of a päirvänean, one of the living ships of her people. She would again be among her own kind.
Once aboard she breathed in pure relief as the ship wheeled, heading toward the continent’s far northern point, where it would round again toward her homeland.
The ship did not make it that far.
The ship’s hkoeda—“caregiver” of that living vessel—informed her that they were to anchor just beyond the human city called Bela. He told her that another anmaglâhk would board there, and she wondered who it could be. Few of her caste were out this far, always keeping the human nations turning a suspicious eye on each other ... directing their curious attentions away from her people.
Later, in privacy, Dänvârfij placed her word-wood against the living ship’s hull. The Päirvänean—Wave-Wanderers—were as alive as any tree in the world, even more so. Through the ship, she spoke to Most Aged Father again.
She was left utterly numb when he told her of Osha’s coming to the ship.
With the horror of what she and he had both witnessed, she had no wish to be trapped on a ship with him for the entire journey home. Worse, Most Aged Father gave her further orders concerning Osha.
On waterfront of the Isle of Wrêdelyd, Dänvârfij finally closed upon the harbormaster’s office. Taking long, labored breaths, she stared at one of its weathered windowpanes without really seeing anyone inside beyond the glass. For, no matter how she tried, she saw only the ghost reflection of Osha as he had stepped aboard the ship on that long-past morning....
Dänvârfij had steeled herself where she stood on the deck of the Päirvänean. The crew around her kept their distance as she watched the small skiff return from the forested shoreline. It had departed the ship with only two aboard. Now there were three, the third sitting in the prow with his back turned.
There was no mistaking Osha. He was the only one in the skiff dressed as an anmaglâhk.
Two of the crew rowed the skiff in near the ship’s hull, but Osha did not move.
Dänvârfij looked away, anywhere, at anything besides him. Her gaze drifted about her surroundings, from the sidewall, with its shallow swoop-and-peak edge, to the deck’s tawny wood with its complete absence of planks.
The glistening wood was as smooth as the rainwater barrels nestled near the masts. The latter had been fashioned by elven Makers born with an innate gift for shaping inert wood into useful things. The entire hull appeared molded in one solid piece, without a single crack or seam in its smooth surface. For it was one piece, born in a secret place as one living being.
Dänvârfij had always loved sailing on her people’s living vessels, but she drew no pleasure from it in this moment. Rolling her head back, she looked up to the bulges of furled sails hanging from pale yellow masts. The fabric was an almost iridescent white, made from shéot’a cloth, as delicate as silk but much stronger.
One of the crew onboard hesitantly stepped past her to drop a rope ladder over the side. She lowered her gaze and steeled herself once more.
Osha came up over the rail wall and landed lightly upon the deck.
He looked thin and worn, and his forest gray cloak was ragged at the edges. Otherwise he appeared no different than he had during that moment of horror in which she had last seen him. His face was long, and his features somewhat flat for an an’Cróan. It gave him the look of one of the great silvery-furred deer, the clhuassas—“listeners”—who guarded their people’s land along with the majay-hì.
Osha’s eyes were still haunted as they locked on to hers. Then they filled with shock. He had not expected to find her here. Shock turned to something near hate.
“Below, now,” she ordered.
His fury faltered. “What do you ... ? What are you—?”
“Now,” she repeated.
Confusion held him until too late. Two an’Cróan soldiers flanked him while remaining beyond his reach. Both were armored in hauberks of hardened leather with ornate bone and horn plates. Each carried a long bow of subtle curves that curled more at the ends. Though both bows were strung, neither soldier had nocked an arrow from the quivers perched over their right shoulders.
There was only one thing that could supersede their own chain of command: an anmaglâhk operating under the direction of Most Aged Father for the sake of the people’s safety. Here and now, even Dänvârfij wondered what possible threat Osha posed, as one of the soldiers glanced briefly at her.
She had her orders ... her purpose.
Osha never looked at either soldier. Shock faded from his eyes. Without a word he simply headed toward the aft and the stairs to below.
She followed him with the soldiers close behind her and directed him to a small cabin, where she finally waved off the escort. The two men exchanged glances of doubt, but they nodded and turned away. Neither of them appeared any more comfortable with what was happening than she felt. But she stepped inside and closed the cabin door.
Alone, all they did at first was stare at each other.
Dänvârfij did not know much about him, only rumors that he was the most inept initiate to ever be granted acceptance by a caste elder. But elders did not make idle decisions, so whichever had accepted Osha must have seen something in him. And, by the grace of the ancestors, this inadequate young man had gained Sgäilsheilleache as his jeóin.
In that, Dänvârfij would not underestimate Osha. There was something more to him than her eyes could discern—there had to be.
“Am I to be imprisoned?” he asked in a cold whisper.
How he must be struggling to control himself. In his view she was second only to Hkuan’duv in blame for the death of his teacher. She fought her own unwanted anger, for she saw him the same way in the loss of Hkuan’duv.
How could any honorable anmaglâhk go against his own caste—even at the behest of his mentor—to protect a human monster and her allies?
The very thought made Dänvârfij’s stomach twist.
She did not answer his question and simply continued to watch him. She knew from experience that silence could unsettle those who were already shaken. Anger would eat at him until he might make a slip. She could gain a better idea of what she did not yet know about why he was here ... why she had been sent to do this to him.
“You go against the wishes of Most Aged Father,” he said. “I spoke with him by my word-wood. He told me a ship had come to bring me home.”
“I spoke with him as well,” she countered.
Osha went still, his breath catching once. “Did you tell him that Hkuan’duv hunted Sgäilsheilleache ... and killed him when he would not break his sworn guardianship?”
“I told Most Aged Father the truth!” she shot back, losing control. “Sgäilsheilleache turned on his own caste!”
Osha’s features twisted again. He looked stricken, as if he, too, could not stop seeing that moment, and Dänvârfij regretted her outburst.
“You mark Sgäilsheilleache as a criminal,” Osha whispered. “Am I? Of what am I accused?”
She had no answer. Osha had not taken part in the fight. In full faith of his own sworn guardianship of the humans, he had pinned the small sage, Wynn Hygeorht, up against a shack. He had protected her with his body once weapons were drawn, but he had never raised a hand against his own.