The next day there was some excitement, when we left the placid Arlen and joined the turbulent Kai; certainly Joss, silent before for the most part, seemed truly awake for the first time during the journey. He spoke with me and pointed out the many districts of Kaibar, the great trading town that had grown up on the north shore of the Kai and west of the Arlen. When we put in for a few hours to restock, I wandered about Kaibar, exploring, drinking in the new sights and smells like finest southern wine. Since I had brought only light clothing, knowing I would have to find winter garb somewhere along the way, I decided to look in Kaibar for a good heavy cloak.
After much contented rambling I found a tailor's near the water front. He heard my request, took one look at me and disappeared into the back room, emerging in moments with the loveliest cloak I had ever seen. It was dark green, double woven of beaten wool to keep off rain, and it had autumn leaves embroidered around the hood that spilled onto the shoulders. I was delighted. I do not usually care much about clothing, but this caught my fancy; it reminded me of the Méar Hills in autumn. It was even long enough. I am ashamed to admit l barely haggled at all, and walked out wearing it.
I returned to Joss's boat, warm at last and ridiculously pleased with myself. It was a pleasure I would need, for the next fortnight stretched endless before me. Now we were on the Kai's broad back we went faster, but after the first four days I felt we had been on it forever. The river could not flow quickly enough for me. I was growing restless—I had dreadful visions of missing Bors's ship and being left in Corli with only my dreams. I finally approached Joss and asked if he knew when we should arrive, but his calm answer was "We'll get there when we get there and none the sooner for wanting it. Ten days, mistress, no less, no more."
Infuriating man.
But he did seem to prefer the Kai to the Arlen, or perhaps eastern Ilsa did not suit him. He started to talk to us a little more, not much and not long, but he let loose few words here, a few sentences there. I found him kind and shy, willing to help but not to talk about it. He spoke with me more often than with the others—perhaps because I was the only woman, perhaps because I was alone and willing to be silent as often as I spoke. The others were a pair of youths, Perrin and Darin (I never wanted to remember their names, but I couldn't help it; I wondered what their parents had been thinking of), and three older comrades down from the northern hills with last year's furs—seems they had been trapping late the last spring and missed the season. They hoped to make a good enough sum from this early cold to return to the hills before the snows, and daily prayed to the Lady it would last until they came to Corli.
I found I had to put off one of the old lads who fancied himself a ladies' man; but I made things clear and he backed off without much protest. A boot knife and a strong arm are good arguments, but man's height and a plain face are stronger yet.
The rain finally stopped a week out from Corli and the weather set fair and cool. I spent most of my time now with Joss, helping here and there where I could, listening, talking when he welcomed it. I was at a loss with nothing to do, and I learned there was always enough to keep two busy on a boat. I enjoyed his quiet company, and be seemed to like mine better than solitude at any rate. We spoke of our lives, I told him of Hadronsstead and my journey so far, and I asked him where he was from and where he had been. I was delighted to discover that he had never been as far north as Hadronsstead. At last, someone who didn't know the lands I did! The days passed more quickly, and I was nearly surprised to wake one morning and realise we would reach Corli on the morrow.
I found Joss at the tiller as always and brought him a mug of warm chélan. As had become our custom, I sat with him and drank my own. It wasn't very good and I muttered something about being tired of "poor man's lansip." Joss put down his cup and gazed at me.
"What is it that draws you so, Lanen?" he asked as the banks slid by. "I've had passengers before who were anxious to get to Corli, but seldom one like you." He smiled at me, a slow smile I had come to honour for its rarity. "He's a lucky man, whoever he is. There's not many can hold a woman's heart so."
I gazed on the passing fields, some golden yet, some stiff with stubble from the reaping, some already brown and ready to wait for spring. Joss's calm manner had entered my soul, and he had been a good companion. No reason not to answer.
"There's no man in my heart, goodman Joss. My dreams alone take me to Corli. I seek passage on one of the great ships."
"And where will it bear you?" he asked, no whit disturbed. Indeed, be seemed almost cheerful. "The great ships travel all the seas in the world. Are you bound for the Desert Lands? The frozen north? No, you have not the look of a trapper. Surely not just a trip to the silkweavers of Elimar, you could get there as fast on one of your precious horses." I shook my head and returned his gaze steadily, smiling, wondering how to tell him of my destination.
To my surprise he turned away suddenly and cursed. "Another damned idiot!"
"What?" I was shocked.
"You're hiring on with the Harvest ship, aren't you?" he said harshly. I was amazed by the bitterness in his voice. "I heard rumour of one leaving this year. Bound for adventure, looking to make your fortune from gathering lansip leaves, maybe steal a little dragon gold on the side, if the creatures even exist? And you a grown woman! That makes three of you on this boat, and not one with the sense the Lady gave lettuce. You'll never get past the Storms." He growled his words, gripping the tiller. "And so pass a parcel of idiots, and the world well rid of the lot of you. If you don't mind, milady, I've work to do. There is room for you to wait at the bow rail."
I waited for him to thaw, sitting no more than a foot from him, but he steadfastly ignored me. Eventually I gave up. I pondered his words, his vehemence all that day. It was not until the sun began to go down that I dared approach him again. At twilight we had become used to taking a drop of ale together. The other passengers had gone to their bunks with the sun. I went to him as he stood at the rail that encompassed the forward part of the deck and held out a tankard.
"Come, goodman Joss—shame to part so," I said as gently as I could.
He looked at me, the twilight glow lighting his dark eyes.
"Aye. So it would be," he said gruffly. He took the tankard and made room for me at the Tailing.
We were silent as the light faded from the sky, watching the twilight follow the sun. He was hanging the running lamps from their hooks when I asked quietly, "Who did you lose on a Harvest ship, Joss?"
"Never you mind," he growled. Silence fell again. There were no clouds—it would be a clear night, mercifully. The first stars twinkled as they rejoiced once more at overcoming the day.
"We'll come into Corli at the second hour after dawn," he said as he stood in the gathering darkness. "You'll have plenty of time to get to your precious ship."
"Thank you, Joss," I said, looking not at him but at the water. "And I thank you as well for your company these last weeks. You have lightened my heart with your friendship, and I will not forget you."
I was not even certain he was still there when I heard him say softly, "Nor I you. Go with care, Lanen Maransdatter. The Storms are deadly and the Dragons are real, whatever anyone may say, and none who go to that cursed place come back unchanged if they come back at all. My grandfather told of his grandsire's wealth gained from harvesting lansip, and I lost my father and my brother both to those damned ships. Whether Storms or Dragons took them I know not nor care, but I hate that isle and curse every ship that sets out for it."