''What?'' I tried to look up, but of course there was only the bulk of Shikrar to see.
And then I heard them.
It happens occasionally on the first warm spring day after a long winter, or when autumn breaks summer's heat, or when there is a reason for rejoicing, that many of my people will take to the skies and sing the Hymn to the Winds. I have done so myself many a time. The pleasure we have in riding the Wind is made manifest in song, both aloud and in the Language of Truth. It is a celebration, and a reverence, and an expression of joy.
And, in this case, of farewell.
Never in all my dreams of Dragons had I imagined such a thing. The sky was full of wings and voices, singing to the morning, and their music echoed in my mind as I heard the language of the Kantri in truespeech. It was lovely almost beyond bearing. Voice rang with voice in harmonies that lifted the heart and gave it wings, with new voices ever swelling the chorus and tuning to a new melody, words and serried ranks of souls touching memories older than life. Dragonsong on the dawn wind—if I close my eyes, I stand there yet and marvel.
Most of the others on the ship cowered in the stern, crying out occasionally in fear, but a few I noticed were looking up in awe, and I remember thinking that perhaps we were not all lost.
When Shikrar approached, it was swiftly obvious that he would not fit on the deck. Rella and I rushed forward as he came as low and as close as he dared and let Varien fall from a little height, more or less onto us. "Farewell, Varien," he cried, circling the ship. ''We are ever at your service. Call and we shall come." And in truespeech he added as he joined the others high above, "Be well my brother, my dear ones. Remember the Lost.''
So it was that the ship Sailfar weighed anchor and left the Dragon Isle under the benison of music more lovely than men had known for thousands of years, and (for a time) in the company of the Kantrishakrim.
When the crew had recovered from the sights and sounds, and realised that no more Dragons were going to try to land on the deck, the Master began bellowing orders, fast and furious.
Varien chose to go with Rella to watch over Marik (she had told me no other was willing to tend him), and I set to work with the rest of the crew. True, we were all three avoided at first, but once we were under way there was more than enough work for all of us.
Marik's second-in-command had been Caderan, so that now a man named Edril was left in charge who had never dreamed of such prominence. Once we were well under way he sent for the three of us. I believe that, at first, he meant to confine us belowdecks, but a small nugget of purest gold in his hand and the promise of twice as much more on landing ensured our safe passage. (Of course, I might have told him that this was enchanted dragon gold, and that it would turn to base lead if we did not come alive to Corli. Varien might have gestured to the Dragons, who followed us at a distance for some time, to emphasize a point. It was a long time ago, and I am too old to remember such details.)
Rella was not best pleased to find herself in Marik's company every day, having to tend him like an infant, but she took great delight in providing Varien with more suitable clothes from Marik's overflowing chests. I had to explain a few things about human clothing, but he learned quickly.
I suppose Marik was a pitiful sight—I glanced in on him once, the day we left—but I at least had no pity to spare for him. It was long and long before I could stop seeing the torn and bleeding body of Akor being borne on the wings of his dear ones from the battle with Marik and Caderan. Shame to say it, perhaps, but I hoped fervently that Marik would die on the voyage. We were not so blessed.
I was amazed (as, I think, were the Master and crew) that all the rumours about the Storms were true. I had feared a journey back twice as long as the one that took us to the Dragon Isle, beating against the wind all the way—but the winds blew now from the west, and the sea, while not smooth as glass, was not a third the strength of the raging tempest that had greeted us on the way out. The work was as hard and the hours as long, but not having always to cling to the rail for very life made it seem no hardship at all.
Do not wonder that I say little of my beloved. The men and women were berthed in different parts of the ship, and though I spent as much time with him as I could, I like the rest of the crew had a great deal to do. To my surprise, I learned that he spent much of his time with Maikel and Rella, in Marik's quarters. He was yet too unstable to walk well, and his soft hands still reacted to every breeze. He tried to help setting the sails at first, but after the very first haul away his hands bled. We put it about that he was unwell, and though the story was received in stony silence, he was allowed to perform the more delicate task of assisting the cook, as well as apprenticing to the ship's sailmaker. He was really very good with a knife, though none were ever sharp enough to suit him.
I would not have chosen such an entrance to my new life, but there were some advantages.
My balance, hardly established on land before I went to sea, ended by being superb out of necessity. I worked a little each day—on such a small ship no one could sit idle, nor did I wish to—and by the end of the short voyage I began to have some strength in my hands. I had learned a little about Gedri food as well, its great variety and savour—though most of this was by way of report from the crew, who told me what they would prefer to be eating.
As time went on I learned more and more about my new body. Fortunately I seemed to have the instincts I needed for this new form, but I also had a few very curious conversations with Lanen before I understood some things. Truly the Gedri are astounding creatures, but I could not help thinking that they were put together rather oddly. The Kantri are of a more sensible shape altogether.
On one of the few occasions when Lanen and I had a moment to speak to one another in private, she asked me how I could bear to spend so much of my time in the same room with Marik. When I told her that I was looking in the face of my actions, she said she did not understand. For answer I took her with me to see him.
He lay on the small, hard ship's bed, his hands lying motionless outside the heavy blankets.
His eyes, when finally he turned to look at us, were open and clear as a newborn babe's, and as free of thought. By the end of the voyage he no longer had to be turned—he had begun to do at least so much for himself—but that was all the improvement there was. Strange to say, he looked healthier than I had ever seen him, but I could hardly grudge him that. At first, Maikel attended him daily, putting forth all his strength. He also fed Marik with another of the precious lan fruit.
Maikel told Varien once that he was certain that without it Marik would have perished on the voyage. On hearing that, I wished the fruit had never been found in the first place—but then I remembered it was that same fruit that had saved my own life. I could hardly object, as I looked down at my arms. The vision of them in the sea was with me yet, but they appeared surprisingly unmarked. There were a few scars and puckers, but for the most part they were whole. My hands were soft and weak, no better protected than Varien's, and at first I had to wrap them in cloth to work the lines, but by the end of the voyage I had begun to regain some of my calluses.
I never did know what the crew or my fellow Harvesters thought of Varien. Our entrance had done all we could wish for, and no one asked any questions. I suspect that the seamen, a superstitious lot, decided among themselves that they did not want to know.