From the broad decks rose a tall mast supporting a long spar that dipped low towards the bow and rose high above the stern. As yet the sails were furled, bunched along the spar, and there was any number of ropes and tackles stretching from the gunwales to the mast giving the ship a spider web appearance.
As they drew closer they could see the sailors were still loading provisions aboard. The deck was filled with men and barrels and boxes. Several of the sailors had climbed the masts and were adjusting ropes in preparation for the voyage.
A gangplank reached from the stone causeway to the gunwales and Menish grimaced as he saw it rise and fall with the waves. Only a ship could take them to Atonir in less than a month, but it would not be a comfortable journey. Drinagish did not know what he had let himself in for. Already he could see Hrangil’s jaw clenching.
Althak was, of course, at home on the sea. He was talking to Azkun about tides and weather signs.
Wondering whether Azkun was looking forward to the voyage or not, Menish glanced at him. He was surprised. Azkun was paying no attention to Althak, he was staring earnestly towards Menish as if he were shouting mutely at him. When he caught Menish’s eye Azkun turned his head and nodded along the pier. Menish followed his gaze. The mist swirled and swallowed the end of the pier in the distance, but he could see the shapes of boats moored beside it and the tall Vorthenki figures that moved about on the stone. Something drew his eyes to a group of three figures that were climbing into one of the small fishing boats. No, two were embarking, one remained on the pier.
He looked back at Azkun with an unspoken question and Azkun mouthed the word ‘her’. A shiver ran through him and he clenched his teeth before they began chattering. His dreams loomed before him as he turned to look at the lone figure left on the pier while the little boat cast off. She was wrapped in a heavy sea cloak to keep out the dampness of the mist. In his mind’s eye he saw a skeleton under the cloak. Was it really her? How did Azkun know? There was no opportunity to debate these questions. If he was to speak with her it must be now. He would not waste such an opportunity.
“Hrangil.”
“Sire?”
“The sea retch clings to my guts already. The ship won't sail just yet. I'll walk a little further. Call me when they're ready.”
Hrangil nodded and Menish strolled off. He made some effort to wander aimlessly, yet he was aware that he did not have long before his ship would be ready. But the others might be watching and they must not know that she was alive, he would not give them the opportunity to ask questions that he would have to lie to answer. So he fought down his wish to stride up to her and demand how she came to be here. Instead, he walked along the pier looking at the waves and wished they were not so boisterous in their splashing and crashing against the stone.
As he drew near the figure he had more doubts. He was approaching a strange woman in a strange country on the say-so of a wild man from Kelerish. He was not even sure if it was a woman, for the cloak hid the figure well and it faced away from him. It was too short for a man, though. Briefly he wondered if it was too short for the stately figure of Thalissa.
The figure stood on the great stone pier and watched as the little boat disappeared into the mist. A small lantern shone palely through the whiteness to warn other boats of its presence. Hearing his approach the figure turned and saw Menish.
It was her all right.
For several heartbeats they simply stared at each other, both transfixed by the other’s presence. Thalissa broke the stare first. Her eyes flicked away and back, as if she searched for an escape. Seeing none she turned her back and resumed her gaze at the lamp in the mist, a gesture of defiance to Menish. But he could see that she was trembling. He crossed the remaining steps that separated them and stood behind her, for she stood on the very edge of the pier. The sea splashed and gurgled several feet below, cold and green.
When the mist finally swallowed the lamp of the fishing boat she spoke.
“Well, Menish, what is it to be? A knife in the back? Or will you throw me into the sea? I warn you I swim well.”
Her words held the weariness of more than twenty years of bitterness. She no longer cared.
“You tried to kill me,” retorted Menish, clambering for an excuse. “Olcean ate your broth before me. He was my friend.”
She continued, ignoring his accusation as if it were insignificant.
“I wish you'd chosen the knife then rather than leaving me for Thealum. Do you know what hell is, Menish? I'll tell you.” Her voice sounded still and passionless, or bereft of passion. “They lowered me into the Chasm. The others were thrown in, but me they lowered. Such was the measure of Thealum’s kindness. He wanted to prolong my agony.”
“I didn't know they would-”
“They lowered me into the Chasm,” she continued, her voice monotonous but relentless. “You don't know what that means. No one does except Tenari and she has no voice. I lay among the bodies and bones of the others, the ones they had thrown in. I think I screamed for a whole day, or the wind screamed for me.”
“But you lived.”
“Lived? Something like it. I don't know how I stayed alive. I remember eating a lizard and there was some slickness on a rock I could lick at. It wasn't enough.” She spoke her words with a dull rhythm as if reciting a litany of pain that required no expression. “And I was with child. But somehow my belly grew and months later somehow I delivered the child.” She turned and fastened her eyes on Menish. They were eyes for which tears could only be a distraction from the anguish they held. And they were the eyes of Azkun.
“After… the birth someone… something… took my baby away and left me to die at last. I never saw the child, but I thought of you then, Menish.”
Menish could say nothing. He looked back at her across a gulf of grief and his retorts and excuses seemed trivial. Even Olcean’s death, quick as it was, paled before the torment she had endured in Kelerish, a torment Menish was responsible for. As he fumbled for words he wondered if he should tell her that her first child, the one he had stolen away when he left her for Thealum, was now Emperor of Relanor and surely this child she had borne in the Chasm was Azkun, a few yards away. But he could not find the words. Vorish hated her as much as the others, he had seen to that himself, and Azkun was mad.
He had been glad she was alive, it had denied his guilt of murder. But now he was responsible for more torment than he had dreamed. He thought of his dreams, of the skeleton at the Chasm edge. It had been a dead thing that had come alive, just as she should have been dead but was now alive.
What words could he find that would not mock her with triteness?
Nothing. There were no words to be said, no amends that could be made. He turned and strode back towards the ship.
Azkun watched the King of Anthor and caught the charged interplay of emotions between Menish and this woman he was so concerned about. It frightened him in its intensity, a cloud of blackness engulfed them, and he knew that the woman was utterly wretched.
He could not hold his attention on them for long. That boiling cloud of night reminded him of the death of the pig. He wrenched his gaze back to the boat. Hrangil had shown him pictures of boats on the walls last night. He had expected Azkun to know all about the pictures and, because it seemed important to him, Azkun had tried to seem as knowledgeable as possible.