His injuries had faded in the night. Parts of his body, especially one arm, was still tender, but the sling was no longer necessary. He mentioned it to Althak but Althak did not seem surprised.
“If you can stand in dragon fire it would be a wonder if a few bumps bothered you for long. Even that cut on your head is fading.”
The sailors were still loading the last of the provisions, roping barrels to the deck or passing boxes and bags through a hatchway. Others were checking the ropes and tackles and two were up in the rigging. They were a happy folk, these Vorthenki, for all Menish despised them. The sailors laughed and sang as they worked, driving away the sombreness of the mist. By contrast the Anthorians were gloomy.
As he watched them he sensed their satisfaction in their work. Here were men who loved their ship and loved the sea. Four of them, all tall, yellow-haired men, were manhandling the last barrel up the gangplank. It was heavy and they strained and heaved at it, yet one of them still had enough breath for a joke, and the others paused to laugh.
Menish returned just as they finished lashing it into place, and Azkun almost expected them to grab him like the barrel and roll him up the gangplank. In spite of the blackness that hung over Menish, Azkun grinned at the idea. As he did so he caught the eye of one of the sailors. The man grinned back. He appeared to have been thinking the same thing for he nudged one of his fellows and said something, pointing at Menish. The other man doubled up with laughter and slipped below the deck before anyone could accuse him of mocking their passengers.
Azkun noticed a ripple of unease pass through the three Anthorians. One of the sailors at the top of the gangplank beckoned to them. Drinagish looked worried, in spite of his earlier request to go to Atonir. Hrangil looked ill. Only Menish seemed undisturbed, but Azkun could see that even the darkness of his thoughts was fraying with anxiety as he watched the heaving of the vessel.
Menish surprised Azkun. In spite of the instinctive distrust that gripped him, in spite of the darkness that seethed in his mind from his encounter with the woman, he stepped confidently onto the gangplank, refusing to appear daunted before these Vorthenki. Azkun could only admire him. He could put aside his fear when the need arose. This was something that Azkun himself had not yet learned.
Hrangil followed Menish. He almost succeeded in imitating Menish’s confidence but he failed dismally at the last moment. The gangplank gave a vindictive lurch when he was nearly at the gunwales and his habit of clutching his sword hilt when he was nervous spoilt his balance. Menish, who was standing at the gunwales, managed to grab his arm and pull him into the ship before he fell, but the result was not particularly dignified. Azkun felt the suppressed laughter of the sailors.
Drinagish was much more successful. He walked carefully up the plank and did not look down to the water below. At the top he shrugged and grinned at the still shaking Hrangil. The mist was growing thicker, it was difficult to see the sailors in the rigging now. Azkun hoped it would not interfere with the voyage.
“Our turn,” said Althak, nudging Azkun forward.
As he stepped onto the plank he felt it shift beneath him as if it were alive. He flailed his arms wildly. The world dissolved into a haze as the mist thickened and what had always been solid ground beneath his feet now lurched and bucked. Below him the sea gurgled and splashed as if it were laughing at him. Yet he was buoyed up by the mirth of the sailors, it was not unpleasant. Althak steadied him with a firm hand on his shoulder and he quickly learned to shift his balance to anticipate the rocking motion. As he stepped over the gunwales he looked sheepishly at the Vorthenki sailors who had skipped up and down the plank with ease.
He cried out with horror.
The mist had dissolved them into ghosts. It was happening again. He twisted around to look at Althak, whose hand was still on his shoulder, but he too was no more than a quivering outline. He could see the ship and the pier clearly through the mist, only people turned to ghosts.
If they had disappeared entirely it would have been less distressing, but he could see several of the sailors looking at him, puzzled by his cry. One of them pointed at him, like a spectre choosing a victim.
“Azkun? What's wrong?” It was the voice of Althak but the mouth of a ghost.
He felt desperately alone. He pushed Althak away, feeling him solid to his hand, not knowing which reality to doubt. In despair he closed his eyes and tried to think only of the rocking of the boat, tried to make it fill his thoughts and crowd out the ghosts.
How long he stood there he did not know, his eyes were clamped shut and he swayed with the boat, hugging himself as if he were cold. He tried to think of dragons, but the dragons seemed small and far away.
“Tenari!’ A woman’s voice struggled across the dock. “Tenari!” Dimly he recognised the voice. A faint hope rose in his heart. Fearfully he opened his eyes and looked down the gangplank to the pier.
There she was.
“Tenari! No!” It was the woman, the old woman, running towards the boat. The young woman at the foot of the gangplank moved slowly and steadily onto it, her vacant gaze cast negligently in the direction of Azkun.
He heard voices behind him, questions, exclamations, but he ignored them. They were only ghosts. She was reality incarnate. Even the mist drew back from her as she approached.
“Tenari!” The old woman reached the foot of the gangplank and stopped, checked by fear as she saw Menish. “Don't leave me!” she cried forlornly. But she was just another spectre. She hardly even existed.
The mist lifted suddenly and a ray of sunlight peered through it. The ghosts solidified into people and Azkun breathed a sigh of relief. The young woman, Tenari, stood before him, motionless save for the rocking of the boat.
Menish stepped forward to the gunwales. He glanced at Hrangil, wondering if he recognised Thalissa. Could he yet save the situation? He nodded to Althak’s unspoken question, asking him if he should escort the woman back down the gangplank.
“No! She stays with us.” It was Azkun. He had clutched the woman’s arm as if some madness had come upon him. The woman herself seemed hardly aware of him.
“We do not steal women, Azkun,” said Menish carefully. “Help her down, Althak.”
“No!” shouted Azkun again. “You do not understand. She… she must stay with me. She is real. If she remains here then so must I.” He climbed onto the edge of the gangplank.
Menish swore. Sickness churned in the pit of his stomach. It was obvious that Azkun was determined in this foolishness, to argue with him would only increase the possibility of Thalissa’s identifying herself more explicitly. He could, of course, make Azkun a prisoner but that could be dangerous. He did not know what Azkun was capable of, and Hrangil would never forgive him.
Thalissa’s eyes pleaded with him silently and his own conscience howled at him but he gave his decision.
“She stays.”
Thalissa let out a sobbing groan and sank to her knees. Menish wondered if it was only his own selfishness that restrained him from letting them kill her. He did not want the guilt. To forestall further argument from her, and because he was known for his kindness to simple folk (his men, after all, were still watching him) he drew out a handful of coins from his pouch. They lay in his hand, inadequate recompense for the pain he had inflicted, was still inflicting, on this woman. But the others were still watching him and there was one other thing he could give her.
He mounted the treacherous gangplank, strode down to the woman on the pier and offered her the coins. She drew back, her lip curled in disgust.
“You hope to make amends with mere gold?” she hissed. “Or have you turned Vorthenki in your old age? My daughter is not for sale.”
“Take it for your own life’s sake,” he returned between his teeth so that those on the boat would not hear. “My men will kill you if they learn who you are.” Still she refused. Her eyes glared at him. Azkun’s eyes. “She's not your daughter. You bore a son in the Chasm. He is with my men.”