Donn: The Search for Princessa

Chapter 1

“Come in, come in,” welcomed Chóng, inviting Donn and Hakim in with a wave of his hand. “Sit; let me pour you some tea.”

“Thank you, Factor,” said Donn, taking the bench to one side as Hakim sat on the other.

Chóng got out two more blue porcelain cups and filled them with an aromatic yellowish tea. He handed Donn a cup, then Hakim.

“It’s called Spice Nectar, comes from the Hills of Glorm. Nice, don’t you think?”

“Glorm? Up in Yann?”

“Close. Over the mountains west of Yann. I just got a few samples, and I think it’s wonderful. I’ve asked Factor Talurah to set up a large order.”

“Talurah of Dylath-Leen? Smart woman,” said Donn. “I hear her name every so often in the markets, usually when people discover she’s outwitted them in a trade.”

Chóng laughed.

“That’s why she works for me, Factor Donn,” he said. “In fact, that’s why you two work for me, too!”

Hakim waggled his fingers, and Donn translated.

“A mutually beneficial arrangement, he says. And I certainly agree.”

He took another sip of the tea.

“Cool and spicy, with a sort of minty aftertaste… quite refreshing!”

Hakim nodded, and held out his cup for a refill, which Chóng was happy to provide.

“So,…” said Donn, setting his cup down, “we came as soon as we got your message in Lhosk.”

Chóng picked up a small bowl on the floor next to him, and handed it over.

Donn looked inside curiously.

“Oh, my! Princessa!”

It was a small chip of Princessa, the fabulously valuable wood famous for its iridescent colors and ever-changing patterns, scattered with tiny crystals that captured the light to glitter like stars.

“May I?”

Chóng nodded his permission, and Donn carefully picked the chip up, holding it to the light to fully display its rainbow of color. He turned it a few times in admiration, that gingerly handed it over to Hakim so he could get a better look.

“A beautiful piece… must be about two centimeters long!”

Princessa was valuable not only for its beauty, but also for its extreme rarity. It came from a small shrub that grew in the southern climes, and had never been successfully cultivated. They were discovered in unexpected places quite by accident, often making their owners astonishingly rich before withering away, usually by being brutally harvested, or simply because they died so quickly.

They left no known seeds, and roots and branches all died rapidly no matter how carefully they were cared for.

Even tiny bits and pieces were treasured, and the largest pieces were no more than short twigs, usually smaller fragments like this one. It was traded and handled more like a gemstone than a rare wood.

Hakim deposited the chip back in the bowl and handed it back to Chóng.

“What would you say that’s worth, Donn?”

“Well, beautiful color, good size… I’d say somewhere between a hundred and, oh, about three hundred grams of gold or so. It’s a seller’s market, after all.”

Chóng nodded. “I’d say no less than two, but a pretty piece for sure.”

He reached down and picked up something. Thirty or forty centimeters long and maybe ten or twelve thick, it was wrapped in a silk cloth. Silently, Chóng held it out.

Donn cocked his head and took it with both hands.

It was quite a bit heavier than he’d expected, and felt rough through the silk.

Holding it in his right hand, he carefully folded back the cloth with his left.

He and Hakim gasped in unison.

It looked like a piece of firewood, the sawed-off branch of a tree.

And it was Princessa.

If that chip was worth hundreds of grams of gold, this would be worth… whole kingdoms!

He very carefully set it down on the table, and let his breath out with a sigh, staring at it.

“Gods! A whole branch!”

Chóng took another sip of tea.

“Yes, a nice, large branch. Quite obviously from a nice, large tree.”

Donn and Hakim exchanged a quick glance.

“A Princessa tree…” he whispered.

“A Princessa tree,” agreed Chóng. “And I want you to find it for me.”

Donn and Hakim exchanged glances again.

Donn picked up his cup and held it to his lips. Lost in thought, it took him a moment to notice it was empty.

Chóng stretched out his arm, holding the teapot toward Donn.

“More tea?”

Donn held out his teacup.

“Where did it come from?”

“You mean, who did it come from, I think… if I knew where I would’ve already sailed.”

“Yes, sorry. Here in Lhosk?”

“No, not here. Captain Bikal of the Celestial Whore says he got it from a local chief on a nameless isle in the Sunrise Shore, near Cydathria. Traded his longboat and two swords for it.

“According to Bikal, the chief found it in a shipwreck, something they found on the reef after a storm. He said there had been no survivors—although Bikal is pretty sure they’re cannibals, which would explain why there were no survivors—and he knew nothing more about it.

“Bikal went to look at the site of the shipwreck, but over a year had passed and there was nothing to see but some scattered planks. No idea what kind of ship it was, or where it might have come from.”

“That’s not much to go on, is it.”

“No, but the Captain has added comments to the sea chart of the area around the isle, and we know those waters well… ships sailing the Theth–Cydathria–Mnar–Thul route pass through there often.”

“Is Captain Bikal still here?”

“He’s in Rinar, and he’ll be there for at least another few days. He’s off to Dylath-Leen, Khem, and then up the Yann to Perdóndaris to meet Talurah.”

“A long voyage,” mused Donn. “I envy him the Yann, though… always a beautiful river.”

“Here’s the sea chart,” said Chóng, unrolling a sheet of parchment. “This is Aphorat on the right. These two large islands to the north are Tallawiggu, to the west, and Bokim; apparently none of the others have names.”

He tapped on one of the smaller islands, depicted with a narrow protected harbor.

“This is where Captain Bikal found it. He sent a party ashore for water and provisions, and gave the natives gifts to ensure his safety. Turned out the village chief liked drinking, and invited him to the village for a bout, which is when he saw the Princessa. It was on a little table to impress visitors.

“A little haggling and he walked away with it. He cancelled his planned voyage to Ilarnek and went straight to Rinar. That cost me some gold for lost contracts and spoilage, but it was the right decision.

“He and Factor Hernández used the portal to come here. Hernández says there’s been no gossip about Princessa or treasure down there.”

Donn and Hakim studied the chart.

“I’ve been through here many times,” said Donn. “My father traded all along the southern coasts, and I sailed with him for many years.

“Don’t think I’ve ever been to this particular island, though.”

Hakim signed something.

“Hakim’s right, of course… we probably don’t need to talk to this village chief anyway, unless he’s got something else from that shipwreck that might help pin down what ship it was, or where it came from.”

“Bikal said he checked that out pretty thoroughly. He offered the chief more presents if he had something else, and he and his crew went over the shipwreck site thoroughly.

“The chief said there was nothing else, and the ship, as I mentioned before, was already obliterated.”

Hakim signed something again, and Donn turned back to Chóng when he was done.

“How much of a hurry are you in? If we use the portal we’ll be able to talk to Captain Bikal, but our own ship will be stuck here in Lhosk.

“I’d prefer to either go there, talk to him, and come back here, if that’s possible, or just set up a meeting with the Captain somewhere along the way. Dylath-Leen, or Baharna, for example.”

“Use the portal, and come back after you’ve talked with Bikal and Hernández,” replied Chóng. “It might take weeks for you to meet up with the Captain somewhere else.

“Have you ever used the Rinar portal before?”

“No, we haven’t… why?”

“It can only handle one person at a time. No horses, not much freight. A raptor could go through, but not a deino.”

“Fine,” said Donn. “We just want to talk to them; we’ll leave everything here.”

“It will be a memorable experience, I think,” smiled Chóng. “Gonville!”

Gonville, Chóng’s mutton-chopped right-hand man, appeared in the doorway almost instantly—he’d obviously been waiting just outside.

“Yes, Factor?”

“Drop a message to Factor Hernández in Rinar and tell him that two visitors will be coming through.”

“Yessir. Shouldn’t take more than a few minutes to get ready.”

Chóng nodded and Gonville vanished down the hall.

“Get ready?” asked Donn.

“It’s rarely a good idea to suddenly appear in a portal without sufficient warning,” said Chóng. “Hernández has arranged his defenses quite adequately, I think, but it would be best to avoid unpleasantries.”

“Of course, of course.”

Conversation turned to Donn’s most recent venture, a short trip through Carcassonne and the towns and villages of Sarrub. Chóng was most interested in what Donn and Hakim had seen during the trip, and if anything had felt different from past travels on the same route.

They were deep in a three-way conversation about the apes of the Sarrub jungle when Gonville returned.

“All ready, Factor.”

“Excellent,” said Chóng, standing up and gesturing toward the two traders to follow Gonville. “Tell me, Master Donn, are you afraid of heights?”

“Heights? No, why?”

“Good, good. And Master Hakim?”

Hakim shook his head as Chóng bared his teeth in a smile.

“Just curious,” he said. “Gonville, would you be so kind…?”

“Yessir, I’ll take care of it.”

Gonville led them to an iron-barred doorway, nodding to the guard there and opening the locked gate with his key. This wing of Chóng’s palatial headquarters had stone walls. The hallway was lined with doors and lit with torches, with two troopers on guard there although all of the doors were barred with iron and bolted shut from this side. None of them were labelled that Donn could see, but Gonville obviously knew where he was going.

He slid back the bolt on one door, seemingly identical to all the others, and ushered them into a small room with a low flight of stairs in the center. They climbed to about a meter and a half, with a platform at the top.

There was something blurry in the air in front of the platform.

“The portal opens vertically!?”

Most portals Donn and Hakim had used were like doorways that you just walked through… this one wasn’t.

“You just step into the portal from the ladder. And on the way back, your feet hit the floor here, and you have to duck under the portal.”

“I’ve never seen a portal like this!”

Gonville smiled.

“Factor Humaydah wanted it this way, and Factor Chóng—once he tried it out—loves it. He’s thinking of adopting the design in other portals as well.”

Hakim grunted, and Donn translated his signing: “Seems very inefficient for moving goods, he says. I agree.”

“Ah, but it’s not for moving goods. It’s for moving people, safely.”

“OK, whatever,” replied Donn. “Just up the stairs and step through?”

“That’s all!” said Gonville. “Oh, by the way, be sure to close your mouth when you go through.”

Donn glanced at the other to see if he was joking, but kept climbing the stairs. First Chóng, now Gonville, he thought. They’re hiding something…

He looked down into the portal… there seemed to be some sort of curtain, something of rough-spun cloth, blocking the view.

He glanced at Gonville again, who just gave him a big, toothy grin.

Donn shrugged, closed his mouth, and stepped off the platform.

He fell. He expected to fall, so that didn’t surprise him, but he also expected to land on the floor a meter or so below… and he didn’t.

Bright light, falling… he spasmed, waving his arms wildly, searching for something to grab onto, adrenaline pumping in panic.

And suddenly a rope smacked into his face, and more across his body, and outstretched limbs.

He felt the ropes give, stretch, rebound, and then plunge down a second time as Hakim fell to join him, his foot smacking into Donn’s head.

As movement gradually died out, he pushed Hakim’s foot away and took a look around.

They were in a net!

Hakim sat up.

“You OK down there, Master Donn?”

“No thanks to you, Gonville! You could’ve warned us!”

“What, and take all the fun out of it?”

“Fuck you, Gonville! You owe us beers.”

“Enjoy yourselves in Rinar, gentlemen! Safe voyage!”

The net suddenly twisted as two men pulled it over to the side.

“Welcome, Master Donn, Master Hakim. The Factor is waiting for you.”

They helped the two of them climb out of the net.

Donn stopped for a moment for a better look.

It was a clever idea… the portal was in the middle of a tower, with a movable net underneath to catch visitors. When no visitors were expected, they just pulled the net out of the way, and visitors fell to the floor… which was covered in spikes.

Presumably there was a higher level they could use to enter the portal from above, ending up in Chóng’s palace.

“Thanks for putting up the net,” he said to the two men as he pointed the spikes out to Hakim. “Damn near pissed myself.”

One of the men chuckled.

“Everyone tries it blind the first time. And yeah, a few do.”

“This was all Gonville’s idea, wasn’t it?”

“The drop? No, that was Humaydah’s idea. Now that Factor Chóng likes it so much, though, it’ll never change.”

“Anyone bite his tongue off?”

“Not off, entirely. One guy was spitting blood, though.”

Donn snorted, and followed the man down the stairs to meet Factor Hernández.

The Factor was a fairly young man, probably in his early forties, thought Donn. Must be a real go-getter to be Chóng’s factor in Rinar. The city was a major hub in Chóng’s trading empire, the principle gateway between Thul and Cuppar-Nombo in the east, and the rest of the Dreamlands. A lot of dealings with Mnar, too.

Clean-shaven, except for a thin mustache, black hair, dark eyes, broad shoulders… he was brimming with energy, and stood from his desk as they entered the room. About the same height as himself, he figured.

“Come in, Master Donn, Master Hakim,” he said, his voice a deep rumble. “Factor Chóng told me you were coming.”

“Factor, thank you for having us. And for putting up that net!”

The Factor chuckled.

“Your first time, then? Sort of an initiation ceremony here… hope it didn’t bother you.”

It wasn’t an apology, Donn noticed, just a polite comment.

“You can go,” continued the Factor to the monocled man seated at the desk with him. “Finish up the calculations and I’ll get back to you later. And make sure they check each one, individually!”

“Yessir,” mumbled the man, apparently an accountant, as he hurriedly collected his paperwork and scuttled out of the room.

“Please, sit.”

The Factor waved them to chairs and poured four cups of tea.

“Captain Bikal will be here shortly; I sent a runner for him as soon as Gonville told me you were coming,” he explained. “He’s down on the docks getting his ship ready.

“I heard that you’re familiar with Cydathria and Theth.”

“My father was a trader all along the southern coast. Home was Dylath-Leen, but I got my sea legs about as soon as I could walk, and spent most of my youth at sea, with him.”

“And now you work for Factor Chóng.”

“Nominally I’m still an independent trader,” agreed Donn. “but yeah, pretty much just for him.”

“Why still independent, then?”

Donn shrugged. “We like it this way.”

“I see.”

Hernández took the hint and dropped the topic, turning to Hakim instead.

“And you are from Dylath-Leen as well.”

Hakim nodded.

“Any chance of the two of you telling me how you met?”

They exchanged glances, and Hakim shook his head.

“Ah, perhaps another time, Factor…” he said.

Just then the thud of boots echoed in the hall, and they looked up to see a scruffy sailor step in. Baggy blue pants, leather belt, stained linen shirt, red bandanna wrapped around this head, one gold hoop earring.

“Cap’n Bikal, sir, at yer service.”

“Come in, Captain, join us,” invited Hernández.

“Donn of Dylath-Leen, and this is Hakim, also of Dylath-Leen.”

“Bikal of Baharna.”

Hakim signed a greeting, as he always did even when the other person couldn’t understand him.

Bikal took an empty chair and accepted the cup of tea from Hernández.

“Factor Chóng sent us, Captain,” began Donn. “He showed us that Princessa, and asked us to find out where it came from.”

“Ain’t seen nothing like that ever before,” said the captain. “Knew the Factor here would wanna see it.”

“I certainly did, Captain Bikal,” said Hernández “You made the right call to come straight here.”

“We’ve got your chart,” said Donn, unrolling it on the tabletop for all to see, “but we’d really like to hear the whole story from you, if you’ve got the time.”

“Yeah, sure. Cullus’ll get the ship ready without me jus’ fine. Not much for me to do there anyway, just counting boxes and shit.”

Captain Bikal went over the story again, but there was little new information.

“Gorolka—he’s the chief, big, solid guy, ’bout my age—said it was a three-master, but that don’t mean shit. Awful lot of ships with three masts in those waters. And it had a figurehead, some kinda mermaid.”

“Again, not much help… every other ship’s got a mermaid on her.”

Hakim signed Donn briefly.

“Did he mention, was the mermaid painted or anything?”

Bikal thought for a moment.

“Musta been… he said it had blue eyes and red lips.”

Hakim nodded.

“That mean something to you, Hakim?” asked Donn.

Hakim shook his head, signing.

“He says no, just trying to get as much information as possible,” explained Donn. “I don’t see it making much difference either way.”

He pulled the chart closer and studied it.

“I haven’t been through these isles for a few years… you go through here regularly?”

“Couple times a year,” said Bikal. “Why?”

“Anything changed recently? New currents, whirlpools, pirates? There used to be a big Gnorri city over here,” replied Donn tapping the map. “They still there?”

“The Gnorri? Yeah, I always go through there… got a little deal going. Much obliged it if you’d not fuck it up, though…”

“No problem, no problem. I don’t intend to bother them at all.”

“Pirates, yeah… I hain’t run into any, but there’s been some rumors in the ports about ships going missin’ more’n usual.”

“Cydathria? Or just the Sunrise Shore?”

“All along the Cydathria coast, they says. Last time we was in Aphorat the Guard was all worked up, talking about armed patrols.”

“Aphorat? A navy?”

Bikal laughed.

“Shi-yut. Those fools couldn’ sail nothin’ bigger than a laundry tub!”

Donn laughed with him; even Hakim smiled.

“We haven’t lost any ships in that area for some time,” said Hernández, “but about half a year ago one of our smaller merchanters—the Bottlenose, under Captain Dirjaless—went missing and hasn’t been heard from since. It could have been pirates.”

“One ship in half a year doesn’t suggest pirates,” mused Donn, “but it certainly could be… have you heard anything from other traders passing through those waters?”

“Not much, and that includes a lot of the single-ship independents. There are rumors, but nothing we’ve ever been able to pin down.”

“So we have no idea whose ship that might have been, then. The one that carried the Princessa.”

“None. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the Bottlenose, though. She was only a brigantine: two masts. Assuming that villager was right about what he saw.”

“Well,” said Donn, “I guess we’re about done here. I’d hoped to get more information from Captain Bikal, but there’s just not much to go on, is there?”

“Sorry, wasn’t much help, was I?” said the captain. “I’ll be off, then. Gotta make sure they stack them crates proper.”

“Thank you, Captain,” said Factor Hernández. “Safe voyage.”

Captain Bikal left, and the Factor turned to Donn.

“Captain? Back to Penglai, or will you join me for dinner?”

“We’d be delighted to join you, Factor, thank you,” smiled Donn. “Our ship isn’t ready yet either, back in Lhosk, and we might as well enjoy ourselves while we wait!”

Factor Hernández stood, and waved them toward the door.

“You know,…” continued the Factor thoughtfully as they walked “the Bella is here right now, and she could get to the Sunrise Shore a lot faster than your big ship from Lhosk. Fast, shallow draft, nimble… You’re welcome to use her instead, if you like.”

“The Bella? Don’t think I’ve heard of her before… who’s the captain?”

“That’d be Gunnarsson of Perdóndaris. Know him?”

“Know of him, but never met him,” laughed Donn. “That’s your smuggler, right?”

“Please, Captain,” soothed the Factor. “We don’t smuggle goods, as I’m sure you’re aware. The Bella is a fast courier for special deliveries, that’s all.”

“Of course, of course,” smiled Donn. “But if Captain Gunnarsson is willing, that’d be excellent.

“Hakim, you agree?”

Hakim made a few quick signs.

“He asks how big it is, and how many people it can handle. Good question.”

“He normally runs with a crew of himself and three, I believe. It’s big enough to carry another half a dozen people in relative comfort, or a couple dozen if they’re all friends.”

“Hakim wonders if we should bring along some troopers, and I’m thinking another sword or two wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

“I can loan you a few convoy guards. Their pay’s coming out of Chóng’s wallet anyway!

“I’ll check with Captain Gunnarsson and see who’d be a good choice.”

Donn looked surprised: “Why would he choose the troopers?”

“He’s very secretive, as you might imagine. And with good reason, as I suspect you may come to understand.”

“I see,” said Donn.

Hakim snorted a little hmph in response.

* * *

Captain Gunnarsson showed up the next morning well after dawn.

His twin braids hung below his shoulders, ropes of blonde-and-grey hair twisted together with threads of different colors. His bristly mustache was more grey than blonde, but his pale blue eyes revealed no trace of age.

“Gunnarsson of Perdóndaris” he said brusquely, and looked straight into Donn’s eyes.

“Donn and Hakim, both of Dylath-Leen,” he replied. “Hakim cannot speak.”

“Heard things about you, Captain.”

“And I of you.”

“The Factor says you can be trusted. I trust the Factor, but can I trust you?”

Donn raised his eyebrows.

“Seems to me, since we’ll be on your ship, the question is whether I can trust you,” he said. “We’re here at the request of Factor Chóng himself, and if that’s not enough I guess we’ll have to use our own ship after all.”

“That’d be the Nausheen.”

“That it would.”

“Strange name for a ship.”

“Yes it is.”

There was silence as they locked eyes for a moment, and then Gunnarsson nodded.

“I’m not much on talking,” he finally said.

“I want a fast ship with a good captain, not someone to talk to.”

Gunnarsson smiled. “Bella is the fastest ship you’re likely to find anywhere.”

“And the best captain?”

“The Bella’s never been caught, and there are few ports we haven’t been to, one time or another.”

It was Donn’s turn to nod.

He stretched out his arm, and they exchanged a wrist-shake. Gunnarsson stretched out his other arm to Hakim for another.

“Well, now that you’ve worked all that out, sit down and join me in a cup of tea,” invited Hernández. “Captain Gunnarsson, Factor Chóng and I would like you to help Captain Donn here. A very large piece of Princessa turned up recently, and we want to find out exactly where it came from.”

“You don’t know where it came from? And you want me to run around looking for it?”

“Considering how much Princessa is worth, I think it’d be a good investment. So does Factor Chóng.”

“You know I’ve got some promises to keep over in Despina. Certain people there would be very upset if I had to put them off.”

“I know, and I’ll talk to them myself.”

“It’s that important?”

“Yes, we believe it is.”

“What’s the destination?”

“The Sunrise Shore.”

Gunnarsson sat up straight and suddenly looked interested.

“I see. OK, tell me more.”

The Factor didn’t seem at all surprised at his sudden change of heart, and they filled him in on the situation.

“I know those waters well,” said Gunnarsson. “Even met the chief, Gorolka, at a big festival on Tallawiggu. Never been to his island, though.”

“That’d be the harvest festival?”

“Yes. All the islands come to barter, drink, settle grievances, and seek brides.”

“I’ve heard of it many times but never been there. Should I?”

“Not much reason to, unless you plan on concentrating on the Sunrise Shore… It’s a good place to meet them all, but trading’s better if you visit the islands separately.”

Donn nodded.

“Do you remember what this Gorolka had to offer?”

“No,” said Gunnarsson. “And that means it was nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Hakim and I can defend ourselves but we’re not troopers,” continued Donn. “How dangerous are those islands?”

“Most of them are fine, nothing that can’t be handled with smiles and a few presents. There are a few cannibals, but they usually like presents, too. Safest to stay offshore until after we get some things sorted out with the locals.”

“Pretty much the usual, then.”

“Yeah, pretty much,” the other agreed. “Two or three troopers should be fine, I think. This is mostly a scouting trip, right?”

“Right.

“The Factor said you pick your own people. That’s fine with me, but when can you be ready?”

“This evening fast enough?”

“Excellent!” smiled Donn. “I figured it’d be tomorrow morning.”

“We’re moored on the east end, right near The Dancing Crow. I’ll let the crew know you’re coming.”

Donn pulled out his money pouch. “How much do you need?”

Factor Hernández pushed Donn’s hand back down.

“This is all on Factor Chóng’s tab. Gunnarsson, just let me know. Whatever you need.”

“Thank you, Factor.”

Donn put his pouch away again. “So, I guess we’re done?”

“Guess so.”

Hernández broke in with a quick word. “Take two dragolets with you. It’d take a while for them to get here and be to be able to do anything, but might be a good idea. One for me, one for Factor Chóng in Lhosk.”

“An excellent idea,” agreed Donn, and Gunnarsson nodded in agreement.

“Well then, we’ll be there before sunset,” said Donn. “That good?”

“That’ll be fine,” said Gunnarsson, and the two of them stood. Hernández stayed seated, sipping his tea as Gunnarsson left.

“Gunnarsson’s a good man,” he said. “A better sailor than I’ll ever be, and quite possibly a better trader as well.”

“There are a lot of stories about him and the Bella.”

“I suspect many of them are true,” agreed Hernández. “So you’re an independent trader, right? How come Factor Chóng sent you?”

“We—Hakim and I—have been independent for quite some time, and ran into Chóng’s people so many times that eventually it just made sense to work together. I found my first wife on one of his ships, as it happens.”

“Found your wife?”

“Long story. I hired the Blue Duck for a season’s worth of furs. And my Pensri was also on that ship… Captain Chow and Factor Raibel made it possible.”

“Raibel? Of Hlanith? I trained under him a few years ago!”

“Yes, that’s him. Very nice man.”

“He never struck me as nice,” snorted Hernández. “Efficient, yes, but not nice.”

“I was a customer, not a trainee, after all.”

“So you were, so you were… and I must admit, now that I’m a Factor with my own trainees I can’t fault him. Can’t fault him at all.”

Donn laughed.

“Did you train Hakim?”

“No, no. He and I, um, encountered each other on the road, and found it most convenient to join forces. We’ve worked together since.”

He glanced at Hakim’s flashing hands.

“He wants me to add that I saved his life,” he said. “That’s true, I suppose, but over the years I think he’s saved my life more times than I’ve saved his.”

Hakim waggled his fingers in negation.

“Yes, yes, I did save his life the first time we met, I admit it. Are you happy now, Hakim?”

Hakim flashed a grin of satisfaction.

“Factor Chóng told me to give you whatever you wanted,” said Hernández. “That’s quite a vote of confidence.”

“As I said, we’ve worked with him for quite some time now. We agree on a lot of things.”

“And even though you’re independents, you came through the portal from Penglai. That tells me more than his letter, to be honest… he doesn’t let just anyone wander around his network.”

“His network? He has so many portals that you call it a network?”

“Just a turn of speech,” smiled Hernández. “Perhaps best not to place too much import on it.”

“Perhaps you’re right.”

Donn set his empty cup down on the table and exchanged a quick glance with Hakim, who nodded.

“Thank you for introducing us to Captain Gunnarsson, and the excellent tea, Factor. If you’ll excuse us now, we must make ready for departure.”

“Of course,” said the Factor, rising from his chair. “Just ask if you need anything from me, and feel free to use my name in the market if necessary.”

“Thank you. We hadn’t planned on leaving from Rinar and will need a range of gear by this afternoon.”

“Safe voyage, Captain. Master Hakim.”

“Thank you, Factor. And to you.”

They picked up a few items from the Factor’s warehouse and then headed to the markets to purchase the rest. Fortunately, they had made contacts in Rinar over the years, and were able to obtain what they needed at reasonable prices.

 

Chapter 2

 

In addition to the usual gear—clothes, rucks, bedrolls, rope, cheap but brilliant gemstones as presents, dried rations, whetstones, an endless list of little things they always carried—Donn also made it a point to have a case of fresh fruit delivered to the Bella. Sailors always appreciated fresh fruit and vegetables, and in this case it struck him as a far better choice than a keg of ale.

Captain Gunnarsson apparently agreed, because as they slipped out of the harbor in the growing dusk, he handed each of them a ripe apple with thanks.

And, surprisingly, a cup of ale!

“You pass out ale regularly, Captain?”

“I trust my crew; the keg is always open. Never had a problem yet.”

“I trust my crew, too,” said Donn, “but it never occurred to me to open the keg like this… likely to disappear on the first day!”

Gunnarsson laughed.

“We’re a team here, and unless we can count on each other we can’t function. People die.

“None of us is in it for the money, although we’re all paid very well for our time. We do it for the thrill of the chase, the feel of the ship slicing through the waves, sails taut in the wind, tacking so tight we can lick the wavetops.

“We’ve no time for drunkards.”

“You never struck me as a poetic man, Captain Gunnarsson.”

“The sea makes poets of us all.”

They fell silent for a moment.

“You’re heading east… “

“We mentioned we had a shipment for Dothur, just in case anybody was listening… once we’re far enough out we’ll swing back towards Cydathria and the Sunrise Shore.”

“Good. I doubt anyone knows why we’re here anyway, but never hurts to be safe.”

“Nope. Especially in my line.”

“Captain, I noticed you have a windlass on the back deck… strange place for an anchor.”

“That’s a surprise,” smiled Gunnarsson. “You just keep on wondering for a bit longer. You’ll find out soon enough.”

A few hours later, with the half-moon close to zenith and only a few clouds blocking the stars, they changed tack, turning west toward their real destination.

They continued west through the night, and as the eastern sky began to lighten, Gunnarsson called out.

“Khairi! Time to get Shatrevar up! Thabit, Moswen, help him out, please.”

“Yessir!” responded Khairi, and hurriedly finished off his bowl of rice. “Shatrevar! Time to go!”

Khairi was a Pargite, a large man with a pale scar running down the side of his head. He as missing that ear. The two Khemite troopers Gunnarsson had brought along for the trip, Thabit and Moswen, had obviously worked with the Captain before, since he just used their names when calling them.

Shatrevar, on the other hand, was so slight that Donn had difficulty imagining he could pull his own weight, literally or figuratively, on the ship. He hailed originally from Pungar-Vees, and in spite of being at least in his thirties still looked to be on the young side of puberty.

Donn and Hakim followed them back to the stern, full of curiosity.

Shatrevar opened a locker and took out a bundle of sticks, and a blue cloth.

“Silk, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Spider-silk, from Moung. Light and strong, and so’s the rope,” answered Khairi, tapping the dull grey rope wound around the windlass drum.

Thabit helped Shatrevar put on a spider-silk harness, and Moswen was helping Shatrevar snap rods together, and fit them into reinforced pockets in the silk cloth. As they progressed it gradually expanded, growing into a rectangle four or five meters tall.

“It’s a kite!”

“It’s a kite, and I ride it,” agreed Shatrevar. “Assuming the wind’s right, I can see one hell of a lot farther than the crow’s nest. And usually any ship I can see can’t see us, because we’re below the horizon yet.”

Donn’s jaw dropped.

“Incredible! Everyone knows wyverns and airships fly, but nobody expects to find them on a ship! That’s how you slip past patrols so easily!”

“If we can do it far enough away not to be spotted ourselves, yes. That’s why it’s blue, of course, and my clothes break up my silhouette to make it even harder.

“The hard part is getting up there, though. The ship has to almost sail into the wind, and a pretty strong wind at that, before I can risk it. If I can’t lift I end up in the sea, and the kite is shredded.”

“And you drown.”

“Well, not yet, but it can get pretty dicey,” laughed Shatrevar. “They’ve got a rope on me, but once the kite hits the water it’s just an enormous sea anchor… if I can’t cut myself loose, I’m dead.”

Donn nodded. Now he understood why such a small, light man as Shatrevar was a crew member… he had to be, to get aloft.

Shatrevar shook himself once, settling the framework on his body.

“Left thigh’s pretty loose, Thabit.”

Thabit knelt down to retie the cords on his left leg, tugging here and there to check for tightness.

“Anywhere else feel funny?”

Shatrevar shifted on his feet, swung his arms.

“No… feels pretty solid, thanks.”

He turned and walked over to the edge of the stern castle, unusually high for such a small ship.

“You ready?” asked Moswen, and at Shatrevar’s nod he called out to Captain Gunnarsson.

“Ready, Captain!”

“Let it go, Khorsed!” called Gunnarsson, and Khorsed, the third crew member, manhandled the boom over. The sails cracked, the ship swung and bucked, and suddenly they were heading almost into the wind.

Moswen and Thabit both had their feet braced, pulling on ropes to keep Shatrevar in place on the stern castle. Shatrevar adjusted the angle of the kite to better catch the wind, almost pulling them off their feet.

“Now!”

At Shatrevar’s shout they released the ropes, and he leapt into the air, catching the wind and jumping up a dozen meters in a heartbeat. The windlass clacked and spun as the spidersilk rope fed out, a ghostly gray line connecting kite and ship.

It was already hard to make out the contours of the kite, and the rope had faded into invisibility… it was difficult to tell just how high it was flying, but certainly higher than any crow’s nest.

“How does he communicate?”

“He’s got a bunch of colored weights. Just clips one over the rope and lets it slide down,” said Moswen. “Limits what he can say, but it’s usually enough because nobody can see us.”

“And you two crank him down?”

“Yup. Can be pretty tough when the wind’s gusting, but he can move his arms to change the size of the kite, and his drop.”

“Ever had to cut him loose?”

“Not yet; hope we never have to…”

“You’re both from Khem, I see.”

“Born there,” said Thabit. “Little village near Meroë. Ever been through there?”

“Meroë, of course. We usually trade out of Lhosk or Dylath-Leen, and we’ve been across the whole continent one time or another,” replied Donn. “Ever been to Oonai?”

“Yeah, we went there to sign up as troopers for the King.”

“The King, eh?”

Donn shot a glance at Hakim, who was apparently disinterested in the conversation, watching the whitecaps. Donn noticed his knuckles were white on the railing, though.

“That didn’t work out, I gather?”

“Well, we don’t mind a little playing around now and then, greasing a palm or something, but the King, well… he was running that city like his private playground, and everyone a slave. Didn’t sit right.”

Moswen spat over the railing.

“And never going back, neither. Meroë, maybe, but never again to Oonai.”

“I see… We haven’t been through Oonai for some years.”

“Don’t bother,” said Thabit. “Be better if the desert just swallowed it up.”

“Pity. Heard some beautiful music there last time I went…”

“Not anymore. If it’s not praising the King, it’s not allowed.”

Hakim slowly let go of the railing, prying off one finger at a time as if they were stuck to it, and walked away toward the prow.

“How long will he be up there?” asked Donn, pointing into the sky.

“Probably only twenty, thirty minutes, but we’ll see.”

“Well, if you need an extra pair of hands on the windlass, just call,” said Donn, and followed Hakim.

“Thanks,” said Thabit, pulling out a pipe and tobacco pouch. “Should be fine.”

He joined Hakim at the prow, placing his hand gently on Hakim’s shoulder, and they watched the waves together for awhile in silence.

“Coming down!” came the shout from the stern, and Donn looked back to see the two Khemites slowly cranking the windlass, reeling in the kite.

The ship was no longer running into the wind, and Shatrevar was approaching from the port side. He could only make out the faintest outline of the man, and only that because he could see where the rope was pointing, and could guess where to look.

He was essentially invisible.

He approached the stern castle, jerking up and down slightly as the wind wavered, and suddenly folded his arms up tight, collapsing the kite and dropping to the deck.

He missed the stern castle entirely, but Donn guess it was by intent because nobody seemed surprised, and he landed neatly on his feet. His hair had a slight coating of frost, already melting.

Moswen and Thabit detached the spidersilk rope and began unbucking him from the harness.

“Anything?”

“Absolutely nothing. No ships, no islands, not even any whale spouts. Just empty sea as far as I can see.”

“Good,” said Gunnarsson from behind them. “Maybe we can get to the Sunrise Shore without any prying eyes.”

“You expect people to follow you?”

“No, not really, not this time, but I don’t like surprises, and if nobody knows where I am it’s a lot less likely they’ll surprise me.”

“A man after my own heart,” said Donn. “I suspect it’s a lot easier to follow us on horses than you on a ship, though.”

“I suspect you’re right,” agreed Gunnarsson, then turned to Shatrevar. “Thank you. There’s hot tea and food for you in the cabin. Rest.”

“Thank ya, Cap’n. Don’t much feel like flapping my wings right now, and a couple’a eggs’ll go down right nice.”

The Bella sailed on, keeping a steady pace to the west, and as they got closer to the Sunrise Shore, Shatrevar went up a second time.

Gunnarsson knew where they were, of course, with his sextant, but he wanted to know if there was anyone waiting for him as he entered the isles.

Half an hour later he had his answer.

“Nothing that I could see, Cap’n,” said Shatrevar. “Lots of places a ship could be hiding, of course, but I couldn’t find any.”

“Good. We’ll approach closer at dusk,” decided the Captain. “Have to take it slow and keep off the reefs, but Khorshed’s been through these water so many times he could probably do it in his sleep. Eh, Khorshed?”

“I think the Captain would be rather upset with me if I slept at the helm,” he laughed. “I much prefer to let him sail the ship while I watch the mermaids slip by.”

“You have any Gnorri girlfriends out here who can guide us?” called Thabit. “How does that work, anyway?… I mean, kissing is fine, but, you know, doesn’t that fishtail get in the way?”

“Unlike you, Thabit, I don’t make love to fish!” retorted Khorshed. “Those scales’ll make a eunuch of you!”

Gunnarsson furled most of the sails and let the ship drift, adjusting the heading every so often to keep it safe from the waves, and they waited for darkness.

The Captain used the sextant to check the position of the Bella once again, and measured carefully on his sea charts. Donn noticed they were quite a bit more detailed than his own, and covered with cryptic notations on wind, currents, and the isles themselves.

“Judging from your charts you’ve been through these waters many times.”

“A few. These are more detailed than most… don’t need much detail for the deep.”

“I’ve been through here a couple times, but always on the way to somewhere else,” mused Donn. “Never had a chance to see what’s here, really, except food and water.”

“Never been much here,” agreed the captain. “At least, not that I’ve ever found.”

“So why are you so familiar with these waters?”

Gunnarsson was silent for a moment.

“Years ago, when I was a rigging-monkey on an old indie trading ship, we came through here, stopping here and there to trade with the natives, picking up odd furs or gems along the way, and met someone at the harvest festival. An island girl. And I fell in love.

“Things got complicated, and I never saw her again after the festival. Never found out where she was from, or where she went. Only her face and her name—Lotarra.

“I’m still searching for her, silly as it sounds. I know I’ll never find her, and it’s been years and years since we met. She’s no doubt a village woman now with a horde of brats swarming around her.

“But it doesn’t matter. I’ll keep looking.”

“So that’s why you suddenly decided to bring us here. I wondered why you changed so abruptly when Hernández mentioned the Sunrise Shore.

“I met my first wife on one of Factor Chóng’s ships, you know… turned out she wasn’t who she said she was, and everyone had been lying to me about her name and everything else, and it made no difference anyway. She’s my first wife now, although we don’t quite have a horde of brats yet. Four doesn’t make a horde.”

“First wife?”

“Of three. And a husband.”

“Hakim?”

“No. Hakim and I are business partners.

“He was married once, with children. Ended badly, I’m afraid.”

Gunnarsson sighed. “Seems you’re the only lucky one here.”

They fell silent for a moment, Donn at a loss for what to say.

Captain Gunnarsson stood up straight, brushed off his tunic.

“Well, about time to get under way again,” he said, looking up at the heavens. “The moon and stars should be enough if we take it slow.”

“Where are we heading?”

“For now, to the isle where Bikal found it. I want to check the wind and seas there, maybe I can get a better idea of where that ship came from, and where it was going.”

“Three masts and a figurehead suggests it was a trader heading to sell the branch, I think.”

“That’s my guess, too. But where would he go to sell it?”

“He’d want to sell it direct, which means nobility, or at least the very rich. Unless he already knew someone, that means one of the big cities. Dylath-Leen, Lhosk, Rinar, maybe even Celephaïs.”

“You think he found it here?”

“Nobody’s ever mentioned anything that big. I think it must be some relatively unknown, untouched region, and the Sunrise Shore certainly fits.

“If it were on the southern coast they could have taken it directly to Aphorat, or shown it to King Kynaratholis.”

“True. Given the size of that branch, that tree’s been around for many years. If it were anywhere reasonable it’d be found and famous by now.”

“Looking at the map here, you know,” continued Gunnarsson, “I think you’re right about it being here in the isles. If I found something like that I’d head for the open sea and the biggest city I could reach, not chance ending up on the rocks of the Sunrise Shore.”

“As that ship did.”

“Aye, as they did.”

“So maybe we should ask the natives here, then, if they’ve seen it before, and where.”

“It’s our best chance,” agreed Gunnarsson. “And we can start with Gorolka, assuming he remembers me.”

“I got some presents that might help with that,” suggested Donn.

The ship moved slowly through the night, weaving between rocks and reefs to reach Gorolka’s island, and by dawn they had slipped into the narrow harbor.

Gunnarsson warned everyone to stay on the ship until the natives came, and avoid making the first move.

“If they think we’re slavers or raiders they’ll attack and probably kill us all,” he said. “But if we just sit still and wait for them to come have a look, I can get them to take me to Gorolka. Hopefully I can convince them not to kill the rest of you, too.”

“That would be nice,” nodded Donn. “I’m not terribly interested in becoming someone’s stew.”

“Might not be a bad idea to keep your sword close at hand, though. Just in case.”

They stood at the rail and waited.

Some time before dawn, as the eastern sky began to lighten and the first traces of orange appear on the horizon, Thabit noticed they were being watched.

“Up on top of those three rocks there. Just to the right of that single palm,” he called quietly. “Two, maybe three people.”

“Yeah, they’re watching us,” said Donn. “There’s another on the other side, too, a few meters to the right of that big blue patch of seaweed on the beach.”

“I am Gunnarsson of Perdóndaris! I come bearing gifts for Chief Gorolka!”

He stood on the castle in plain view, hands empty.

There was no answer, but shortly a large outrigger set forth, carrying about a dozen people. In the prow stood a single man wearing a bright red cloak over his shoulders.

They stopped paddling as they got closer, and let the boat drift to the Bella.

Moswen threw down a rope, and the cloaked man swarmed up the side, leaping over the railing to land neatly on the deck with a thump, sword drawn. He was followed shortly by two more men, also armed with swords.

“Gorolka knows no Gunnarsson of Perdóndaris,” he growled, but his sword was pointed down, at the deck.

“Think back to the harvest festival on Tallawiggu,” said Gunnarsson, still standing with empty hands. “I gave you the gold torc with a bull on it, the one you wear around your neck even now.”

The native stood for a moment, then burst out laughing, and sheathed his sword.

“I am Gorolka, chief of my people, and I see you, Gunnarsson of Perdóndaris.”

“May we talk, Chief Gorolka?”

“We will talk. Come.”

Gorolka waved at his waiting outrigger, and Gunnarsson stepped forward to join him as directed.

“I’m going over to talk to the chief,” he said. “You can come if you insist, but I’ll have to ask you to remain silent, Donn.”

“I’ll come. Unarmed?”

“No, but for Ech Pi El’s sake don’t draw it unless you really need it!”

“I won’t. Don’t think a sword would help much anyway if there’s only the two of us.”

Gunnarsson handed over a long box, saying it was a gift and to hold it straight at all times.

Donn looked at it curiously: it was a simple wood box, fairly long but quite narrow.

Khairi held the rope for them as they climbed down into the outrigger.

The paddlers dug into the waves and the boat shot forward. The three of them—Gorolka, Gunnarsson, and Donn—all kept their balance, pretending to each other that it was a simple feat.

Gorolka leapt out as the longboat crunched ashore, then spun to face Gunnarsson and Donn.

“This is my land, and you are welcome, Gunnarsson of Perdóndaris, and your servant.”

“Thank you, Chief Gorolka! It is good to see you again,” replied Gunnarsson, exchanging a double wrist-shake with the Chief. “Allow me to present you with this gift!”

He waved Donn forward with an insolent gesture, and Donn took the hint. Like a good servant he kept his head down and bowed as he held the box out.

Gunnarsson took it from him without a word, waving him back again, then turned the box to the opening would face the Chief as he opened it.

“Ohh!”

Gorolka’s face broke into a broad smile. He reached forward and picked up the flashing sword from inside. Polished to mirror perfection, it was almost blinding with reflected sunlight. Gems on the pommel shone like colored stars as he swished it through the air a few times to get the feel.

“A worthy weapon!” he enthused, and stuck it in his belt.

“Worthy of a chief,” replied Gunnarsson, closing the box and holding it behind himself for Donn to take, and whispered “Walk a few paces behind me.”

The Chief and Gunnarsson walked side by side into the woods, the Chief admiring his gift and Gunnarsson smiling and praising him. Donn followed, trying his best to look suitably impressed, and the Chief’s guard fell in at the rear. Donn could hear them muttering amongst themselves but between the unfamiliar language and their mumbling he couldn’t guess what they were saying.

They didn’t seem angry or upset at anything, that he could tell, just shooting the breeze as soldiers do.

It was a short walk to the village, a collection of wood and bamboo huts running along the boundary between forest and beach. They were built on short columns, standing maybe half a meter off the ground.

Donn had been through the Sunrise Shore many times over the years, and most of the islands had very similar tribes and houses. Generally small communities that lived on a combination of fishing, hunting, and farming. Villages were often closer to clans, with everyone linked by blood or marriage, and the annual festival on Tallawiggu was generally the only place they met, exchanging products and welcoming new blood in the form of husbands or wives.

Almost all conflict was internal and handled by the local chief; the chances of something happening to stir up trouble between two islands were slim. The Council of Chiefs could select a High Chief to settle such problems—or lead them in war, if necessary—but it was quite uncommon.

There were maybe a dozen people in sight, turning now from their work to watch the Chief return with his new sword, and stare at the guests.

The Chief strode through the village with barely a glance at any of them, and up the small hill to a larger, elevated structure. It was built of wood, with columns of stone, and looked considerably sturdier than the numerous family dwellings. Obviously the center of the village, and where the Chief ruled, if not lived.

The Chief barked something and several people dropped what they were doing and scurried off somewhere.

The hall was imposing, large trees forming the pillars framing the entrance. They were carved with countless animals, flowers, fruit, and more, and painted in a dazzling array of colors.

There was no door, just stone steps.

At the entrance two young women stood waiting, dressed in light, colorful skirts, with flowers in their hair. They bowed to the Chief, and stayed with heads down as he passed into the dark coolness of the interior followed by Gunnarsson.

As Captain Gunnarsson walked up the steps he signaled briefly with his hand for Donn to stay outside.

That made sense, Donn thought, since he was supposed to be a servant.

He had been through the region many times, either with his father or on his own, and he knew he was supposed to go to a nearby hut, where (hopefully) they would give him food and a place to sit.

He stepped to the side and glanced toward the guards who had accompanied them from the shore. One of them, a darkly tanned man with graying hair—he seemed to be in charge of the guards, or at least ordering them around—waved him over.

“You can wait over there,” he said, pointing at a tiny hut off to the side of the village. It wasn’t decrepit, but it was pretty clear that nobody lived there. Donn sighed to himself, smiled, and thanked the other.

“Donn of Dylath-Leen,” he said, hoping to break the ice.

“Arioreiyu of Ma-ka-Tuo-Rasha,” replied the other, smiling.

Maybe this won’t be that bad after all, thought Donn.

“Ma-ka-Tuo-Rasha,…” he mused. “Tuo-Rasha means two mountains, doesn’t it?”

“Ma means deep harbor,” explained the other. “And there are the twin peaks, our guardians.”

He pointed inland, where Donn could just see the tops of two mountains above the trees. One was a jaggedly pointed spire, the other almost flat on top.

“The Spear of Raunamoko, and the Table of the Gods,” continued Arioreiyu, pointing first to the pointed peak, and then the flatter one.

“Raunamoko… the god of earthquakes,” said Donn.

“Yes, may He remain at peace.”

“May He remain at peace,” echoed Donn, recognizing the prayer as one common throughout the Sunrise Shore.

“You are not a barbarian,” said Arioreiyu. “You know somewhat of our ways, in spite of your ship and your clothing.”

“My father was a trader in these waters for many years. This is my first time to visit Ma-ka-Tuo-Rasha, though.”

“And you’ve learned a few words in our language.”

“I speak Cydathrian; that helps a little.”

“Cydathrian! A sad excuse for a language!” laughed Arioreiyu. “How many words do they have to describe the waves, or the foam, or the currents of the deep? To know the sea you must know our tongue!”

Donn nodded.

“And your knot-maps.”

“Ah, so you know of those, too?”

“Of course, but to read them is a different story.”

“We do not read them, Master Donn, we listen to them, and guide our outriggers as they reveal.”

“One day, perhaps, I shall learn their secrets.”

“Perhaps,” said Arioreiyu. “Perhaps not. They are, after all, our secrets.”

He stopped, thought for a moment.

“Master Donn, come, drink with us. That hut will be sad and lonely tonight.”

“I would be honored, Master Arioreiyu.”

Arioreiyu laughed again, and smacked him on the back.

“I hope you like yaqona!”

“I love it!” smiled Donn, truthfully.

Most of the guards had already left, but one of them—another sun-bronzed man named Iarolu—walked with Arioreiyu and Donn toward one of the several firepits burning in the village.

Arioreiyu sat on a log near the fire, and gestured to Donn to sit nearby.

The fire was banked down, mostly coals, but still fiercely hot. A tripod made of soot-blackened poles was erected over the fire, but there was no pot there. Too early yet, he guessed.

“Iarolu, you’ll join us today?”

“We have plenty of gifts,” replied the other. “No need to fish or gather today.”

Donn understood his use of “gifts”—the gifts of the sea and the forest: food, mostly.

The people of the Sunrise Shore lived close to Nature, accepting its bounty and protecting their islands and its environment in thanks. In their world, the islands themselves were gods, generous to those who respected them, yet ferocious when roused. Daily prayers, regular offerings, and the occasional sacrifice kept them quiet, and the villager’s world peaceful.

“You get something to eat, and I’ll fetch the yaqona,” said Arioreiyu, standing. “Be right back, Master Donn.”

Yaquona was a shrub found throughout the Sunrise Shore, and along parts of the Cydathrian coast. When prepared as a tea it induced mild euphoria, a sense of calm and relaxation without any loss of cognitive function. Those who drank it still felt and thought normally, but for the most part were content to lie down and enjoy the sensations rather than take action of any sort.

Effects varied, but usually wore off within an hour or two.

Donn looked forward to a leisurely day in an idyllic village, and decided to stop worrying about Hakim or the Bella.

Arioreiyu was back first, with a few brownish roots and a bowl. He pulled over the cone-shaped coral grindstone that had been sitting next to the first, and began grinding the roots down into a paste. He added only a few drops of water, but liquid seeped out of the roots quicky.

As he was grinding Iarolu returned with an enormous platter of fruit and several small fish, which he spitted and stood up facing the fire. He poured water into the iron pot and hung it on the tripod.

When there was enough yaquona paste, Arioreiyu scraped it into the bowl with his fingers, and poured water in. He handed the bowl to Donn, who nodded his head in thanks, then dipped his fingers in and flicked a few drops into the fire.

“For Raunamoko!” he called as the droplets hissed and steamed, and then he quickly took a drink, and passed the bowl to Iarolu. The yaquona was fresh and pungent… it would take effect shortly.

Iarolu also flicked a few drops into the fire and repeated the ritual before drinking himself, then passed the bowl back to Arioreiyu.

They shared the various fruit Iarolu had brought, and as the yaquona began to take effect their delicious flavors became exquisitely, sensually alive.

Donn was vividly aware of the breeze as it caressed his skin and sighed through the trees; the dance of the waves on the shore and the receding foam as it popped and hissed, flowing back into the sea; the fragrance of the fruit in front of him, its brilliant red and oranges delighting the eye; the slow crisping of the skewered fish, the aroma tickling his nose; the grittiness of the sand under this feet; the sky wheeling above… everything was brilliant, beautiful, fresh, calm.

He felt Raunamoko looking down from his peak, and he was one with the god of the island of Ma-ka-Tuo-Rasha.

They lazed there for a few hours, eating the fruit and fish and talking, until the euphoria wore off.

In the afternoon the villagers began returning from their daily work, whether fishing, farming, or hunting, and the village came to noisy life.

“Tonight we will have a feast for our valued guest,” announced Gorolka as he and Gunnarsson emerged from the Chief’s hall.

The biggest events would feature a roast pig, but that took most of the day to prepare and it was obvious they didn’t have one ready, thought Donn. Which meant it would be a simpler feast, with a variety of fish, meats, vegetables, fruit, and some fermented alcohol, probably something sweetish.

He preferred that to the more ornate roast pig, much as he enjoyed the succulent pork dripping with spice and honey. The simpler menu usually meant that everyone was more relaxed, and could concentrate on enjoying themselves rather than worrying about whatever the ceremony demanded. He was here on a mission, but no reason he couldn’t enjoy himself while doing it!

Gorolka had left his red cloak somewhere and wore the same simple cloth skirt as all the other villagers, men and women. The climate was warm all year round here, with little seasonal change, and most of the people of the Sunrise Shore wore little to no clothing. Gunnarsson had left his sword and wallet in the Chief’s hall, apparently, and was dressed only in his light tunic.

He and Donn stood out from the villagers, not only because they were the only two people wearing tunics, but also because the colors were far too quiet for the boisterous hues of the island. The villagers seemed to vie with one another to wear the brightest, most vibrant, clashing colors possible, bizarre combinations of scintillating pink with chartreuse spots, a crisscross pattern of sky-blue and orange, one all black with flying fish embroidered around it in silver thread… every one was unique, and each more colorful than the last.

Donn and Gunnarsson looked positively drab: Donn in a dark blue tunic and the Captain faded maroon.

Multicolored ground cloths were spread out around the elongated firepit, and some log seats moved around.

The Chief and Gunnarsson got a fancy ground cloth with a picture of a flying vulture on it, and Gorolka waved the Captain to the empty log set to the side of the Chief’s ornately carved chair. Two women took up their positions in front, pouring wine into his goblet, and then into Gunnarsson’s, before filling up plates with delicious food for the two of them.

Donn had to fend for himself, but he was quite happy sitting with Arioreiyu and Iarolu, passing around a jug of sourish wine and loading up on fresh-cooked food. As a trader Donn could eat almost anything, but he had no trouble at all helping himself to the feast this time.

The men sat closest to the fire, which was mostly glowing coals instead of leaping flame, with the women and children farther away, on the outside. Every so often a woman would approach the fire and fill a large platter with roast meat or fish, taking it back for the rest of the women and children to eat. Once a young boy, probably eight or ten, scuttled up to the fire and reached for a skewered fish, only to be swatted back by one of the men lounging nearby.

He ran back to safety, but escaped with a skewer in his hand as the men laughed at his feat.

The only servants were the two women plying the Chief and his guest with food and wine. Gunnarsson seemed to be enjoying himself, and Donn noticed that he was spending an awful lot of time laughing at everything the Chief said. Probably not drinking enough to forget how to butter up a customer, Donn figured.

The feast went on for hours, villagers eating, socializing, snoozing as they saw fit, and many of the younger children began to disappear, carried off to their huts to sleep, no doubt. Donn wasn’t much of a drinker, but he had been drinking steadily since late afternoon, and even with the healthy helping of food to soften the blow, things were still getting a bit blurry.

He rose, staggered slightly, and began to toddle off to his hut.

“Uralorea, tend to our guest!” Arioreiyu called to the women in the gathering darkness, and a young girl—about twelve or so, guessed Donn—jumped up and took his arm, supporting him.

She said something Donn couldn’t understand, but it was clear she was leading him to his hut, so he followed as she led. He wasn’t as dunk as he’d thought, in spite of staggering a bit when he got up, but he’d certainly sleep well tonight.

The floor of the hut was woven reed, and the mattress some rough cloth stretched over leaves, he guessed from the feel.

Uralorea helped him lie down, then brought a cup of fresh water and set it down by his head. The hut was dark, but the opening faced the fire, and a stray beam flashed on something hanging around her neck. He looked closer—it was a small mirror, oval and set with some gemstone, hanging on a dark metal chain.

Certainly not local manufacture; she must have gotten it in trade from the mainland, probably at the festival on Tallawiggu.

He pointed to it and smiled. “It’s very beautiful!”

She smiled back, bowed her head, and dropped her skirt.

Donn’s smile froze.

She was only twelve!

He couldn’t do this!

Maybe it was how they honored guests here, but he had no sexual interest in children! He felt repelled by the very thought.

There was only one thing to do.

He pretended to feel sick, and lurched up to stumble out of the door, pretending that he was about to vomit.

He made appropriate noises in the undergrowth, waited a few minutes to see if she would leave, and when she didn’t lurched back into the hut and collapsed on the floor, only half on the mattress. He faked drunken slumber until the real thing overtook him, but was still awake enough to notice when she snuggled up close to him in the darkness to join him in sleep.

When he awoke she was combing her hair with her fingers, still naked.

He groaned theatrically and held his head as if he had a hangover, and gingerly walked out of the hut to pee. He didn’t have to fake that part.

When he got back, still holding his head in apparent agony, he handed her her skirt and motioned her outside.

She smiled, a big, beautiful, radiant smile, and eagerly put her skirt back on, then slipped outside to join the other women in preparing breakfast.

As she left he took another look at that mirror. It was decorated with a frame of tiny red stones, probably garnets, he thought. That many rubies would be pretty pricey to find on the Sunrise Shore.

Strangely enough, his hangover vanished almost immediately.

He watched the villagers starting their day, preparing the morning meal, taking care of children, or eating a quick and simple meal before heading out to sea, or inland to gather food, or farm.

Gunnarsson and the Chief appeared shortly, both looking actually hung-over.

He stepped outside so the Captain could see him, and waited to see what was happening.

Gunnarsson noticed him, and waved him over, walking a little ways away from Gorolka for privacy.

“The Chief is going to show us where they found the wreck, after he eats. You hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Drank too much last night keeping the Chief happy. Feels like a wyvern or two is thumping around up there,” complained Gunnarsson, holding his head. “Go eat and leave me alone.”

Donn chuckled as he wandered over to join Arioreiyu, who was working on a bowl of some meat and rice mixture.

“Got any more of that?”

“Sure, Master Donn,” the other replied, and turned toward one of the nearer huts.

“Hey! Another bowl for Master Donn!”

A woman’s head appeared briefly in the entrance, and a few seconds later she came trotting out with another bowl.

It must have been leftovers from last night, Donn figured… rice, fish, vegetables, a little meat, all cooked up into a delicious stew.

He slurped it down.

Arioreiyu drank his cup empty, shook it once, and poured in more tea, then handed it to Donn.

“Tea’ll help you wake up,” he said. “Help yourself.”

“Thanks, Master Arioreiyu.”

It was new to Donn, bitter and aromatic. Almonds? He couldn’t quite place it, but it was good, and he felt the lingering traces of sleep evaporate.

Half an hour later, the four of them—Chief Gorolka, Gunnarsson, Arioreiyu, and Donn—set out.

Arioreiyu led the way as they trudged up the steep slope of the ridge encircling the bay.

“It’s a lot easier to just walk around, along the coast, but this is much faster,” he explained.

Donn didn’t mind the exercise, and it was more hiking than mountain climbing, but apparently Gunnarsson was still not in the best of moods, and was mostly silent and grumpy.

Chief Gorolka, on the other hand, was happy and cheerful, pointing things out along the way: flowers, fruit, a small fox. He even commented on the Bella, now a tiny ship in the harbor below them.

Gunnarsson glanced at it, as if to make sure it was still there, and then concentrated on climbing again.

Once they reached the crest it was a long, gentle slope down the ridgeline, and after about half an hour Arioreiyu guided them onto a trail that headed down toward the sea.

Donn could see shallows stretching out over a wide area, with outcroppings of coral here and there interwoven with darker blue waters.

Gorolka stopped at a convenient outlook, and explained that they came here to hunt for certain fish and shellfish that lived in the reef, as well as collecting coral for trade. Every so often the tide would bring the other treasures as well, such as the shipwreck that had launched this adventure.

“The tide?” asked Gunnarsson. “You find things brought by the tide here often?”

“Yes, quite common, although a lot of it ends up on the outer reefs and never makes it close to land,” said Arioreiyu.

“So that ship could have drifted here, then, from somewhere else.”

“Where was the shipwreck when you found it?”

The Chief pointed toward the sea.

“See those three trees there? Look behind the one on the right, see that patch of dark water? With the large, almost circular coral behind it?”

Donn and Gunnarsson followed his finger.

“Yes. And something green just behind it,” confirmed Gunnarsson.

“Yep, that’s it. It was half on top of that coral, and flotsam scattered around in the water nearby.”

“No survivors, no bodies?”

“No bodies,” replied Gorolka. “As far as we could tell the ship was empty.”

“Strange…” mused Gunnarsson. “Maybe they abandoned ship? But surely they’d have landed here if so…”

Donn nodded in agreement, and glanced at the sun, already well above the horizon.

“If the sun rose about there,” he mused, pointing, “then this reef is roughly on the east-northeast coast. Might have drifted here from somewhere, if there was no crew aboard. We’ll have to check the charts when we get back.”

“You want to go down and see the reef yourself?” asked Gorolka, speaking over Donn.

“No, this is all I needed,” said Gunnarsson. “I thought the ship went down here, but it looks like maybe not, now. I can check the currents and see where it might have drifted from.

“I’ve seen what I needed to see,” he continued. “Thank you, Chief, for leading me here. I am in your debt.”

The Chief smiled, and they turned to retrace their steps toward the village. They were still on the ridgeline, so there was very little climbing involved, and the fresh breeze had invigorated Gunnarsson.

They made good time.

* * *

They returned to the village shortly before noon, and the party broke up.

Arioreiyu and Chief Gorolka had their own affairs to attend to, while Gunnarsson and Donn were eager to return to the Bella and check the sea charts.

Gorolka offered to have some of the villagers take him out, but the Captain said he didn’t want to take up any more of the Chief’s valuable time, and shouted to the crew to come get them.

He wrist-shook the Chief one more time, and thanked him again, while the Chief in turn handed him two jugs of their wine.

The ship’s longboat was already in the water, left there after bringing back provisions and fresh water to replenish the ship’s stores. Khairi, Hakim, and the two troopers brought it up close to the shore a few minutes later, and Donn and the Captain climbed aboard from the gentle surf.

“Back to the Bella, Khairi. I think we’re done here,” said Gunnarsson. “Have to see those sea charts.”

“You two seem to have had quite a party last night,” grinned Khairi. “Looked like an awful lot of people having a fun time around that fire.”

“Strictly business, I assure you,” denied the Captain, waving his hands. “Hated every minute of it.”

“Yes, I can vouch for the fact that it was all business,” Donn chuckled. “Especially the attractive women and the wine, very businesslike indeed.”

“Speaking of wine,” continued Gunnarsson, “I happen to have two jugs of their finest right here, and I think we’ll have to inspect them to be sure they haven’t spoiled. Perhaps later, though.”

“Always happy to help with inspections, Cap’n!”

They soon reached the Bella and climbed aboard.

“Hoist up the longboat, Captain?”

“No, not yet,” he answered. “Let us see those charts first.”

Donn explained to Hakim how the current carried flotsam to that stretch of coast, and how they thought that ship might have drifted here from somewhere else, since nobody had mentioned any survivors or bodies.

In the ship’s chartroom Gunnarsson pulled out the charts of the Sunrise Shore and vicinity. Donn and Hakim joined him, poring over the hand-written notations.

“The strongest flow through the Sunrise Shore is the Cirque, twisting back westward past Mnar and Cydathria,” said Gunnarsson, tapping the chart. The Torrent flowed up into the Southern Sea between Theth and Zar, splitting into two major currents, one turning west toward Khem and the Basalt Pillars of the West, and the other heading northeast toward Sarrub and the Cerenarian Sea. That eastern current split again, one branch heading south along the Mnar coast, then circled back west through the Sunrise Shore before returning to the Torrent once again in an enormous circle: The Cirque.

“So it could really be anywhere along the Mnar coast, then,” said Donn. “Or even farther north, Ooth-Nargai or the Isles of Nariel.”

Gunnarsson pursed his lips.

“Not impossible, but my guess is that the ship would founder long before it was carried that far, if the crew abandoned her… or the wind would drive her into the Grim Forest.”

The Grim Forest was the enormous patch of kelp and floating debris that collected in the relatively dead waters at the center of the Cirque, roughly midway between Oriab and Mtal. The wind itself, it was said, avoided the Grim Forest, and ships trapped there were often unable to escape.

There were countless rumors about what lived there.

“I’m thinking something much closer,” continued Gunnarsson, “like Mtal.”

“Mtal?” Donn considered the idea. “But nobody goes to Mtal! At least, nobody has ever come back to tell the tale.”

“Precisely. Which would explain why nobody’s ever reported Princessa trees there.”

“And the crew?”

Gunnarsson shrugged.

“No idea what happened to the crew. Could have been plague, or some monster, who knows? Pirates are unlikely, I think, or they would’ve kept the ship.”

“Hmm. Well, it’s as good a plan as anything, and I certainly don’t have any better ideas. Hakim? What do you think?”

Hakim signed back quickly.

“He suggests we approach very carefully, and use your kite to see what we’re getting into.”

“An excellent idea,” agreed Gunnarsson. “I’ve never gone there myself, either, and to be honest I’d rather not go now, given its reputation… but I think it’s our best option.”

“To Mtal, then.

“To Mtal,” agreed the Captain, standing. “I’ll go tell the crew.”

They set sail about an hour later.

 

Chapter 3

 

It was not far from the Sunrise Shore to Mtal, but the current was to the west, against them. They instead angled north, where the current weakened closer to the Grim Forest.

Donn had heard tales of the wrecks and denizens of the Grim Forest, and no desire to encounter them personally. Fortunately, Captain Gunnarsson agreed, although he was reticent to reveal his own experiences, and so the Bella began to head eastward, toward Mtal, once the current slowed. 

As they approached Mtal the wind strengthened, and they were able to pick up speed as they continued north, until the current once again began to flow southeast along the Cirque, around Mtal and down toward Thraa and Mnar before it turned westward to the Sunrise Shore.

Captain Gunnarsson was finally able to guide the Bella as he wished, controlling helm and sail masterfully to bring the ship to a position upwind of Mtal.

They could see the very tops of the mountainous island, but before they could see the shore, or any nearby ships, they would have to approach closer… or use the kite.

Donn helped Shatrevar get strapped in as the others got the windlass set up, and when everything was ready the Captain turned close to the wind, and Shatrevar leapt into the air. The wind grabbed him, shook him, and threw him high into the sky.

He swooped, soared, slid about, and finally settled down to a gentle swaying motion, as the pull of the tether balanced the push of the wind.

Two color-coded weights came sliding down, and Khairi read them out: No ships in sight, but multiple campfires. He suggested that probably meant a village, since it would be unlikely to find an army camped out here.

About half an hour later another message came sliding down: Pull me in, it said.

Donn and Khairi cranked down the windlass, reeling the bucking kite closer and closer until finally Shatrevar stood on the deck, breathing heavily from the exertion.

The Captain handed the helm to Khorshed, and joined them on the stern deck.

“Looks like one small village, Captain,” reported Shatrevar. “Something strange going on, though… I couldn’t see a single fishing boat out, and only one person ashore.”

“But you said multiple campfires.”

“Yes, at least four, maybe five. That’s about right for a small village this time of year, but there should have been people fishing, tending the garden—looked like a pretty extensive garden, probably vegetables but it was too far to see well—or doing everything else.”

“Siesta?” suggested Donn, relaying a quick sign from Hakim.

“Could be,” agreed Shatrevar. “That’s why I stayed up that long, to see if anything changed. And it’s getting a bit late in the day for a siesta.”

The sun was well past zenith, and while dusk was yet some time away, afternoon was well advanced.

Captain Gunnarsson, Donn, and Hakim talked later in the Captain’s quarters.

“If there are no other ships, I think the best thing to do is just go ashore and try to find out more,” said Donn. “Should be safe if it’s almost deserted.”

“The question is: why is it deserted,” said Gunnarsson.

“Mmm. Good question,” agreed Donn. “But only one way to find out…”

That night the Bella crept closer to shore, just around a promontory from the village, and the longboat launched toward Mtal. A short time later Donn, Hakim, and Moswen, one of the troopers, jumped off and waded ashore as the longboat began the long trip back to the ship through the darkness.

They slowly worked their way down the coast, staying hidden in the underbrush along the edge of the forest. It took them about half an hour until they could see the village from their hiding place, and they settled down there to see what awaited them.

As dawn came they expected to see villagers about their business, preparing the morning meal, perhaps setting out for the first fishing of the day, children fetching and carrying, but there was almost nothing.

A boy, perhaps in his teens, sat in the doorway of his hut, staring vacantly at the sea.

Donn trained his telescope on the boy—he was crying!

And he had a chain attached to his leg!

A hand entered his field of vision and he quickly shifted the telescope upwards: a woman, perhaps in her thirties or forties, had stepped up out of the darkness of the hut to join the boy. She, too, had a chain on her ankle.

She carried a plate of something, obviously urging the boy to eat, but he shook his head, and continuing to sit, dejectedly staring into the waves.

The woman—his mother?— sat beside him, the plate left on the ground, and hugged him close.

“They’re chained up,” whispered Donn. “There’s a boy over there with his mother, and they’re chained up like slaves. Can’t leave the huts at all, it looks like.”

“So how’d they get the food, then?”

Donn shrugged.

“There must be slavers about, I think. Should we risk it?”

Hakim shook his head, signed.

“Hakim says we should wait until dark,” explained Donn. “I agree. What do you think, trooper?”

Moswen nodded. “Yeah, and I think we should find a better spot to watch from, too. I don’t want to risk getting caught by slavers.”

They slowly worked their way deeper into the forest. The ground began to slope uphill toward the mountains that formed the center of the island.

“Maybe swing around a bit, see if we can find a place to look down from above. Forest’s not that dense,” suggested Moswen.

They trudged uphill, trying to find paths between the trees that were free of underbrush. In a few places they had no choice but to use their swords to lop off a few branches, but for the most part they moved in silence punctuated by occasional whispers.

Moswen, leading the trio, suddenly held up his hand to halt, and dropped to a crouch.

Donn craned his neck to see what might be up ahead, and snuck up to join Moswen, bent over to stay low.

There was a fairly broad patch of open ground, mostly bare rock. It stretched several dozen meters, and they had a choice of going around, which would take them farther away from the village, or crossing it and risk being seen.

“What do you think?” asked Moswen.

“We haven’t heard or seen anybody yet,” replied Donn. “I say go for it.”

Moswen nodded. “Island’s practically deserted!”

Moswen stepped in the clearing, looked slowly around, then ran across, keeping low. Donn stood at the edge of the forest watching him.

Three men suddenly appeared to his right, and two more right in front of Moswen.

“Halt!”

Donn crouched, but it was too late.

“You there! In the trees! Come out or your friend dies!”

Donn hesitated, then stepped out of the forest.

Two of the men to his right had bows, arrows set to bowstrings. The rest had swords, one at Moswen’s throat.

He stopped, unbuckled his sword, and waited.

“Just you two?”

Donn didn’t hesitate.

“Just us.”

“Drado, Cosmere, check it out. And get him tied up,” ordered the slaver. Surely, they must be the slavers, thought Donn.

The men from his right walked over to Donn, two of them slipping into the trees behind him and the third tying his hands together behind his back with a leather cord.

Hakim must have slipped away before they noticed, Donn thought. Good. At least one of us gets out of this.

The slaver pushed him forward, toward Moswen, and tied the two of them together with another leather cord around their ankles. It was short, preventing them from running, forcing them to shuffle their feet.

“Well, two more healthy slaves,” laughed the leader. “Where’re you from, slave?”

“Donn of Dylath-Leen.”

“So you’re Donn? Huh,” said the other. “Heard of you.”

“Then you know I can pay your ransom.”

“Hah! I don’t need your ransom, trader! I need you!” he said punching him in the chest with one finger for emphasis.

“Me?”

“Rich, poor, whatever: doesn’t matter. You’ll do just fine.”

“Do? For what?”

The two men who had entered the forest came out again.

“No sign, boss. Looks like it really was just the two of them.”

“OK, let’s go, then.”

“Hey, wait! That’s my ship out there! I can pay your ransom!”

The slaver turned to look down at the bay. They had a perfect view from this high, and Donn could clearly make out a large ship bearing down on the Bella, in the open sea just outside the reach of the bay.

“Maybe you do,” said the man. “And if you do, it’ll be ours soon enough.”

He yanked the rope around their necks, pulling the two of them away, into the forest, and they could see the Bella no longer.

* * *

The slaver camp was, strangely, farther inland. Donn had expected it would be on the shore to make it easier to load slaves onto the ship.

It was a very simple camp, and obviously not designed to hold slaves for very long. Or at least not in any comfort. There were half a dozen bamboo cages, tiny and dirt-floored, with a dish on the ground full of muddy water. No food that he could see.

They threw the two of them into a filthy cage.

Donn slowly picked himself up. He wanted to rub the mud off his face, but his hands were still tied behind his back. He struggled and panted, and finally managed pull the rope over his legs so his hands were now tied in front of him instead of behind.

Moswen was trying to do the same thing.

Donn smiled at his success, then froze—they weren’t alone!

In the back, hiding in the shadows, was a young boy—a teenager, Donn thought—huddled in rags. He was holding something, and as his eyes adjusted to the dark shadows after the brilliant sunlight of the clearing, he realized the boy was holding an even younger child, nothing but their terrified eyes shining in the darkness.

He kept his distance for now.

“It’s alright, lad,” he said quietly, sitting flat on the dirt. “We won’t hurt you.”

The boy said nothing, blinked.

“Do you understand me?”

There was no sign he did.

Donn tried some other languages, bits and pieces of speech he’d picked up over the years, but without any luck.

“Moswen, you know any more?”

Moswen, who had sat motionless while Donn was trying, shook his head.

“Sorry, I can get around the Eastern Continent pretty well, but not down here.”

Donn gave up. Either they had no language in common, or—more likely—the boy was simply so scared he couldn’t move.

He decided to just wait and see, and sat down, sitting to face the door to their cage. He left his back exposed to the boy, making it clear that he wasn’t a threat.

They sat in silence for several hours, changing positions or whispering to each other.

A pirate walked past every so often, glancing at them briefly to be sure they weren’t trying to escape.

The shadows began to grow longer in the late afternoon, and suddenly Moswen cleared his throat, and pointed at the boy.

Donn turned to see what he was pointing at, and saw the boy signing toward the trees… there! In the shadows! It was Hakim!

He was deaf! Or at least spoke sign language.

Donn motioned Moswen to stay silent, and tried to follow what the boy was saying, but most of it was meaningless… he was signing a different language. Still, he had a pretty good grasp of how signing worked, and even without the language there were a lot of gestures that meant similar things… like, death.

Hakim got more, and after a moment let Donn know what he’d learned with their own signs. Apparently they were all going to die. Soon. It was impossible to tell clearly what the boy was trying to say. Something about mother, and trees, but mostly about dying.

“He knows signs, but he speaks a different language,” whispered Donn. “Hakim says we’re going to die.”

“Die? Slavers don’t kill people, though.”

“No, but if they were slavers, why did they bring us here instead of down to the village?”

“Yeah, I wondered about that myself,” agreed Moswen. “Maybe we should take a chance on escaping now after all. Any of those bamboo stakes look loose to you?”

Donn and Moswen quickly checked the cage, but unfortunately everything was solid. The stakes were dug deep, and the whole thing woven together with rope—a lot of rope—that would take a long time to get through without their daggers.

Donn had no doubt that their captors would be back to check on them long before they could.

Donn scooped a leaf out of the water dish, wondering if that was what they’d have to live on until… until they died.

He’d already mentioned ransom, and they’d shown no interest at all. And the Bella! What had happened to the Bella?

If the Bella was still free they might have a chance, but without the ship… but Hakim was still free!

Donn smiled.

Hakim was very, very quiet when he wanted to be.

“What the fuck are you so happy about?” whispered Moswen.

“Wait until dark,” whispered Donn, “and stay quiet.”

Moswen nodded, and they both sat on the ground, heads slumped as if they’d given up hope entirely.

After a while the boy slid a little closer to Donn, who smiled and patted the ground next to him.

The boy hesitated, then slowly joined him. He jumped a bit when Donn’s hand touched his, then relaxed and grasped it in his own.

The child on his lap, probably four or five, Donn guessed, slithered closer, their head—her head? Donn thought it might be a girl—finding a resting place on his leg.

They waited.

A few hours later one of the pirates came and looked inside the cage.

“Hold up yer arms! Let me see those ropes!”

Donn and Moswen both held their arms up so the pirate could see their ropes were still secure.

“Don’t try nothin’ or yer gonna regret it,” he said as he rattled the cage bars to be sure none was loose. We can see this cage just fine from where we’re sittin’ and I’d hate to hafta break yer arms for trying to get out.”

Donn nodded.

“Maybe some food? We’ve been here all day…”

“Yeah, maybe. Maybe not. Depends what the cap’n says.”

“The captain? Who’s the captain?”

“None of yer business. The cap’n wants ya ta know, he’ll tell ya.”

He spat and stalked off again.

A few hours later it was quite dark, and Donn moved to the side of the cage closest to the forest, his back against it.

As he’d hoped, he felt a tap on his side. He opened his hand and felt the haft of a dagger pressed into it, then a second.

He sat still, not turning to look at Hakim.

“How many?”

Six taps.

“Six.”

One squeeze.

Moswen nodded, listening closely.

“More prisoners?”

Squeeze.

“Lots?”

Squeeze.

“Free them now?”

Hakim’s hand moved back and forth across Donn’s. No.

“Wait until tomorrow?”

Squeeze.

“Can you give them weapons?”

No.

“Thanks. We’ll wait for your signal tomorrow.”

Squeeze, followed by the slightest rustling of leaves as Hakim slipped back into the darkness of the forest.

“He says there are many prisoners—I’d guess the villagers—and he doesn’t want to free them yet. I don’t know why, but he said he didn’t have any weapons. Anyway, we wait for his signal tomorrow.”

He handed Moswen one of the daggers.

“Saw most of the way through the ropes, so we can break them when the time comes.”

Moswen nodded.

“Good man, Hakim. Not too thrilled with ending up in the pot, or as a slave. Now we’ve got a fighting chance.”

“More than a chance, I think. Hakim’s a very good man.”

Donn was dead tired but spent the night holding the children, hoping that he could save them the next day.

* * *

Donn snapped awake when the boy moved, and glanced around.

Dawn.

Nobody yet.

The two children walked over to the smelly side of the cage and relieved themselves. Donn didn’t stare, but there really wasn’t any privacy. And that younger child was definitely a girl.

Moswen was awake, too, watching to see if anyone was approaching.

A few minutes later one of the pirates walked up, and once again told them to show their hands.

They held them up clearly—they’d cut most of the way through the ropes, but it was hard to see. The pirate didn’t.

“Come on out, you two, slowly,” he ordered, standing back from the cage door with sword drawn. “Hey! Kid! You too!”

The four of them bent down to pass through the small doorway, and stood quietly. Donn and Moswen did their best to keep their ropes hidden under their tunics, but it was impossible to hide them all the time without being obvious. And the boy insisted on holding one of Donn’s arms, making it even harder.

“Walk, that way,” said the pirate, gesturing with his sword. “If you try to run I’ll gut you like a fish. And you can’t run none in those hobbles anyway.”

They meekly walked down the trail as directed.

The path turned right, uphill and into the trees.

Only a short distance beyond they crested the hill, and looked down into a small valley.

It was almost perfectly round, with steep walls… An old volcano, maybe, or a meteor crater, Donn thought. He was more interested in what was in the crater, though: he thought they might be trees at first, but their branches—tentacles?—were waving through the air gently. They had no leaves at all, but glistened in the morning sunlight with all the colors of the rainbow.

Princessa!

Enormous trees of Princessa!

Princessa wasn’t a wood, then, but some sort of creature. Like an anemone. Alive.

He gaped in astonishment, trying to make sense of it all.

Suddenly there was a scream and a naked man fell into the crater.

A pirate had pushed him in!

The man landed on his feet, scrabbling wildly on the exposed rock wall, mad with fear as he tried to escape.

One of the tentacles bent down, gently sliding through the air to approach the man, who continued to try to scale the wall, oblivious. The tentacle hesitated for a moment as if taking aim, then shot forward with an audible woosh, wrapping around the man’s thigh and yanking him off his feet.

He shrieked in pain and fear, hammering on the tentacle with his fists, to no avail.

It dragged him back toward the trunk, where half a dozen other tentacles descended to encase the man almost entirely. One slapped down across his face, abruptly cutting off his screams, and then there was a muted squishing noise, and, mercifully, his struggles ceased.

The tentacles swirled in color, patches of iridescence dancing across their surface with new vitality.

The Princessa… it ate him!

There were about a dozen villagers standing there, along with Donn’s group, and the pirates stepped forward, swords drawn, to force them into the valley.

Hakim stepped out of the trees and slashed one across the neck, pivoting to stick a second in the back.

They were taken completely by surprise, not expecting an attack from their rear.

“Now!”

Donn yanked his hands and legs apart, tearing through the few strands of rope they’d left, and yanked his dagger out of hiding under his tunic.

He leapt onto the closest pirate, catching the briefest glimpse of Moswen doing the same.

At the sudden battle, the villagers turned, tackling the two pirates herding them with their bodies and teeth, even though their hands were behind their backs. One villager fell, then a second, but the pirates were overwhelmed, and Hakim’s sword finished the job.

It was all over within a few minutes, and soon the villagers were freed.

The pirates, two still living, were unceremoniously dumped over the edge.

“Give me a hand collecting dry brush, will you?”

Moswen nodded at Donn’s request, and together with Hakim began collecting brush, leaves, and other debris from the forest.

There was an argument among the villagers, and then one woman turned her back on the rest of the villagers, and strode over to help collect brush. A second followed, then the rest.

They dumped it all into the crater, and Hakim handed Donn a burning branch taken from the pirates’ campfire.

The pirates were all dead now, whether by the fall or the Princessa, Donn neither knew nor cared. He was glad he didn’t have to burn anyone alive, though, as he dropped the flaming branch onto the pile of brush.

Silent, he watched the flames grow into an inferno, and the tentacles whip frantically through the air in agony.

The Princessa whistled as it burned, collapsing slowly into death.

Donn just sat and watched. Moswen sat next to him, and the two children, and the rest of the villagers.

It burned hot, and there was nothing but a fine gray-and-white ash left an hour later.

* * *

By the time Donn, Hakim and Moswen reached the village the remaining villagers had already been freed. People were greeting each other with tears of joy at seeing their loved ones once again, or tears of sorrow at the ones gone forever.

The village chief was long gone, killed by the pirates when they first came, but he gradually pieced the story together from the survivors.

The Princessa had always been here, small shrubs that only grew in that single crater, living off frogs and other small creatures. The pirates had come to the island originally as slavers, and one of the villagers had escaped, running into the forest to hide.

They’d found him, but during the search one of them slipped into the crater, and they discovered that the Princessa, whatever it was, grew vastly larger and more colorful on human flesh.

Princessa was worth far more than mere slaves, and so they decided to use the villagers as food instead. Dozens had been killed, possibly even more from other villages on the island.

“Well, it’s all gone,” said Donn. “It may grow back someday, but every one of those damned things is ash now!”

“Yeah, sort of a pity, though,” said Moswen. “We could have made a pretty penny off that much Princessa!”

The villager they were sitting with looked at them quizzically.

“You wanted that opal-wood?”

“Yeah, that’s why the pirates came here, and why we followed,” said Donn. “It’s very valuable.”

“You saved our lives,” replied the other. “If it’s worth that much to you, take it, with our thanks!”

He pointed up at the ceiling of his hut, and there, set into the woodwork high on the wall, was a single board made of about two dozen small twigs, carefully cut and fitted together into a single panel of exquisite color.

“All of our huts have these,” he explained. “They are beautiful, yes, but not worth anything to us… take them! Take them all!”

He stood and pulled the panel from the wall and handed it to Donn.

Once the word got out, the villagers quickly brought dozens more, until Donn had large pile by his side. More than he could carry, certainly, and worth far more than he could imagine, he suspected.

He was almost speechless.

Then he realized… if he couldn’t carry it, and the Bella was gone, what use was it?

Where was the Bella?

He walked down to the shore and scanned the ocean… not a sign.

No debris, which was good, but also no sign of the pirate’s ship.

The last sight he’d had was the Bella under attack… what had happened?

He sighed, and trudged back to the village.

Hakim motioned him to a stop, and pointed up into the sky.

Donn turned, squinted… a kite!

It was the Bella’s observation kite!

He shouted with delight and pounded Hakim on the back as the villagers stopped what they were doing and turned to watch.

Half an hour later the Bella hove into view, slipping quietly into the harbor and dropping the longboat.

Captain Gunnarsson stepped into the surf and waded ashore, leaving Khorshed and Thabit to manhandle the longboat up onto the sand.

“You’re alive!” said Donn, grasping the captain’s wrist.

“You, too, it seems!”

“How did you escape that ship? What happened to it?”

“Any time I can’t escape a fat old ship like that, full of fat old fools, it’ll be time to retire,” laughed the captain. “They’re all dead, most of them.”

“Dead?”

“The Bella’s got a very, very shallow draft, Master Donn. I led them on a merry chase, letting them gradually close the gap between us, and slipped right over a reef well out from the shore.

“Their ship was quite a bit bigger than mine, and tore itself to pieces, poor fools.

“Only two of them managed to make it to the Bella, and we didn’t let them onboard.”

Now it was Donn’s turn to laugh.

“I should never have doubted you, Captain Gunnarsson.”

“It’s a common mistake,” he revealed, “and you may be one of the few who lives to tell the tale.”

“Speaking of tales, we have one of our own,” said Donn. “And a little cargo for the Bella…”

He pointed at the pile of Princessa panels.

“My, my, my… yes, that will pay for this trip quite nicely, I think. The Factor may even give us bonuses!”

“It would be appropriate to bring a shipload of cattle, a couple dozen bolts of cloth, various other gifts, to thank the villagers for their help. Think the Factor’ll go for that?”

“When he sees this pile he’ll spring for another ship if I ask him!”

“I think I’d like to sail that ship back here myself, Captain. Or join you, if you come. I’d like to stop by Ma-ka-Tuo-Rasha again, and give Uralorea—the girl they gave me for the night—a gift. I think she may have been hurt because I didn’t sleep with her.”

“And sleep with her?”

Donn grimaced.

“She’s just a kid. But she seemed pretty lonely, and I wanted her to have something nice in her life.”

“Fall in love, did you?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s not like that at all. She’s just a sweet kid. Kept holding onto her mirror, like it was something really important to her, something sad.”

“Mirror?”

“Yeah, a little oval mirror with garnets around the rim. Real nice. I thought it was a pretty strange thing to find on that island.”

Gunnarsson froze.

“Oval? With garnets around the rim? Why do you say garnets?”

Donn shrugged.

“There were a lot of little red stones; garnets seemed likely. Never saw it up close.”

Gunnarsson was looking out at the horizon as he whispered “Those aren’t garnets… they’re rubies… I gave that mirror to Lotarra.”

He grabbed Donn by the shoulders.

“How old was the girl?”

“I don’t know… about twelve or so, I’d guess…”

“Lotarra! It must be her! Her daughter… my daughter.”

The Bella set sail within the hour.

 

END