A Respite From Storms Page 10

  So they’d reluctantly gone down to their cabin, and there they remained.

  At least Longwell was no longer sharing with them. It would’ve been tight, with the three of them watching out the porthole. Especially given his armor, which he insisted upon wearing at all hours … and the lance too, which had not left his side since the evening of his recovery.

  The port alone was almost the size of Terreas. Jasen could only marvel at the bustle of ships that made their way in and out of the harbor. The vessels were all quite similar in their approximate silhouette, plus or minus a mast or two. Yet some were huge. He’d thought the Lady Vizola was a fairly large ship when he first arrived—even more when Kuura told him that it housed some eighty men. But compared to some of the ships anchored at port, it was a tadpole. Just the next ship over had to be three or four times the Lady Vizola’s size, easily. It housed at least four interior levels above the water’s edge that Jasen could count, two of which had holes like the Lady Vizola’s next deck up, metal protrusions jutting out of them. The main deck had a forecastle, but then to the rear had three smaller decks all stacked one atop the other. Four masts towered, its sails billowing. With their mammoth size, they must’ve needed a dozen men to manipulate just one edge.

  No one was upon it that Jasen could see, much as he craned his neck. Shame—he longed to see just who came from this behemoth ship, what lands they might hail from. Perhaps their skin was another color entirely—pale brown, or yellow, or … green?

  The Lady Vizola gradually moved alongside the dock, which teemed with people. Dark-skinned, fair-skinned, everything in between, there were all manner of them, bustling in every direction. None of them paid any mind to the Lady Vizola pulling in.

  But then, why would they? Ships crossing the seas, arriving to their lands—or maybe doing the very same themselves—was nothing new or exciting to them.

  “Do you think we can leave yet?” Jasen asked.

  Alixa shook her head.

  Jasen bounced on his knees, impatience growing. “When?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He breathed. First words Alixa had spoken in all this time—and they were not remotely helpful.

  More maneuvering.

  A faint clunking resonated through the hull.

  The ladder?

  Jasen could stand it no longer. Whether it was or wasn’t, he was getting to the top deck right now. There were things that needed doing, damn it!

  He pushed onto his feet and ran from the room.

  Alixa called his name—but he didn’t answer. And in any case, she was coming after him a moment later, Scourgey hot on her heels.

  Up the stairs—

  The main deck exploded into view with a BANG! as Jasen thrust the door open.

  Blue skies—

  And the Aiger Cliffs.

  It floored him, stopped him sharply in his tracks. Upon its doorstep, he felt smaller than he had ever felt in his life. Even sailing open seas, the whole world out of sight, replaced by only water, had not caused him to feel as infinitesimally minimal as he was now, on the Lady Vizola’s deck.

  The city was huge. Ten times Terreas’s size, it rose in layers toward the mountains. To Jasen it looked as if it had been built upon a hill. That hill had been terraced, then built upon, with winding stairways put in to allow access from one level to another.

  Huge walls separated the city layers, with crenelations overlooking the streets below. Massive arches hung over those stairways, all grey stone on white, with spiraling patterns like the waves themselves rendered in masonry.

  In the shadows, metallic extrusions were visible, shimmering.

  And those rods at the very tops of the rocky towers overlooking the city … they seemed almost tall enough to pierce into the sun itself, and Jasen could imagine the yellow running out like a broken yolk. Smaller details were more visible now, like short horizontal rods crisscrossing them toward their feet, and again at the tops. But those were outshone by the sun, and even squinting Jasen could not pick out anymore about them.

  Jasen absorbed it—devoured it.

  There is a world beyond Terreas, he thought.

  And he was here, in it.

  A stray thought went to his father, and Terreas. It hollowed his stomach, dulling his wonder.

  He ground his teeth. Before, he’d wanted to see the world just because. Now, he had a reason to be here.

  Baraghosa.

  Longwell had said Baraghosa was known here. If the sorcerer was anywhere, it would surely be here.

  And Jasen would find him.

  The deck was emptying. Burund oversaw. A ladder had indeed been thrown down the side—two, in fact—and men formed a queue to descend.

  “Come on,” Jasen said to Alixa. He sprinted over.

  Burund turned as he was joining one of the queues.

  “Jasen,” he greeted, nodding slightly. The same to Alixa.

  “Shipmaster,” she said.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Emerald Fields,” said Alixa—

  At the same moment, Jasen said, “To find Baraghosa.”

  They silenced. Turned to each other. Glared. Alixa folded her arms across her chest and huffed.

  Burund did not comment. But he did hesitate, for a rare moment.

  “Before you go,” he said slowly, “I must say two things. First: pursuing the man you seek is dangerous.”

  “Baraghosa?” Jasen asked.

  Burund nodded. “He is known to all who sail these waters.”

  “What can you tell me of him?” Jasen said. Why hadn’t Burund said all this time? Why hadn’t Kuura? For days he could’ve been pumping them for information that might allow him to find Baraghosa, more than Longwell’s scant exposé. Burund had heard Longwell mention Baraghosa, for crying out loud! And if Baraghosa had made the storm, as Longwell said, surely Burund knew that. Jasen had discussed it with him! He had sat in his office, waiting for Longwell to wake, looking over his trinkets from a world travelled—and all the while, Burund had kept his knowledge of Baraghosa silent.

  Burund shook his head at Jasen’s question. “I have no more to say but my warning.”

  This new wad of frustration joined the tangled ball of it in his stomach.

  “Fine,” he said, “then I’ll ask Kuura.”

  “Neither will Kuura tell you anything more than I have done.”

  Jasen pursed his lips. His internal temperature was rising.

  Unlike Alixa, he’d not let off the steam with sarcastic remarks. Better to just let it simmer and then die of its own accord, unvented.

  “Second,” said Burund, “I rescued you from the waters. In the eyes of my people, that makes you my responsibility. I cannot let you wander into the Aiger Cliffs.”

  “But—”

  Burund spoke over Jasen’s protestation. “Were you to die, it would be a stain upon me, an abdication of my responsibilities as a man and a shipmaster.”

  “So …” said Alixa, “we can’t go.”

  “You may. I understand you both must go … wherever it is you are going. If you are to join with another vessel, though, I must speak to its captain. This is my responsibility.”

  “So we can go.”

  Burund nodded. “You may.”

  “Right,” said Alixa. “Where is Longwell?”

  “Samwen has already left.”

  Jasen’s stomach hollowed, again. “What?”

  “He will be back.”

  “But … he knew we were waiting.”

  “He indicated he might encounter trouble,” said Burund. “He did not wish to drag the two of you into it.” He leaned forward. “Trouble is plentiful in Aiger Cliffs.”

  Jasen looked to the cliffside city once more. Its majesty was suddenly less grand. Underlined by that remark from Burund, the place took on an almost sinister look, and Jasen realized that, for all his excitement at stepping out into the world, he did not know that world, or the dangers it presented.

  Terre
as was boring, but it was home, and safe, and trouble generally only came in the form of squabbles with his peers—and Baraghosa.

  Here, every step was unknown.

  “Be wary,” Burund warned. “And watch your purse.”

  “We don’t have any money,” said Alixa.

  “It will not stop a thief from trying.”

  Well. That just about muted every last shred of excitement that Jasen felt.

  But he had come here for a reason, and Longwell believed the cliffs were connected to Baraghosa in some way. Burund had all but confirmed it by warning Jasen of the danger he posed now they were here.

  Jasen steeled himself. Whatever dangers might lie in Aiger Cliffs, he would face up to them. The threat of a thief or two was not enough to deter him from the desire he harbored, and shared with Samwen Longwell:

  Revenge.

  Revenge, he repeated to himself.

  And down the ladder he went.

  10

  The port overwhelmed Jasen almost immediately.

  Hundreds of voices carried from all directions. Conversations went on in dozens of languages. Here and there Jasen would get a snippet of words he understood; most, though, were incomprehensible, not only because Jasen had never even heard another language outside of the walls of his village, but because the general bustle and hubbub drowned them out.

  If the rest of the world had only fair-skinned people like Terreas, then tagging along with the Lady Vizola’s crew would’ve been easy. Look for dark skin, and follow. But here the crowd was made up of people with skin of every shade of brown and peach, white and black. Some in headdresses, others in flat, dull armor, some with barely any clothes on at all—wherever they came from, it was not the Lady Vizola—and so Jasen and Alixa, the moment they dismounted the ladder, were alone in this new world.

  “Where do you think Longwell is?” Jasen asked Alixa. He had to lean forward to be heard.

  “How should I know?” she shot back. “Have I ever been here before?”

  Jasen didn’t answer. Alixa’s mood was already sour. Like an agitated nest of wasps, it would not do to go kicking it.

  Looking up and down the port, he was at a loss. There was so much going on, and the people striding by seemed not to be going in any one specific direction.

  On the right, however, maybe a few hundred feet up the way past stalls with tented tops, was a grandiose brick arch. Primarily white, it was huge enough—three quarters the height of the Lady Vizola’s main mast, at least—that grey stone had been inset to form writings in many languages, one line above another.

  Jasen found their own. Written in Luukessian were the words, “AIGER CLIFFS—THE CITY OF LIGHTNING”.

  “There,” Jasen said, pointing.

  “Fine,” said Alixa. “Come on, Scourgey.”

  They wove through the people filtering about—although “wove” was perhaps putting it kindly. Almost everyone here was an adult. Jasen was slight, Alixa slighter; and without the force to simply push through the throngs and cut their own path, Jasen and Alixa were shunted about. They slotted into gaps when they opened and moved ahead. But then a group would make way in the opposite direction, or someone would step across heading for a docked boat, and their progress would be stalled until they could find a new eddy to follow. It would have been impossible—if not for Scourgey.

  She, at least, helped. When people noticed her, reactions were varied. Two men with their hair tied in short, stiff braids practically leapt aside when Scourgey crossed their path, biting off words Jasen didn’t understand. Farther up, Scourgey nosed the palm of someone who had, just before, been winding linked sausages. She distractedly went to pat the animal she assumed was a dog, then froze, staring bug-eyed upon actually taking Scourgey in. Her companion asked her what was wrong. Jasen didn’t hear the reply; they were already past.

  The tang of salty air was rich here on the dock, but every few feet, it was overpowered. Stalls served food, mostly hot, from giant, round pans over burning coals, wildly different every few steps. Jasen couldn’t help but salivate, as well as stare in fascination; one was serving what must be chunks of rabbit, mixed with peppers and onions and something green and sprouting that Jasen didn’t recognize; the next was like biltong, all hot spices that warmed the back of the throat without true heat. Then there was a baker, dispensing hot loaves and buns to a rabble of customers; and then cheese, thick rounds of it, the smell almost overpowering but so wonderfully good. Jasen eyed them all hungrily, even the foods he did not know, wishing that he had money—enough to try a morsel from each and every vendor on the port. If not that, at least enough to fill his belly with more than cured meat and dry crackers.

  The archway stood tall over stairs as wide as a full house, back in Terreas. There were two dozen steps up, easy.

  “City of Lightning,” Alixa murmured, looking up at the inset text.

  Jasen peered at her, knowing what she was thinking. “Longwell said the storm—”

  But she leveled a weary—and guilty—look. “Stop it.” Then she fell into tight-lipped silence, not letting any of her thoughts slip.

  Everything here was large. The city itself, its buildings—even its roads were much wider than any Terreas had known. It was like they’d been sized to allow a boat—one of the smaller schooners, mind—to be tugged right through the city. Jasen pegged the streets at near fifteen feet across. In spite of the increased space, it was still a chaotic tangle of people moving in all directions.

  “Where now?” he asked Alixa.

  “Again: how should I know?”

  Someone collided with Jasen’s back. He looked up apologetically. The fat, balding man who’d hit him barely cast Jasen an eye though, moving past without looking.

  Jasen tucked himself closer to the side of the top of the steps. Looking about, peering over the heads and up the levels of the city itself, he said, “Well … Burund said Longwell expected trouble. So if we just …”

  “I am not looking for trouble with you,” said Alixa flatly. “You may seek it out on your own, but I am not getting involved in any more misadventures with you, Jasen Rabinn.”

  “What do you mean, misadventures?”

  “There have been plenty.”

  Jasen pursed his lips. “Fine.” Alixa’s foul mood was quickly dragging his own into a downward spiral. “Well, I’m going this way.” And off he marched, forking left just because.

  In spite of her complaining, Alixa trailed along behind. Scourgey lumbered along too.

  After stopping to ogle a busy fishmonger’s stall—it stunk to high heaven of fish like Jasen had never known, and he was baffled at why so many patrons did business there now; didn’t they know the sea was teeming with them just two hundred feet away?—he said grouchily, “Why are you following?”

  “I’m looking for Longwell too.” It was a sniffy reply, clipped.

  “Why? You heard what he said. He’s seeking Baraghosa.”

  “Well, he’s an adult. Maybe he’s more open to reason.”

  Jasen’s nostrils flared.

  Instead of replying, he forked down the next side street. This was a little tighter. The buildings immediately to either side of the junction had strung twine between them in zigzags. Triangular sheets, all different colors, flapped in the sea breeze.

  Music drifted from somewhere, and Jasen followed the sound.

  Someone behind him shrieked.

  He turned to see a woman in an elaborate, wide-bottomed dress jabbing a finger at Scourgey.

  The scourge just regarded her blankly.

  “She’s safe,” said Alixa.

  The small, impromptu crowd, gathered as people paused and turned in the direction of the cry, did not look so sure. A man with a teenaged son put a hand on his back and forced him on a wider path around Scourgey. As they were already on the other side of the street, Jasen couldn’t see how the extra two feet of space would make much of a difference.

  The music came from a man playing a stringed instr
ument. It was a stubby little thing, resting upon his shoulder. The fingers of one hand worked the strings against its neck, while the other plucked them.

  To his side was a dancer. Dressed with many-folded clothes that would make Kuura’s tame in comparison, he spun on his toes, then leaped, and spun again.

  A few people watched. Some chucked coins onto a piece of green cloth apparently for that purpose. It was fairly well covered, though what the actual value of the coinage upon it was, Jasen could not be sure. These men might be terribly rich. Or not. Probably not, he decided.

  He walked on.

  And Alixa still followed.

  “Longwell sees sense perfectly well,” Jasen said after a while.

  Alixa just huffed.

  “He does.”

  When she still didn’t answer, Jasen turned back.

  She shook her head, giving him a withering look. “You heard Shipmaster Burund. Baraghosa is dangerous. So why you think chasing after him—you, of all people—”

  “What’s wrong with me?” Jasen blustered.

  “—would do any good—”

  “I can fight him!”

  Alixa huffed again. “No, Jasen, you can’t.”

  The heat burning in Jasen’s midriff mounted—again. He was teetering on the edge of an explosion, he could feel it—

  Instead, he made another sudden turn, this time down a narrow side street. This was much more reminiscent of Terreas now, and less busy. It was darker too—they’d well and truly entered the shadow of the cliffs now.

  Alixa scoffed. “Baraghosa’s down here, is he? In this alley?”

  Jasen whirled on her. She’d exhausted the last of his patience—or maybe he found himself exhausted from holding back the frustration tugging at him from seemingly every direction.

  “Just what is your problem?” he burst out. “You think going to the Emerald Fields is—is going to bring our families back?”

  Alixa’s face seemed to flare, like a sudden spark in a fireplace. “Those are our people—”

  “They are not our people!” he shot back, shouting her into silence. “The only people we knew have joined our ancestors—because Baraghosa—” he jabbed out with a finger here, as if pointing to the man, wherever he might be “—killed them.”