Black Sun (Between Earth and Sky, #1)(85)

She sat, thinking of what she wanted to say.

She was taking a chance, assuming he could read. But he had been at the war college, so perhaps it was not such a risk to think he could understand written language. She wrote her message out in simple glyphs, folded the paper, and sealed it. She handed it to her brother.

“As soon as possible,” she said. “To the son.”

“I’ll see it in his hands today,” he agreed. “What will you do in the meantime?”

“I’ll do what I’ve always done.” She glanced briefly at Zataya. “Survive.”





CHAPTER 29




THE TOVASHEH RIVER

YEAR 325 OF THE SUN

(4 DAYS BEFORE CONVERGENCE)

Tovasheh is a terrible place. The rain is unceasing, and the food consists of things one draws up from its swampy environs. I do not recommend it.

—A Commissioned Report of My Travels to the Seven Merchant Lords of Cuecola, by Jutik, a Traveler from Barach



The port city of Tovasheh stretched before them, a series of low wood and stone buildings in a sparsely populated mile of marshy delta. Winter had settled in along the more northern coast of the Crescent Sea, and the tropical climes of Cuecola had been replaced with reed-heavy wetlands that gave way to rocky yellow hills in the fog-shrouded distance. Ubiquitous clouds delivered a light but steady misting of chilling rain that didn’t so much soak the landscape as continuously moisten it.

Xiala pulled a makeshift blanket around her, wet and miserable. She had salvaged it from the tarp that covered what was left of their cargo. It was stiff and none too warm, but it kept the rain out, and it was safer than using any clothing the crew had left behind. So far it seemed that her and Serapio’s imprisonment had saved them from exposure to whatever illness had taken Patu, but she didn’t want to take chances. Still, the blanket smelled musty and too well used for her liking. She still wore Serapio’s extra clothes, but they were dirty, bloodstained, and getting musty, too.

“This town better have baths,” she muttered to herself as she guided them in.

Annoyingly, the weather seemed to have put Serapio in a good mood. He stood at the bow of the ship with his cowl down, facing into the rain. The rain dewed his face and clung to his curling black hair in droplets. Some of his crows had returned, and they circled around him, taking turns landing on his outstretched hand to be petted. He stroked their long smooth feathers and murmured happy sweet nothings to them. They cawed back their pleasure loudly.

The docks resolved out of the mist, long log platforms stretching out from sediment mounds. Most were empty, and at first Xiala worried that some ill had befallen the city, but then she remembered that it was winter, and no ships were fool enough to travel the Crescent Sea this time of year. In fact, most were in dry dock somewhere, busied with repairs and waiting for spring.

“Like sane people,” she commented, again, to herself.

She brought the canoe parallel to a platform, and Serapio jumped lightly from the deck, rope in hand, to secure the ship. He had assured her he could do the work, particularly with his crows helping him see, and she had taken his word for it.

She did the same, tying off the stern at the back thwart.

“I’ll have to find the harbormaster,” she said as she approached Serapio. “Maybe hire a few dockers to unload the cargo we have left. And a place to sell it, of course.” She glanced at the sky. They had arrived late in the day. It would be dark in a few hours. Whatever she was going to do would take time, and she was running out of it. They could always sleep on the canoe again, but she was determined to find a bath and a bed.

“Do not forget we must be in Tova in four days.” Serapio finished tying off the center thwart. She watched his hands work the rope, long fingers deft and competent. “That must be our priority.”

“I thought Obregi didn’t have ships,” she said, surprised at his efficiency. “That’s a solid knot.” She reached out and tested it.

“We don’t,” he said, stepping back, “but I worked wood for a long time. Rope is not so difficult.”

She grunted, impressed. “Secret talents.”

He paused, face turning toward hers. “Yes,” he said, in that way he had, as if she had accidentally stumbled upon a profound truth, but he didn’t elaborate.

“And no, I’ve not forgotten. No haggling, just… sell.” She winced when she said it.

He made a dry sound that could have passed for a laugh.

She straightened and looked around. Nothing but fog. “Where is that harbormaster?”

“I’m going to find us transportation upriver while you find the harbormaster.”

She tilted her head, squinting. She had become accustomed to him in their days together, but he was still a sight. Black robe, red teeth, the cloth around his eyes. Even with all his haahan mostly covered, he was very, very strange. But then again, perhaps they were close enough to Tova that he’d blend in better than she did. Who knew? Maybe everyone in the Holy City looked like Serapio.

Mother waters, she hoped not. Not because he was strange, but because she was having enough trouble not wanting to constantly touch him, feel his smooth skin again, the rough scarring of his haahan, the salt in his lips, the feel of his hands.

“All right,” she said briskly, already regretting letting her mind wander, “you go. I’ll do the rest. Where should we meet?”