The Beholden, page 41
The next day was as bright and cold as the previous. Ico did most of the sailing, standing by the ship’s flower-covered wheel and squinting at the place where the shore met the horizon. Omaira took over when he needed a break and tended to the sails when he needed them shifted. Celestia spent most of the day wrapped in silkworm webs that Omaira cut down from the masts, sitting along the side of the boat and watching the shore drift by. The enormity of the night before seemed like a dream, and she realized this wasn’t a true ocean-going experience, was it? Not with the land always shining in the distance, the golden sand glimmering in the sunlight.
They sailed on. Nothing seemed to change. Not the land, not the sky, not the green-glass water sloshing along the side of the boat.
That evening Omaira cooked some fish she had caught during the day, steaming them in the ship’s leaves.
The smoke from the fire drifted up into the darkening sky. Omaira had built it into a little alcove in the deck that she told Celestia was a firepit—“To keep you warm,” she said, smiling in that way she did, where she showed her teeth.
“To keep you warm, too,” Celestia said.
Omaira snorted. “I don’t need it. Kajani have hotter blood than humans.” But she sat beside the fire with Celestia anyway, hunched forward, her face intent in the firelight. It reminded Celestia of the carvings that decorated houses built in the Kjarin style. Scowling stone kajan faces that glowered down at the people below. Although they had frightened her as a child, they were supposed to bring good luck. They were supposed to be protectors.
She looked at Omaira now and didn’t feel frightened at all.
“Are you feeling better?” she asked.
Omaira nodded. “My immunity is growing.”
Celestia nodded. A moment later, Omaira spoke, still looking into the flames. “How’s the baby?”
Celestia pressed her hand to belly, thought she felt a flicker of movement. “I haven’t noticed anything wrong.” But saying that aloud, her voice was thin and unconvincing. How did she know? Just being out here, on the sea, in the desert, meant something was wrong. She was shaping her baby into the wrong form.
“If you feel well, then the baby’s well,” Omaira said. “Although that won’t be the case for much longer.” She peered down at Celestia’s belly with such intensity that Celestia’s cheeks warmed. “You’ll be moving into the later stages soon enough, from the looks of it. For kajani women, that’s the most difficult time.”
Celestia looked down at her hands. “It can be the same for human women. I had hoped to be back home in Cross Winds before then, but—” Her voice trailed away and she gazed at the fire. She could feel Omaira staring at her.
“I can make another tea that will help you.”
Celestia looked up. “You have the ingredients on the boat?”
Omaira didn’t say anything for a long time, and Celestia was afraid that she had misspoken, had insulted her somehow. But then Omaira said, “I brought them with me. It’s brewed from the rhakora flower, and I found some growing in the forest while I was making my plans for your rescue.”
Celestia’s heart pounded inside her chest. She could barely breathe. “You brought some with you?” she said softly. “For me?”
Omaira shrugged. She stared down at the fire. “I thought I might make your experience more comfortable, if I could. This fish is almost ready.” She leaned into the fire, reaching for the folded-up leaves with her bare hand. She picked them up as if it were nothing, as if they hadn’t been sitting in the flames all this time. “Are you hungry?”
Celestia nodded, even though Omaira wasn’t looking at her. Omaira unwrapped the leaves with a hiss and a billow of smoke, revealing a pile of white, flaky fish.
“It smells delicious,” Celestia said, but she was still thinking about the rhakora flower, about all the small kindnesses Omaira had bestowed on her since they’d first laid eyes on each other in the train to Bloodvine, trying to fit them into a pattern she understood.
They dropped anchor four days later, sometime in the afternoon, when the sun was high and bright in the frozen sky. Ico and Omaira brought the boat in as close to the shore as they could, but there was no dock here, only an empty stretch of sand marked by an outcropping of rocks worn smooth by the elements. As they drifted in to the beach, Izara felt a surge of the desert’s magic break through the haze of Growth’s magic, like a dark spot growing inside of her.
“Can we be sure this is the place?” Celestia asked. She was kneeling on the deck, tying greens and smoked fish and root vegetables into knapsacks for the trip across the desert.
“Can’t go any farther south without heading to Konmar,” Omaira said.
“I can feel the desert’s magic again,” Izara said, drifting towards the railing. “I think we’re closer.” The sand stretched out from the shore, pristine and pale gold save for a smear of darkness against the beach. At the sight of it, a spark erupted inside Izara’s head, and she slumped against the railing.
“Izara, are you all right?” Celestia’s voice felt very far away.
“What do you see?” Omaira was closer.
Izara looked up at her. “There’s something waiting for us.”
Omaira tensed and looked out at the desert. Her eyes narrowed. “That’s a rock.”
Izara rubbed her head. The sparking felt stronger, and she could taste something like honey, cloying and decadent, in the back of her throat. “It’s doing something to me,” she muttered.
Omaira leaned over the railing. Then her eyes went wide. “The statue,” she whispered.
As soon as Izara heard the word statue, an image came to her head. A statue, yes, carved of black stone, towering above the sand.
“A statue?” Celestia asked, moving closer to them.
“Five hundred years ago, during the height of Lord Kjari’s empire, His Lordship marked his palace with a statue. It stood ten feet tall and greeted all his ships as they arrived home.” Her eyes glittered, and she smiled a little to herself, showing her teeth. “It moved with his palace and would walk across the desert as he traveled, leaving footprints in the sand.”
“I imagine that was a sight to see,” Celestia said, smiling.
Omaira looked down at her, and her gaze softened.
Something squirmed in Izara’s stomach. She still did not understand why Celestia had become friendly with the kajan.
“Omaira, I need your help with the raft,” Ico shouted. “Celestia, how are those knapsacks coming?”
Celestia tied off one last knot and then stood up, her skirts swishing around her legs. Four knapsacks were laid out on the deck in a neat row. “There!” she called out over her shoulder. “Finished.”
“Well, bring ’em over.” Ico yanked on the vines tying a greenery-covered escape raft to the boat. “We want to get ashore and get our bearings before nightfall.”
Celestia looked at Izara, then nodded down at the knapsacks. “Would you mind helping me?”
Izara nodded, although her thoughts were still with the image of that statue. Iomim’s Treasure throbbed in her chest. Izara shivered with anxiety—and with excitement.
Celestia handed one of the knapsacks to Izara, which jarred her back into reality. She threw the knapsack over her shoulder. It was lighter than it should be. They were going back into the desert without the supplies they needed. But she looked at Celestia, her face set with determination, her belly swollen with child, and bit her tongue.
Ico and Omaira had dropped the raft down into the water. It floated indolently on the green waves, looking small and flimsy.
“Everyone take a bag,” Ico said. “Omaira, you go down first, in case the ladies need help with the rope.”
Omaira nodded, shouldered her bag, and swung her legs over the railing, moving with that heavy grace that still startled Izara when she saw it in action. It didn’t take her long to climb down.
“I’ll go next,” Celestia said.
Izara nodded, resisting the urge to tell Celestia to be careful. Of course Celestia knew to be careful, for her sake and for the sake of the baby.
Celestia grabbed the thick, woody vine and crawled over the railing, her skirts tangling up in her legs. When Ico offered a hand to help her, she accepted it gracefully, even though Izara saw the tightness in her jaw that meant she was afraid of embarrassing herself.
It took Celestia much longer to inch down the vine. When Omaira grabbed her by the waist and swung her off, Celestia let out a delighted cheer. “I made it!” she cried.
Izara followed next. She didn’t let herself look down, but instead fixed her gaze up on the empty sky. The way the boat rocked when she braced her feet against it reminded her of the treacherous mountain paths at the Academy, and she was struck by a sadness, a sense of loss. When she reached the raft, she let go of the vine and jumped, the way she had as a little girl, climbing trees at Cross Winds.
Ocean water sloshed over the edge of the raft and over Izara’s boots. Celestia kept her skirts gathered up in two hands. They waited in silence while Ico descended the vine, and when he was safely aboard, Omaira pushed off with the big rough-hewn stick that she had broken off from one of the tree-like masts. The water was calm, and the waves pushed them toward the shore in lurches and starts. Celestia gripped Izara’s arm, and Izara kept her feet firmly planted on the raft, afraid of falling into the water.
When they hit the sand several paces from dry land, Omaira jammed the stick into the water and said, “We’re walking from here.” She took a deep, shuddering breath, and Izara suspected the magic was affecting her again, that whatever protection Growth’s presence had leant was gone. She only hoped Omaira would stay well enough to lead them to the palace.
They splashed toward the shore in single file, unspeaking. Ico and Omaira went last, sharing the raft’s weight. The wind whipped Izara’s hair out of its braid, and the water was cold enough to sting when the waves splashed up around her calves.
The closer she drew to the shore, the more strongly Izara felt the strange magic of the desert. That statue, in reality lumpen and worn down over the years, loomed in her vision, the one dark spot in a canvas of blue and gold. When she splashed out of the water and onto the sand, the magic surged, and her heart stumbled, as if it had forgotten for a moment to beat. She could hear the others behind her: Ico cursing beneath his breath, Celestia squeezing the water out of her dress. But she didn’t look at them. She stared at the statue, an uneasiness settling into the pit of her stomach. Images flashed in the dark parts of her mind: shriveled flowers dropping from a stem, the carcass of a panther sinking into the rich black soil of the desert.
She drifted toward the statue, trying to concentrate her focus. Magic pulsed on the air around her. There was a taste like rotting sugar in the back of her throat. She reached out with one hand and pressed her palm against the stone. It was warm, like a living thing, like a fever.
All around her was the strength of decay.
And she knew they were close.
“There’s no way to bring the carriage ashore,” Omaira said. “We can bring the alpacas with us, though.”
Celestia pressed her hands to her baby and looked down at the sand. The wind howled and the waves rushed in ceaselessly to the shore. Ico sighed, put a hand on his hip. Izara wasn’t even participating in the conversation. She stood over by the statue, gazing up at it. Celestia hoped she hadn’t gone into another trance.
“So we’ll have to walk,” Ico said.
Omaira nodded. She didn’t look terribly pleased about the arrangement, either.
“And we’re bringing the alpacas again—why, exactly?”
Omaira gave a little growl under her breath. “Because we have a pregnant woman in our party.” She paused. “And because we are running low on supplies and we may need them for food.”
Ico scowled, kicked at the sand. “Fine. Go get the stupid things. Then we can be on our way.” He squinted up at Omaira. “How long do you think it’ll take?”
“I don’t know. It’ll depend on what Izara finds in the magic.”
Ico sighed. “We’re going to die in this desert.”
“Ico, stop,” Celestia said softly, running her hands over the swell of her baby, not wanting to hear such talk. But Omaira had already stalked off toward the raft. Celestia watched her go, shivering in the dirty rags of her dress. Funny how two weeks ago she had been wearing the finery of the court. It seemed like a dream. Maybe a nightmare.
The baby moved inside her belly, a circular motion she thought must be him turning over. What if she spent the rest of her life searching for the Lord of Decay? And what if she died without ever having found him? Would the obligation pass on to her baby, would this life of hopeless searching be the only life he knew?
She couldn’t let herself think like this. It brought the sadness in, and that would affect the baby.
“Bet she kills us and cooks us up in a stew with the alpacas,” Ico said.
Anger flushed in Celestia’s cheeks. “Don’t talk about her like that.”
Ico rolled his eyes. Celestia turned away from him and watched Omaira as she rowed the raft back to the boat. Without the rest of them to weigh her down, she moved quickly, although Celestia noticed her pausing and rubbing at her head. That magic sickness again. If only there was something she could give Omaira to treat it.
Still it didn’t take long for Omaira to fetch the alpacas and bring them, bleating and shivering, back to shore.
Omaira walked over to where the three of them sat in the sand around their knapsacks. She set the second alpaca down and it joined the other in butting at her side.
“We shouldn’t wait,” she said.
Ico nodded. Then he stood up and dusted the sand from his clothes.
Izara drifted away from the statue, lost in thought.
Celestia took a deep breath, and Omaira held out a hand to help her. Celestia was grateful—the swell of her belly was becoming more and more cumbersome. Still, she said to Omaira, “I’m fine. I can see you’re feeling unwell again.”
Omaira shook her head. “It will pass.” Then she nodded at Celestia’s belly. “The movement will be good for him. You’ll see.”
The kajani way was not the human way, but Celestia nodded. It wasn’t worth the disagreement.
They set off.
The land here was flatter than the land they had sailed from, the sand packed down hard, no gentle slope of dunes rising and falling like ocean waves. The wind blew harder, too, slicing across the bare skin of Celestia’s face. She wrapped her shawl around her head, tucking the ends into the collar of her dress, but the chill still vibrated through her body. They moved closer and closer to each other, until they were walking in a tight pack, the heat of their bodies uniting them. No one spoke. If Celestia opened her mouth, sand blew onto her tongue, rough and grainy.
Celestia pressed herself against Omaira and wrapped her arms around her belly. The tip of her nose burned from the cold, and her eyes watered, tears threading through her eyelashes. The landscape was bleak and unchanging save for the sunlight, which deepened in color as the day wore on.
But then they began to see the stones.
The stones were small and polished, and at first Celestia thought they might be a mirage, a trick her mind was playing on her to break up the monotony. The idea spun around inside her head, and she began to count the times she saw the stones. One, two, three—three times her mind betrayed her. The stones shone black against the golden expanse of the sand, and they were arranged in neat piles. Celestia obsessed over them, wondering what message her thoughts could be sending her—why show her these black stones in their little triangular piles? What madness was working its way into her thoughts?
When they passed a sixth pile, the largest Celestia had seen, she blurted, “Do you see those too?”
No one answered, and Celestia was afraid she had only imagined speaking. They had been walking in silence for so long that she had forgotten what any sound was like beyond the constant whine of the wind.
“Yes, I see them,” Omaira says. “I believe they are the Xiroh stones. Izara, can you feel them?”
Celestia’s relief came on so strong it made her dizzy. She glanced over at Izara, who had her head tilted down.
“So that’s what that is,” she mumbled.
“So you can?” Omaira’s face lit up. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“I didn’t know what I was feeling,” Izara grumbled.
Omaira chattered excitedly. “The Xiroh stones are a marker used by Lord Kjari’s army. They’re enchanted as well, and provide a circle of protection for the palace, from intruders and from the chaos of the magic of this place.” She paused. “It means we’re getting close.”
Celestia’s chest tightened. She was suddenly aware of the pain in her feet, the ache in her lower back. They were close, but what were they going to find when they reached their destination?
They walked on. The sky turned pink with the sunset and then purple with twilight. The stars came out.
“We should stop for the night,” Omaira announced when it was almost too dark to see.
Ico let out a loud sigh. “Finally.” He broke away from the group and tossed his bag on the sand. The alpacas lowed now that he had broken formation and were exposed to the frigid wind. Celestia reached over and patted the closest one on the head, rubbing her fingers over its soft velvety ears.
“We need a fire,” Ico said. “And we’ll need to stay close to each other. Best way to keep warm.”
“I agree,” Omaira said. Then she peered over at Ico. “I told you it wouldn’t take long.”
“We’re not there yet,” Ico muttered.
“Oh, will the two of you stop bickering and build the fire?” Celestia demanded. She was already shivering from standing still.
Omaira smiled at that, eyes sparkling, and then built a fire quickly, using wood from the ship that she had carried in her knapsack. It blazed hot and orange in the blue desert, and Celestia huddled close, the heat pressing in against her chest and face but leaving her back exposed to the cold. She picked at the dried meat from her knapsack and sipped from her water skein. Her feet, already swollen from the pregnancy, ached so much that the ache twisted up into her calves, and pain radiated out from the small of her back into her shoulders, around the side of her belly. But it felt good to sit, even on the cold sand.
