Chapter Five
Two days later, just as Sorke had Seen, help arrived, attracted by the pillar of smoke from the fires the survivors had kept burning day and night, and by the wreck slowly breaking apart out on the rocks. Tribal Uemiriens, fisherfolk and scavengers, tall, thin people with the tow-coloured hair so common among their race, come to see what pickings they could glean. Finding so many survivors surprised them, but left them untroubled. They hunkered down readily and shared their food, telling Sorke where fresh water could be had a little way inland, and how to fashion water bottles to carry it.
Though the sailors had done pretty well in keeping the survivors alive and in good shape, the arrival of the tribesman lifted everyone’s spirits. It meant a way off the beach and back to civilisation. To the crew, it also meant confirmation that their fellow sailors were lost, for the tribesmen had found and buried the bodies of the nine missing people on the shore north of them. Time now to move on.
The tribesmen refused to lead anyone directly to Karvis, but they could take a few men to the nearest settlement some twenty kilometres farther south along the coast, and from there, transport could be arranged to the border and to a telegraph station. With luck, the survivors could be picked up within a week.
But Yveni had no intention of going with them, and once four men—two sailors, two passengers—had left with some of the tribesmen, he went in search of Kafoe, one of the older fishermen. Yveni had become friendly with many of their clan, who’d been intrigued by a youth who spoke their tongue like one of their own, and by his knowledge of their land from Gil’s stories.
He found the old man sitting cross-legged on a boulder, plaiting grass to make a water bottle.
“Young Gaelin, just when I need a helper. Hold this.”
Yveni held the plait in place while Kafoe made an intricate adjustment to his weaving. “Kafoe, I need your help too.”
Kafoe cocked his head. “Tell on, boy.”
“I need to go to Horches. Karvis is no friend to me. I can’t go there.”
“Horches is too far to walk, boy. Too far to swim.”
“But people do walk there, and travel there. If I could find such, I could travel with them. I’m in no hurry, but I can’t go south. The Karvi aren’t good people.”
Kafoe spat and nodded. “Too true. They steal our people and take them as slaves when they can. Our tribe, we have a seer to protect us, and we’re too slippery besides. The Karvin king says, ‘oh, the parents sell the children willingly,’ but it’s a lie. None of us would sell a child, and especially not to
them
.” He spat again.
“They take children from the tribes?” One of the reasons the Uemiriens were so disliked in Sardelsa was the belief that they would sell their children for gold. Gil and Sofia had always said it was a lie, but Yveni hadn’t known how it had come about.
“Yes. Raiders come. Mainly inland. Twenty or so every year. Only children, so they can tell their lies. The children know the truth, but who believes a Uemirien child over one of
your
people?”
Yveni flushed. “There are no slaves in Tuelwetin.”
“No, but you take the Karvin money and the Karvin trade.” He nodded at the goods and boxes on the beach, rescued from the sea. “Some of this was made with slave hands.”
He had no argument against this, because it was true. It had been a delicate point of diplomacy between the Unity of duchies in Tuelwetin and the Karvin king for a long time, but no one wanted to upset the balance of trade over an issue which, when it came down to it, didn’t affect Tueler citizens at all. Yveni’s father had muttered about it often, and done what he could, but one duchy out of twenty, however rich, could not turn opinion quickly.
“But now you understand why I don’t want to go there.”
“You’re in no danger, boy.”
“Still…is there a way to Horches?”
Kafoe’s face creased up as he thought. “North of here, fifty miles or so, is a village called Lild. Fisherfolk, like us, only they farm too. Every two years they take a kardip herd across country to the Grekil market. This is their year.”
“There’s a road between Grekil and Horches. People travelling. I could get a lift, buy a ride, maybe.”
“Got to get there first, boy. The herders walk all the way, and it’s eighteen hundred kilometres.”
“I don’t mind. My father’s dead—where else will I go?”
Kafoe nodded in acknowledgement.
“When do the herders leave?”
“End of spring, when the kardip calves can walk. A month or so. But they might not let you go with them.”
“If I don’t ask, I won’t know. Kafoe—will you take me? Or can someone else?”
“Long way, boy, for a favour. What can you offer?”
Yveni cast about. His pack had washed ashore. The sight of the cheap books Gerd bought him had made his eyes fill, but they’d be no use to these men, and the clothes wouldn’t appeal. “My father’s boots. They’re good, tough leather. They’ll last a long time. His knife too.”
Kafoe pursed his lips. “Maybe.”
“And this?” Yveni lifted the chain off from around his neck and held out the whistle hanging from it.
“What is it?”
He demonstrated and Kafoe fell back in shock at the sharp, astonishing noise. He stared at Yveni for a few moments, then laughed, holding his sides in merriment. “Oh yes. For that thing? Someone will take you, even without the boots.”
Two days later, without any fuss, and no farewells except to Sorke and Hiljn, Yveni slipped out of the camp in the company of Hilario, Kafoe’s young, bright-eyed grandson. Their journey to Lild would take four or five days, Hilario judged. He was in a chatty, cheerful mood, glad of the excursion and delighted with the compensation for his trouble. His light voice rang out along the shore in the clear dawn air, along with a blast from his new whistle every few minutes. It didn’t look like he would tire of the sound anytime soon.
Yveni, walking beside him and determined to keep up despite his shorter legs, let him ramble on. Though he was glad to make a start on his journey, the rhythm of his footsteps didn’t distract him from his gloomy thoughts the way the constant work had done back at the camp.
“You’re very quiet, Gaelin. Maybe I’ll call you ‘silent child’ from now on.”
Yveni stopped watching his feet and looked up at his companion. “Uh…sorry. I have a lot on my mind with my father dying.”
“I didn’t know.” Hilario stopped and, putting his hands together, made a little bow. “Sorry. I meant no disrespect.”
“I know. I’ve never really been alone before, that’s all.”
“But you’re not alone. You have me.”
“True.” How could he explain to this son of the sea and sand what he meant? How his life in the castle meant being surrounded by people, and how Gerd had eased the ache of fleeing from all he’d known. “Ignore me.”
Hilario cocked his head. “I can’t do that. It’d be rude.”
“Then tell me a story. I don’t want to talk just now.”
“That I understand. Very well. Let me tell you of Fifin, the great sea fish, and the day he ate a village.”
“A fish eating a village?”
“It’s true. An enormous fish from the depths of the sea. Fifin came looking for food. Monstrously hungry he was. He ate the crabs, but he was still hungry. He ate all the little fishes, but he was still hungry. He ate all the
big
fishes, and he was still hungry. Finally, he said to himself, there’s not enough food in all the oceans for me. I’ll seek my meals on land. So he threw himself up onto the beach, and ate all the trees and all the bushes, and even the rock lizards. But he was
still
hungry.” Hilario glanced at Yveni. “Truly.”
“Uh-huh.” Yveni suppressed a grin. “And then what?”
“No good, he said. But then he saw some funny-looking round things, and they were covered with branches, so he thought, let me fill my belly with those. So he munched them all down, and all that was in them. At last he was full. He slid back into the ocean, content, and ready to sleep it off. But a sound kept annoying him. A loud, sad sound, coming from the beach. So he popped his head up, and there on the beach was a little boy, crying. ‘Child, you’re keeping me awake. Why are you crying?’ ‘Because you ate my mother and my father and my family and my clan and all our houses,’ the boy said. ‘I just wanted the branches because they looked so tasty.’ The little boy began to cry again. Well, Fifin was a hungry fish, but he wasn’t a
bad
fish, so he swam up onto the beach, and burped. Up came the trees and the bushes and the lizards. He burped again. Now the houses, and the branches on the roofs and inside the houses the little boy’s family was safe and so were all his clan. The boy was happy and his mother and father were happy. But Fifin was not. ‘Now I’m hungry again,’ he complained. The boy said, ‘Give him the branches!’ So the clan pulled all the branches off their roofs and fed them to Fifin, and he was happy. And now every year, our village throws the old branches from our roofs into the sea for Fifin to eat, and now we know he won’t come on the land again because he’s got plenty of food. And I swear by the god of the sky and earth every word of that is true.”
Yveni stared at Hilario’s innocent expression. “Every word?”
Hilario put his hand over his heart and bowed. “Of course.”
“This word ‘true’—it has another meaning in Uemi?”
“Of course.”
Hilario laughed. Yveni couldn’t resist his cheeky grin. “You’re crazy.”
“Everyone says that. Come on, we have far to go before nightfall.”
They did and by the time Hilario called a halt about an hour from sunset, Yveni could barely move. He’d never walked so far in his life, and his poor feet had blistered badly, though his shoes were stout and comfortable.
Hilario, barefoot as he’d probably been all his life, stared at the blisters in dismay. “You should take off those things, throw them away. Bad for you.”
“And then my feet would be bloodied, not blistered. We don’t have time for me to become used to walking barefoot.”
“True. You’ll have to wash them. Go soak them in the sea. You can cast a line while I make the fire.”
The cool water helped, but if Hilario had asked for more help than fishing, Yveni wouldn’t have been capable of obliging. He did manage to catch a couple of small fish for their supper, to supplement the sweet fruit Hilario collected as he foraged for firewood.
After supper, Hilario smeared the juice of a beach succulent over the blisters, and rubbed cold ash into the soles of Yveni’s feet. “To toughen them up. Don’t put those evil things back on tonight.”
Yveni wondered about biting insects or worse, but thought he needed to worry most about the blisters. He really needed to stop moving around. He’d never been so tired.
Hilario built up the fire, then laid a blanket on the ground close to it. “We’ll share.”
Yveni tried not to reveal how awkward he felt at the idea. He’d been sleeping hard up against a dozen male strangers for nearly a week without a second thought, but this was nothing like being out in the woods, hunting with Gil and his father’s court. As vicont, it would have been unthinkable for him to share his bed or his tent with a soul other than his father or a manservant. It wasn’t like snuggling with his younger sisters either, when one of them was lonely or sick. Hilario wasn’t a child, as his swagger and revealing britches proved.
“Come on, Gaelin. I’ll steal the blanket if you don’t join me.”
Yveni grinned to hide his unease and lay down on the ground. Hilario joined him, pulled the second blanket over them, then wrapped his arms and body tight around Yveni’s. Yveni stiffened—was this normal?
“Cold.” Hilario shuddered. “Your clothes are stingy. They give no heat.”
“Uh, sorry. Do you…um…sleep like this in your camp?”
“Sure. With my wife. You have a wife?”
“No. I’m too young to marry.” Not strictly true, since he’d turned seventeen the month before his father had his stroke. The issue of a betrothal had been put aside with all the worry over his father’s health.
“Hah, you’re plenty old enough. I’ve been married for three years and I have a son, another on the way.”
“But you’re only nineteen.”
“So?”
Yveni tried not to think of the Uemiriens as primitive for letting children marry, but it seemed very strange to him.