The Dragonstone (43 page)

And so, Ferret was trapped in a cell with no way to open the door.

The day of the hanging finally arrived….

And then Arin and Egil and Aiko and Delon the bard had come along….

*   *   *

And now Ferret sat on the bow of the
Brise
and watched the waves go by. And Delon at the stern lifted his Elven-sweet voice in song.

Ferai began to cry.

W
hy do you weep, luv?” Delon sat at the bow and held Ferai’s hand.

“Because you sang.”

“Am I that bad?”

She cast him a glimmer of a smile and wiped her cheeks with the fingers of her free hand. “No, Delon. You sing beautifully. It’s just that…”

Her speech faltered, but Delon remained silent. After a moment she said, “It’s just that I was remembering.”

Fresh tears welled and ran down her cheeks. Gently Delon pulled her to him. “Cry all you need, luv.” And he cradled her against his shoulder as she wept.

And the
Brise
cut through the translucent waves of the deep blue indigo sea.

*   *   *

A long while later, Ferret said, “Would you sing more another time?”

Delon looked down at her. “For you, luv, indeed.”

Onward sailed the
Brise,
Delon yet holding Ferai next to him. In the distance, skimming low over the waves, glided a white bird with long, long wings. Delon pointed it out to Ferai.

“What is it?” she asked.

“An albatross, I think. They say it spends its entire life on the wing.”

Ferret sighed. “As sometimes I think do I.”

Delon looked again at her. “Me, too, luv. Me, too.”

They watched the bird for a while, until they could see it no more down among the waves, and Ferret said, “Do you really think I know something that will tell us where to go?”

Delon shrugged. “It’s been that way so far: each new person the key to finding the next. All but Alos, that is, though Arin thinks he yet may have a part to play.

“And as for you, luv, I truly do believe you hold a key as well. As to what it might be, I cannot say. Perhaps something from your past: something your father or mother said; a picture you saw; a rumor you heard; a song, a story, a poem, a saying; or something altogether different.”

“From what you say, Delon, it could be anything,” protested Ferret.

“No, luv, it can only be one thing: a keeper of faith in a maze.”

“But I don’t know any keepers of faith.”

“Well, then, perhaps you know of a maze.”

*   *   *

They continued sailing south-southeastward and two more days passed, days and nights filled with discussions and debates as to where they should go next:

Aiko argued that they should go back to Jute and take Gudrun captive, for she had the only cursed maze that they knew of. And when someone pointed out that the rede called for a keeper who was cursed and not the maze, Aiko replied that given her appetites, surely Gudrun was cursed as well.

Delon recommended that they head for Black Mountain, so that Lysanne could work her magic on Ferret.

Egil suggested that since they were in the
Brise,
they could sail to Rwn and do the very same thing: have one of the Mages there reveal whatever knowledge might be hidden deep within Ferai’s mind. Too, they could perhaps lift his own curse—for his nightly ill dreams continued unabated—and perhaps the Mages could recover his lost memories as well.

Ferret herself objected to anyone, much less a Mage, rummaging about in her thoughts, her memories, her very essence.

Alos argued that wherever they went, he was quitting this mad quest.

Arin calmly listened to all, weighing the choices before them.

During this time the only thing they settled was the makeup and shifts of the crews: Egil, Arin, and Aiko sailed the
Brise
throughout the night; Alos, Delon, and Ferret handled her by day. Of course there was a goodly overlap from midafternoon till mideve, and this was when the debate as to what to do and where to go became most heated.

But during the quieter moments, Ferai racked her memories for some clue that Delon was certain she knew. Many of her memories were painful, others sad, but she was surprised to find that many brought joy to mind—especially those of her dam and sire singing and telling her tales.

These songs and stories she tried to remember in their fullness, for Delon had mentioned that perhaps something of the sort was where a hidden memory lay. But try as she would, nothing came to mind, and she was convinced she’d have more success at finding a rainbow’s gold.

It was in the depths of the second of these nights that she awoke with a start. “Delon,” she hissed, swinging her feet over the edge of the bunk. She reached across the tiny cabin and shook him by the shoulder. “Delon.”

He came groggily awake. “Unh?”

“Wake up. I just remembered.”

Delon sat up, rubbing his fists into his eyes. “Umh,” he yawned. “Remembered what?”

“Something Old Nom used.”

“Old Nom?”

“She was a fortune teller.”

“And she used…?”

“In her readings she had a card she called the Door to the Temple of the Labyrinth.”

“Temple of the Labyrinth?”

“Yes. Its door.”

“This temple, this door: what else do you know of it?”

Ferai paused a moment, then said, “Old Nom told me that if you are ever dealt this card it means a dangerous and confusing passage in your life, but that if you can reach the door, you will reach safety. When the card is dealt out upright, it means that you will likely succeed; inverted means you will most likely fail.”

“Huah,” grunted Delon. “Do you know aught else about this temple?”

Ferret shook her head. “No, though as to the card, I can draw its picture, even the words above the door. Adon knows, I saw it enough when she taught me the trade.”

Delon took up a striker and lit a lantern. “Do so, luv. This sounds promising.”

“Do you really think so?” Ferai reached for the ship’s log as well as for quill and inkpot.

“Indeed.”

Alos groaned and turned over and glared at them. “I’m trying to sleep here.”

“Ferret may have a clue as to where we should be bound,” said Delon as he watched her carefully sketch an elaborate doorway.

Alos sat up and rubbed his face and scratched his belly and then watched as well.

Studiously she drew symbols upon the vellum. Then she sketched what seemed to be an entryway into a building. Finally she turned the logbook so that all could see and said, “This is what was on the card: a door carved in a wall of stone. Above the door were these symbols, words, I think, engraved in the lintel, in a language I do not know.

“Can any read this?”

Delon leaned over and peered at the lettering, then said, “I can’t read it, but it looks like Hurnian characters to me…or Sarainese.”

In that moment the door to the cabin slid open and Egil stuck his head in. “Is something amiss?” Delon turned and smiled. “No, no, Egil. Ferret has remembered something. Come look at this. —No wait. We’ll bring it adeck so that all can see.”

*   *   *

Arin looked up from the sketch and asked Ferret, “Dost thou know of a doorway of this likeness?”

“Only on Nom’s card.”

Arin turned to the others. “Do any of ye know aught of such?”

Each peered closely at the drawing, each shrugging
No.

Now Arin gazed at Delon. “Thou sayest these letters are Hurnian?”

“Or Sarainese. They’re much alike, but I am no linguist…or calligrapher, for that matter. It’s just that I’ve seen writing like this in my travels.”

“And thou hast seen no such door?”

Delon shook his head. “I’ve never been in Sarain, and I saw no such door in Hurn. But it is a wide land and I was only in the city of Chara, along the coast…. I was stranded there for a couple of months three years back. I’d not care to go there again, for not only does a particular lonely woman seek my heart, so does her angry husband.”

“Where is this land?” asked Aiko.

“East. On the Avagon. Past the Islands of Stone,” Delon replied.

“And Sarain?”

“South of there, I think.”

Alos cleared his throat. “Aye, Sarain is south of Hurn, and full of warring tribes fighting over water and land and theology, or so my old captain used to say.”

They fell silent for a moment, and finally Delon said, “Listen, whether it is in Hurn or Sarain, what more promising place than in something called the Temple of the Labyrinth are we likely to find a cursed keeper of faith in a maze, eh?”

“Yes,” said Aiko, “but if these lands of Hurn and Sarain are wide, we may be a long while searching.”

Egil nodded, then said, “If we could only read the inscription, perhaps it would let us at least narrow our choices down from two to one.”

Arin turned again to Ferai. “Is there aught else thou knowest of this place, or even of Nom’s card?”

Ferret closed her eyes, trying to remember. At last, without opening her eyes, she said, “The stone is red.”

Arin looked at Delon. “Does either Hurn or Sarain have red stone?”

“I don’t know about Sarain, but it seems to me that the
coastal areas of Hurn were mostly yellow and tan and grey, though the stone might be red inland.”

They turned to Alos. He shrugged.

Arin glanced at each of them. “Is there aught else any would add?”

“Just that we should decide,” said Egil.

Arin lowered her head for a moment, considering. Then she looked up and said, “This then is what I propose: that first we go to Sarain and find a city along the coast. There we shall seek out one who can read and ask him to decipher this. If it is not Sarainese, then we shall fare to Hurn and do the same. Then we shall choose our course from there.”

Again her gaze swept across them all. “Agreed?”

One by one they nodded, and then Egil said, “Not that I differ, my love, but what made you pick Sarain?”

“What Alos said,
chier.
”

“Me?” barked Alos, surprised.

“Aye. Thou and Ferai. Where there is theology, oft there are temples. And thou didst say the Sarainese tribes fight over theology, among other things, and where there is religious warfare, a sect will at times conceal itself. And remember what Ferai didst say: if the card is dealt to thee it indicates a dangerous and confusing passage in thy life, but that if thou canst but reach the door, thou wilt then reach safety. Mayhap the dangerous and confusing passage is one through a maze, and given its name, mayhap the temple itself is concealed in a labyrinth.”

Ferret took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Delon turned to her. “What is it, luv?”

She looked at him and shook her head. “I can’t shake the feeling that we will actually be living inside of Old Nom’s card.”

Delon raised an eyebrow. “And…?”

“And, Delon, I can’t help but wonder whether the card is upright or inverted.”

A
los swung the
Brise
southeastward, quartering the prevailing winds off the starboard stern, saying, “Sarain: it’s across the Avagon, ‘tween Chabba and Hum. Just keep her headed southeasterly and we’ll strike land sooner or later.” And then he headed back to bed, under his breath grumbling, “The next bedamned seaport we come to, someone needs to get some bedamned charts so that someone can properly navigate and reckon, for who knows how far the bedamned coast of Sarain is and who knows where along the bedamned shores we’ll make landfall and…”

The next days saw the ship heading southeasterly, at times running before a spanking breeze, at other times drifting slowly, nearly becalmed. And though the air was at times capricious, for the most part the weather held fair, but for a running three days of rain.

Yet in spite of the wind or its lack, in spite of the rain or not, now and again throughout the day Delon would sing to Ferai, and she would listen raptly, while in the stern Alos would smile and tap out a rhythmic beat.

And all along the course, especially at the change of shifts, in the twilight Arin and the others continued to debate the merits of following after a fortune-teller’s card, debating as well what they might find at journey’s end:

“Perhaps the labyrinth is inside the temple,” suggested Egil, “rather than without. Perhaps that’s where the confusing journey Old Nom spoke of is, perhaps that’s where it both begins
and
ends.”

Aiko blew out a long puff of air, and at a cocked eyebrow from Arin, the Ryodoan said, “Perhaps the confusing maze is in the very religion itself, and one must escape it altogether to be free.”

“You mean leave the temple?” asked Ferret.

Aiko shook her head. “No, Ferai. I mean leave the religion itself behind.”

“Oh.”

They drifted slowly long moments more, the wind but a waft of air, the ship nearly in irons. Finally Ferret said, “I’m not a very religious person. It seems rather foolish to me.”

“Huah,” grunted Delon. “You do not believe in Adon or Elwydd at all?”

“Or Garlon?” added Alos.