Morning dawned cold and gray. Gerard woke to find himself wedged between Tomyko and one of the Pelutian rowers, who could barely fit head to toe inside the rectangular lean-to hut. Gerard wriggled free and tiptoed to the entry door. He didn’t wish to disturb anyone, since he’d risen earlier than the rest.
All except one. Gerard emerged to find Isotta alone, seated behind the sail, twirling her fingers idly in the air. Gerard watched a stiff breeze inflate the sail and push the raft through the waters.
“So, you’re a Winder, then.”
“And you’re a restless sleeper.”
“Will our discoveries about each other never cease?” he asked, more sarcastically than he’d intended.
Isotta merely smiled. “Have some.” She plucked a stone mug from her lap and handed it to him. Steam curled from its brim.
Gerard inhaled the steam cautiously—whether out of curiosity or suspicion he could not tell. “What is it?”
“Something to bitter your tongue, yet invigorate your mind. The bean only grows on Welkin Ring.” She smiled again, ruefully this time. “Not that you need any more encouragement with the bitter part.”
Gerard felt something crumple inside himself. A pang, like sympathy. He sat next to Isotta and sipped the drink. It scorched his lips and coated his tongue with a harsh, complex aroma. To his surprise, he felt his weariness retreat a step.
“I believe you,” he said, with something approaching apology.
“Which part?”
“That you are doing what you can to help us. To fight—”
She cut him off with a sharp glance. “Best not to speak of it.”
Her tone stung him. But he’d had a warm drink to clear his mind, a bit of sleep, and an otherwise pleasant conversation to this point. Where he might have been riled at being shushed like a child, instead he filed it away as another piece of the incomprehensible puzzle Isotta had turned out to be. He saw the brief flush in her cheeks—not of anger, but embarrassment, he guessed—and decided she had spoken out of a desire to protect them. Until she proved otherwise, he had no better option than to follow her lead.
He started to ask where they were headed, but they were interrupted by the door to the hut opening. Glim appeared, followed by Lhani. They held hands and seemed slightly less grim than usual. It gave Gerard hope.
Whatever hint of cheer he’d found vanished the moment Arrad stepped onto the deck. He looked around coldly, and seemed like he might be seasick. Lhani walked over to take his hand. Gerard watched the two with intense curiosity. Something was going on between them.
“I feel… weird,” Arrad said, as if answering a question from her, and making sure Isotta could overhear his response. “Something is not right. I keep fighting with Tomyko. And you…” Arrad looked at the deck and his face reddened.
Lhani looked at him with apprehension.
“I feel jealous. And angry. Of you and Glim. But it doesn’t make any sense. I’m happy you’re happy.”
Lhani took Arrad’s hand and squeezed it.
The other door opened and the Pelutians emerged, jostling each other with familiar smiles and rocking the raft with their movements. But they sobered immediately upon seeing Glim and Arrad. They fanned out across the sides of the raft, stretching. The Pelutian woman walked out of the hut, nodded at everyone, then turned to the east. Moments later, the first golden flecks of sunrise hit the water.
The eight rowers, their chief, and Isotta all cried out at the same time. Not with fear, but more like greeting. The Pelutians smiled at her and sat down to eat their breakfast.
“A ritual,” Isotta said to no one in particular. “They greet each sunrise and sigh at the sun’s passing.”
Lhani perked up at this news.
“Lhanni wants to know—are we headed to Welkin Ring?” Arrad asked. Isotta nodded. Lhani gasped and clapped her hands.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Gerard looked at Arrad’s haunted face, and the sorrow in Glim and Lhani, which the veneer of relaxation at the moment could not erase. Even the typically cheerful Tomyko seemed dispirited. Gerard imagined he didn’t look much better than the rest of them. He could smell the stale perfume of the incense from Fsisbon’s braziers on his clothes, and the acrid scent of dried sweat from his anxious days of running.
“Well!” he said, voice thick with the false gusto of sarcasm. “You have us here now, Isotta. What’s the plan?”
⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅
Isotta closed the door to the hut and tightened the flaps. Just as before, the sound from outside ceased. The air inside the low hut felt clammy, and the darkness absolute except for the single flicker of lamplight.
The six of them sat in a circle. Gerard watched Isotta closely. But not nearly as closely as Glim. The young man seemed as if he might bore a hole right through her with his gaze alone.
“In here we can speak relatively freely,” she began. “Æolia hears without ears, and is always seeking her sling. Remember that.”
Lhani’s eyes widened and she tugged Arrad’s sleeve.
“What do you mean?” Arrad asked.
Isotta looked at Lhani intently. “You love the wind, do you not? I can see it in your eyes. The tug of your smile when it finds your hair. So invigorating! It carries hints of far off places to us.” Isotta twirled her fingers, mimicking the motions of the wind. She stopped and looked at Lhani, eyes blazing. “But do you truly believe that changes in temperature and hints of scent are solely responsible for the richness of our sensations? I do not. When the wind touches us, we are connected to those other places. Because sometimes, the wind is Æolia. Any word that gets picked up by the wind might reach her ears. Because the wind is her ears. Her voice as well.”
Gerard felt goosebumps on his neck and suddenly felt uneasy. Glim’s reaction, however, could only be described as terror. Gerard thought about asking Arrad to speak for the lad, but he could see how fragile Glim’s mind had become at that moment, and let it go.
“So if you have something sensitive to say,” Isotta continued, “ensure that you’re away from the wind’s touch.” She pulled her sleeves back to reveal a series of straight scars. “We learn this the hard way. I’ve gotten the cane a few times myself. Guard your words, as if they were your life.” She looked around the circle pointedly. “And the lives of those you love.”
“What’s happening to me?” Arrad asked.
Isotta’s lip trembled. “The events we’re in now have been discussed for centuries. I have my own opinions on what is happening to you, Arrad. Informed opinions. But there is something that overshadows anything I might say to explain it.”
“What’s that?”
“A vow of silence. I cannot answer such questions, for everyone’s protection. That’s all I can say about it. Ask all you wish. I shall say no more on it. No matter how much I wish to.”
The hut grew quiet. Gerard could almost hear five heartbeats around him, the silence was so absolute.
“What can you tell us?” Gerard asked her at last.
“A few things. One, you are now the most hunted people in all of Æronthrall. Incantus Troix wants the hammer, and they have considerable resources. As does the Faction of Symmetry, who almost certainly are on your trail as well. It is only a matter of time before someone finds our footsteps. We’re headed to the one place in the world they have absolutely no dominion over. A place that has been thoroughly hidden from their minds. We’re misleading them now, and soon we’ll make a break for a new course. ”
“But why?”
Isotta shook her head and ignored the question. “I will tell you this much: Welkin Ring is the safest place in the world for half of you.” She nodded at Lhani and Tomyko. “And among the most dangerous for the other half.” She gestured at Arrad, and also Glim. “You will get very mixed receptions. The reason we go there now is partially for protection. Partially to hide our trail. But mostly, to hide something else. The waters of the Dwimmerlaik are saturated with the essentiæ of Phyr.”
“So you want us to hide the hammer there?” Tomyko asked, as if he’d just solved the world’s most complex mathematical formula.
“I cannot advise you what to do with the hammer. Only Arrad can decide that. But those in power at Pelú might be receptive to such a plan.”
As if realizing she’d overstepped, Isotta frowned and clamped her lips tight. No matter what they asked, none of them could get her to say more. Gerard left the hut and stared into the gray sky, wondering what the next days would hold.
He waited for Isotta to emerge. Instead she closed the door. The last thing he heard before it shut was a sob that caught in her throat.