Into Dreams: A Gina Harwood Novel (Gina Harwood Series Book 3) Page 20

  He stopped and looked at the sky. “Your eyes aren’t as good as mine in the light,” he reminded her, and his voice sounded like he was smiling. Gina couldn’t make out his features and could barely see the difference between his dark shape and the dark shapes of the trees behind him. She ceded the point. “The moons should be rising soon, hopefully that will give enough light for us to travel.”

  She felt him tugging at her bag and she let go of it, sitting down cautiously in the dark. He pulled out a tin from her pack and she heard him peel the top off with a claw.

  “Here,” he said, and she felt the tin being pushed into her hand.

  “No, go ahead, Kyrri,” she said, pushing it back. “You haven’t eaten in a while.”

  “Suit yourself,” he replied, and she heard the not-terribly-dainty sounds of him slurping the pulled beef from the tin hungrily before he opened another.

  Gina smiled, and her spirits rose against the oppressive darkness surrounding her. “I was really worried about you, Kyrri,” she said, softly. “I thought you were going to die, and I've seen too much of that already.”

  “But I didn’t,” sniffed Kyrri, but she felt him push his head against her hand and she scratched it before he returned to his dinner. “Good thing, too. If Minah had thought to check your night vision, she’d probably never have released you.”

  “Not a Cat,” she reminded him gruffly, pulling her knees up to her chin and closing her eyes. It hurt them to keep trying to pick shapes out of the inky black. She hoped the moons would rise quickly so they could get on their way, the darkness reminding her of childhood nightmares. Gina was glad of her companion, and shook her head at herself that she had even considered sending him away. If he wanted to help, who was she to argue?

  40

  Morgan Snyder sat on the beach, his walking stick beside him, staring out over the waves. Eliah had asked him to wait here, down the shore, until she explained the situation to the men on the vakas. She had warned him that they might attack him on sight if they saw him before she had a chance to explain - strange men were not a common sight on Sick Gull Island. He had shrugged, perfectly content to remain here in his moment of zen before he had to adapt to another new situation.

  Approaching footsteps broke his focus and he looked up, snatching the borrowed walking stick and getting clumsily to his feet. He missed his morning runs; the memory of his daily constitutionals through the Unit 12 grounds seeming like a scene from a different life. It seemed so far away.

  “Stranger, this is my husband, Nevan Stargazer,” introduced Eliah, and her countenance was dark and brooding. The man who stood beside her was tall and lean, with a sturdy set of leather pants and a ragged fur thrown over his naked shoulders. He had a wide, toothy grin across his face.

  Morgan extended a hand to the man. “Pleasure,” he said. Nevan Stargazer looked accustomed to gaiety, his smile lines etched deeply into his face. He certainly didn’t look like someone who would have attacked him on sight, as Eliah had suggested.

  “So you’re the man who survived the Sickness,” chuckled Nevan, clasping Morgan’s hand with a strength that surprised him. “And survived my wife, to boot. Which was harder?”

  Eliah glared at him, but a smile tugged at one corner of her mouth before she reset her face into a hard frown.

  “I’m in one piece,” replied Morgan evenly, with a gracious nod to Eliah. She sniffed and turned to leave.

  “I will be in our hut, Nevan,” she said, and grazed his arm with the tips of her fingernails. “Do not keep me waiting.” Eliah Stargazer turned and walked, her stride more languid and easy than usual, back down the beach. She didn’t give Morgan a second look.

  Nevan grinned and winked at him. “We will set sail tomorrow to Aphorat. Be ready when the sun rises, Stranger.”

  “My name is Morgan,” informed Morgan.

  “The Island is my wife’s territory,” Nevan explained, his voice low. “Here, she calls you Stranger, so that is your name. But I will remember it,” he promised, turning to leave. He raised a hand in farewell. “Be well, Stranger. I will see you on the morrow.”

  Morgan waved at the man, who trotted down the shore. He leaned heavily on his stick and wriggled his naked toes in the sand, closing his eyes to listen to the waves splash against the sand. He supposed he should try to get a few hours of sleep. Morgan tore himself from his spot, the sand still warm underneath his feet from his own body heat, and limped along the shoreline toward his hut. Sleep would come quickly, he knew, and morning too soon.

  41

  The path glowed faintly in the moonlight, the soft silver light spilling across the winding, ever-narrowing trail as it travelled up and down and through what Kyrri called the Tanarian Hills. The dense trees that had pressed in against the trail for the first few hours of their walk had all but disappeared, replaced by scattered dry scrub brush and small twisted trees that appeared to be clinging to survival by the thinnest of threads. The ground, no longer the tidy cobblestones of Calephais, was dusty, and the trail was hard to follow in the dim light. Kyrri trotted beside her, his paws making the smallest patter sounds against the packed, sandy dirt.

  Gina’s mind kept pace with her feet, flowing freeform in the still night, and she fought against the undercurrent of despair that threatened to drag her beneath the surface. She itched to get out of her blood-spattered pants and she dreamt of a hot shower the way she used to dream of winning the lottery. It seemed about as attainable to her right now. She glanced down at her companion and remembered the state of his blood-matted fur as he had buckled on his leather armor, and chastised herself for complaining. Gina imagined his sweaty fur itched far worse than her legs. Her mind wandered for a moment, and as it had done all night, landed on Hammer’s surprised and pain-stretched features, and the hooded man’s eyes as the light was extinguished from them. The feeling of her dagger striking bone and gristle, sending shockwaves up her arm. She snatched her mind back from those memories and tried to think of something else.

  Experimentally, she reached out with her mind. The ever-present buzzing noise grew to an overwhelming crescendo and Gina stumbled before righting herself.

  Kyrri mewed up at her questioningly.

  “Yes,” she said with a grimace. “I’m fine. I just…” she struggled to find the words. “I used to be able to do things, in my old life. In my waking life. Things I can’t seem to do here.”

  “Like what?” he asked.

  Gina reached down and unhooked his bag with clumsy fingers, hoisting it over her own. “I could read people’s thoughts,” she said simply. “I could tell if they were lying, or if they were trustworthy.” She touched the spot in her mind again and shied away from the buzz. It sounded like a million bees were attacking her whenever she got near, and the pinpricks she felt in her mind cemented that vision. “Now it’s like there’s a block preventing me from getting near that part of me.”

  Kyrri trotted on while he considered this, the leather plates of his armor whispering across each other with each step. “There are some who can do this. Witches and warlocks and cultists of the Old Gods. Some medicine Men.” He looked up at her briefly and his eyes flashed like two green disks in the moonlight. “It is not common.”

  “It was normal to me,” she replied with a sigh. “It’s been hard here without it.”

  “Perhaps the King can help,” offered Kyrri hopefully. “It is said that he could read the minds of his subjects. He pushed back the Old Gods to the borders of our maps.” Kyrri’s voice fluttered in and out of an anxious purr, and Gina wondered if that was the Cat version of a teenager’s voice breaking.

  “Do you know where we’re going, Kyrri? How to get there?” Gina withdrew her canteen and sipped out of it, offering him a drink before placing it back in the larger bag.

  “Thanks,” he said, licking his whiskers. “Generally, yeah,” he answered after some thought. “It would have been easier from Kadatheron. This way is harder.”

  Gina’s mind snapp
ed back to Hammer’s body lying on the floor and oozing blood and she shook her head sharply. “I wish I knew why they attacked us,” she said.

  “Maestra Crow seemed very interested in hearing your story.”

  “I figured she’d summoned them somehow,” agreed Gina. “Sent out a bat signal and waited for them to come running.”

  “Bat signal?”

  “Never mind, Kyrri,” she laughed. “Just a signal of some sort.”

  “Do you think they’re still after us?” asked Kyrri in a small voice.

  Gina paused before she answered, since she had actually been considering asking him the same question. “I guess we have to assume they are,” she answered. “Whoever they are.”

  They walked together in silence for a little while, their footfalls sounding loud amidst the absolute stillness of the night. There were no crickets, no bird chirps, nothing but the occasional rustle of dry vegetation in the wind. The plants sounded like they were whispering to her, and Gina shivered in the warm night.

  “Then we should continue to travel by night,” offered Kyrri, his voice sudden and sharp in the quiet. “It is safer. I can see much farther than the Men who would hunt us in the darkness.”

  I can’t, thought Gina, but kept the thought to herself.

  The two continued to walk through the night. Twice, Kyrri alerted her to other travelers coming down the approaching hill, but true to his word he gave them such advance notice that they had no problem finding a copse of small, twisted trees in which to hide until the travelers passed. The first group had two men in simple linen leading a large plodding creature that reminded Gina of a camel, except that it had massive curling horns that arced up from its temples. The beast was laden down with bags and boxes, and the party passed in silence without glancing anywhere near them. The second group was much larger, and Gina saw their lanterns crest the next hill almost as soon as Kyrri did. He pawed at her leg silently, but she was already poised to follow him into the brush, and together they slid quietly into a tangle of dry brambles and spiny trees.

  Gina watched the caravan pass with interest. A long train of colorful covered wagons creaked past her, their massive spoked-metal wheels digging through the sand pulled by two each of the strange horned beasts, who strained and spat as they tugged their burden down the path. Men walked beside the beasts, urging them on when their pace began to flag. They were covered in colorful silks that billowed out from behind them in the quiet breeze and their hair was long and black. Each wagon had at least one, and as many as four, lanterns that swung from their corners, leaving bright tracers through the dark night. A dull hum emanated from the caravan, made up of all of the random sounds of travel, and eclipsing the whispering desert brush.

  “Kaskarot,” whispered Kyrri in her ear. “They live on the roads, setting up outside cities and performing or trading.”

  “Kaskarot,” repeated Gina, rolling the word around her mouth. “We call them ‘gypsies’ where I come from.”

  She returned to watching the wagons pass, surprised at how many there were. At least a dozen, she figured, wishing she’d thought to count. The cloth covering the wagons was bright in the lantern light, reds and purples and greens, and every one looked different. At last the final wagon in the train passed them slowly, and Kyrri placed his paw on her arm, signalling her to wait.

  Presently another Man walked into view, strolling along and smoking a pipe. Gina’s nostrils flared as the acrid but not unpleasant smell wafted towards them. He, too, was dressed in the colorful silks and his dark hair was gathered into thick, long dreadlocks. He stopped directly in front of their hiding place, and Gina held her breath.

  Puffing rhythmically on the black horn pipe in his teeth, the man looked directly at them, meeting Gina’s eyes for a brief, heart-stopping moment. His face was deeply shadowed now, and she couldn’t read it in the fading light. She tried to fight past the beehive in her mind and reached out tentatively toward the stranger, wanting to know if he’d seen them, but it was too loud and chaotic and she slid her mental walls back into place, biting her lip in frustration.

  The Man cocked his head and crouched slightly, peering into the vegetation. Gina felt Kyrri tense up beside her, and his tail twitched against the ground. Then, suddenly, the Man stood, turning and walking swiftly out of sight.

  They waited in tense silence, long enough that Gina’s eyes had time to completely readjust to the dim moonlight. “Do you hear anyone, Kyrri?”

  Kyrri shook his head and crept slowly to the pathway, rotating his ears and keeping his belly to the ground. Gina stood, her knees creaking in protest, wiping the dirt from her pants. “I think it’s safe, Gina-Dreamer,” he announced with relief as she emerged from the brush.

  “I’m sure he saw us,” she said, joining his pace.

  “Yes,” replied Kyrri, and silence reclaimed its place as their third companion as they walked toward the first rays of light on the horizon.

  42

  Morgan blinked sleep away from his eyes. Ila laughed and ran further down the shore, tapping his head and shouting something before running away again. He supposed it was a game, of sorts. There was little else to do on the island for entertainment.

  The children had started to show up as the sun rose and Morgan had limped to his current spot, his legs sore from sleep. Very few of the adults did, however, and after gathering their shells as they usually did each morning without supervision, the children had resorted to playing in the surf. It was amazing how much younger they seemed when they laughed and played instead of going about their duties on the island as seriously as they usually did. He spent the morning listening with a smile to their laughter echoing against the incoming waves and studying the boats docked along the simple wooden planks. They reminded Morgan of two massive canoes that someone had built a deck and small house across. Their masts reached to the sky and their gathered sails looked like blue silk.

  “Papa!” Morgan heard Ila cry, and craned his neck to watch her dive into her father with an aggressive hug. Nevan Stargazer was sheepishly exiting the hut, rubbing his neck, when his daughter collided with him, and he stumbled back from the impact. A grin on his face, he darted forward and picked up the girl, placing her on top of his shoulders with little effort. He held her hands and they walked toward Morgan laughing.

  “I am sorry I am late,” chuckled Nevan, bouncing Ila off of his shoulders and lowering her to the ground. “Eliah was demanding. Are you ready?”

  “Ready?” asked Ila, her eyes narrow. “Ready for what?”

  Nevan knelt next to his daughter. “Papa has to go out on the sea again. Just to Aphorat and back. I’ll be back in ten days.” He turned and whistled. Morgan turned to see two other men approaching them, one of them a very large man with a displeased wife trailing behind him. Eliah had also ducked out of the hut, her expression stony.

  “But you always stay for a while before you go back out!” Ila whined, and tears were welling in her eyes. “You just got here!” Nopah heard her cries from the beach, where he was piling sand into a mountain, and stumbled to his feet, alarmed.

  Nevan waved at his son and he sat back in the sand with a thump. “Ila, it is only ten suns. I’ll count each one in the morning, and if you do the same, I'll be back before you know it.” He gave her a kiss on the forehead and she remained limp and angry as he hugged her goodbye. “Take care of your mother, Ila,” he said.

  “Yes, Papa,” she whispered, sniffling. He tousled her hair and hopped up to kiss Eliah goodbye.

  “Be safe, Nevan,” said Eliah, and her eyes flickered to and away from Morgan. “You may keep the stick, Stranger. Hopefully you fare better with it than my father.”

  “Thank you, Eliah,” Morgan said sincerely. “For everything.”

  She turned on her heel, her long, blonde braids flinging out behind her, and stomped back to her cabin. Morgan turned to Nevan, surprised, but he was already stepping onto the ship. Morgan hobbled forward, stepping gingerly onto the deck of t
he ship.

  “Eliah can be hard,” commented Nevan, gathering a length of rope and winding it around his arm. “Toma, Aden,” he said, nodding at each of the other men in turn. Toma towered over them, easily six inches taller than Morgan and nearly a foot taller than the other men, and wider than any of them too. He was a giant. Aden, on the other hand, was short and even leaner than Nevan, a lanky young man. Morgan guessed he was around Chaz’s age, and he felt a pang of homesickness.

  “But she is a good woman. You just happened to arrive at a very bad time.” Nevan shrugged apologetically.

  “I’m grateful to her.”

  Nevan nodded. “She told me of the ebene. She was spooked, which is not how I would ever normally describe her.” He tossed the pile of rope to the giant he’d identified as Toma, who snatched it out of the air smoothly and continued his preparations. “But we will have plenty of time to hear each other’s stories.” He waved for Morgan to come further toward the center of the ship. Morgan leaned heavily on his stick; the rocking ship was difficult to balance on and seemed much less steady than he’d expected. He walked over to Nevan, slowly and unsteadily, and noticed the men on the ship exchange glances. “Have you ever manned a net?”

  “No, but I can learn,” replied Morgan, stumbling to the side from a sudden shift in the boat. He noticed the men all absorbed the movement in their knees, their hips staying steady. Like riding a horse, thought Morgan, something he had more experience with in his youth than ships. He loosed his knees and immediately felt more stable.

  Nevan nodded approvingly. “Excellent! Toma will show you what to do, we haul as we sail and keep the fish for trade in the middle here,” he pointed to a self-contained net stretched beneath the deck, accessible by several sections of wood that lifted up. Toma was the largest man on the boat, a monster of a man with an affable face who grinned easily, and he waved a giant hand at Morgan as he ducked easily through the rigging.