56.

Zebara

I had by this time become much more knowledgeable about human dwellings. I had been to the isle of Ursina and to Saguria. I had passed through towns and villages. I had seen the evidence of human ingenuity.

And then I saw Zebara.

In this nearly treeless land, humans had constructed buildings from mud bricks, buildings shaped like a half of a melon, round on the top, with a single low door and a narrow window. Smoke rose from holes cut in the roofs of these primitive huts.

The whole port village seemed haphazardly designed, homes and shops all willy-nilly with nothing but mud between them. A central lodge, still with an arched roof but much longer, sat near the middle of town. It was festooned with antlers from verdelk, wolf pelts, and the bleached bones of great fish.

It was clear that boats were more important by far to the villagers than homes. Dozens of boats crowded the narrow harbor: fishing craft, swift-rowing smuggler crafts, and at least one Nedarran pirate ship. Outnumbering these still-useful boats by ten to one were beached boats, shambling wrecks with fallen masts, many draped with frayed rope ends and scraps of ancient sails. Everywhere were crude racks made to dry nets, and wide fire pits over which strings of fish smoked.

As usual I assumed my “dog” identity, a ruse that was harder to pull off with an actual dog in our company. We were met with open curiosity and little hostility from the townspeople, a dirty, scowling, dangerous-looking bunch. I saw many humans with forehead brands of T for thief, S for smuggler, and P for poacher, and many with ears cut off, and sometimes hands or legs. A surprising number of Zebarans wore hooks for hands or pared-down tree stumps for legs.

Branding, Khara explained, was the gentlest punishment handed out in Nedarra; a second offense would get you garroted. For piracy, the punishment began with mutilation and got rapidly worse.

Zebara was a dark and frightening place, but in some ways I welcomed it. If any bunch of humans was desperate and dangerous enough to give a Knight of the Fire second thoughts, it was this collection of criminals and renegades.

With some of Renzo’s money, we bought some dried fish and ate it in the open, wolfing it down and following it with gallons of spring water to dilute the cloying salt flavor.

As we sat in the dirt eating, three men came striding up, looking curious and suspicious. Each was armed with several weapons, including knives, clubs, whale harpoons, and wooden stake-driving hammers.

“What business have you here?” The one who spoke had a strong accent that made even the Common Tongue hard to understand. He was missing one eye and had filled the cavity with a piece of fine pottery, a glazed eyeball whose sightless pupil aimed eternally to the right.

“We seek something,” Khara said.

“What?”

“We come from the isle of Ursina,” she lied easily. “The great scholars there have sent us on a voyage of exploration to find out the truth of a legend.”

“What legend is that?” One-Eye asked. His tone was still skeptical, but he had straightened a bit upon hearing that we were from the isle.

“The ancient texts tell of islands that move on their own. Islands that think. Living islands.”

The three humans exchanged a look, and my heart leapt. They knew something.

“What would it be worth to have the answer?” One-Eye demanded.

Khara held up her hands in a helpless gesture. “As you see, we have nothing to trade.”

“You have horses,” the man said.

“They’re not our horses to trade,” Khara said, sounding regretful. “They are gifts of the Murdano.”

The name did not improve One-Eye’s mood. He spat on the ground. “The Murdano holds no sway here,” he said. “Does he defend us against raiders? No. Does he send a fleet to keep Dreyland pirates from attacking our trade? No. At the very least he could bribe the natites, who could put an end to attacks from the sea. Instead he spends his fortune building an army for a war he’s certain to lose.”

“Nevertheless,” Khara said, “we cannot trade horses we do not own.”

“Then I have nothing to tell you.” He hooked his thumbs in his rope belt and put on a stubborn face, though he did allow more than one anxious glance at Gambler.

“What about information?” Renzo spoke up. “You have information, I have information.”

“What information?” One-Eye asked. “You first.”

Renzo nodded, deliberately ignoring a warning look from Khara. “There is a great threat coming your way.”

One-Eye laughed scornfully. “That’s nothing new. There are always threats.”

“Not like this,” Renzo said. “Because right now, less than half a league behind us, is a Knight of the Fire. And he is burning everything in his path.”

The mask of indifference disappeared from the three dirty faces. One-Eye drew himself back and made a hand sign meant to ward off evil.

“That?” Renzo said, mocking his gesture. “That will not stop the knight from burning this village to the ground.”

“You’ve brought a Knight of the Fire down on us?” one of the other men cried.

Renzo shook his head. “Don’t be ridiculous. We aren’t worth his time. No,” he said with a sigh, “he’s just out for murder, I’m afraid. He very nearly roasted me, and I don’t even know these people. I’m not from the isle. I”—he waited for a dramatic beat—“am a thief.”

Anticipating a loud rejection upon hearing the word “thief,” Khara moved her hand to her sword hilt. But Renzo had estimated his audience correctly. They were mildly impressed by “scholars” but considered a thief to be one of them, someone they could trust.

“Now, I’ve given you good information,” Renzo said. “If you’re wise, you’ll put your boats to sea and hide your valuables.”

One-Eye nodded. “Aye, that we shall do.”

“And now your side of the bargain,” Renzo said.

“I have seen islands that move,” One-Eye said. “Their location is never certain. They can be quick, and when they move, they can keep at it for days without stop, traveling fifty leagues in a week’s time.”

Renzo grinned. “But . . .”

“But,” One-Eye continued reluctantly, “I was fishing up near Rebit’s Sound yesterday. By land it’s two, three leagues north, then a short distance down a peninsula to a spot called Landfail. There you should be able to see one of the islands.”

I could remain patient no longer. “Have you seen any of my kind?”

One-Eye gaped at me, surprised to hear me speak. He pointed to Dog. “Does that one talk, too?”

“No,” I said impatiently. “He’s a dog.”

“Then what are—” One-Eye shook his head. “Oh, never mind. The answer to your question is no, I’ve seen no dogs that speak and walk erect.” Seeing my despair, he added, “Of course, we don’t approach the islands.”

“Why do you not approach the islands?” Khara asked.

“The sentient islands are gods to many. Others think they’re home to foul beasts and monsters. Still others believe that anyone who sets a foot on the islands will be eaten, consumed by the very trees.”

“Wonderful,” Renzo muttered.

Khara nodded. “Thank you for your information. We’re moving on. You had best hide until the knight has passed, if you want to live.”

“Good luck,” Renzo said as we departed. “You’ll need it,” he added under his breath.

“Not as much as we will,” Khara said.