21: THE ISLAND OF YNISTHANA

(Kihrin’s story)

I woke, alone, lying on a reed mat in a cave full of the wet sound of water dripping off rock. I remembered the dream with unusual clarity, probably because it was the first dream I’d had since Tyentso’s summoned demon had torn out part of my soul.

Had it been a hallucination, the product of a near-drowning, or had I really just experienced a heart-to-heart chat with the Goddess of Luck herself? The dream had been surreal, but no more so than any events of the last week. Had I really survived a passage through the Maw, and a Daughter of Laaka, and sung a duet with a dragon?

A real dragon. I felt immortal.

Sure, I thought to myself, and now you’re the gaeshed slave of a vané hag who might also be a dragon, trapped with her rabid son on an island somewhere in the Desolation. If they’ve saved you for something, you won’t like it.

Taja said I just needed a better attitude.

I laughed out loud.

I lay there and listened to the surrounding sounds: the drip, drip, drip of water and the distant cries of seagulls. Nothing sounded like people or the heavy breathing of a large dragon, so I sat up and looked around the cave.

A few pieces of incongruous furniture decorated the place: the reed mat I had been lying on; a large chest; a table, two chairs. Small lanterns fixed high into the walls provided light. The cave was large, though not large enough to fit the dragon I had seen. The glossy, smooth black stone walls looked like they had melted and solidified many times in rapid succession.

The air was warm and humid against my unclothed skin: the rough Black Brotherhood robe was gone. I panicked for a moment, reached up for the Stone of Shackles, and sighed in relief as I realized it was still there.

I searched through the chest and found a pair of loose-fitting trousers (I’ll give you one guess what color), a set of sandals woven from reeds, and a small silver hairbrush and clasp. There was nothing to wear for a shirt, but the kef and sandals fit well enough. I spent several minutes forcing the brush through the mess of my hair before pulling it away from my face with the clasp.

The cave ended in folds of ropy, coiled rock, which let in a bit of light. I walked to the edge, and even with my love of heights I felt a moment’s dizziness.

The cave opened out onto the side of a cliff, near the top. The opening was so high I could see above the treetops of the jungle stretched out below me. A thin fog obscured the foliage below, thickening into a wall of white in the distance: the mists of the Desolation. The calls of birds and monkeys, and other sounds I couldn’t pretend to identify, echoed in the distance. There was no sign of anyone: human, vané, or otherwise.

I leaned out. A net of interwoven vines grew up the sides of the cliff. The vines spidered, leading not only to this cave, but to hundreds of others. Narrow ramps woven from wood planks and dried vines formed awkward stairs and walkways tracing the route from heights to ground. This cave possessed no such advantage, but if their intention had been to trap me, they’d miscalculated. Many of the vines looked sturdy, and as good as any ladder to a thief such as myself. There was nothing to keep me from escaping.

Except the gaesh.

Except . . . I stopped. Could I escape? They must have boats, or Teraeth wouldn’t have needed to memorize the safe route through the rocks. Taja had said they would bring another. I could sneak down to whatever harbor they used, steal on board a ship . . .

I waited for the pain of the gaesh to overtake me.

Nothing.

Khaemezra’s words echoed, almost an audible whisper: I’ve removed the previous prohibitions.

Then Taja’s words: You can walk away. If you want.

I bit my lip to keep from jumping up and down and whooping out loud.

I climbed down the cliff. When I reached the bottom, the jungle seemed claustrophobic. Thick fog blocked most of my vision. I wasn’t blind, however: I saw a path formed by the passage of many feet, a smoothed line of rock snaking around the base of the cliff, where it faded into the mist. There was no one around, and no sounds but those the jungle gave me.

I was on an island. The jungle was no shelter for a city dweller like myself. Whoever had me captive, Black Brotherhood or black dragon, was obviously aware of this, which was why they’d made no effort to put me under any kind of guard. The clothes and furniture made me think the Black Brotherhood still had me. Good enough. Once I had the lay of the land, I would organize my escape.

Whistling a tune, I headed down the path.