Serpent Mage

9

Something exceedingly strange has occurred and I have been (mercifully) so busy that I have had no time to write until now. But at last all is quiet, the excitement has subsided, and we are left only to wonder: What will happen to us now?

Where shall I start? Thinking back, I see it all began with Alake’s magical attempt to summon the dolphins and speak to them. We wanted to find out, if possible, where we were headed and what we faced, even if our fate was a terrible one. It is the “not knowing” that is so difficult to bear. I have said that we were adrift in the sea. That is not precisely accurate, as Devon pointed out to us during our midday meal. We are traveling in a specific direction, guided by the dragon-snakes. We have no control over the ship. We cannot even get near the steerage.

A terrible feeling comes over us when we walk in that direction. It saps the strength from our legs, leaves them wobbly and unable to move. It fills the heart and mind with images of death and dying. The one time we tried, we turned and fled in a panic, to hide, cowering, in our rooms. I dream of it still.

It was after that incident, when we’d recovered, that Alake decided to try to contact the dolphins.

“We haven’t seen one since we embarked,” she stated. “And that’s very strange. I want to know what’s going on, where we are headed.”

Now that I thought of it, it was strange that we hadn’t seen any fish. Dolphins are quite fond of company and are great gossips. They will generally flock around a ship, begging for news and passing along their own to anyone fool enough to listen.

“How do we ... er ... summon them?” I asked.

Alake seemed astonished that I didn’t know. I don’t understand why. No dwarf in his right mind would ever voluntarily summon fish! It was all we could do to get rid of the pesky things.

“I’ll use my magic, of course,” she said. “And I want you and Devon to be there with me.”

I had to admit I was excited. I had lived among humans and elves, but had never seen any human magic, and I was surprised when Alake invited us. She said our “energies” would help her. I think, personally, she was lonely and afraid, but I kept my mouth shut.

Perhaps I should explain (as best I can) the Phondran and Elmas concept of magic. And the Gargan point of view.

Dwarves, elves, and humans all believe in the One, a powerful force that places us in this world, watches over us while we are here, and receives us when we leave. Each race takes a somewhat differing view of the One, however. The basic dwarven credo is that all dwarves are in the One and the One is in all dwarves. Thus harm that befalls one dwarf befalls all dwarves and befalls the One as well—this is why a dwarf will never intentionally kill, cheat, or deceive another dwarf. (Not counting barroom brawls, of course. A sock on the jaw, delivered in a regular knock-’em-down, turn-’em-over, is generally considered beneficial to the health.)

In the old days, we dwarves believed the One to be interested mainly in ourselves. As for elves and humans, if they had been created by the One at all (and some held that they sprang up from the darkness, rather like fungi), it must have been an accident or else they were designed by a force opposing the One.

Long times of coexistence taught us to accept each other, however. We know now that the One has in care all living beings (although some old grandfathers maintain that the One loves dwarves, merely tolerates humans and elves). Humans believe that the One rules all, but that—like any Phondran chieftain—the One is open to suggestion. Thus the humans are constantly badgering the One with supplications and demands. Phondrans also believe that the One has underlings, who perform certain menial tasks beneath the One’s dignity. (That concept is so human!) These underlings are subject to human manipulation through magic, and the Phondrans are never happier than when altering the growing seasons, summoning winds, conjuring rain, and starring fires.

The Elmas take a far more relaxed view of the One. In their perspective, the One started everything off with a bang and now sits back lazily to watch it all go forward—like the bright, glittering, spinning toys Sabia used to play with as a child. The Elmas view magic not as something reverent and spiritual, but as entertainment or a labor-saving device.

Though only sixteen (no more than a babe to us, but humans mature rapidly), Alake was deemed quite skilled in magic already and I knew her mother’s fondest wish was to hand her daughter the leadership of the Coven. Devon and I watched Alake take her place before her altar, which she had set up in the empty cargo hold on deck two. It was, I must admit, a pleasure to watch her.

Alake is tall and well-made. (I have never, by the way, envied humans their height. An old dwarven proverb says, “The longer the stick, the easier to break.” But I did admire Alake’s graceful movements, like a frond bending in the water.) Her skin is a dark ebony. Her black hair is braided in countless tiny braids that hang down her back, each braid ending in beads of blue and orange (her tribal colors) and brass. If she lets her braids hang loose, the beads clash musically together when she walks, sounding like hundreds of tiny bells.

She wore the accepted dress of Phondra, a single piece of blue and orange cloth wound around the body, held in place by the cunning of the folds (a knack known only to Phondrans). The free end of the cloth is draped over the right shoulder (to show she is unmarried—married women place the fold over the left shoulder).

Silver ceremonial bracelets adorned her arms, silver bells hung from her ears.

“I’ve never seen you wear those bracelets, Alake,” I said, making conversation to break the silence that was so terribly silent. “Are they yours or your mother’s? Were they a gift?”

To my surprise, Alake, who is usually fond of showing off any new jewelry, made no reply and averted her face.

I thought she hadn’t heard me. “Alake, I asked if—” Devon jabbed me in the ribs with his sharp elbow. “Shush! Say nothing about her jewelry!”

“Why not?” I whispered back irritably. To be honest, I was getting sick and tired of tiptoeing around, fearful of offending someone.

“She wears her burial adornments,” Devon returned. I was shocked. Of course, I’d heard of the custom. At birth, Phondran girl-children are presented with silver bracelets and ear-jangles which, it is hoped, they will wear at their wedding and pass along to their own daughters. But, if a girl dies untimely, before her marriage, her bracelets and other jewelry are placed on the body when it is sent out to join the One in the Good sea.

I felt miserable, tried to think of something to say to make everything all right, realized that nothing I said would help. So I sat, scuffing my heels against the floor and trying to take an interest in what Alake was doing. Devon sat beside me. The furniture aboard the ship was built for dwarves. I felt sorry for the elf, who looked most uncomfortable, his long legs, encased in the silken folds of Sabia’s skirt, spraddled out on either side of his short-legged stool.

Alake was taking an interminable length of time to set up the objects on the altar, stopping to pray over each one.

“If all humans pray like this over every little thing, my guess is that the One fell asleep long ago!” I spoke in what I thought was an undertone, but Alake must have heard me, because she looked shocked and frowned at me in reproof.

I decided I’d better change the subject and, glancing over at Devon wearing Sabia’s clothes, I came up with something I’d long wondered.

“How did you manage to persuade Sabia to let you go in her place?” I asked the elf.

Of course, that was wrong, too. Devon, who had been keeping up a cheerful front, immediately grew sad, and turned his face away.

Alake darted over to me, pinched me, hard.

“Don’t remind him of her!”

“Ouch! This does it!” I growled, losing patience. “I’m not to speak to Alake about her ear-jangles. I’m not to talk to Devon about Sabia, despite the fact that he’s wearing her clothes and looks uncommonly silly in a dress. Well, in case you’ve both forgotten, it’s my funeral, too, and Sabia was my friend. We’ve been trying to pretend we’re on a holiday cruise. We’re not. And it’s not right to keep our words in our bellies, as we dwarves say. It poisons the food.” I snorted. “No wonder we can’t eat.”

Alake stared at me in startled silence. Devon had the ghost of a smile on his pale face.

“You are right, Grundle,” he admitted, casting his gaze down ruefully at the tight-bodiced, ribbon-bedecked, lace-covered, flower-ornamented gown. Elven males are nearly as slender as elven females, but they tend to be broader through the shoulders, and I noticed that here and there a seam had given way under the strain. “We should talk about Sabia. I’ve wanted to, but I was afraid of hurting you both by bringing up sad memories.” Impulsively, Alake knelt at Devon’s side, took his hand in hers. “I honor you, my friend, for your courage and your sacrifice. I know of no man I hold in higher esteem.”

Rare praise, from a human. Devon was pleased and touched. His cheeks flushed, he shook his head. “It was my own selfishness,” he said softly. “How could I go on living, knowing she had died and . . . how she had died. My death will be so much easier, thinking of her safe and well.”

I wondered grumpily how he thought she’d feel any better, knowing he was dead in her place. But then, that’s a man: elf, human, dwarf—all the same.

“So how did you convince her to let you go?” I persisted. Knowing Sabia as I did, having seen her strong in her determination, I found it difficult to believe she had given in easily.

“I didn’t,” Devon said, the color in his cheeks deepening. “If you must know, this convinced her.” He raised a clenched fist, showed bruised knuckles.

“You socked her!” I gasped.

“You hit her!” Alake echoed.

“I begged her to let me go in her place. She refused. There was no talking her around and I did the only thing I could do to prevent her from going. I knocked her out. What else could I do? I was desperate. Believe me, both of you, hurting Sabia was the hardest thing I ever had to do in my life!” I could believe that. An Elmas will suffer pangs of guilt for days over accidentally stepping on a spider.

“As for my jewelry,” Alake said, turning the silver bracelet on her arm with her hand, “these are mine, Grundle, given to me by my mother when I was born. I couldn’t leave them any other message about where I was going or what I was doing. I tried, but it was too hard to put my feelings into words. When my mother finds that these are gone, she will know. She will understand.” Alake went back to her altar. Devon tugged at the tight sleeve of his gown, which must have been cutting off his circulation. I could have sat down and cried. The words had come out, but they were hard to hear and I didn’t see how I had helped matters.

“So much for dwarven proverbs,” I muttered into my side whiskers.

“I am ready to begin now,” said Alake, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Alake forbade me to write down the details of the ceremony, but I couldn’t have done so, in any case, since I hadn’t a clue as to what was going on. All I know is that it involved salted cod (a dolphin’s favorite treat, if they can get it) and flute music and Alake chanting a lot of strange words and making fishlike noises. (Humans can speak the dolphin language. Dwarves could, I suppose, but why would we want to? Dolphins speak dwarven quite well.) I dozed off, at one point, during the flute music, and was startled out of my nap when Alake spoke in normal words and voice.

“It is done. The dolphins should come to us now.” They might, I thought, if we threw the salt cod into the seawater. I couldn’t see that it was doing much good where it was, lying in a silver dish on the altar. Perhaps she figured the stench would draw them.

As you may have guessed, I don’t set much store by human or elf magic, and you can imagine my surprise when we all heard and felt a bump on the hull of the ship.

“They’ve come,” said Alake complacently, and hastened off to the waterlock to greet them, her beads clashing, her bare feet (humans rarely wear shoes) padding swiftly over the deck.

I glanced at Devon, who shrugged and raised his eyebrows. He’d been planning to call them with a magical dolphin whistle, which made no noise at all that I could hear. Devon assured me, however, that dolphins could hear it quite clearly and considered the sound very pleasant.

We both hurried after Alake.

Our ship consists of four decks, numbered from the bottom to the top. Not a large craft, compared to the sun-chasers, but it was only used by the royal family on their occasional sinkings into the other realms.

Deck four is the topmost deck (if you don’t count the outside). Here is the observation room and, beyond that, the pilot’s house, which none of us had the courage to go near. A ladder extends down from the observation room, through a shaft that opens onto each other deck. At the aft end of the observation room, a huge set of windows provides a view of land or water, depending on where you are at the time. The seasun, shining through the water, fills this room with cheerful, blue-green light. Outside, you can see the open deck, surrounded by a railing. Only a human would be crazy enough to go out there when the ship is moving.

The cargo hold is located on deck three. Behind that is the common room, for eating, drinking, ax-throwing practice, or just visiting. This room has numerous small windows set in the sides. Behind the common room are the cabins for the royal family and the ship’s crew, a tool room, then the impeller room, with its magical elven crystals that propel the ship.

Decks two and one were mostly more cargo space, plus the waterlock—an important feature. If you’re not a dwarf, you’re probably wondering what a waterlock is. As I’ve mentioned, no dwarf can (or wants to learn) to swim. A dwarf who falls into the sea would likely sink to the bottom of Chelestra unless he’s caught and brought back to solid ground. Thus, all ships are built with a waterlock, which can be used to rescue any dwarf who happens to tumble into the sea.

We found Alake standing near the bottom of the waterlock, her face pressed against one of the portholes, staring out into the water. Hearing us approach, she turned. Her eyes were wide.

“It’s not the dolphins. It’s a human. At least, I think it’s a human,” she added dubiously.

“It is or it isn’t,” I said. “Can’t you tell?”

“Look for yourself.” Alake sounded shaken.

Devon and I crowded to the porthole, the elf being forced to nearly bend double to get down to my level.

Sure enough, the thing looked to be a human male. Or perhaps it would be better to say, he didn’t look elven or dwarven. He was taller than a dwarf, his ears weren’t pointed, and his eyes were round, not almond-shaped. But he was the wrong color for a human, his skin being a kind of bread-dough white. His lips were blue, his eyes circled with purple splotches, sunken in his head. He was half-naked, clad only in a pair of brown tight-fitting pants and the remnants of a white tattered shirt. He clung to a fragment of board and was, it seemed to me, about done for.

The bump we had heard was, presumably, this man running into the hull of the ship. He could see us through the porthole and made, as we watched, a feeble attempt to beat against the ships’s side. He was weak, apparently, for his arm sank down as if he lacked energy to lift it. He slumped over the board, legs dangling limply beneath him in the water.

“Whatever he is, he’s not going to be one for long,” I said.

“Poor man,” murmured Alake, her dark eyes soft with pity. “We must help him,” she said briskly, and headed for the ladder that led to deck two. “We’ll bring him on board. Warm him, give him food.” She glanced back, saw neither of us moving. “Come on! He’ll be heavy. I can’t manage by myself.” Humans. Always racing to act, to do something. Never stopping to think. Fortunately, she had a dwarf along.

“Wait, Alake. Stop a moment. Consider where we’re bound. Think what’s going to happen to us.”

Alake frowned at me, angered at having her way thwarted. “Well, what of it? The man is dying! We can’t leave him.”

“It might be the kindest thing we could do for him,” Devon told her gently.

“If we rescue him now, we could be saving him only to doom him to a horrible fate later.”

I was sorry to have to be so blunt, but sometimes it’s the only way to get through to humans. Alake, realizing finally what we were saying, seemed to shrivel up. I’ll swear she grew smaller as we watched. Her body sagged against the ladder.

Lowering her eyes, she ran her hand aimlessly up and down the smooth wooden rungs.

The ship was speeding on. Soon we’d leave the man far behind. He’d seen this, apparently, and was making a feeble attempt with the remainder of his flagging strength to paddle after us. The sight was heartrending. I turned away. But I might have known Alake couldn’t stand it.

“The One sent him,” she said, starting to climb the ladder. “The One sent him to us, in answer to my prayer. We have to save him!”

“You prayed for a dolphin,” I pointed out irritably. Alake said nothing, but gave me a reprimanding glance. “Don’t be blasphemous, Grundle. Can you work this thing?”

“Yes, but I’ll need Devon’s help,” I grumbled, following. Actually, I could have done it by myself, being stronger than the elf prince, but I wanted to talk to Devon. I told Alake to keep an eye on the floating human, took Devon to deck two, the topmost part of the waterlock. I peered through a window into its sunlit interior, turned the crank on the hatch to make certain it was tightly closed and sealed. Devon started to assist me.

“What if the One didn’t send this man?” I whispered urgently in the elf’s ear.

“What if he was sent by the dragon-snakes to spy on us?” Devon looked considerably shocked. “Do you suppose that’s a possibility?” he asked, doing his best to help and only getting in my way.

I shoved him to one side. “Don’t you?”

“I guess. But why would they? They have us. We can’t escape, even if we wanted to.”

“Why are they doing any of this? All I know is that I wouldn’t be too quick to trust this human, if that’s what he is. And I think you better go back to being Sabia.”

I turned to head down the ladder. Devon came after me, tripping over his skirts.

“Yes, perhaps you’re right. But what about Alake? She’ll have to go along with us. You have to tell her.”

“Not me. She’ll think I’m just making another excuse to get rid of him. You tell her. She’ll listen to you. Go on. I’ll manage this by myself.” We were on deck one again. Devon went over to Alake and I was able, finally, to get on with the work undisturbed. I couldn’t hear any of their conversation, but I could tell that at first Alake didn’t agree with us, because I saw her shake her head, causing her ear-jangles to ring wildly. But Devon was patient with her, far more than I could have been, and gradually argued her around. I saw her glance at me, then out at the man, her face troubled and thoughtful. Finally, she nodded unhappily.

Standing in front of the lower window that looks into the waterlock, I took hold of the levers and yanked down on them, hard. A panel located in the hull yawned open. Seawater, foaming and gurgling, poured into the waterlock, carrying with it numerous indignant fish (no dolphins) and the human. I waited for the water to reach the proper level and slammed the panel shut.

“I’ve got him!” I cried.

We raced back up to deck two, the top of the waterlock. I opened it, peered down. If he’d been a dwarf, he would have been lying on the bottom and we would have had to use the claws to drag him out. But, being human, he’d managed to swim to the top of the water and floated there, only about an arm’s length away.

“Alake and I can handle him, Devon,” I said to him softly. “You go and put your scarf back on.”

Devon left us. Alake came to help me, and between us we managed to drag the human over to the side and hoist him out onto the deck. I shut and sealed the waterlock, opened the bottom panel, let the irate fish swim out, and started the pumps to work. Then I came back to look at our catch.

I must admit that I nearly revised my opinion when we got the man on board and had a close look at him. If the dragon-snakes were going to send a spy, it seemed to me they would have chosen something better than this. He was truly a pitiable sight, lying on the deck, shivering from head to toe, coughing, convulsing, spitting up fluid, and gasping like a fish out of water. Alake’d obviously never seen anything like it. Fortunately, I had.

“What’s wrong with him?” she asked anxiously.

“His body temperature’s dropped too low and he’s having trouble making the adjustment from breathing water back to breathing air.”

“How can you tell? What do we do for him?” Alake asked.

“Dwarves fall in the water sometimes, so I know what I’d do if he were a dwarf. Warm him up, inside and out. Put lots of blankets on him and give him all the brandywine he can drink.”

“Are you certain?” Alake looked dubious. “I mean about the brandy?” Drunk as a dwarf, so the saying is among the Phondrans. But who do you suppose buys most of our brandywine?

“You’ve got to fuddle his brain. That’s what’s causing him to gasp like that. His brain is telling his body it’s supposed to be breathing water. Give his brain something else to think about and his body will go back to breathing air—as it was meant to,” I added sternly.

“I see. Grundle, fetch me a bottle of the brandywine and my herb pouches. And, if you run into Dev—Sabia, tell him, I mean her, to bring me all the blankets he—she can find.”

Well, we were certainly off to a great start. Fortunately, the human was so busy trying to stay alive that he didn’t appear to have noticed Alake’s confusion. I headed to the storeroom for the wine, blundered into Dev-Sabia on the way back. He was wound up in his scarf and veil, with a shawl over his shoulders to hide the ripped seams. I gave him Alake’s instructions. He returned to his berth for the blankets.

I continued on my way, thinking about what Alake had said. It was odd that this human seemed so unused to being in the water. The Phondrans spend as much time in the Goodsea as they do on land and consequently never suffer from this condition, which we dwarves know as “water-poisoning.” The man was obviously not a Phondran. Then, who was he and where had he come from?

It was more than one dwarf could figure out.

Arriving in the storeroom, I snagged one of the brandywine bottles, uncorked it, and took a mouthful just to make certain it was good.

It was. I blinked my eyes.

I took another mouthful or two, then popped the cork back on, wiped off my side whiskers, and hurried back to our passenger. Alake and Devon had lifted him into the bosun’s chair—a chair attached to a rope that can be lowered up and down the shaft, used to handle the injured or those whose bulk made climbing ladders difficult. We hauled the man up to the crew’s quarters on deck two, and helped him to a small cabin.

Fortunately, he was able to walk, though his legs were as wobbly as a newborn kitten’s. Alake spread out a pile of blankets. He sank onto them weakly and we covered him with more. He was still gasping and looked to be in a considerable amount of pain.

I offered the brandy bottle. He seemed to understand, for he motioned me near. I put it to his lips, he took a gulp. His gasping changed to coughing, and I was afraid for a moment our cure was going to be the end of him, but he hung on. He managed to get down several more mouthfuls before he sank back weakly on the blankets. Already, his breathing had eased. He looked from one to the other of us, his eyes taking everything in, giving nothing back. Suddenly, he tossed aside the blankets. Alake made a clucking sound, like a mother hen whose chick has wandered out from under her feathers. The human ignored her. He was staring at his arms. He stared at his arms for the longest time, rubbing the skin almost frantically. He gazed at the back of his hands. Closing his eyes in what was obviously bitter despair, he sank back down on the blankets.

“What’s the matter?” Alake asked, speaking human, coming over to kneel beside him. “Are you injured? What can we do to help?”

She started to touch his arm, but he drew away from her and snarled, like a wounded animal.

Alake persisted. “I’m not going to harm you. I only want to help.” He kept staring at her, and I saw his brow furrow in anger and frustration.

“Alake,” I said quietly. “He can’t understand you. He doesn’t know what you’re saying.”

“But I’m speaking the human language . . .”

“Dev-Sabia, you try,” I said, stuttering as badly as Alake. “Maybe he isn’t human, after all.”

The elf pulled the scarf down from around his mouth. “Where do you come from? What is your name?” he asked, speaking the musical Elmas language slowly and distinctly.

The stranger, frowning, shifted his eyes to Devon. The look of frustration changed to fury. Propping himself up on one arm, he shouted at us. We couldn’t understand him, either, but we didn’t need a translator.

“Get out!” he was yelling as plain as anything. “Get out and leave me alone!” He collapsed back on the blankets, groaning. His eyes closed, he’d broken out in a sweat. But his lips continued to move, forming the words he no longer had the strength to utter.

“Poor man,” said Alake softly. “He’s lost and sick and afraid.”

“That may be,” I said, having my own opinion on the subject, “but I think we better do what he wants.”

“Will . . . will he be all right?” Alake couldn’t take her eyes off him.

“He’ll be fine,” I assured her, trying to edge her out the door. “If we stay, we’ll only upset him.”

“Grundle’s right,” Devon added. “We should leave him alone to rest.”

“I think I should stay with him,” Alake said.

Devon and I exchanged alarmed glances. The stranger’s savage yell and his dark expression had unnerved us both. As if we didn’t have trouble enough, it looked to me like we now had an insane human on our hands.

“Shh,” I said, “you’ll wake him. Let’s talk out in the corridor.” We herded the reluctant Alake out of the room.

“One of us should keep an eye on him,” Devon whispered in my ear. I nodded, taking his meaning. One of us shouldn’t be Alake.

“I’ll bring my blanket out here . . .” She was already making plans to spend the night near him.

“No, no, you go to bed. I’ll sit up with him. I’m experienced in this sickness.” I cut off her protest. “He’ll likely sleep for hours now, anyway. You should be well-rested and ready to tend him in the morning, when he wakes up.”

She brightened at the prospect, but she still wavered, her gaze going to the door I had shut behind me. “I don’t know ...”

“I’ll call you if there’s any change,” I promised. “You don’t want him to see you in the morning all red-eyed and sleepy, do you?”

That clinched it. Alake bid us good-night, took one last peep at her patient, smiled softly to herself, and went off down the corridor.

“What do we do now?” Devon demanded, when she was gone.

“How should I know?” I snapped irritably.

“Well, you’re a girl. You know about these things.”

“What things?” I asked, though I knew well enough what he was talking about.

“It’s obvious. She’s attracted to him.”

“Pooh! I remember when she rescued a wounded wolf cub once. She took it home and treated it the same way.”

“That’s no wolf cub,” said Devon gravely. “He’s young and strong and handsome and well-built, even for a human. It was all Alake and I could do to drag him down the corridor.”

Which brought up another problem. If this man went berserk and decided to tear the ship apart, we three would be hard-pressed to stop him. But what about the dragon-snakes? It was obvious they were still in control; the ship continued to rush through the water. Did they know this stranger was aboard? Did they care?

I took a swig of the brandywine. “Go to bed,” I told Devon crossly. “We’re not going to figure anything out tonight. Maybe something’ll happen by morning.” Something did.

I went back into the room with the man and settled myself in a dark corner near the door. If the human woke, I figured I could be up and out of there before he knew what was happening.

His sleep was restless, disturbed. He thrashed about on the blankets, muttering in his own language, whose words all seemed to me to be dark and sharp-edged and filled with hatred and anger. Sometimes he’d cry out, and once he gave a fearful scream and sat bolt upright, staring straight at me. I was on my feet and nearly out the door before I realized he wasn’t seeing me at all.

He lay back down. I returned to my seat. He clutched at the blankets, kept saying one word over and over. It sounded like “dog.” And sometimes he would groan and shake his head and cry, “Lord!”

Finally, from sheer exhaustion, I think, he fell into a heavy slumber. I suppose I can admit that I’d been keeping the fire of courage burning in my heart by dousing it liberally with brandywine. I was no longer feeling afraid of him. (I wasn’t feeling much of anything, to be honest.) Watching the man fall into this deep sleep, I decided to see what I could learn about him. Maybe go through his pockets, if he had any.

After some little trouble, I got to my feet. (The ship seemed to be rolling more than I recalled.) I made my way over to him and crouched down. What I saw sobered me faster than my mother’s blackroot powder.

I don’t remember what came after, except that I found myself running down the corridor, screaming like a banshee.

Alake, clutching her sleeping gown around her, stood in her doorway, staring at me in panic. Devon shot out of his room like it was on fire. He was forced to sleep in his dress. Poor fellow. Sabia’s dress was all the clothes he’d thought to bring along.

“We heard you yell! What is it?” They both clutched at me. “What’s the matter?”

“The strange human!” I was gulping for breath. “He’s . . . turned blue!” Alake gasped, “He’s dying!” and raced back down the corridor, toward his room. We ran after her, Devon remembering just in time to grab his veil and wind it around his head.

I suppose my shrieks must have wakened the man. (Devon told me later that he thought all the dragon-snakes in Chelestra were after me.) The human was sitting up in his bed, staring at his hands and arms, turning them over and over, as if he couldn’t believe the limbs were his.

I don’t blame him. If such a thing had happened to me, I would have stared, too. How can I describe it? I know you won’t believe me. But I swear before the One that the man’s arms and backs of his hands, his bare chest, and neck, were covered with blue picture-writing.

We had all run into the cabin before we realized the man was fully conscious. He raised his head, looked directly at us. We shrank back. Even Alake was somewhat daunted. The stranger’s face was stern, grim.

But, as though he sensed our fear, he made some attempt to smile at us reassuringly.

His was a face, I remember thinking, that wasn’t used to smiling.

“Don’t be frightened. My name’s Haplo,” he said to Alake. “What do they call you?”

We couldn’t answer. The man had spoken Phondran.

Perfect, fluent Phondran.

And next he ...

But that will have to wait. Alake’s calling me. Dinnertime. I’m actually feeling hungry.