An hour of daylight remained, so Hatu spent half of it exploring the area around the pool. Tracks indicated animals were in abundance and many were using a watering hole that was further down the slope but he saw no obvious predators’ tracks on the opposite side of the island. He’d weigh the option of moving his boat to that side of the island the next day. It would be closer to the water source than where he’d pulled in. And the beach below appeared as free of rocks and other dangers as where he’d landed.
On the way back to his boat he stumbled across a bush covered in fresh tanaberries, bittersweet to the taste, but providing enough sustenance to extend his stay on the island for an extra day or two if need be. He picked a large handful, marked the location in his memory, and followed the trail through the woods, eventually reaching the edge of the beach.
A quick check to ensure his boat was still secure, and Hatu returned to the edge of the woods to make a camp. Having a fire was a double-edged sword, for while it was vital for warmth and to cook food, it was also a beacon for anyone sailing along this coast. After his recent experience, he was inclined to distrust anyone who might sight his fire from a passing ship. He knew he was probably safe from those who had taken him, but he felt fearful.
Still, keeping a cold camp when your kit was also damp was an invitation to illness, especially when weakened. Weighing his options, Hatu decided illness was a worse possibility than the chance of unwanted discovery. He had pillaged flint and steel from the ship, and combined with dry tinder, he had a brisk little campfire going in short order.
He ate his handful of tanaberries and what was left of the dried meat and hard cheese, rolled up his extra jacket – Donte’s jacket – and moved close enough to the dwindling fire to keep warm while he tried to sleep.
Fatigue and flashing images warred within him as he tried to find a comfortable position in the sand; as he finally drifted off, his last thoughts were of being very tiny and held close by someone who was very frightened.
IT TOOK THREE DAYS, BUT Hatu at last found a sealant for repairing his boat. He’d managed to eat enough berries and a few other plants as well as a clutch of tern eggs to restore some of his energy. He would stock up before he left but first he had to repair the major leaks.
A cove to the north of where he’d come ashore was strewn with large chunks of tar. The islands were a mix of coral atolls and volcanic rocks, and he guessed that somewhere close by an underwater vent spewed hot lava and thick oil. The molten rock would cool quickly in the water, but the hot oil would become the thick tar. Sometimes it sank, but sometimes it contained enough gas bubbles to cause it to rise and drift on the tide. He’d spotted it easily, as he’d seen tar sands and tar rocks all his life. The matrons had scolded him many times for returning from the beach with black feet. Half a dozen chunks would provide more sealant than he needed. He would cut up Donte’s jacket to make the batten and then seal it with hot tar. He wasn’t that confident about how well it would work, but he had seen no hint of a ship or boat anywhere on the horizon the entire time he’d been on the island, so being rescued from this beach seemed unlikely. Hatu now found his fear of being discovered was outweighed by his need to find a way home.
He roughly knew where he was, and had a general idea where the shipping lanes to the north were and a rough estimate of how long it would take to get there. He knew if he were careful, he’d return the gig to seaworthiness and stand a chance of reaching the Clearing.
Hatu had grown up on an island, so he knew how to fish and had a good idea of what plants he could eat. He’d build up a store of dried fish and fruit, fill his water skins, and be off when the boat was finished.
The days wore on as he laboured to make his boat seaworthy again, and while he laboured thoughts came to him unbidden. He saw new images as he tried to sleep, and as he attempted to caulk his boat with the rude battens, questions arose.
Who was the woman who had clutched him to her breast when he was tiny? Hatu thought it was a woman, but he wasn’t sure. Where were they going? What did that evil witch mean when she called him ‘gods-touched’? And why was he spared when all of his shipmates died?
At last his work was finished, and Hatu knew it was time to leave. He realised he had been wrong in his first estimate about where his boat had drifted to, and so his estimation of how much time it would take to reach the Clearing was also simply wrong. He might need to sail and row for as much as another week to reach the Clearing, and who knew what other problems he might encounter along the way?
Launching his boat as the tide retreated gave him a small advantage getting into deeper water. Hatu remembered a talk by Master Tagaga, who knew more about sailing than anyone Hatu had met. He had said that the moon affected the tides. Another time Master Bodai said this was so because it tugged gently upon the sea when it was distant, but was strong when it was close, He had also said something about what the tides would be like if there was no moon at all, or if the moon was bigger than it was, but Master Bodai had lost him completely by that point. Hatu did know that you ran the risk of meeting more weather when the moon was big in the sky than when it wasn’t. And he wanted to take advantage of any circumstance of benefit that presented itself. Now he wished he had paid closer attention.
The tide carried him easily offshore, and after a few minutes Hatu was satisfied that his repairs would hold for a time. How long remained to be seen.
He raised sail and began his tack around the island, using the morning sun to set his course.
THREE DAYS OF SAILING BROUGHT him to a cluster of small islands, high peaks of volcanic origin, lush with vegetation. He spent half a day gathering more fruit and spent the night sleeping beside a banked fire.
Just before dawn he awoke to the familiar sound of a ship nearby, the creaking of planks and the rattle of tackle. His gig was lying snug in the sand where he’d left it, so he jumped to his feet to see where the sounds originated. In the lightening gloom he made out the shape of a ship close enough to the shore that the sound of its passing echoed across the calm water and above the low sound of small breakers.
For a moment, Hatu considered shouting or lighting a torch, but an unexpected chill ran up his back and gave him pause. The lateen sail coming into focus as the sky lightened could belong to one of the ships that had driven his own into these waters. Grateful for the still-gloomy predawn that lessened his chances of his being seen by a lookout, he was also irked that he couldn’t make out further details and be certain he was avoiding peril rather than letting rescue pass him by.
Within a few more moments the shape of the ship vanished into the still-dark west. Hatu sat and let out a breath. He was going to sail north this morning, anyway, so being up an hour before dawn was not that much of an additional hardship. His water skins were full, he’d found enough fruit to last another week, and he spent his last day fishing, and had caught and dried fish for another week beyond that.
He obliterated all signs of his presence, as he had been taught by his masters, and when the sky to the east proclaimed that the sun was but minutes away, he pushed off the beach and got his boat beyond the breakers before he clambered aboard. It was going to be a warm day and he’d dry quickly enough.
A WEEK OF SAILING BETWEEN small islands put Hatu where he thought he should be, though he’d had to put in twice for water, more often than he had anticipated. Seawater seeped in around his battens but not enough to cause him concern at this point. Still, once in the Clearing, he would need to find a passing ship or both types of water would become a problem.
At midday of the eighth day since leaving the first little island, Hatu saw a sail off to port. He judged that he must be very close to the southern boundary of the Clearing, as he hadn’t seen any land ahead since he awoke. He watched as the sail grew slowly and realised he would soon be seen by anyone on board. He weighed the risk of being found by pirates against the risk of staying alone in the boat, and decided that this close to the south side of the Clearing, his chances
of surviving the former were better, given that most of the pirates in these waters worked for the masters on Coaltachin.
When the ship was nearer, he stood and began waving his jacket in the air. After a few minutes he saw it alter its course to intercept him.
He lowered his own sail and waited.
When the ship drew close enough, he heard a voice shout, ‘Who are you?’
There were no clear markings on the freight hauler, which was larger than the Nelani. They could have been smugglers, pirates, or honest traders, but he had been given clear instructions how to deal with unknown ships at sea. Hatu cried out, ‘My ship was lost with all my companions. I can work for passage.’
‘I have a full crew,’ came the reply as the ship bore down on him. ‘Where are you bound?’
‘To an island east of here,’ was the reply he’d been told to give. It was a code indicating he was of Coaltachin, and should any of his people on board hear that, they would know that he needed aid getting home.
‘Lots of islands to the east of here,’ said the man, whom Hatu could now see at the bow of the ship. ‘Does it have a name?’
‘Any port will do,’ he said, knowing he was speaking to someone who was not of Coaltachin.
‘I’ve got a full crew,’ repeated the man Hatu assumed was the captain. ‘But I can’t let a man drown. You’ll work for no pay to the next port, then you’re on your own.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Hatu. ‘I have a large pouch for the owner of my lost ship. Can I bring it aboard?’ Bringing the captain’s papers from the Nelani was a risk, as he knew the captain of this vessel might want to examine the contents of the package.
The captain ordered a line thrown to Hatu, who quickly secured it to his boat’s bow, letting himself be pulled along. ‘What’s in it?’
‘Papers,’ said Hatu, quickly adding, ‘I can’t read, but they might be important. My captain was careful about such things.’
Another line was dropped and next to it a rope ladder. ‘Tie it on and come aboard.’
The rope to his gig was cut and the big leather pouch was on the deck before Hatu was halfway up the ladder. As he climbed over the railing, one of the sailors working nearby said just loud enough for him to hear, ‘I know that island.’
His response told Hatu that the sailor was one of his people, even if the ship’s captain wasn’t. He felt relief knowing another man of Coaltachin was on board. He tried not to stare but cast a lingering glance, coming away with the impression that the speaker was a young man, less than thirty years of age, dark of hair and eyes, broad of shoulder, but otherwise unremarkable. He returned his attention to the captain.
The captain was portly, his muscle turned to fat by years of eating like a young man long past a young man’s time. He said, ‘I’m Donis, captain of the Isabela, and this is my mate, Landon.’ The man standing beside the captain gave one nod. ‘We’ll put your trunk in the hold so you can return it to your master when you’re home. You’re aboard an honest ship with an honest crew and no one will make free with your master’s papers. Now, Landon will tell you your duties.’
The captain turned away and the first mate asked, ‘You know this type of ship?’
Hatu regarded the hard-looking older man, who judged him as he stood there. The ship was a tidy vessel: three small masts, the fore and main square rigged; the fore held a single foresail, the main a mainsail and a topsail, and the aft a gaff spanker. ‘I’ve sailed her like,’ answered Hatu.
‘Turn to, and find a berth below. You’ll work night watch.’
It was what Hatu expected, but he’d be glad for a few hours’ rest before work. He spared a glance at the sailor who’d spoken to him, but the man was gone from sight.
He went below.
HATU FOUND AN EMPTY HAMMOCK and got a few hours’ sleep before being roused by the change of watch. He followed his new-found shipmates to the deck and as he left the companionway the sailor who had spoken to him pulled him aside. ‘What ship?’ he asked quietly.
‘Nelani,’ Hatu answered. ‘Every hand lost, but me.’
‘We’ll speak later. I’m Costa.’ Costa then vanished down the companionway.
Hatu was hungry but knew he’d be told when he could eat. He looked around and saw the first mate motioning with his chin that Hatu was to go aloft. At night, unless the wind shifted, he’d double as lookout as well as yard crew. It was the most miserable job on a ship like this, even in mild weather, but as a castaway seeking passage, it was the best he could expect.
He found himself mostly standing lookout as the ship was driven by a following wind and the sails needed little trimming beyond tightening and loosening stays.
He realised he was half-asleep when a stirring to his right snapped his attention to a figure climbing out to his yard along the foot rope. It was Costa. ‘We’re bound for Halazane,’ he said without preamble. ‘There’s a ship waiting for me, heading home. Once we get aboard we’ll have a long talk, Until then, we do not know one another.’
His manner and tone made Hatu judge him to be a captain at the least, if not a master. He vanished back into the darkness, leaving Hatu alone with his many thoughts.
• CHAPTER THIRTEEN •
A Short Journey and a Strange Event
The morning after Declan’s meeting with the baron, Ratigan’s wagon headed out of the north gate with two boxes of goods added to Declan’s belongings. They travelled through the city’s faubourg, nearby small farms, then climbed slowly up into farmland. To the west the farms ran to bluffs overlooking the ocean, according to Ratigan. Declan had lived with farmers and fishermen his entire life and recognised the lush land through which they rolled.
During the first day they passed through groves and fields, and twice came close enough to the coast to catch a glimpse of the ocean on the western horizon. At sundown they made a roadside camp and Declan said, ‘I’ll take middle watch.’
‘No need,’ said Ratigan. ‘No bandits this close to the city; not a lot of wildlife either. This is a very civilized land, my friend.’
‘Really?’
‘Not like the old Covenant, but almost as peaceful. Baron Dumarch keeps things quiet. He has patrols travelling these roads all the time. We’ll probably see more than one before we’re done.’
‘It’s amazing how rich this land is, Ratigan,’ said Declan as he unrolled his bedding. ‘How’s he hung on to it?’
‘I’m a teamster, not a noble,’ said Ratigan. ‘With clever noble business, I expect. I travelled since I was barely as tall as that wheel’ – he hiked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the rear wheel of the wagon – ‘and I know he’s well thought of outside of Marquensas, too. From what I hear, that high opinion was well earned and he’s a dangerous enough soldier that even kings treat him with respect. Rich enough to be a king in his own right, too.’ Nodding for emphasis, Ratigan added, ‘Respect: that’s a good thing to have.’ Declan returned the nod.
‘I’ll take care of the horses. Break out the food, and don’t eat all the bread!’ said the teamster with a laugh.
Jusan laughed too and said, ‘No problem. We have four loaves.’
They ate and bedded down, and the night passed uneventfully.
AS THEY CONTINUED NORTHWARD, DECLAN continued to be impressed by the abundance of Baron Dumarch’s demesne, the thick woodlands rich with game, the rivers and lakes abundant with fish. Well-tended pastures and lush meadows lay on each side as they rolled by. Declan almost felt a sense of loss when the wagon crested a dell and Ratigan said, ‘That’s Beran’s Hill ahead.’
The lushness of Marquensas had started to fall away a few hours before they reached this point; the trees had thinned out and the grass plains west of the road had given way to scrub and patches of sandy ground. From what Declan knew of farming, this more arid soil could be worked but would require much more effort for a lower yield; he understood why it was left uncultivated given how close it was to far better land just a few miles to the south.
As the wagon crested the road, Declan noticed a few solitary farms, and from the faint stench on the breeze, he could tell hogs were kept somewhere to the west. He assumed that this town was close enough to good farmland that food was not a problem, but he wondered why anyone would choose to live here.
As they reached the southern boundary of the town itself, the answer to that question became apparent. The hill that gave the town its name sat across five converging roads. Declan could see a number of wagons, riders, and coaches moving along the four other roads. ‘Why is the road into Marquenet so quiet?’
‘Compared to other cities, Marquenet isn’t on the way to any other place. You only go there because you want to go there,’ answered Ratigan. ‘Marquensas has four cities with better harbours than Marquenet. Here, you will see the trade from six landlocked holdfasts.’ He waved to the west. ‘And from there comes most of the goods that travel by sea, because the baron of Port Colos charges much less duty than Baron Dumarch. Everyone leaves Beran’s Hill alone, for it’s not a wealthy place, but a trade hub that serves everyone.’
Declan nodded as if he completely understood what Ratigan said, but in truth he knew little about commerce except where it applied to his very narrow professional interests. He knew to buy iron when prices were low, if one had the means, and likewise for charcoal. Other than that, and knowing the general prices for his wares, he was lost when it came to matters of commerce.
They entered the large town and Ratigan expertly navigated his way through the busy streets. Declan felt a little disorientated, for many of the buildings lacked signs of any kind. He was used to that in Oncon, but at home he had known every building in the village, and in the cities through which they had travelled, most places of business had signs indicating their trade, even if they were rudely rendered, but here there were none. Finally he said to Ratigan, ‘How do you know where you’re going?’