He walked on, torn within. She was not his wife or his child or his beloved. She was not even human. The bond they shared had been imposed upon them both, by circumstance and his father’s will. No more than that. She would understand, and she would forgive him.
In the moment of that thought, he realized that he meant to go back to her. Not today, nor tomorrow, but some day. There would come a time, in some undecided future, perhaps when his father had given up and restored Althea to the ship, when it would be safe for him to return. He would be a priest and she would be content with another Vestrit, Althea or perhaps even Selden or Malta. They would each have a full and separate life, and when they came together of their own independent wills, how sweet their reunion would be. She would admit, then, that his choice had been wise. They would both be wiser by then.
His conscience suddenly niggled at him. Did he hold the intent to return as the only way to assuage his conscience? Did that mean, perhaps, that he suspected what he did today was wrong? How could it be? He was going back to his priesthood, to keep the promises made years ago. How could that be wrong? He shook his head, mystified at himself, and trudged on.
He decided he would not venture into the upper reaches of the city. His father would expect him to go there, to seek sanctuary and aid from Sa’s priests in the Satrap’s Temple. It would be the first place his father would look for him. He longed to go there, for he was certain the priests would not turn him away. They might even be able to aid him to return to his own monastery, though that was a great deal to ask. But he would not ask them, he would not bring his father banging on their doors demanding his return. At one time, the sanctuary of Sa’s temple would have protected even a murderer. But if the outer circles of Jamaillia had degraded to this degree, he somehow doubted that the sanctity of Sa’s temple would be respected as it once was. Better to avoid causing them trouble. There was really no sense to pausing in the city at all. He would begin his long trek across the satrapy of Jamaillia to reach his monastery and home.
He should have felt daunted at the thought of that long journey. Instead he felt elated that, at long last, it was finally begun.
He had never thought that Jamaillia City might have slums, let alone that they would comprise such a large part of the capital city. He passed through one area that a fire had devastated. He estimated that fifteen buildings had burned to the ground, and many others nearby showed scorching and smoke. None of the rubble had been cleared away; the damp ashes gave off a terrible smell. The street became a footpath beaten through debris and ash. It was disheartening, and he reluctantly gave more credence to all the stories he had heard about the current Satrap. If his idle luxury and sybaritic ways were as decadent as Wintrow had heard, that might explain the overflowing drains and rubbish-strewn streets. Money could only be spent once. Perhaps taxes that should have repaired the drains and hired street watchmen had been spent instead on the Satrap’s pleasures. That would account for the sprawling wasteland of tottering buildings, and the general neglect he had seen down in the harbour. The galleys and galleasses of Jamaillia’s patrol fleet were tied there. Seaweed and mussels clung to their hulls, and the bright white paint that had once proclaimed they protected the interests of the Satrap was flaking away from their planks. No wonder pirates now plied the inner waterways freely.
Jamaillia City, the greatest city in the world, the heart and light of all civilization, was rotting at the edges. All his life he had heard legends of this city, of its wondrous architecture and gardens, its grand promenades and temples and baths. Not just the Satrap’s palace, but many of the public buildings had been plumbed for water and drains. He shook his head as he reluctantly waded past yet another overflowing gutter. If the water was standing and clogged here below, how much better could things be in the upper parts of the city? Well, perhaps things were much better along the main thoroughfares, but he’d never know. Not if he wanted to elude his father and whatever searchers he sent after him.
Gradually the circumstances of the city improved. He began to see early vendors offering buns and smoked fish and cheese, the scents of which made his mouth water. Doors began to be opened, people came out to take the shutters down from the windows and once more display their wares. As carts and foot-traffic began to crowd the streets, Wintrow’s heart soared. Surely, in a city of this size, with all these people milling about, his father would never find him.
Vivacia stared across the bright water to the white walls and towers of Jamaillia. In hours, it had not been that long since Wintrow left. Yet it seemed lifetimes had passed since he had clambered down the anchor chain and swum away. The other ships had obscured her view of him. She could not even be absolutely certain he had reached the beach safely. A day ago, she would have insisted that if something had happened to him, she would have felt it. But a day ago, she would have sworn that she knew him better than he did himself, and that he could never simply leave her. What a fool she had been.
‘You must have known when he left! Why didn’t you give an alarm? Where did he go?’
Wood, she told herself. I am only wood. Wood need not hear, wood need not answer.
Wood should not have to feel. She stared up at the city. Somewhere up there, Wintrow walked. Free of his father, free of her. How could he so easily sever that bond? A bitter smile curved her lips. Perhaps it was a Vestrit thing. Had not Althea walked away from her in much the same way?
‘Answer me!’ Kyle demanded of her.
Torg spoke quietly to his captain. ‘I’m so sorry, sir. I should have kept a closer watch on the boy. But who could have predicted this? Why would he run, after all you’ve done for him, all you wanted to give him? Makes no sense to a man like me. Ingratitude like that’s enough to break a father’s heart.’ The words were spoken as if to comfort, but Vivacia knew that every sentence of Torg’s commiseration only deepened Kyle’s fury with Wintrow. And with her.
‘Where did he go and when? Damn you, answer me!’ Kyle raged. He leaned over the railing. He dared to seize a heavy lock of her hair and pull it.
Swift as a snake, she pivoted. Her open hand slapped him away like a man swipes at an annoying cat. He went sprawling on the deck. His eyes went wide in sudden fear and shock. Torg fled, tripping in his fear and then scrabbling away on all fours. ‘Gantry!’ he called out wildly. ‘Gantry, get up here!’ He scurried off to find the first mate.
‘Damn you, Kyle Haven,’ she said in a quiet vicious voice. She did not know where the tone or the words came from. ‘Damn you to the bottom of the briny deep. One by one, you’ve driven them away. You took my captain’s place. You drove his daughter, the companion of my sleeping days, from my decks. And now your own son has fled your tyranny and left me friendless. Damn you.’
He stood slowly. Every muscle in his body was knotted. ‘You’ll be sorry —’ Kyle began in a voice that shook with fear and fury, but she cut him off with a wild laugh.
‘Sorry? How can you make me sorrier than I already am? What deeper misery can you visit upon me than to drive from me those of my own blood? You are false, Kyle Haven. And I owe you nothing, nothing, and nothing is what you shall have from me.’
‘Sir.’ Gantry’s voice came in a low respectful tone. He stood on the main deck, a safe distance from both man and figurehead as he spoke. Torg hovered behind him, both savouring and fearing the conflict. Gantry himself stood straight, but his tanned face had gone sallow. ‘I respectfully suggest you come away from there. You can do no good, and, I fear, much harm. Our best efforts should be made to search for the lad now, before he goes too far and hides too deep. He has no money, nor friends here that we know of. We should be in Jamaillia City right now, putting out word that we are seeking him. And offer a reward. Times are hard for many folk in Jamaillia. Like as not, a few coins will have him back on board before sunset.’
Kyle
