Chapter 6
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Spray from the porthole above dampened Josan's cheek. He brushed it away, then wiped his hand on his robe before once again opening his book. Since recovering from his brief illness, he'd read the book of Taresian poetry twice and begun amusing himself by translating the verses in his head. They flowed easily enough into Ikarian, so he'd begun translating them into Decanese, the language of the Seddonian court, which was proving a greater challenge. Decanese held a wealth of terms to describe extended family relationships, and there were specific forms describing whether wealth was inherited, earned through the sea trade, or from other sources. But it had only two words for love—one for the affection felt for family and another for passion.

By contrast, Taresian not only had a word for a pure love that was the basis of true friendship, but such love was often the subject of their poems and dramas. Herat it was called, and there was no equivalent in Decanese. It held the flavor of affection, loyalty, and devotion, but it wasn't precisely equivalent to any of these.

He puzzled over the phrase,


Bitter tears flowed, as Danya professed herat!
   But cold-handed Hadeon scorned his vow.


It was tempting to translate herat as love, but in context with the rest of the poem, friendship was likely closer to the poet's original intent. The poem was a tragedy in which Hadeon the magistrate is reunited with his old friend, only to have to condemn Danya to death, in accordance with the law.

The agony of being torn between honor and herat played out for over two hundred lines, until Danya was hanged, and Hadeon drank poison while contemplating his friend's corpse.

By Taresian standards it was a cheerful poem, in that the ending confirmed the overriding importance of herat. Josan did not quite understand the point of law under which Danya was condemned to death for merely witnessing a crime, but that did not matter. His translation was sound enough, as it was not a scholarly exercise but a mere diversion to while away the hours on a day when the weather was too foul to be up on deck.

Finishing the first poem, he began on the next, the tale of a magician who'd placed his heart in a crystal and thus thought to live forever. But his enemies destroyed the crystal and with that he perished. The point of the tale was to assure the audience that even the most powerful could not escape their destinies, but it was the mention of the crystal that intrigued Josan. Lost in thought, he was abruptly yanked from his musings when he found himself sprawled on the floor.

He blinked up at the hanging lantern, which swung wildly above him. Both he and his pallet had slid across the floor as the ship lurched to one side.

His back ached from where it had struck the deck, and his palms stung where he had scraped them in his awkward slide. Pushing himself back into a seated position, he took deep breaths as his stomach objected to the violent pitching.

The deck continued its tilt, so he did not bother standing but rather crawled back to his place, dragging his pallet with him.

“Here you are,” Burrell said, handing him his book, which must have fallen from his grasp.

Unlike the others in the cabin, who grumbled as they recovered their possessions, Burrell had not been taken off guard. Then again, Seddonians were practically born at sea. To him, such a storm was likely nothing compared to those that had rocked him to sleep.

“Thank you,” Josan said.

Burrell had continued to keep an eye on him, but after that first day there had been no further mention of his suspicions regarding Josan's true identity. Having shared sleeping quarters with the man for the past fortnight, he would wager that Burrell did indeed believe him to be nothing more than a monk.

Lady Ysobel, on the other hand, was apparently not convinced. Why else had she remained aboard this ship, if it were not to keep an eye on the man she believed to be Emperor Lucius?

Tylenda's journey along the coast had been slow, the ship pausing every two or three days to put into port. Gradually the number of passengers decreased. The men's cabin was less than half-full, and the space on deck that had been given over to the lowest class of passengers was now occupied by crates of cargo.

It seemed to Josan that the ship rode heavier than she had at the start and tended to wallow in the waves, but he was not enough of a sailor to be certain.

Either Lady Ysobel or Burrell visited each port that they called at, but they always returned to the ship. They had taken no actions against him, which gave him hope that in time they would give over their suspicions entirely. Failing that he might be able to lose them when he changed ships at Skalla.

“The storm is growing worse,” Josan observed.

Burrell shook his head. “Feel the rolling of the ship? That's not the storm. We've changed course and are heading due west by my reckoning.”

Burrell's voice was calm, but his mouth was tight, and Josan felt the first niggling of fear.

“Our next port is Skalla, to the north, isn't it? Why would we change course?”

Burrell shrugged. “Maybe the captain's seeking sheltered harbor, preparing to wait out the storm.” Then he rose to his feet. “It's time to relieve myself.”

“I will go with you.” Josan had to brace himself against the curved planks of the hull but managed to struggle to his feet. Habit made him sling his journey bag over one shoulder before setting out after Burrell.

The common lavatory was down the corridor to their right—a small room at the back of the ship, where passengers and crew alike squatted over holes that voided their waste into the sea—or sprayed it upon the hull of the ship, depending. It was a foul place, and in fairer weather most simply relieved themselves over the rail, when no one was looking.

Burrell, despite his declaration, turned left, and Josan followed as Burrell climbed the ladder and pushed open the hatch cover that was closed in wet weather.

Josan climbed out after Burrell, the wooden cover falling open beside him. As the rain-slick deck tilted crazily beneath him, he paused on his hands and knees and cursed his foolishness.

Burrell dogged the hatch closed, then offered his hand to Josan, bracing him till he found his feet.

He could see Captain Aldo standing by the wheel, while amidships the deck officer clung to a line, cursing the sailors who scrambled in the rigging above him.

To Josan's eyes the scene was chaos, but Burrell took it in with a glance.

“See, the storm has eased,” Burrell observed, his voice raised to carry above the sounds of flapping canvas and creaking timbers.

Josan blinked at the rain that pelted his face. It was true that the clouds were light gray rather than the ominous dark clouds that had greeted them at dawn, but it was still storming.

“Come,” Burrell said.

Josan hung on to Burrell's sleeve as he made his way to the bow, where a familiar figure was standing.

Lady Ysobel. Of course. Josan hesitated, then squared his shoulders. As a monk, he was curious about all things, and it would not be in keeping with his character if he were to avoid her.

“She's running for shore,” Burrell said.

Lady Ysobel glanced at Josan, and appeared to weigh her words before responding, “Indeed. And he picked a poor place for it.”

“Was the ship damaged by the storm?” Josan asked. If the captain feared his ship was sinking, his only choice would be to head for shore as swiftly as possible and hope that he could beach her, or at least get close enough to make rescue possible.

“I thought I caught a glimpse of sails on the horizon,” Burrell said.

Where? Josan turned in a full circle but saw nothing. The deck lurched again, and only Burrell's hasty grab kept Josan upright.

Embarrassed, he grasped the deck rail with both hands.

“A navy ship,” Ysobel said. She and Burrell exchanged a speaking look.

“What is a federation ship doing here?” Josan asked.

“Your navy,” Ysobel said, speaking slowly as if he were wit-damaged. “A three-master, based on the short glimpse I had. Captain Aldo won't be able to outrun her for long.”

“But why would the captain flee?” He would pretend that by your navy she had meant that he was a citizen of Ikaria rather than implying that as emperor any navy ship would be under his command.

“I suspect that has something to do with the cargo we took on board at the last port,” Burrell said.

Smugglers? He was on a smuggler's ship? How had he not noticed?

But neither seemed concerned with his ignorance. As Josan looked behind them, searching for a glimpse of the navy vessel, he saw that Ysobel's and Burrell's gazes were focused firmly to the west, the direction in which they were traveling.

Though not without some difficulty, as the direction of the wind meant that the ship was heeling hard to starboard. Yet even as he watched, the sailors struggled to set even more sail in their frantic rush to escape their pursuers.

“See that? White caps, two points to the starboard,” Burrell said.

“I see them.” Ysobel's voice was grim. “And another set, ahead. If the captain doesn't turn—”

But even as the words left her mouth, the ship began turning, though far too slowly for Josan's taste.

Josan closed his eyes, frantically trying to remember the shape of the coastline. Skalla was the next port of call, but rather than hugging the coastline, the captain had charted a course that took them out of sight of land. He pictured the great map of the empire in his mind, and the approach to Skalla—

Which was marked with warnings of the shoals that guarded the approach to the Southern Keys. Only local fishermen in their shallow skiffs dared sail these waters, and even they were known to come to grief as the shoals shifted without warning.

Those very same dangers were responsible for his first meeting with Lady Ysobel, when her vessel had been shipwrecked, stranding her on Txomin's island, where a humble monk had once tended the imperial lighthouse.

There was good reason for them to fear these shoals.

“He's a madman,” Burrell observed.

“And he won't listen to either of us,” Lady Ysobel added.

“What should we do?” Josan asked. He shivered in the wind-driven rain, but had no intention of taking shelter belowdecks. If anything happened, those below would be trapped.

“Wait,” Ysobel said. “And pray the captain knows what he is doing.”

Still, there was no sense in standing without shelter. Clutching the rail with both hands, Josan made his way along the portside of the ship until he was opposite the deckhouse. The ship was tilted so steeply that at times when he glanced over the rail he saw the sea beneath him rather than the side of the ship. Another few degrees and the waves would begin lapping at the deck.

He wondered about the stability of the ship. How far could she heel over before she simply turned on her side? He'd wager Ysobel would know, but he was not inclined to be enlightened. Contrary to the brethren's teachings, he had learned that there were times when the comfort of ignorance was preferable to the grim certainties of truth.

The deckhouse was a steep climb above him. As the ship cut through the waves, he timed her motion. The next time the port side rose he was ready, and dashed up the deck, grasping one of the ropes that were tied to the side of the deckhouse.

The overhanging roof provided shelter from the rain, and this had been among the choicest spots for those travelers who had journeyed on deck. Looping his left arm through the rope, he braced his back against the deckhouse.

He was not surprised when a moment later he was joined first by Lady Ysobel, then Burrell. Either they recognized the wisdom of taking shelter, or they were determined not to let him out of their sight.

He would not have chosen either of them for companions, and yet, there was a part of him that was grateful for their company. It was cowardly of him, he knew, but he did not want to die alone.

What would happen to Ikaria if he perished? How long would Zuberi wait before taking the throne? Would his people accept a new emperor? Or would civil war break out over the succession, as it had nearly done a year ago?

And if both he and Lady Ysobel were to disappear, what would their two countries make of it? Would each side blame the other, leading to war?

He should never have left Ikaria, he realized. Leaving had been selfish, choosing his own life over the needs of the empire that he and Lucius had sworn to serve. Yes, staying would have been a death sentence, but it would have been his life alone that was at risk. Instead, in seeking a cure, he might have inadvertently embroiled two countries in a debilitating war.

He was thrown from his feet as the ship shuddered, grinding to a halt. The rope cut savagely into his arm, but it saved him from being tossed overboard.

The ship was in chaos—a dozen voices raised at once. Some sailors clung to the rigging, while one had fallen to the deck nearby. Even as Josan watched, the sailor's body began to slide toward the gap in the side that was used for loading cargo. Josan looked around, but no one was paying any attention to the fallen sailor. He unhooked his arm from the rope, preparing to rescue him, but found himself firmly restrained in Burrell's grasp.

Josan struggled to break free, but was forced to watch as the hapless sailor was washed over the side.

“Why?” he demanded, when Burrell finally released him. He turned to glare at Ysobel, knowing that this was her doing. If she were a man, he would have struck her.

“He was already dead,” Lady Ysobel said.

“You could not know that.”

“Yes, I did,” she countered.

He glared, but there was nothing to be done. As the ship groaned and shuddered, he was reminded that all of their lives were at risk.

“We've run aground,” Josan said, wondering if this was a good thing or not.

“We scraped a shoal,” Ysobel said, “but we're still sailing.”

She was right, though their forward progress was slow. The ship continued listing to port, and the bow barely rose up after each wave.

“They've got to get the sails down,” Burrell said. “The wind will tear her apart.”

“She's too heavy at the bow. I'll wager she's holed below, and there are more shoals ahead,” Ysobel said. “She'll not survive another strike.” The two were as calm as if they were relating a story that had happened to someone else, not contemplating their own impending deaths.

“What can we do?” he asked.

“Hold on!” Ysobel ordered.

This time he heard the scrape as the ship slammed into the shoal, timbers screaming in protest. The nearest land was a mere smudge on the horizon, but they were as stuck as if they had run themselves onto a beach.

Canvas and wooden yardarms protested as the sails continued to flap in the wind, trying to drive a ship that could no longer move. One sail split from top to bottom with a rending sound, while from behind him he heard an ominous crack.

The sailors who were still alive were climbing down from the rigging and milling on the deck, in defiance of the captain's commands. At some point the hatch must have been opened, or been torn off, for passengers began to appear, their frightened cries mixing with those of the crew.

He heard no words spoken, but Burrell pushed himself away and began inching around the deckhouse. When Josan would have followed, Ysobel placed her hand on his arm. “Burrell's got the legs for this,” she said.

Josan was paralyzed, able to do nothing but watch as waves began breaking over the bow. No one paid any attention to them. Officers yelled orders that were swallowed up by the wind, and the sailors obeyed or ignored them as they saw fit.

Burrell returned a few moments later. His face was grim.

“She's breaking up,” he said. “And the navy vessel is standing off—looks like she's dropped anchor, rather than risk the shoals herself. They may drop boats to pick up survivors . . .”

“We should stay with the ship,” Josan said. It was one bit of advice that he recalled from the journals of Kynon the Sailor—even part of a ship was better than none at all.

“The ship will roll and take us with it,” Ysobel said. “Can you swim?”

Josan shook his head, not sure he'd heard her rightly. “Swim?”

“Can you swim?” she repeated.

He nodded, not trusting his voice.

“Come,” she said. “Those crates by the bow will float if we empty them first.”

He'd despised her for following him, but now he was ashamedly grateful to be included in her plans. Ysobel showed no concern for the other passengers and would have cheerfully abandoned Brother Josan to his fate. But an emperor was far too valuable to be left behind.

The rest of the ship's occupants were making their way aft, which was still out of the water, so they had to push their way through them to reach the bow. Most of the cargo on deck had already washed away, but there were two crates of ducks still lashed down. The ducks squawked their outrage as seawater streamed through their crates. Josan watched as Burrell unfastened their doors—the frightened ducks did not want to leave. He was pecked fiercely as he reached in and pulled them out.

Once the crates were empty, Burrell took his knife and began sawing at the ropes that held them to the deck.

So this was the plan. They would cling to crates that had formerly held waterfowl until they could be rescued by his navy. At which point he would have the unenviable task of convincing them that he was not a criminal but rather Emperor Lucius, and in desperate need of their aid.

“Wait,” Ysobel called.

Burrell lifted his head and turned to look where she was pointing. Josan glimpsed the overturned hull of the ship's rowboat bobbing in the waves. Someone must have tried to launch her and failed.

Burrell left the crates and rejoined them. The boat was rapidly moving away from the ship. Burrell and Ysobel exchanged a glance, then both looked at Josan. Even so, he was unprepared for what happened next.

Burrell reached down, grabbed Josan's legs, and tipped him over the side of the ship. He fell headfirst into the sea.

The shock of impact stole the breath from his lungs. He gulped seawater, then flailed as he descended below the waves. Forcing panic from his mind, he folded his body until his legs were under him and began to kick. His arms frantically stroked, reaching for the gray light above him. Finally, he broke through, and sputtered as he tried to gulp air.

The sea churned around him. He turned in a circle, and saw that Burrell was a few yards to his right. There was no sign of Lady Ysobel.

“Come,” Burrell shouted. “The boat is this way.”

Josan did not trust him, but he had no choice. He began to swim toward Burrell, who watched him for a few strokes. Then, seemingly convinced that Josan would not drown, Burrell set off himself.

He caught only glimpses of the boat in between the waves, and a dark head that must be Lady Ysobel's as she cut through the water with smooth strokes. She reached the boat first, then Burrell joined her.

Josan's arms burned, and he continued to cough, trying to expel the seawater that had filled his lungs. As he drew near, he felt himself faltering, but forced himself to keep swimming. He reached for the boat, but an ill-timed wave swept him forward and he smashed his head into the side.

He was blinded and dizzy. Someone held the back of his robe, then placed his hand onto a wooden projection. The rail? He blinked away the blood that dripped down his forehead but could make no sense of what he saw.

Burrell and Ysobel spoke in low voices, and he could not hear what they said. The chill water stole the energy from his limbs, and he wondered if he would have the strength to scramble on top of the boat. It was a small thing—similar to those rowboats he had known on Txomin's island, capable of holding six men. The hull was steeply curved, which meant it would be difficult to balance upon.

Ysobel and Burrell had other plans, though. “Let go,” Burrell said.

“What?”

“Let go,” Burrell repeated.

“No.” He was no fool. He could not survive in the water without this boat, and he had no intention of relinquishing his grasp.

“Let go, and we'll pull you in,” Burrell said. His expression was exasperated. “Come now, we won't have the strength for this later.”

His words made no sense, but Josan doubted that Burrell was trying to kill him. Reluctantly he let go.

Burrell joined Lady Ysobel on the far side of the boat. They disappeared from sight and he wondered if they had been swept under it.

Then, as he watched, waves rocked the boat. Then rocked it again. And he realized that it was not the waves, but rather his companions, just as it rocked for a third time, then rolled over and righted itself.

It was only a few yards away, but it seemed to take an hour for Josan to swim back to it. Ysobel climbed in first, then Burrell.

Josan clung to the side, knowing that they dare not risk capsizing it again. Burrell took hold of his arms and Lady Ysobel moved to the opposite side of the boat to balance it.

The boat rocked as Josan heaved himself up. He hung, suspended on the side, then Burrell pulled him into the boat.

The bottom was covered in water, but he could get no wetter. Josan lay for a moment as the boat rocked crazily, then it settled into a motion with the waves.

Lady Ysobel took her place in the middle of the first bench facing them, and Burrell settled on the second. Josan gathered himself, then rose and clumsily sat next to Burrell, who slid over to make room for him. He shivered in the cold, looking around.

In the distance he could see tree branches, then realized these must be Tylenda's masts. They were nearly too far away to be seen.

“What's in your bag?” Ysobel asked.

Josan reached for his shoulder straps, surprised to find that he was still wearing it. No wonder it had been so hard to swim, as the weight of his possessions combined with the weight of his clothes to hinder him.

Neither Ysobel nor Burrell had burdened themselves with their seabags, though Burrell still had his knife, and Ysobel wore a ring on her finger that he had not seen before.

Shifting the bag from his shoulder, he undid it. “Papers, pen, and ink, which are no doubt ruined,” he said. Pushing them aside, he encountered a change of small-clothes, which was not something he needed to announce. “And a bowl and cup,” he added.

“Give them,” Ysobel said.

He did, watching bemusedly as she and Burrell began to bail. It would take hours to empty the boat, but if they wanted to waste their time, he would not argue.

He craned his head, but could see no sign of the navy vessel that had pursued them. Tylenda's masts were growing smaller—either she was sinking, or they were drifting away.

Or both.

He lifted his feet out of the water swirling around them, and propped them up on the opposite bench.

“They will not come after us,” he said.

“No,” Lady Ysobel answered. “Even if they saw someone reach the boat, which I doubt, they will stay with Tylenda.”

He was not unduly upset. The rowboat was uncomfortable, but better than clinging to a crate. And at least this way he did not risk an embarrassing encounter with his navy. Though it would be difficult to disentangle himself from Ysobel and Burrell, he was confident that he could manage. Somehow.

“How long till we reach shore?”

“We won't,” Ysobel said, reverting to the patronizing tone she had used with him earlier. “The current is taking us out to sea, away from the shoals, but also away from land. And we have neither oars nor the makings of a sail.”

He swallowed. Hard. “We could use my robe . . .”

“And lash it to what? Or do you propose to stand there, holding it out in the wind?”

Her scorn hurt, for all it was undeserved. She was the sailor, not he. She was the one who had gotten them into this predicament. Left to his own devices, he would have stayed with the ship.

“If the wind shifts, it may blow us back to land,” Burrell said.

Ysobel nodded. “It's our only hope.”

He did not like the look that she gave him.

“This is your fault,” he said. “You and your man forced me to come with you.”

“We're alive,” Burrell said.

“And we will stay that way,” Ysobel added. “If you help.”

“What can I do?” Hadn't she just said that there was nothing that could be done?

“Brother Josan can do nothing,” she said. “But an emperor who commands lightning from the sky can surely summon the wind to his bidding . . .”

Burrell gaped at her, openmouthed, and Josan shared his astonishment. Was she serious? Had she risked all their lives upon the conviction that he was Emperor Lucius, and that the emperor could indeed command the weather?

But there was no sign that she was jesting.

Even if he wanted to cooperate, he did not think that he could. To his knowledge, he had never changed the weather, though he admitted that Lucius had an uncanny knack for predicting the weather. But knowing when lightning would come was a far cry from making it happen.

She was mad. They were both mad, for Burrell merely sat there, rather than objecting to this insanity.

“I am Brother Josan,” he insisted. He folded his arms across his chest and drew the hood of his sodden cloak over his head.

Ysobel shrugged. “Live or die, it is your choice.”

He shook his head, but would not argue. He sat in silence as Ysobel and Burrell continued to bail. Gradually the rain eased, but the skies above remained gray.

The wind had dried his robe, but his flesh was chilled and he shivered. Ysobel's face was pinched and Burrell had moved to sit beside her, ostensibly to balance the boat, but Josan noticed that the two leaned upon one another, sharing what warmth they possessed.

Exhaustion sapped his strength and he slumped in his seat. The sun had set behind the clouds, and in the pitch-darkness he could see nothing—not his hands, nor his companions, nor even the shape of the boat around him.

It was as if he was alone, but he would not be the first to break the silence. He was cold, but he had endured far worse. Come morning, things would be different. As the storm passed, the wind would shift. They would make landfall, and Lady Ysobel would forget her ridiculous ideas.

He would not let her win.