“If I worthy of honor, yes, my memories put into body of Roamer.”
“I knew that some folks could be reborn into young bodies made from the old,” Orick said, licking his lips, “but I never imagined that they could give you a different body. Could I be reborn-as a human?”
“Perhaps …” Tallea said doubtfully. “Body is shell. What lives inside, is important, judges say. But rebirth not granted to many. Immortals in City of Life, they judge. Sometimes strangely.”
“What do you mean? How do they judge strangely?”
“They read memories, thoughts. Sometimes, person not given rebirth, even when all other peoples think person should be. Judges make hard for person who is not human to get rebirth.”
“Maybe it’s not just the actions they base their judgment on-but also thoughts and desires,” Orick said, “so that everyone who knows the person thinks well of him, but the judges at the city don’t. That’s how I’d handle it, at least.” And that’s how God does it, Orick thought.
“Sometimes,” Tallea admitted, shaking her head as if to say he was wrong, “I think humans judge human ways, not peoples’ ways.”
“What do you mean?” Orick asked, licking his nose. He could smell something annoying in the air-lye soap.
“I abhor violence, but excel at it,” Tallea said. “Among Caldurians, those who fight best are honored. They would be reborn. But among humans, those who serve best reborn. We do not value same.”
“Then you feel cheated by the humans?”
“They gave life,” Tallea said. “How I feel cheated?”
“Because your people die young?”
“You forget, I am devotee of Roamers. They own nothing. No land, no clothing, no honor. Not even lives. This is wise, to know you cannot own life. It passes.”
He left then, but Orick could not help but wonder at the Caldurian.
After a week, Ceravanne began to worry. “We’ve been at sea too long, with such strong winds,” she said. “It’s but a five-day journey to Babel under such winds. We must be off course.”
Yet when she spoke her fears to the captain in his office, he only scratched his bald head and muttered, “Aye, we’re not making good time. We’re heavily laden, and that slows us. And we’ve faced some strong head winds two nights in a row. Give it a day. We’ll find land tomorrow.”
But it was two days before they sighted land, just after dawn, a line of blue hills barely discernible where the water met the sky. But the scouts knew those hills. The ship was still two days from port.
It rained that afternoon, and everyone was forced to remain inside for most of the day, so it wasn’t until evening that the weather cleared. Gallen seemed tense, his muscles tight, and he stared into the darkness.
Maggie knew he was thinking about Moree, wishing that the ship was already there. To ease his tension Maggie convinced Gallen to walk with her under the moonlight.
So it was that they left their room in the evening, well after dinner. The Caldurian, Tallea, stood outside their door, a solid presence. And as they went topside, Tallea touched Maggie’s hand and whispered, “Take care. Tekkar are out.”
Gallen was wearing his black-hooded robe, with his mantle concealed beneath. He had his knives and his fighting boots, though he wore no gloves. Maggie felt safe in his presence, so she merely nodded at the Caldurian.
They walked under the moonlight, talking softly, and Maggie held Gallen’s hand. As always, his touch was electric. They hadn’t made love yet that day, and under the cold stars, she welcomed his touch. They went to the bow of the ship, and stood looking off to sea. To the south she could see the lights of a city sprinkled over a distant hill.
The boat rocked gently, and for a while they stood and kissed, long and passionately. So many times during the day, while Gallen worked out with his swords in their room until the air was filled with the humid scent of him, Maggie found that her lips hungered for his. But now she hesitated to give herself to him too completely, to satisfy her cravings, for she felt the weight of other eyes upon her. Yet she trembled under his touch, and for a while, it was good.
She leaned into him, and her breasts crushed against the strong muscles of his chest. She drew back his hood so that the links of his mantle gleamed in the moonlight, and the memory crystals in it shone with the reflected light of stars. He wore the metal netting over his blond hair, and she considered taking it off so that she could run her fingers through his hair, but decided against it and only bit his ear. “I’d give you more of a honeymoon tonight,” she whispered, “right here, if no one were watching.” She whispered the words only to tease him, for she knew Gallen to be a gentleman with more self control than she sometimes wanted him to have.
But she felt him tense, look around, as if to find some handy corner where they could be alone. Suddenly he drew back from her and asked, “‘Why are the sails at quarter mast?”
Maggie looked up. The evening breeze was cool and steady, without a sign of clouds in the sky. There was no threat of storm, no reason for the sails to be lowered.
“Look at this,” Gallen said, gazing over the bow. “We’re nearly dead in the water!”
Suddenly a feeling of dread came over Maggie. They’d been aching to reach port for days, and the trip had taken them at least three days longer than expected, though the winds had seemed good the whole time. And even though the captain had complained of head winds at night, she’d never been aware of them.
Gallen looked up over the deck to the helmsman and asked, “‘Why aren’t we at full sail?”
“The captain orders them lowered after dark,” the fellow answered, a giant of a man.
“And why would that be?” Gallen asked.
The giant shrugged.
“Has he always lowered his sails at night?”
“Just this trip,” the giant answered.
“Gallen,” Maggie whispered. “Something smells. Do you think the captain has cost us time on purpose?” But she couldn’t imagine how that could be. They’d never spoken of their need to make haste in public. Could the man read minds?
“Aye, the captain,” Gallen whispered. “I think I’ll have a talk with him.”
He took Maggie’s hand and began leading her along the weather deck. Aft of the forecastle were two stairs on each side of the ship, leading down to the main deck. The moons were low on the horizon, and shadows from the sails kept the main deck as black as it could get. On a ship back home, the sailors would have rigged a lantern for light, but there was none here. Maggie dreaded having to feel her way down the steps in the darkness, but Gallen stopped, squeezed her hand.
Barely, she saw something black moving in the shadows-a cloaked form.
“Get out of our way,” Gallen said evenly.
The shadowed figure barely moved, and Maggie saw light glint from a steel blade. “Get out of our way, Lord Protector,” a mocking voice replied. It had a hissing grate to it, and Maggie was sure that nothing human spoke with a voice like that. The ship listed as it wallowed in a trough, so that for a brief moment she saw figures in the moonlight-two black-robed Tekkar, sitting on the opposite stairs.
Gallen pushed Maggie back with one hand, drew his sword and a dagger.
“Oh, a wicked man, a wicked human,” one of the Tekkar laughed.
“With a big sword!” the other mocked.
Maggie glanced behind her. There were four crewmen walking along the weather deck toward them, clubs in hand. She stiffened.
“I know-they’re coming,” Gallen whispered.
“Let, let us through!” Maggie cried.
“We’re not stopping you,” one of the Tekkar said. “We have no business with you-for now. Go and talk with the captain, if you wish.…” Gallen crept forward cautiously, and Maggie followed so close behind she could feel the warmth of his body.