Chap wondered what Brot’an had said to her in private. It seemed clear that she’d slipped away and, with nowhere else to go, had come here. But Chap had suspected for some time that Brot’an was making her hide something, forcing her to keep something to herself. The girl’s present tentative expression only added to his certainty.
He sat up, and she looked at him with worry on her face. In the corner of his sight he could also see Leesil.
—Brot’an is—
“Chap, I’m not in the mood,” Leesil groaned.
—Brot’an is—too hard—on the—girl—
Leesil slapped a hand against his forehead, and Magiere stirred a little.
“Knock that off!” he whispered sharply, but he did not quite settle back again, and peered over Magiere, first at Leanâlhâm and then at Chap. “Wait ... what do you mean about Brot’an?”
Leanâlhâm’s widening eyes fixed solely on Chap.
She knew that he understood everything said around him—and more that was not spoken aloud. It unsettled her whenever Leesil spoke to a “sacred” majay-hì in a disrespectful manner. Perhaps more so when Chap was not speaking to her, for she could hear only half of the conversation.
Chap ignored Leesil and hopped up onto the cabin’s opposite bunk. He pawed the empty space beside him as he looked to Leanâlhâm. Hesitating at first, she finally came to settle on the bunk’s edge. When he shoved his nose into her small hand, she jumped a little, and he flipped his muzzle up, making her hand slide down his neck.
All the while she kept staring at him as if he was too bizarre to comprehend.
That was getting annoying. But as she watched him, her memories of the majay-hì returned again—the ones standing in the shadowy brush and watching her.
Chap looked into Leanâlhâm’s green eyes.
—I am—not—like them—and—they—are not—what—your people—think—
She sucked a breath, as she often did at the memory-words he called up in her mind. But at the sound she made ...
“Chap?” Leesil grumbled in warning. “What are you doing?”
Magiere stirred, opened her eyes, and murmured, “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Leesil answered. “Leanâlhâm came in.”
Magiere rolled her head and peered sleepily across at the girl sitting with Chap.
“You stay here as long as you like,” she said.
Chap felt Leanâlhâm’s tension subside a little. Her narrow fingers actually combed into his deep fur and then became still.
—I am—majay-hì—and not— ... —I am—Chap—
—You are—an’Cróan—and not— ... —You are—human—and not—
—So—who does—this make—you—now?—
—Being—more than—one thing—is not—being—less than—one thing—
—All—here—with you—are—like you—in—this—
—You—are not—less than—whole—
The sudden alarm on Leanâlhâm’s face actually frightened Chap. A rushing past moment flashed through the girl’s mind, and he latched on to it.
He—she—stood in a dank, dark forest of curtaining moss and dripping vines among close, cramped trees. He stepped out into a clear area of grass, and in a copse ahead, something glimmered beyond the black silhouettes of gnarled oaks.
He—she—shook so much that it made every breath quiver.
A rustle rose in the grass, and his breath stopped.
At first he saw nothing. He only heard a soft sliding somewhere ahead in the dark ... coming closer through the grass.
Chap, caught between facing what lay ahead, whatever was coming, or flight, felt that his legs might buckle. And he could not move.
The sounds of a mild struggle in the cabin cut through Chap’s focus.
“Magiere, please!” Leesil yelped. “My breakfast is barely staying down as it is.”
Chap couldn’t help but look. Magiere had pushed herself up on one elbow and was glaring at him from the other bunk.
“Get out of her head—now!” she ordered. “She’s had enough for one day.”
Then he noticed that the small hand upon his neck was gone.
He glanced back to find Leanâlhâm cowering where the bunk’s far end met the cabin wall. She sat there with tears streaming down her dark tan face.
“Leanâlhâm?” Magiere whispered, but when the girl did not respond, she turned her vehemence back on Chap. “What did you do?”
Chap snapped his teeth at her, huffing twice for no. He had not caused whatever crippled Leanâlhâm from within. But he’d somehow pushed Leanâlhâm too far in clinging to the memory he had seen within her.
It was gone now. Leanâlhâm’s mind was empty of memories, as if she cowered from those as much as from anything in the present.
—Lie down—rest— ... —You are—safe—here—with me—
She looked at him, but only as if she was uncertain of what she saw.
—Everything—is all right—in here—
The terror on her face began to wane; in its place came a wash of exhaustion. With her large eyelids slowly closing to hide all the brilliant green, she slid along the wall behind the bunk and half curled up behind him.
He could not turn a circle, for there was not enough room anymore. He did his best to struggle about and settle along the bunk’s edge to wall Leanâlhâm off from the world. But his thoughts were working upon what he had seen in her.
There was no way to know when in the stream of her past that dark moment had taken place. But the place itself was somehow familiar—not that he had ever been there himself, but perhaps as seen in someone else’s memories.
Leesil came to mind, but Chap was uncertain why. His train of thought was interrupted as something slid clumsily up his back.
Leanâlhâm’s small hand settled tiredly between his shoulder blades, and her fingers clutched his fur. It was enough for now that one more piece of Leanâlhâm’s reticence over a majay-hì might have been broken.
Chapter Six
For Leesil, the days and nights slipped by in sickening sameness as the Cloud Queen sailed along the coast. Once, he felt a flicker of hope that he might get off the ship for a night when he learned they were approaching Kêdinern, some port he’d never heard of.
It turned out to be a small town with no piers big enough to dock a large cargo ship. Captain Bassett set anchor offshore, and the crew used skiffs for a bit of light cargo exchange. Bassett went ashore for the night, but no one else set foot on the beach besides a few sailors handling the deliveries.
Leesil, still nauseous and weak, was left staring out at solid ground far beyond reach, and he stumbled back to his bunk. He wasn’t keeping much food down, and even drinking water was an effort. Peering out at that shore had only made him feel more trapped on this floating, rocking prison.
After the one-night stop, the ship sailed south again. More empty days and nights passed with him lying on his bunk in misery. Magiere took care of him: wiping his face, sitting with him into the night when he couldn’t sleep. Eventually even this made him feel worse, as he was failing in his need to watch over her.
Then one afternoon brought another glimmer of hope.
Magiere came to tell him they were making port and docking this time in a place called Berhtburh, an actual city. As she finished, the ship rocked sharply—along with his guts clenching up—and the vessel seemed to slow and settle. Even Magiere appeared suddenly concerned and headed out the cabin door. Leesil forced himself from his bunk and followed more slowly.