Hanna lifted her glass of ale.
"And what book did you take to the havotty this season?" Lom asked.
"The tale of Gydwyn and Cessair."
"Ah, the jeweled wings and snow-white bear cub ... I look forward to hearing it during the dark months."
"How goes your boat?"
Lom's eyes lit up and he launched into a rapid description of which Brie understood almost nothing. Her eyes wandered, taking in the Ardarans as they drank and ate and talked. The innkeeper, a round-faced man with a sunken chin, was staring at Brie, a scowl thinning his lips. He looked away quickly when their eyes met.
"...in a day or two, if you'd like," Lom was saying, with a shy glance at Brie.
"Uh, I'm sorry..."
"Lorn has invited us to see his boat."
Brie politely said she would like that, then turned her attention to the mutton and potatoes the unfriendly innkeeper was placing in front of her.
"We've been to Sago," Hanna said to Lom.
The innkeeper overheard and let out a snicker. "Did he caper about and sing of fish that dance and talking birds?"
"No," replied Hanna, annoyed. "He spoke of something more serious."
"Oh, and what would that be? Ladybugs in petticoats?"
There were a few guffaws from a nearby table.
"Sumog," Hanna said loudly.
"You mean that phantom fish of his that's supposedly devouring all the fish between here and Mira?"
"I saw it," Hanna stated matter-of-factly.
Silence greeted her words. Most of the people at the inn were listening to the exchange.
"Was it bigger than a whitebelly, have large horns, and breathe fire at you?" the innkeeper persisted, his lips in a sneer.
"No. It was dead, in a wooden pail. But it had the stench of evil about it."
The innkeeper opened his mouth, but Hanna continued. "I would not underestimate the Sea Dyak sorcerer, were I you, innkeeper. He is not the half-wit he would have you believe. Now, I, for one, am ready to eat."
Shutting his mouth, the innkeeper moved away to a table of his cronies. They muttered back and forth, casting sidelong glances at Brie and Hanna.
Very early the next morning, Hanna went off with Farmer Garmon to discuss plans for beginning the harvest, and Brie, finding herself at loose ends, directed her steps toward the harbor.
Leaning against a stone wall, she gazed out at the bustle of activity. Many boats were already out, though some were still preparing for the day's fishing. Yldir had been right. There was so much of life around the sea: the constantly moving water; the birds wheeling and calling overhead; the fishing boats with the men aboard heaving, hauling, tightening, spooling, mending.
She felt outside it all. As if her soul were somehow back in the bog.
Watching, she stayed at the stone wall through the morning. Then she caught sight of a trim, whitewashed boat returning to harbor. It had a familiar look to it, as if she had seen it before somewhere. As it came closer she was able to make out the words Storm Petrel in black paint on the prow. Of course. Rilla had spoken of the Storm Petrel, Jacan's boat. She watched the craft with pleasure as the four men aboard, Jacan, Ferg, Lom, and another man Brie did not know, pulled the boat into the dock. Jacan caught sight of Brie and gave her a nod of recognition. Though she had no certainty of a welcome from them, Brie found herself walking down to the Storm Petrel. She had to see it up close.
Jacan's keen eyes watched her come. He must have read her face, for without being asked he invited her aboard. He introduced her to the fourth man on the boat, a spry older man named Henle, and she exchanged greetings with Lom, though she barely was aware of doing so, so caught up was she in her up close look at the Storm Petrel.
She drank it all in—the clean lines of the prow, the way the deck boards fit snugly together, the symmetry of the mast and yard, the finely proportioned hull. And all Brie could think of was that she must sail on this boat, out on the sea.
"It was a poor day for fishing," Jacan was saying. "We'll try again tomorrow. Perhaps you—" He stopped, almost as if he was surprised at himself. Ferg glanced over, also surprised.
"If you will have me, I would come with you tomorrow," Brie said loudly.
"Do you know anything of fishing?" asked Ferg.
"No."
"We leave at dawn, Biri," said Jacan. "You are welcome."
***
And so it was that Brie found herself on the Storm Petrel at dawn the following morning. As Jacan, Ferg, and Lom instructed her in the ways of a Dungalan fishing boat, she had an odd sense of familiarity. She learned quickly; in truth, it was almost not like learning at all, more like remembering. She got her sea legs at once. Both Jacan and Ferg were impressed with her adaptability and asked several times if she was sure she had never been on a fishing boat before.
Indeed, it felt as if she had done this all her life—scratchy hemp in her hand, bare feet on sun-warmed wooden slats, the wind in her face, the dancing blue of sea waves all around her.
Fara came along. At first the Dungalans were leery of the faol. And they gaped when the wolf-cat dived gracefully into the water, surfacing some distance ahead, her sleek wet head skimming the surface like some kind-of seal. Fara then dived down and reappeared with a flapping fish in her mouth.
Lom gave a hearty laugh.
"The creature is a better fisherman than I," said Jacan in amazement. They soon got used to the faol, who alternated between playing in the waves and basking on the foredeck.
The fishing turned out to be good that day, and Ferg called Brie and Fara good-luck charms. They went out on the Storm Petrel the next day and the next.
Brie found that as she grew increasingly at ease on board the boat, so grew her ease with the Dungalan language. And she quickly picked up the language of the sea asi well—the words for the parts of the boat, for the different kinds of fish they hauled in with their nets, and for the seabirds circling overhead. She learned of dowsing a sail (lowering it), and of craffing a net (mending it), and that a brusker was an energetic fisherman not easily deterred by bad weather. All of the fishermen on the Storm Petrel were bruskers, Ferg told Brie with great certainty.
As the days passed, Brie eagerly drank in everything they taught her. She learned to set the nets and to haul them in; to hoist the sail and make fast the ropes. She became familiar with the many knots used by sailors and how to splice, coil, and throw rope. She discovered that a good sailor knew his position on the water at all times, and that when the captain gave an order it must be repeated and obeyed at once. She began to understand the moods of the sea, from friendly and playful to dull and unresponsive to an outright and cruel indifference. Jacan introduced her to the cross-stave, an instrument of wood and iron used to navigate by measuring the altitude of the sun and stars. She pored over Jacan's charts, one in particular called the table of the airts, which showed the different names for the directions of the wind. She started to get a feel for reading the weather and what different cloud patterns portended; and she learned of the tides and how the moon cycle affected them.
After almost a week of going out on the Storm Petrel, Jacan invited Brie to join them in their evening meal. Hyslin greeted her kindly, though Brie saw the grief still in her face. That night Brie learned Hyslin was betrothed to a fisherman named Gwil, and would be wed the following spring. To celebrate the good catches of the past few days, Hyslin donated a bottle of homemade lemongrass-and-rose wine from the cache she had already begun to stockpile for her wedding feast. They ate a delicious meal of fresh fish, roasted red potatoes, and tender white corn. Hyslin politely filled a plate with fish and a bowl of sweet cream for Fara, who gave it a careful inspection then set to with regal pleasure.
When Brie returned to Farmer Garmon's barn that night, she found Hanna smoking her pipe and reading one of Lotte's books by oil lamp. The older woman gazed on Brie then smiled.