This, then, was what he could offer. The young family would feed on him, drawing out the strength he could no longer use, and perhaps he would save them. It was better than waiting for the crabs, and the old eel only wished that he’d caught a fish and filled his belly with fresh meat for the young. As floating particles settled on his body, he died in peace. The mother drew closer, still wary.
Salt.
There was the taste of salt on his lips.
Losara licked his lips and found his tongue dry, and drifted back to consciousness. The salt crystals encrusted on his lids broke as his eyes opened. Above him the Cloud covered the sky more thickly than he’d ever seen it. The serenity that came from immersing himself in the shadows of the sea was replaced by the bite in his stomach. He empathised with the hunger of the old eel.
The boat rocked slightly as he rummaged through his supplies and drank what little remained of his water. He was close to the Boundary now, and before him the world opened like the mouth of an enormous cave, swallowing the ocean. He took hold of the oars once more and began to row. Weariness had become his waking world, having rowed for days with such limited rations. He had never done much physical work before and his slender frame had nothing to replace the energy he burned. He’d tried to use his powers to lure fish up to the boat, but discovered that something kept them away. He’d sniffed out an enchantment on the boat itself, old and subtle. He didn’t know whether he could have broken it or not, but instinct told him not to try. If fasting was supposed to be part of this journey, so be it. He found that he kept drifting from his body, losing himself in the boundless ocean, riding with the strange souls that dwelled there. The shadow was so strong here, in both the air and the depths beneath, surrounding him on all sides. It was hard to keep himself contained.
He wondered if he was failing this test. If so, when he reached the Boundary, he would drift over it without finding the Isle. There were many theories on the Boundary and what lay beyond it. Some thought new worlds; some thought oblivion; others thought it was the home of the gods themselves, where they kept their Wells. Kainordas also had a Boundary, far out in the Shallow Sea. From what Losara had heard, as one went further and further out, the light grew brighter until it was blinding. He shuddered at the thought of such a place. Only one thing was certain about the Boundaries: no one who went over them had ever returned.
He didn’t feel too unsettled, however. Somehow he didn’t believe that being abandoned at sea was his fate. The fields of wavelets on the choppy waters, the fresh chill tingling his ivory skin, all the lives moving beneath the surface …He lay back down, dangled a hand over each side of the boat, and out he spread, into the sea.
…a large sturgeon cruises along, a row of phosphorescent circles glowing on its cheeks to attract unwary prey. It swims around something that looks like a large rock, but as Losara drifts closer he sees the ‘rock’ is alive, a creature like a lump of flesh covered in tough brown skin. Vents open in its side and an acrid excretion plumes out. The sturgeon is repelled and darts away …
…a school of five jet-black shrimps fossick in a silt valley. Their small claws work the sediment, but one steps over a buried worm. The worm snaps up, catching the shrimp and crushing it in the loops of its body. The remaining shrimps flick off in alarm, their sad school that much smaller …
…a thing like a sea urchin on long, stilt-like legs moves haltingly across a sandy plain. A crab with claws twice as long as its body scuttles beneath a rock. A green and white jellyfish, with a body like two circles spinning in opposite directions. Other things …stranger things …older things …
…Tyrellan stands by a ditch with a reedy stream at the bottom. With him is a well-muscled goblin and Heron. Tyrellan nods, and the goblins go down the embankment to the stream. Tyrellan lies on his back, shoots Heron an intense look, then lowers his head under the water. The other goblin holds him down, muscles bulging as Tyrellan begins to thrash. Eventually Tyrellan lies still. The muscled goblin drags Tyrellan out of the water and up the embankment, laying him before Heron. Heron kneels, putting her fingers to Tyrellan’s wrist, then his neck. ‘Is he dead?’ asks the muscled goblin. ‘Yes,’ says Heron. She glances at the butterfly, which rests on the bridge of Tyrellan’s nose, its colourful wings open so their false eyes cover Tyrellan’s closed ones. Heron extends her hand and uses magic to draw the water from Tyrellan’s lungs, then shocks his heart into beating again. Tyrellan lurches up, coughing violently. For a moment he’s dazed, then he looks around blearily and sees the butterfly. He scrambles to his feet and stumbles away, but it follows him as closely as ever. ‘If death does not sever the connection,’ he roars, ‘will this vermin haunt my gravestone for all time?’ …
He awoke to the oars straining in their holdings. How long had he been gone? The boat was now surrounded by a darkness he could not penetrate, and somewhere inside it was the Isle. There was no point rowing any more. The gods would guide him now, or not. Hours passed and he drifted, half-asleep, half-super-aware of the environment around him. Sea life dwindled, save for a few ancient presences that he felt cautious about approaching. As he dreamed he found himself looking down at the boat, which held a different passenger.
It is a young Arabodedas woman, her hair running in snakish dreadlocks, baring sharpened teeth. Losara knows her to be Assidax, the Shadowdreamer preceding Raker. He can see her clearly somehow, even though she sails through the same darkness he does. He can see everything, he realises …not as if it is being lit up, but just because it is there. He wonders if this strange sense is a result of the dream, or if it will carry into his waking state.
Assidax changes, and now it is Raker who sails to the Isle. A young man, he nevertheless looks as drawn as his bust in Skygrip. Many scars run across his face, and his eyes are afraid as he clutches a painful stomach and stares into the dark. He thinks that he has failed, that he will drift across the Boundary.
They were here, where I am, thinks Losara. They were here and they succeeded. I have not yet passed the Boundary.
Raker fades and a young Battu takes his place. Battu rows ceaselessly, his muscles bulging under his black robe, fierce determination on his face. Abruptly he lets the oars drop and stands up tall in the boat. ‘Receive me, my gods!’ he calls. ‘Your servant is here!’ Moments of silence go by and Battu’s face twists in frustration. He sits down and begins to row once more.
Now his view is from beneath the waves, looking up at the boat far above, cutting across a roof of water. Ahead is a great undersea mountain, and Losara sees something climbing the slope. The sense of presence the entity exudes is awe-inspiring, and he draws closer in the dream, taking in the immensity of it. Colossal armoured legs rise and fall, sinking deeply into sand and rock with equal ease. Plates of exoskeletal armour as wide as villages creak against each other as it climbs, its cyclopean front claws opening like scissors. It is like a gigantean lobster, its horny black armour streaked with greens and reds, a being so enormous it could swat dragons like dragonflies. Slowly and surely it plods up the rise towards the boat.
Losara sees the hands of the boat’s occupant trailing in the water as he sleeps. In a moment of cold clarity, he realises he is shadowdreaming the present, that the person in the boat is him, and the creature is reaching towards him with pincers that could crush towers …