“I understand. And what is it you would have me do, Father?”
“Be friendly to this Alfred, Son. Encourage him to talk, draw him out, agree with all he says, sympathize. The man is lonely, starved for those of his own kind. He hides in a shell he has built for his own defense. We will crack it with kindness and, once we have opened it, then we can set about his reclamation.
“I have, in fact, already started.” Samah glanced complacently down the darkened corridor.
“Indeed?” His son’s gaze followed.
“Yes. I’ve turned the wretched man over to your mother. He will be more likely to share his true thoughts with her than with us.”
“But will she share her knowledge?” Ramu wondered. “It seems to me she has taken a liking to the man.”
“She always did befriend every stray who came begging at our door.” Samah shrugged. “But there is nothing more to it than that. She will tell us. She is loyal to her people. Just prior to the Sundering, she sided with me, supported me, abandoned all her objections. And so the rest of the Council was forced to go along. Yes, she’ll tell me what I need to know. Especially once she understands that our goal is to help the poor man.”
Ramu bowed to his father’s wisdom, started to leave.
“All the same, Ramu.” Samah stopped his son. “Keep your eyes open. I do not trust this . . . Alfred.”
9
Something exceedingly strange has occurred and I have been (mercifully) so busy that I have had no time to write until now. But at last all is quiet, the excitement has subsided, and we are left only to wonder: What will happen to us now?
Where shall I start? Thinking back, I see it all began with Alake’s magical attempt to summon the dolphins and speak to them. We wanted to find out, if possible, where we were headed and what we faced, even if our fate was a terrible one. It is the “not knowing” that is so difficult to bear. I have said that we were adrift in the sea. That is not precisely accurate, as Devon pointed out to us during our midday meal. We are traveling in a specific direction, guided by the dragon-snakes. We have no control over the ship. We cannot even get near the steerage.
A terrible feeling comes over us when we walk in that direction. It saps the strength from our legs, leaves them wobbly and unable to move. It fills the heart and mind with images of death and dying. The one time we tried, we turned and fled in a panic, to hide, cowering, in our rooms. I dream of it still.
It was after that incident, when we’d recovered, that Alake decided to try to contact the dolphins.
“We haven’t seen one since we embarked,” she stated. “And that’s very strange. I want to know what’s going on, where we are headed.”
Now that I thought of it, it was strange that we hadn’t seen any fish. Dolphins are quite fond of company and are great gossips. They will generally flock around a ship, begging for news and passing along their own to anyone fool enough to listen.
“How do we ... er ... summon them?” I asked.
Alake seemed astonished that I didn’t know. I don’t understand why. No dwarf in his right mind would ever voluntarily summon fish! It was all we could do to get rid of the pesky things.
“I’ll use my magic, of course,” she said. “And I want you and Devon to be there with me.”
I had to admit I was excited. I had lived among humans and elves, but had never seen any human magic, and I was surprised when Alake invited us. She said our “energies” would help her. I think, personally, she was lonely and afraid, but I kept my mouth shut.
Perhaps I should explain (as best I can) the Phondran and Elmas concept of magic. And the Gargan point of view.
Dwarves, elves, and humans all believe in the One, a powerful force that places us in this world, watches over us while we are here, and receives us when we leave. Each race takes a somewhat differing view of the One, however. The basic dwarven credo is that all dwarves are in the One and the One is in all dwarves. Thus harm that befalls one dwarf befalls all dwarves and befalls the One as well—this is why a dwarf will never intentionally kill, cheat, or deceive another dwarf. (Not counting barroom brawls, of course. A sock on the jaw, delivered in a regular knock-’em-down, turn-’em-over, is generally considered beneficial to the health.)
In the old days, we dwarves believed the One to be interested mainly in ourselves. As for elves and humans, if they had been created by the One at all (and some held that they sprang up from the darkness, rather like fungi), it must have been an accident or else they were designed by a force opposing the One.
Long times of coexistence taught us to accept each other, however. We know now that the One has in care all living beings (although some old grandfathers maintain that the One loves dwarves, merely tolerates humans and elves). Humans believe that the One rules all, but that—like any Phondran chieftain—the One is open to suggestion. Thus the humans are constantly badgering the One with supplications and demands. Phondrans also believe that the One has underlings, who perform certain menial tasks beneath the One’s dignity. (That concept is so human!) These underlings are subject to human manipulation through magic, and the Phondrans are never happier than when altering the growing seasons, summoning winds, conjuring rain, and starring fires.
The Elmas take a far more relaxed view of the One. In their perspective, the One started everything off with a bang and now sits back lazily to watch it all go forward—like the bright, glittering, spinning toys Sabia used to play with as a child. The Elmas view magic not as something reverent and spiritual, but as entertainment or a labor-saving device.
Though only sixteen (no more than a babe to us, but humans mature rapidly), Alake was deemed quite skilled in magic already and I knew her mother’s fondest wish was to hand her daughter the leadership of the Coven. Devon and I watched Alake take her place before her altar, which she had set up in the empty cargo hold on deck two. It was, I must admit, a pleasure to watch her.
Alake is tall and well-made. (I have never, by the way, envied humans their height. An old dwarven proverb says, “The longer the stick, the easier to break.” But I did admire Alake’s graceful movements, like a frond bending in the water.) Her skin is a dark ebony. Her black hair is braided in countless tiny braids that hang down her back, each braid ending in beads of blue and orange (her tribal colors) and brass. If she lets her braids hang loose, the beads clash musically together when she walks, sounding like hundreds of tiny bells.
She wore the accepted dress of Phondra, a single piece of blue and orange cloth wound around the body, held in place by the cunning of the folds (a knack known only to Phondrans). The free end of the cloth is draped over the right shoulder (to show she is unmarried—married women place the fold over the left shoulder).
Silver ceremonial bracelets adorned her arms, silver bells hung from her ears.
“I’ve never seen you wear those bracelets, Alake,” I said, making conversation to break the silence that was so terribly silent. “Are they yours or your mother’s? Were they a gift?”
To my surprise, Alake, who is usually fond of showing off any new jewelry, made no reply and averted her face.
I thought she hadn’t heard me. “Alake, I asked if—” Devon jabbed me in the ribs with his sharp elbow. “Shush! Say nothing about her jewelry!”
“Why not?” I whispered back irritably. To be honest, I was getting sick and tired of tiptoeing around, fearful of offending someone.
“She wears her burial adornments,” Devon returned. I was shocked. Of course, I’d heard of the custom. At birth, Phondran girl-children are presented with silver bracelets and ear-jangles which, it is hoped, they will wear at their wedding and pass along to their own daughters. But, if a girl dies untimely, before her marriage, her bracelets and other jewelry are placed on the body when it is sent out to join the One in the Good sea.