The ship corkscrewed to starboard in a manner that shoved Dariel's guts up against his diaphragm, pushing the air from his lungs. The roiling wraith of the agitated water surged up over the railing. The sailors there went completely under water and stayed submerged for some time. The ship balanced on its side, the tips of the masts sunk deep into the water, sails billowing with the current. It seemed an impossibly long moment-a breath held and held and held-before the Ambergris finally made up its mind and began the slow roll back upright.
The sailors who had been submerged gasped as they hit the air. Dariel felt just as empty of air as they, just as hungry for breath. A different noise rose from the ship's bowels: shouts of rage from the chained Numrek. He had not seen them the entire voyage, but they made themselves heard now. Dariel had to shade his brow to get his bearings. They were, he concluded, in the lee of the island. Actually, they were even moving forward, away from the current and into the maze of mountain islands before them. He did not try to hide the astonishment on his face.
In answer, Sire Neen offered, "We've found forceful penetration to be the best method of entry." His voice had the same calm tone he used at the council table, and his smile was so incongruous at the moment that the sight of it gave Dariel an instant headache or somehow alerted him to the pounding pain already all around his skull. "There is nothing worse, you see, than getting trapped between the two currents. One has no control at all then. We'll have to explain to the Numrek that we could've had a much rougher ride than that. It's not for the timid, I know, but we of the league are not timid."
Dariel stood with Rialus as the Ambergris spent the next hour threading its way through the islands. They progressed at a cautious speed, but it was still strange to watch such a large vessel navigate the narrow channels. Apparently, the peaks dove into the water at the same steep angle as they rose above it, making the waterways clean routes. At times they skimmed so near the submerged slopes that he could see far down through the clear waters. The long-legged crabs on the stones gave the depths perspective, growing smaller and smaller until they faded into blackness. A few times, he thought he saw human forms floating among them, but the water-clear as it was-was deceiving him. Watching the crustaceans gave him a queasy feeling almost like vertigo, as if he might fall from the deck, through the water, and down and down into the depths.
A clipper came out from a harbor as they passed and sliced cleanly through the water toward them. It was a small ship, built for speed, and so dwarfed beside the Ambergris that it took Dariel a moment to figure out why the sight of it was so remarkable. It had no sail, nor any oars. It dipped and slipped through the water with no visible indication of how it did so. There was something to it that he was not seeing. Perhaps the league had developed some see-through sailcloth. That would be handy in many ways. But there were no masts either. It was amazing, bizarre, frightening even to see a ship move so unnaturally. Dariel leaned over the railing as the clipper drew up alongside the Ambergris. That surprised him as well-that a small vessel could dock with a moving ship-which appeared to be what it was doing.
It did not hold his complete attention. His neck grew sore from craning between the strange craft and the structures perched high and strung across the rock walls. They looked like they had been built by some sort of bird people who were in love with the heights. He thought of Mena-bird-goddess that she was-and wished she were with him to see this. Who were these Lothan Aklun? For that matter, where were they? He had yet to see any signs of life on the islands. They passed several docks, complete with buildings and boats and equipment, but they were all strangely still. He had not seen any boats other than the clipper. That made no sense. The waters should be teeming with vessels moving between the islands.
"I see Aklun architecture impresses you," Sire Neen said. He had been away conferring with the other leagueman. When he rejoined the prince, he seemed to be in uncharacteristically good humor. He even rocked on his toes as he spoke, a childish energy animating him. "It should. Until now, we've never figured out just what material the Lothan Aklun work in. They seem to have been able to shape stone as if it were a liquid."
"'Until now'?"
Sire Neen shrugged. "Oh, I suspect we will understand it soon. That I'm very confident of."
Dariel found the leagueman's sudden enthusiasm unnerving. He let his eyes roam away. "It's incredible," he said, speaking honestly. "I knew we were coming to it, but it somehow didn't feel real. The Lothan Aklun… It's still hard to believe I'll finally set eyes on them."
Sire Neen made a noise that was hard to read, a slight expulsion of air that might have been an indication of amusement. "That much I know to be true. Prince, you might as well know that we were preceded by another league vessel. They should have arrived a fortnight ago, bearing a message of our coming."
"Oh," Dariel said, though his actual thoughts were somewhat more pointed. The leagueman's statement was made casually enough, but the hairs on the back of Dariel's neck bristled. "Why didn't you mention this earlier?"
"League vessels travel back and forth at will. It would not interest you to know all our shipping itineraries, would it?"
With a nod, Dariel conceded that was true enough. "Why mention it now, then?"
"Just to prepare you for the day."
What sort of answer is that? Dariel thought. He was about to voice the question, but Sire Neen turned his attention to Rialus, who was staring at the league clipper. It had peeled away from the hull as they spoke. It kept perfect pace with them, but still used neither sail nor oar nor any other source of propulsion that Dariel could make out.
"You're wondering what powers that boat, aren't you, Neptos?" Sire Neen asked. "Of course you are. No doubt you've thought the same question, Prince, perhaps feared to ask it… I'll tell you. It's powered by souls." He let that sit for a moment in silence, and then looked at the two men, his face a portrait of good humor. "Souls have power, you know. Your Highness should know that as well as anyone. You released more souls at one moment than any other person I've known of. Did you not feel their power?"
There was nothing in his tone or expression to indicate anything other than levity, but Dariel's pulse hammered at his temple, a warning alarm so loud he feared the man might hear it. Leaguemen didn't make jokes. They didn't show emotion. Or they didn't show their true emotions, at least. He knew Sire Neen must be feeling something completely different from his outward appearance. He had to be. If he wasn't, what could possibly have brought on this playful barbed mood?
"You refer to the platforms," Dariel said. And saying it, he remembered the flash of light at his back when the platforms exploded, the fear that the inferno was reaching out for him, the knowledge that the man he thought of as a father was riding those flames up to death. For many, that act of sabotage made him a hero. He had never thought of it that way, though, and the memory filled him with regret. There was power in freeing all those souls from all those bodies, but not the kind of power he wanted to be reminded of.
"I do. I do, Prince. I lost many brothers who were dear to me that horrible day. Do you know that?"
Rialus inhaled a sharp, audible breath. His nervous eyes darted between the two men.
Dariel began, "I-"
"Not just brothers. I lost my wife."
Brothers? Wives? Dariel had never thought of leaguemen's domestic lives. "You-you had a wife?"
Sire Neen flashed a look of disgust. Or did he? The very next moment it was gone, swept away by incredulous mirth. "Of course we have wives, my prince! We are men like other men. How else would we continue our kind? Oh, Prince Dariel Akaran, you amuse me. But tell me, I have often wondered what it would be like to burn alive. My physician tells me that the very horror of it is what makes it bearable. He says the pain of burning all over your body would be so intense that you would be overwhelmed. It would hurt so much that my wife would no longer feel the hurt as hurt. It would become something else, something beyond pain, like death being something beyond life. Does that sound true to you? Surely, you've thought about it, considering that you made that the fate of so many, children even." He shuddered, and as before he looked briefly dismayed, and then instantly at ease again.