The Unfinished Land Read online

  But the voice spread smoke over this dream and memory.

  You are the first word.

  You are here.

  No rest until it is done.

  The Road Before the Pass

  * * *

  THE NEXT MORNING, with wagons underway, escorted by their retinue, Calybo rode alongside Reynard for a few miles. The Travelers did not like riding with Eaters, and kept away from both Valdis and Calybo. The boy furtively watched the high Eater’s night-like features and saw behind his face an even older shade—the ashen light of ancient lands and ancient times under a bright and baking sun.

  And now, some of what Valdis had infused in him rose up, and he knew some things he could not possibly know.

  There, Calybo wandered through the streets of Timbuktu and served kings and caliphs, and knew the men and women who made books. He carried words and memories between them, and shared time between many, and from them rose empires.

  And now he is here.

  What can he share with you, young Fox?

  For how long, and to what ultimate purpose?

  In turn, Calybo met one of his glances and openly studied Reynard. His eyes were as distant as stars reflected in a lake. “What didst thou think on the wide ocean waves, when death looked upon thee?” the high Eater asked.

  Reynard was surprised by the high Eater’s tone. “I grieved for my uncle,” he said. “And for my shipmates. I thought I would never see their like again.”

  “And hast thou seen their like since?”

  Reynard was about to say no but felt a double-edged guilt, and looked around at Widsith and the giant, at the Sea Traveler, and then back to Valdis. “I have found new friends, but not new family,” Reynard said.

  “I have long had no family but Eaters,” Calybo said. “We are full of histories we share like water in the breast feathers of desert birds. But the pasts we carry are rarely our own. Hel’s pact made most Eaters—including me—into slaves of those we are ordered to serve.”

  “You mean, the pact you sealed with the Queen of Hell?” Reynard asked.

  “He hath not yet the right of that,” Widsith said from behind them.

  Calybo leaned his head forward, as if infinitely weary. “She doth not rule the netherworld, if that is what thou mean’st. But she created much we see around us, and some say invited the Crafters to our isles, and she even now commandeth from afar, though I have not seen her for ages.”

  “We are all slaves to some order,” Reynard said. “Our priest in Southwold spake on it. We are slaves to the freedom of God’s duty.”

  Calybo raised his head slowly. “My duty hath been to protect the island, and in that course, I have diminished the time of many and carry their lives within me. I would be free of all of that, and all of them! What if we were free of our histories, free of those who demand we serve their will, when we have contrary wills of our own?”

  Reynard’s cheeks heated at the mere thought of such defiance. “Surely you, like our defenders in England, guard us against worse fates,” he said, thinking of the English sea captains and Elizabeth—and Walsyngham. “You have held back the Spanish!”

  “It is all of a rope. Five centuries ago, reckoning by time beyond the gyre, a Danish family carried their dying daughter to this far northern isle. They had heard of a way of saving her from awful injuries, and being pagans, had no fear of the dark designs into which they were going to weave her. Anything was preferable to endless death, which was all they could imagine for her, for a young girl had no entry to Valhalla. Their guilt at having put her on their boat, at watching the mast fall and cut her almost in half—that haunted their nights and days until they arrived here and were met by the blunters of Zodiako. The blunters saw the girl, listened to her father, and summoned me from the Ravine.”

  Reynard watched the high Eater closely, as if he might sprout wings and fly, so unlikely was this act of confession.

  “I met them and explained it would be better for her to die among her people. The girl had but ten seasons and was barely aware of things about her—but her father said, ‘We give her to thee, that she may find new tales, new stories, and new fates, for I have delivered her only to Death, and there is no love there.’ ”

  Calybo rode quietly for a time. “Dost feel her fate when thou look’st upon her—the fate she might have had, had she not been injured so long ago and put in my care?”

  Reynard could only nod and be embarrassed by the paralysis of his tongue, for he had indeed felt something like that—and had no idea what it meant.

  He startled himself by saying, “Do you think of her as a daughter?”

  Calybo said, “In all the time she hath been with our people, I have sensed her quality and mourned her circumstance.”

  “An Eater can mourn?”

  Calybo’s look now was like a thunderous cloud at midnight. Reynard held the horse against a strange pressure that affected them both. “Her father was not a royal king, but a master of storms and following seas, of voyages that drew songlines between many an isle and across several continents. She hath that quality as well, young Fox. She is a deep well of many words. First words, some call them. She inherited the songlines, and they bind her to a different fate.”

  “Her parents were Sea Travelers?” Reynard asked.

  “They were,” Calybo said. “Of the highest order.”

  “Like Kaiholo?”

  “Even higher.”

  “But those in the wagons avoid you both!”

  “All have prejudices, even here.”

  Reynard drew his brows together.

  Calybo said, “Thou art as different in thine own away as Valdis. And I say this as someone who hath measured and traded time with tens of thousands, man, woman, and child. Thinkst not thou art grand or irreplaceable—that hath yet to be seen. But interesting to such as I, to such as Guldreth—and to a Pilgrim like Widsith. And apparently to the trods and those who smooth them, though they do not understand thee or thy purpose.”

  Another long silence. Then Calybo asked, “I believe, in England, thou didst encounter a man with a white shadow?”

  Reynard flinched, and wondered if he should confirm this meeting—but more to the point, how he could lie to this being? “Did Valdis inform you?”

  Calybo said she had.

  “That question is why you speak to me at all,” he reasoned, brow furrowed. “Do you know him?”

  Calybo shook his head. “Neither human nor just beneath the sky, rare to being singular, in mine experience. Once he visited the Tir Na Nog and spent a season on the seven isles preaching a new language, a language where words equal measures, or numbers, or symbols that can be all. He doth not serve any man, nor any power,” he said. “He is new. I wonder he is not some new sort of Crafter! But he hath human form—he simply cannot cast a true shadow. For such as I, he foretells either an awakening, or an end.”

  And with this, the high Eater reined his horse aside and resumed his place to the rear of the line, behind the giant, who did not seem to have noticed any change.

  The Company of Drakes

  * * *

  THE SNAKING GRAY clouds turned black, and a thin silvery rain fell that smelled of a great storm but delivered little moisture. The line of quiet wagons stood in this evening gloom, colors muted, interiors silent. The forest around them looked sick, almost dead.

  Reynard wrapped his sleeping blanket around him, tucking it under his arms, enduring the damp to keep away the cold. When sleep was clearly useless, and as dawn turned the tops of the trees rusty brown, he got out of his wrap and walked over to the nearest wagon, then climbed up on the step to peer inside and down its length. The bunks that lined both sides, to a boxy enclosure with a black pipe thrusting through the roof—what might have been a kitchen—were empty, the curtains open as if someone had just climbed out. The other wagons were the same. He seemed alone. There was no sign of Anutha, supposedly under Yuchil’s care. Widsith was gone, as were Kern, Kaiholo, Calybo, and eve
n Valdis—perhaps off taking care of ablutions, though he had his doubts that Eaters needed such. At first he thought no one was with him, but the dancing girl, Calafi, appeared out of nowhere and tugged on his sleeve, looking up at him like a curious cat.

  “They have gone!” Reynard said.

  “Be not afraid,” the girl said. “They will return after the trod and the woods have been inspected. In this margin, trees have no sense. They are too close to the krater lands.”

  “Why do they look sick?”

  “Too many changes,” she said. “Around their dwellings, and even in death, Crafters twist rules and churn ways.” She took a deep breath, spread her arms, then smiled. “The trees may not like it, but I do. The air is good here. I like the dreams. Dost thou?”

  “I have had few I recall since I arrived,” he said, ignoring his waking vision. He studied her. She studied him back, eyes clear and steady. The girl tugged his sleeve and brought him around again to the lead wagon. “My mistress and teacher have returned,” she said.

  “The wagons are empty!”

  Calafi smiled and pointed, and he saw the lead wagon was gently creaking with occupants. Now he heard many voices inside, laughing and jesting, he thought, and the canvas sides were pushing out as if from the press of legs and elbows.

  “Art thou hungry?” Calafi asked.

  “What do you have for breakfast?” Reynard asked, and the girl laughed.

  “Light fare,” she said. “Broth and bread and a Traveler’s prayer from long ago, when we began our journeys.”

  Yuchil emerged on the seat of the cab and smiled at them, just as Widsith and the others, along with Nikolias, Andalo, Bela, and Sany, returned from the sickly woods. At their rear, following Kern, came Calybo and Valdis, astride their black and shining horses. Even in the morning light, the Eaters seemed to attract shadows, and the Travelers still kept their distance.

  “Thine own guardians are near,” the dancing girl said, studying the Eaters with a severe frown.

  Valdis descended from her horse and stood by her animal. From the first three wagons, front and rear, climbed down a procession of men and women, young and old, wearing black and purple.

  Reynard watched as the silver-haired woman and Andalo and Bela set up a cauldron, and then Nikolias, the tall master of the Travelers, lent them a hand lighting a hot, smokeless fire beneath, using words wrapped in song that seemed to encourage heat. Another group set up a separate fire. Several of the younger men had been hunting and now brought forth small game animals—none familiar to Reynard. These they began to roast. Valdis and Calybo stood aside in tree shadows, not to upset the repast of all the Travelers.

  “I hope we have food enough to sate a giant!” Yuchil said.

  “I eat less than one would think,” Kern said. She returned his shy smile.

  Widsith and Kaiholo joined with Reynard, and helped Anutha, who moved slowly and seemed barely able to withstand her pain.

  “What have you learned out there, scout?” Widsith asked her.

  “The Travelers have shown me a wonder, and told me what they know. I have seen that the trod is alert,” Anutha said. “And in trade, I have some wonders for you, and for them.” She carried her jingling bag on her belt, and brought it forward with one hand.

  Nikolias looked at the bag curiously and said, “The trods tell the tale. The entire island from forest to mountain to the chafing waste is a-twitch. The Sister Queens have lured the Spanish general to their service, and all that remains of his troops—and now they join those forces to claim the entire island for their country of Annwyn.”

  “Where is Annwyn?” Reynard asked.

  “Far east and north, beyond the chafing waste—beyond the krater lands. Also, beyond the plain of jars whose graves carry dead Crafters.”

  Yuchil and two of the warriors helped Anutha to join the group. She trembled all over, and her eyes were bleary yellow. He felt a sharp pang, as if he might be to blame—and perhaps he was.

  “Time now to share drakes,” Anutha whispered. “The last harvest of the southwestern shores. Who would be served best? Those who drink will find all their kin protected. The drakes will not attack them, but will defend unto their death.”

  Anutha took out a vial and handed it to the Pilgrim. “Thou hast defended Zodiako,” she said, and insisted he take it. “Open, and drink it down.”

  Widsith looked aside, as if ashamed at his part in this. But he swallowed the contents of the vial.

  “When will his drake arrive and be of use?” Kern asked.

  She did not answer, but gave a vial to the giant next. He was astonished. “Take it! Swallow quickly. I do not know how it will react in Anakim flesh.”

  He used his outsized hands to remove the stopper, and slugged it back with a wry grimace. Then his eyes opened, and he said, “Not so bad. I like it! Anakim were made to partner with drakes.”

  Next she turned to Reynard. “Thou hast served the blunters as well as Zodiako,” she said. He took the vial and held it up to inspect, hoping to delay the moment—but Anutha said, “Knowing from whence it comes doth not make it taste any worse!”

  Reynard drank it swiftly. The flavor was intense—sharp and green and then warming, all the way down his throat. He wanted to cough, but clapped his hand over his mouth and did not, though his eyes grew wide.

  Kern looked on with sympathy and amusement.

  “What color of drake?” Kaiholo asked, as if Reynard or Kern or Widsith could already see their new defenders.

  “They have not yet flown,” Anutha said. “But soon! The last nymphs of the season were primed to leave their cocoons when we took these essences.”

  All this talk was in low tones and away from the wagons and those setting up the cauldron and fire, as well as away from Calafi—who had returned to the lead wagon.

  Anutha said, “I know not which of the Travelers will find drakes of use,” she said. “Other than you.”

  And she gave a vial to Kaiholo.

  “To defeat the Sister Queens,” he said, and swallowed the liquid.

  Nikolias approached them, accompanied by Calafi.

  To Reynard’s surprise, more men emerged from the second two wagons, until almost forty gathered in clumps around the path. These spread out behind him, as if expecting trouble and providing a barricade to protect the wagons. They carried long knives with curving blades, and some wore dark metal plates on their chests and in front of their groins, connected by braided cord.

  Anutha’s sharply focused expression showed she was near the end of her stamina—but still seeking warriors to equip with drakes. Nikolias avoided her importuning look, but she stepped up to him and said, “Thou hast lineage and worth and have served many of my people,” she said. “And this island.”

  Nikolias looked at the offered vial. “None of my Travelers have ever managed drakes,” he said.

  “I have one!” Kaiholo said.

  “Still to be proven. Not me, however,” Nikolias said.

  “Then who is ready and strong enough?”

  The lean man turned to speak in a hauntingly familiar tongue to those armed men and women now drawn up around him. Reynard listened closely, but while the tongue was vaguely like Rom, they also, he surmised, spoke in a code known only to themselves. Calafi kept close to him, curious more than protective.

  “What should we do?” Reynard asked.

  “They are choosing who among them should have drakes,” she said.

  “We are protected by trods,” Nikolias said, “but two will accept your gifts.” Nikolias chose Andalo, and Anutha gave him a vial. He examined it, then opened the stopper and swallowed, making a bitter face. Then Nikolias pointed to Calafi, who drew back her lips in a kind of surprised snarl.

  “Why me?” she asked.

  “Because thou’lt go with the boy, the Pilgrim, and the Eater into the krater lands, and may face Annwyn’s armies.”

  Anutha pulled herself free from the men who supported her and walked unsteadily al
ong the path to where Valdis and Calybo stood beside their horses.

  “Take these,” she said.

  “Valdis should have protection. But not me,” Calybo said. “Thou dost not have many left.”

  “Thou speak’st sad truth.” Anutha shook the bag. It did not clink—it was empty. “The last vial goeth to an Eater. Maggie and Maeve said that was essential.” She held up the last vial. Its contents swirled in her shaking hand.

  The Travelers drew back a step as Valdis came forward. She took the vial and opened it.

  “I am not human,” she said.

  “I would not harm thee,” Anutha said. “An Eater can also be protected by a drake.”

  And so Valdis put the vial to her lips and drained its contents. Anutha smiled approval. Yuchil and the warriors helped the scout back to the wagon.

  * * *

  In the night, with a low breeze winding through the pass, Yuchil approached Widsith and Reynard.

  “Thy scout asketh for thee,” she said, and led them back to the wagon. Inside, the Traveler’s vehicle had room for many people—and a small nook in which Yuchil had laid out blankets and soft bolsters, on which the scout lay with eyes closed, barely breathing.

  Widsith knelt beside Anutha and touched her wrist softly. She opened her eyes and sighed, then shuddered. “I trow some knife or arrow was dipped in venom,” she said. “I wish the King of Troy was here. He might have a remedy. The Travelers, I fear, do not.”

  Yuchil met Widsith’s look and shook her head. Reynard could not take his eyes from the scout’s pale, heavily lined face.

  “I have served Maeve and Dana for many years,” Anutha said. “Along with Maggie, I have led the blunters to their charges along the southwestern shore, and found new grounds they had not known before, for nymphs often rise where none have ventured in years. I have heard many tales of thee, Pilgrim, and thy journeys, in our village, and even from those just beneath the sky, who valued thee as companion.”