The Veil Of Years - Isle Beyond Time Part 14

"I don't believe you. I'm not going to give up. We'll be at sea for many weeks, and I'm not going away.

Sooner or later, you'll come to me." He turned away and strode aft with as firm a step as if he had been ash.o.r.e, not on a slanting deck, wallowing in a contrary sea.

Chapter 23 - Lovi's Choices.

Once, after a week at sea, the lookout spotted a concentration of clouds on the horizon east of their position. "That's them!" cried ibn Saul. "No rain or storm has pa.s.sed over us, so they cannot be storm clouds. They are the kind that form where a tall obstacle disturbs the pa.s.sage of the sea winds-an object like . . . an island, like mountains." He scrambled aloft with amazing agility for one his age, and despite his long scholar's robe.

An hour later, back on deck, he was dejected. "I saw nothing. Change course in the direction where the lookout saw them. By morning, they'll be clearly visible."

They were not. Such tantalizing glimpses occurred several times-unnatural clouds, or flocks of seabirds riding updrafts that could only form in the presence of land. But when they sailed toward them, clouds dissipated, birds drifted away, and there was the only the endless sea.

Ibn Saul made scratchings on a vellum skin, noting their position, as best he could determine it, at thetime of each sighting, and from his notes he determined that their elusive destination had to lie in one particular, very limited area of the sea.

Brandishing his vellum, he attempted to explain his reasoning to the captain, Kermorgan, but the seaman was highly skeptical of lines, notes, and numbers.

"Our destination lies a hundred leagues south and west of the Ar Men rocks," ibn Saul insisted.

Sh.o.r.e Bird's master was adamant: "There is nothing there! We've been at sea for three weeks now, and have only once seen land. Our water is almost gone, and what's left of our food reeks. The last chicken's neck was wrung yesterday. We must put in at Gesocribate again."

"Just one last try!" Ibn Saul sounded desperate-as well he might. Thus far the voyage had been entirely unproductive. As if some malign G.o.d did not wish them to succeed, they sometimes found themselves far north or south of where ibn Saul calculated their course would take them, after a day or two of cloudy skies. When the skies were clear however, there was no such confusion. Pierrette had thus concluded that the scholar's lodestone had ceased to function properly: when they sailed by the stars, ibn Saul was able to determine which way to sail, by the pole star, and to estimate their lat.i.tude, but using the lodestone they went astray, as if it no longer pointed north at all.

Still, on two occasions, from different directions, they had spotted isolated clouds on the horizon, clouds that did not change position, as if they were anch.o.r.ed in place. Such clouds had only one explanation: the presence of a land ma.s.s high enough to disrupt the smooth flow of the oceanic winds-the presence, in short, of a mountain in the sea.

Now, even without exact knowledge of their longitude, ibn Saul was sure that the Fortunate Isles lay . . . "There! That way! With this breeze, a little out of the north, we can reach them in two days' sail."

"Perhaps Kermorgan is right, master," said Lovi, shortly later. "With fresh water aboard, and livestock . . ."

"Once in port and paid off, we'll never get them out again. Besides, my purse is now so light I can hardly feel it. It's now-or never."

"Then it will be never," Lovi murmured angrily. Only Pierrette heard him. What did he mean? His recent behavior had puzzled her. For a while, after he had declared his intent to pursue her affections, he had been cheery and optimistic, but in the face of her undiminished stubbornness, he had become glum and surly, and had urged ibn Saul to give up this crisscrossing of the empty sea. Now his words had an ominous tone. He had sounded so sure of himself. How could that be, unless he planned to do something to make it happen-or not happen?

As the ship again plunged south and westward, retracing the course it had taken several times before, Pierrette kept an eye on Lovi, but saw nothing amiss. He spent most of his time peering out to sea at the clear, cloudless horizon. Nightfall brought high clouds with it, which obscured the stars and made of the crescent moon a hazy blur of cool light.

"Are we on course, master?" he asked ibn Saul. "Without any stars, shouldn't you make sure the helmsman hasn't turned us around-as he surely did before?"

"Fetch my lodestone and bowl, then, and a lamp," the scholar said. Pierrette's eyes followed Lovi aft, where their baggage was stowed. Why did he want ibn Saul to use the lodestone, if indeed he did notwant his master to succeed?

Lovi unwrapped the bra.s.s bowl, the wooden disc, and the fragment of black rock. Then-why?-he pulled something from another sack and hid it at his waist. What was it? He dropped a bucket over the side, filled it with salt water, and poured some in the bowl. Returning, he laid the materials on the broad thwart by the mast, then sat down next to them. Ibn Saul carefully lowered the wooden disc onto the water, and placed the lodestone on it, with the disc's "north" mark pointing just aft the starboard beam, as it should be, if their course were correct. Then it swung around, past the ship's stern, and continued moving until it hovered just off the port beam. "You're right!" the scholar hissed. "We're not sailing south of west, but northeast! We're sailing back to Gesocribate! The treacherous pigs! Call that wretch Kermorgan over here!"

"Piers," said Lovi. "You do it. I want to keep my eye on the lodestone." Why? There was nothing to see.

The stone was not going to move. Or . . . or would it? Then, as suddenly as if a light had been lit in a hitherto dark corner of her mind, Pierrette knew what Lovi was doing, and she knew what he had gotten from his sack. But she betrayed nothing. She nodded, expressionless, and went to find the ship's master.

Ibn Saul confronted the captain with the evidence that they were actually sailing northwest. "You're mad," said Kermorgan indignantly. "I don't care where that thing is pointing-we have not changed course. I've had a log and line astern all this while, and it stretches straight aft, and has done so all day and night. We are heading a bit south of west, as you will see, when those clouds blow past."

"Bah! Turn the ship now. When the sun rises in the west, I'll apologize for doubting you, not before."

"When we see the Ar Men rocks off our bow for the second time in two days, I'll just keep sailing that way, right into port." The captain shouted orders, and soon the ship was a busy place as sailors hauled the sails about onto the new tack and braced them. But Pierrette was not watching the crew. She watched Lovi. Ibn Saul kept his eyes on the lodestone.

Lovi arose in a seemingly casual manner. He stretched, and shifted position aft. As the ship turned downwind and the yards were hauled amidships, he edged around further. As the sails refilled on the new tack, and the ship continued to turn, he moved slowly to the other side of the mast, and seated himself on the opposite side of ibn Saul's bowl, always keeping as close to it as he could.

From ibn Saul's viewpoint, the lodestone had obediently continued to point north as the ship turned completely around, but from Pierrette's perspective, the stone had followed . . . Lovi. Now she was sure of it. As the ship settled on the new heading, ibn Saul packed away lodestone and disc, poured out the water, and handed everything to Lovi. He then went astern, and for the rest of the night watched the line that stretched out over the ship's gla.s.sy wake. It was straight, in line with the keel, and if it shifted either way, he would see it, and would know that the ship was again changing course.

Pierrette sidled up to Lovi as he squatted and wrapped the lodestone and its accessories. "What are you looking at?" he snapped.

"I'm just watching," she replied. "Does that bother you?"

"Youbother me!" he said, and turned away. But by that time Pierrette had edged quite close to him, and her hand darted inside his tunic. She grasped something cold and hard, pulled it free, and then backed away. "Give that back!" Lovi hissed.

Pierrette shook her head. She hefted the horseshoe, then threw it over the side. The sound of waterslipping around the hull masked the faint splash. "Why?" she asked. "Why have you been toying with your master, making the lodestone follow your horseshoe instead of pointing north? All this time, we've been sailing in wrong directions, haven't we?"

Lovi turned away, leaned on the rail, and covered his face with his hands. "I want to go home, can't you understand that? Nothing is right anymore. Gregorius is gone. You will have nothing to do with me. My master is obsessed with finding those miserable islands, and I don't want to spend the rest of my life in this cold, forbidding land, chasing something that doesn't exist."

"How cruel you are! How selfish." Pierrette's indignation was genuine-even though Lovi's trickery had played right to her own desires; ibn Saul had not found the Fortunate Isles, and now he would not.

"If you were less cruel, I wouldn't have done it."

"That's not fair. It's not my fault."

"Just go away." Then: "Are you going to tell him?"

"Why? He'd just be more miserable than he will be, when he realizes where we're going." She went forward, and spent the last hours of the night snuggled up against Gustave.

At dawn, the sun rose in a glowing western sky. "Impossible!" yowled ibn Saul.

The shipmaster smiled smugly. "Since we have been sailing north of east all night, and are now halfway home, I intend to remain on this course as long as the wind holds. If you wish to follow your silly device all over the trackless sea, you must find another ship." Ibn Saul's vehement protests did not sway him.

"You have not been watching my crew the way I have," the captain said. "You haven't heard how they curse you at mealtimes, when the worms in their moldy bread prove the best part of the meal. You haven't listened to the whispers whenever two or three of them gather to coil a rope one man could coil.

Another day of this aimlessness and you might find yourself overboard with a marlinespike pushed up behind your eyeb.a.l.l.s. Be grateful for my caution."

Ibn Saul accepted the inevitable then, and spent the remainder of the voyage home sullenly alone.

With shifts in the wind, and allowing for the tides, it was two days before they slid up to Gesocribate's wharf. "Where are you going, boy?" ibn Saul called out to Lovi. "Help us offload these sacks."

"I'm going to look for Gregorius. He may be here still, waiting for us."

"Bah! He is long gone. When the baggage is stowed in our lodgings, you may seek where you will. But you'll waste your time." Lovi reluctantly helped Pierrette lash the sacks to two poles, and the poles to Gustave.

The aroma of crisp lamb fat filled the inn, and as soon as possible they sat to enjoy their first decent meal since the last of the ship's pigs and chickens had been slaughtered. But despite good cider and fine, tender meat, it was a gloomy gathering. "Have you made further plans, Master ibn Saul?" asked Pierrette.

"I have seen vessels like that fat, single-masted one, the third from the end of the wharf, in my voyages along the Wendish coast, which is beyond the Viking lands. Unless I miss my guess, it will be homeward bound soon-and we will be aboard it." "But master-I thought we'd be going home!" Lovi had seen the light of reason (and had smelled the lamb cooking) and had postponed his search for Gregorius.

"We shall-by the eastern river route to the Euxine Sea, Byzantium, Greece . . . why slog over dull, familiar ground when we can see new sights, and visit the fountainheads of true civilization, instead?"

Lovi, Pierrette observed, had entirely lost his appet.i.te, upon hearing that, but she herself was elated. "I will arrange pa.s.sage for the three of us," the scholar continued, "And . . ."

"For the two of you, master," Pierrette said. "Our agreement was for me to accompany you in search of the Fortunate Isles. Though I would someday like to see Byzantium, I must postpone it. I have much unfinished work at home in Citharista." That was true, but misleading. It would remain unfinished a while longer. Through the material of her pouch, Pierrette squeezed the hard shape of the cylinder-seal the Hibernian boy had given her. The scholar accepted her p.r.o.nouncement easily enough, but Lovi's silence seemed icier than ever. "I'm going up to our room, now," Pierrette said. "Try not to wake me when you come in." She swung her legs over the bench and departed.

Actually, her purpose was not immediate sleep, but a quick sponge bath. Aboard the ship, it had been difficult enough to find privacy for essential bodily functions, let alone cleanliness. As on most vessels of any size, there had been buckets for well-paying pa.s.sengers to relieve themselves, and a wooden trapeze slung over the rail aft for crew (who of course urinated whenever and wherever they wished, as long as it was over the lee rail). Now Pierrette noted that the door to their room had a wooden latch on the inside that could be lifted by a string threaded through a hole, from the outside. Once in the room, she pulled the string back through. Anyone trying to get in would make noise, and she would have time to cover herself before they thought to stick a knife blade between door and jamb to lift the latch.

She tossed her filthy clothes in a corner, and laid out her only change of clothing-a worn tunic and trousers. The sun was setting, but she did not yet light the wick in the lamp-bowl. She poured water from a crock into the washbasin, and wetted a sc.r.a.p of cloth, then wrung it out.

She scrubbed her bare skin until it glowed pink-or would have, if it had not become quite dark by the time she finished. Fumbling for the lamp, she uttered words she had not spoken for some time-her firemaking spell-and a brilliant spark leaped from her fingertips to the wick. Warm light filled the room.

She heard a sharp, hissing sound, as of someone drawing a sudden breath, and she spun toward its source. There, head and shoulders above the balcony rail, was Lovi, his eyes wide, and his mouth agape.

"Ah . . . ah . . . I . . . you . . ." he gasped incoherently.

Pierrette's long masquerade was over. Even if she rushed for her clothing now, it was too late. Lovi could see that her chest, freed of its binding, was not a boy's smooth rib cage, and that no appendage projected from the dark shadow where her thighs met. When she turned away to pick up herbracae , he could also observe that her hips were wider than any boy's, her waist narrower, her b.u.t.tocks fuller.

"You . . . you . . . you're a . . ."

"A girl. Yes." She pulled the trousers on. "Now do you understand why I could not be your lover?" She slipped into her tunic, and laced it. "Since you are attracted to men, and I am a girl . . ."

"But that's . . . if I had known, that-then-then everything would have been different."

"You may as well come in. I wouldn't want you to fall to the street. Sit on the bed. You look like you're going to faint." He sat. "All this time!" he murmured. His eyes glistened. "All this time, I believed you were . . . that I was . . ."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you yet again. I had no intention of . . ."

"It's all your fault! You! If it wasn't for you . . ." He looked as if he could not decide between anger and tears.

Pierrette was confused. "I don't understand. What have I done?"

"When you first came to my master's house, I . . . I fell in love with you."

"You hated me. You were cold and mean to me."

"I hated you because you were . . . a boy. Because that meant I was . . . I was . . . what I have become." He covered his face with his hands, and began to weep.

Pierrette's sat next to him, and put an arm around his shoulders. He shrugged it off. "If you had been a girl then-I mean, if I had known . . ." Again, he broke into spasms of weeping. With a sinking heart, Pierrette realize what he was trying to say-what, indeed, she had done. Lovi had not-always-been attracted to men. He had desired Pierrette. He had believed the boy Piers had rebuffed him because Piers was not . . . like that. But that couldn't be! Lovi was Lovi. She had not made him what he was. It was not her fault. He looked up at her, his eyes red and swollen. She felt so sorry for him, for his torment.

"I only went with Gregorius," he said, "because I knew you would not have me. It wasn't what I really wanted . . . at first."

"If that is so," Pierrette murmured, taking his hand, "then it isn't too late for you to change."

His eyes held hers, while his hand crept under her loose tunic, and found her breast. She felt her nipple harden, pressed between his fingers. His eyes remained on hers, unblinking, while he caressed her with his clumsy, calloused hand.

Then he pulled his hand away and, averting his eyes, shook his head. "It really is too late. You are as foreign to me as . . . as a fish. I felt nothing at all. I have dreamed of touching you. I have laid awake, imagining a lie, and an impossibility, and now I am only . . . disappointed."

Pierrette knew nothing about such desires as his. Had he once indeed been an ordinary boy, with ordinary cravings? Or had he wanted her because she was-or so he had believed-a boy? She had no answers, and thus did not know whether to feel guilty, or only sorry for him.

"I'll find another place to sleep tonight," she said, sighing.

"It isn't necessary. This will be the first time-the only time-when we share a bed, even with my master snoring between us, when I will not feel the torment of desire for you." He did not have to say what he would feel. She believed she knew . . .

The wind had been off the land, not the warm sea, that long-ago day, and little Pierrette had shivered,even though her exertion on the steep upward trail should have warmed her. Ghosts of memories arose with each step.

Herehad wound the glitter-scaled dragon, which was a winding line of townsfolk with torches. They had hunted her mother to her death.There was the cave where she and Marie had hidden from them. Beyond was the barren cape, plunging on either side to the sea, narrowing to a natural stone span that led outward . . . to the dark wooden doorway of the mage Anselm's keep.

She had hesitated near an odd willowlike bush. The upper surfaces of its leaves were rich green, their undersides pale and silvery. She stared as if the very force of her gaze would penetrate its illusion.

Gradually, limned with light and shadow, she saw . . . a child. No, not exactly . . . The creature that appeared where the bush had been had great violet eyes, a rare color only seen in sunset, or dappling the sandy bottom of a cove. Those eyes were old, not young. His silken shirt shimmered like moonbeams and his baggy trousers were the green of young leaves in springtime. Tiny silver bells jingled on the toes of his soft, pointed shoes.

"Ha, child!" said Guihen the Orphan. He wiggled his overlarge ears. "That didn't take you long. Are you growing stronger, as well as more lovely? Or am I losing my touch? But then, you always saw through my illusion."

Pierrette wasn't sure what he meant about growing stronger. And more lovely? She was a small, bony-kneed child of seven. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I came to warn you."

"Of what?" Wisps of fine hair at the back of her neck stiffened. "You're only a willow bush, and I'll push you aside." She was angry. She wanted her mother.

Guihen sighed. "Elen is not here, child. She lives in a green and lovely vale."

"She's not in heaven. P'er Otho said so."

"No, her place is of this earth, but you won't find it on the Eagle's Beak. But there, beyond that gate, is themagus Anselm . . . and a terrible fate for a little girl."

"Mother said to seek out the mage."

"She was distraught. She didn't think. Go back to your father and sister."

"Don't try to stop me!"

"If you knock on that gate, you won't return to Citharista unchanged." Guihen's ears flapped, as if agitated. "Would you deny yourself an ordinary life: a husband, children, a place to call home?"

Pierrette hesitated. When the wood sprite next spoke, his voice no longer tinkled like the bells on his shoes. It echoed hollowly like wind in the door of an abandoned sepulcher. It was as harsh as the creaking of rusty hinges, as dry as old bones: "Go back, or be doomed to make your bed in strange places. Go back, lest time itself bend about you, and you not find what you seek for a hundred hundreds of years!"Little Pierrette did not comprehend what Guihen had meant, but the dire threat in his voice was clear, and she knew that a terrible choice was before her: go forward, and suffer, go back and . . . and what? Pierrette was too young-then-to value the prospect of a husband and children. And her own bed was not the secure place it had seemed before that terrible night-the night Elen had been killed. That time, she did as she was told, and made her way back to the village. But Citharista, her father and sister, her lonely, motherless house and bed, gave her heart no ease. She knew then that she was not like other children, and that she would not be like the others even when she grew up. She would indeed deny herself an ordinary life-husband, children, and a place to call home. Guihen's words echoed in her head: "Go back, or be doomed to make your bed in strange places. Go back, lest time itself bend about you, and you not find what you seek for a hundred hundreds of years!" But she had, at last, years later, gone forward.

Yes, Pierrette knew what it was like to be an outcast, to be denied-and herself to deny-all the simple pleasures of ordinary, conventional life. "I am so sorry for you," she said at last. "We are not as different as we seem."

"You had a choice," he replied, without heat or apparent resentment.

Did I? she wondered. Could I have chosen otherwise? She did not believe she would ever answer that.

What was done was done, life went on, and everyone had to s.n.a.t.c.h what fleeting joy they could, what they were given.