Chapter Twenty-Three #3
had turned, and he had gazed along the road, and he had been amazed at the size
of the world, amazed at the knowledge that his journey would take him far
beyond the horizon. All his life, he had imagined that, when he finally stood
at the crossroads, he would gaze long at the tower, wistful and conflicted. He
would leave it only with a heavy heart.
Instead,
when the moment came, he found himself barely sparing a glance. He had taken eagerly to the road.
Had it
been relief in his heart, in that moment?
Had it
been spite?
After meeting
Zaria, he had imagined that he would return. He imagined that he would throw
open the heavy oak of the door, he would greet his former servants, he would
run his fingers along the fence of the yard, he would smell the musty parchment
of the library, he would go to his bedroom and hear the creak of the rafters,
and, in the end, when he had drunk his fill, he would speak his mind to his
uncle, he would look him in the eye, and, when he left for the final time, all
the memories would be closed in his heart.
He
would never come home again.
He
cried in her arms until the moons were bright.
The top
of the wreckage came faster than expected.
Zaria
was scrambling up the sloping face of a boulder, managing to crawl more often
than climb. She reached the top, wincing at the rope burn in her palm, and
Isaac could suddenly see the morning sunlight on her fur. It startled them
both. She turned to look, and her ears rose sharply along her head.
“Xotra’s
cunt!”
Isaac
wiped sweat from his face. “Already?”
Her cackling
laughter was the only response.
She
threw the rope down for him. He barely had time to find his footholds while she
yanked him up the slope. When he reached her position, the cool shadow of the
morning fell away, and the sunlight seared into his pinkened skin. He squinted,
looking through the glare.
A few
boulders remained in front of them, but all the slabs were nestled so neatly
together they could simply be walked and leaped across. Ahead, there was a lip
of sand rising from the edge of the cavern wall, leading out into the long,
smooth blankets that characterized the dunes of the Charnel Waste. The sand
curved like velvet, rising into slopes and hills. It stretched as far as he
could see, and the morning sun was already climbing above it all, bathing the
sand to a searing heat. The air swirled and danced.
Zaria
clapped him on the back. “What’d I tell you?”
“Alright,
fine.”
“What’d
I fuckin’ tell you?”
She ran
and leaped across the boulders. Isaac picked his way carefully. When he reached
her, she was kicking up showers of sand, dancing in the pale orange light. Her
cheers echoed loudly through the dunes. Despite himself, the corners of his
mouth began to twitch into a smile.
All at
once, Zaria began to sing.
“O, the
winds had died,
the
bilge ran low,
and we
had naught but sand in tow.
We’d
lost our teeth,
we’d
burned our eyes,
and
we’d seen naught but sand and skies
The
hands made cry,
‘the
hull is lost!’
And the
capt would shout, ‘fuck the cost!’”
Her
voice echoed over sand, carried high by the ubiquitous breeze of the desert. In
the moment, her pirate shanty seemed to travel across the entire length of the
tomb.
“He
said, ‘douse the mains,
tilt
the prow!
We’ll
cut her through like a bleedin’ sow!
The
ropes ain’t cut,
the sails
ain’t gone
And we
need naught but steel and brawn!
And the
crew replied,
‘fuck
the moors,
and
fuck the land!
And
fuck them all by the blasted sand!
We need
no prize,
we need
no shore
And we
damn sure got no want for more!’”
Zaria
cupped her hands around her muzzle, sharpening the song, skipping over to the
edge of the jagged crater. She sang so loudly her voice frayed at the edge.
“Hey,
hey! Away!
We beat
the sand,
we beat
the squall!
And the
captain says we’re standing tall!
Hey,
hey! Away!”
Isaac
cleared his throat.
Zaria
remained at the edge of the cavern, watching her words echo down through its
length. After a moment, she turned back, wiping sand from her leather plackart.
“Sorry. Seemed a decent time.”
“There’s
no need to desecrate a grave with your singing.”
She
trudged passed him, cupping her eye against the glare of the sun. “So, seems to
me there’s no skimmers holdin’ ballast ‘round these parts.”
Isaac
remembered the fleet he had glimpsed when the cavern was first exposed. “I
would think they’d all fled.”
“As
they should.”
“I
expect they’ll tell tales of a giant rising from the sand.”
Zaria
snickered, grinning at the empty sand. “Oh, all a Crookspur will be shiverin’ on their moors, I tell ya that. They’ll think
twice about headin’ here again.”
“That
doesn’t mean they aren’t around, or that they won’t look for you again.”
“No,
but they ain’t here, and that’s enough for now.”
He
nodded. “It is a victory.”
They
spent a moment gazing over the sand. There was not a single landmark to focus
the eye. If the sun was not still rising in the east,
Isaac would have no idea which direction they should turn.
He
still did not, really.
“So,” Zaria
said, “here’s my thinkin’. We gotta head out through them dunes, right away.
Liable to burn ourselves blind in this heat, but there’s nothing for it. We
need the distance. We’ll keep some shade in a dune wall when the sun’s at its
worst, and we’ll start traveling by night. Should be doable, if we’re smart
with the water.”
Isaac
looked out over the canyon behind them. Not too long ago, this area had been
nothing but a colossal skull sticking from the sand, the bone so suffused with
necromancy it had sucked away the wind. Now, it was a great wound in the earth,
something that would soon begin to fester with Diet expeditions. Isaac knew,
better than most, how the ruins would swarm with archaeologists, historians,
and the soldiers of lords. He could only imagine the arbitrations necessary to
divide the treasure beneath the sorceress’s abode.
“Let me
see your map,” Zaria said.
She
took it from his pack without waiting for a response. Isaac continued to watch
the empty hole that was now the necromancer tomb.
“Look,”
Zaria said, shoving the map into his gaze. “See this here?” She traced a black
claw north. “That’s our route, for the time bein’. I know some old contacts up
that way. Some of them I didn’t leave on the best of terms, but I got my
natural charm, and a fountain of gems besides, so we’ll manage.”
Isaac
scratched his unshaven beard, digging out the dirt and sand.
“Come
on, then,” the hyena said, rolling up the parchment. “I ain’t takin’ a second
look at this place, and you shouldn’t neither.”
“Z,”
Isaac said. “What do you think our odds are?”
“Of
what? Not dyin’ of thirst?”
He
shook his head. “Once we leave the Charnel, once we’re free of the Nine, or,
gods forbid, once we leave the continent entirely—what will be our plan?”
“Oh,
attached to the hip, are we? Sounds like you’re askin’ marriage again.”
He gave
her a serious look.
“Fuck
if I know,” she replied. “We’ll get it figured once the time comes. Best we
stay focused on getting there at all.”
Isaac
nodded, gazing out over the tomb. After a moment, he turned to face her. “I’m
serious. What do you think our odds are?”
“Do you
want reassurance or honesty?”
He kept
watching her.
“Speaking
plain,” Zaria said, “the odds are shite. We got pirates and wizards chasin’ us,
we’re short on food, we’re real dry on water, we got a long distance to stumble
before I’d even think of feeling safe, and it’s all gonna be unfamiliar
territory once we’re clear. If I was betting on it, it’d be an easy choice,
which way to toss the coin.” She shrugged. “Then again, I’d have said the same
about our odds against everything down in that tomb there. And we made it out,
didn’t we?”
“Seems
that way.”
“Standing
pretty tall now, huh?”
“I
suppose so.”
“You
got any reason to stick around?”
“Not at
all.”
“Always
wanted to travel the world, haven’t you?”
He
nodded, looking into her eye.
“Then
what’re we waitin’ for?” Zaria asked. “It’s worth a shot, far as I can tell.”
“It’s
worth a shot? Is that it?”
“That’s
all we’re getting, love. The outlaw life is not one of safety. Best you get
used to it.”
Isaac
gazed over the endless waves of sand. He took a breath, feeling the heat
already stirring before the day. He realized he had made a
decision.
“Alright,”
he said.
“Great.
Onwards.” She began to turn. “Gotta say, first thing I’m grabbin’ at town is a
fat, juicy steak.” She made a low, weary whoop. “Oh, gods, get it made right,
with all the trimming—”
He
hugged her. He did it so suddenly, so lurchingly hard, that it almost made the
zoanthrope stumble. Yesterday, her vest had torn open at the collar, owing to a
particularly stubborn summit of rock, and Isaac buried his face directly into
the gap of her clothing, feeling soft fur on his cheek, the top of her breast
on his chin. Underneath it all, he felt a solid core of muscle.
Zaria
gave a soft snort of surprise as she recaught her balance. Her hand hovered
awkwardly at his back. “Well, don’t celebrate yet.”
Isaac
tightened the hug. He pressed his cheek against her chest, burrowing through
the hairs, smelling the animal-like musk he had once despised. In a quiet,
whispering voice, he said: “Thank you.”
There
was a slight hitch of breath. Some words were almost spoken. After a few
moments, Zaria returned the hug, squeezing him against her larger frame,
holding him just as tightly as he was holding her. Isaac hoped the moment would
never end, he hoped he would never have to let her go, and he marveled at the
idea that, in this pirate, the same cutthroat that had taken him hostage not
five days prior, he had found more warmth and care and understanding than he
had ever known before. Right then, he could not hug her as well as his heart
demanded.
Around