The Red Sea (33 page)

"Fair enough. But we have to start somewhere. May as well rule out the direct routes first."

He cut the back of his hand, pooling nether in his palm. He eased it into the seed, channeling it toward the center chamber, feeding it in drop by drop. As soon as the space filled completely, the nether bled away, escaping from the seed like steam, lost to the dirt around it. Dante withdrew, heart pounding. And watched helplessly as the nether evaporated from the other chambers as well. In seconds, the seed was empty. Nothing remained but the typical nether that lurked in all things.

Winden sucked in a breath. "What did you do?"

"You tell me. You're the Harvester!"

"I think one thing's clear," Blays said. "Whatever you did, you shouldn't do it again."

Dante turned his head. "You saw that, too?"

"To my eternal disappointment."

"I don't suppose you have any insight."

"You suppose correctly."

Dante poked and prodded at the seed with the nether, refilling the chambers, but the shadows simply leeched back into the surroundings. The night air was still and heavy. Dante sat back, layered in prickly sweat.

"Winden, why don't you try harvesting it?" he said.

Winden narrowed one eye. "Because it's dead."

"Then that means there's nothing to lose."

She looked dubious about that, but gave it a try, feeding the nether into the seed. It didn't so much as stir. After several efforts, she shook her head.

"Maybe that one was flawed," Dante said. "What if we tried another?"

Winden scrunched up her mouth. "I fear it would be the same. It's like I said—plants as extreme as these, they're very delicate. They may only grow in certain places. The one the Dresh had was in the lowlands. Perhaps like the snails they're grown from, the trees prefer to be near the sea. I think we should wait until we're back in Kandak to try again."

This wasn't at all what he wanted to hear. She was the Harvester, though. And as far as he knew, the three remaining seeds were the last ones on the island. He couldn't allow his impatience to rob him of the cure.

They slept, rose, and continued uphill. The day was another quiet one. After the last week of nonstop troubles, Dante welcomed it. As they walked, he thought about the seeds. When they rested, he attempted to reinfuse the empty seed with nether, but it was like Winden said. By all indications, he'd broken it.

"The twelve chambers," he said after they'd made camp that night. "In Gask and Mallon, we believe in the Celeset. The River of the Heavens. Twelve gods reside there, dividing the sky between them. Do you have anything like that here?"

Winden chewed on a mealy, bulbous fruit that tasted like stale bread. "Here, there is no River of Heavens. But there is Kaval and His Eleven. I've told you of Mora and Loda. There are nine others, too. Each commands a piece of the land, the sea, and the air. But Kaval is the only one who can reach the heavens and what lies beyond."

"In that context, does the seed's shape mean anything to you?"

"Nothing leaps to mind."

"Is there a hierarchy to the Eleven? Or are they all equally subordinate to Kaval?"

She rolled her eyes up and to the right, thinking. "The least of them is considered to be Doga. He who cares for the toads, the snakes, and every creature that people despise. The central chamber, it's the smallest. Perhaps it is his."

"If it was, would that mean anything to you?"

"Such as?"

He gestured searchingly. "Perhaps we need to fill it with the nether from a toad."

This time, Winden's eye-roll was pure exasperation. "Does that really sound like it could possibly be true?"

"This is your land, not mine. I'd like to see
you
navigate your way around Narashtovik."

The following day, as they neared the Boat-Growers' territory, they veered west into the open plains. Dante patrolled the forest's edge with a team of dead hopping rats, ensuring they weren't being watched. The day after that, with no new progress on the seeds, they ascended the Dreaming Peaks.

On its southern approach, the bridge spanning the river had been torn from its moorings. Instead, they'd strung a rope across, which the Kandean guard used to convey a small raft to them. By the time they ferried themselves along the rope to the north side, Niles had arrived to greet them.

"You left from the north and returned from the south?" he said. "No wonder it took you so long."

"We made it to Spearpoint Rock." Winden's face shined with wonder, as if she couldn't believe her own words. "And then climbed the High Tower itself."

Breathlessly, she relayed the story. Niles' response switched between laughter and drop-jawed disbelief. By the end, he was looking at all three of them as if they'd stepped down from the stars.

"This was why we needed you," he said, gripping first Dante's arm, then Blays'. He turned to Winden, smiling. His eyes brightened with tears. "And you. You would have made Larsin so proud."

Blays' eyebrows vaulted up his brow. "You're Larsin's daughter?"

"Adopted," Winden said. "When I was found in the Tauren wilds, he was the only one who'd take me in."

"So that means you and Dante are siblings?"

Dante snorted. "Don't look so surprised. Knowing my dad, he probably left bastard Galands in every corner of the world."

Niles' brow furrowed. "Don't speak of him that way. It was the ronone that kept him here."

"He could have visited."

"For what? A few days, only to leave again? He was afraid you'd follow him back here. And that you would get sick, too."

"None of this matters," Dante said. "What happened, happened. It's behind us. What matters now is growing these seeds—and curing the island."

Niles pressed his lips together. "You could do that here in the Dreaming Peaks. After all, the people of the Mists are the ones who gave us the answers."

"I don't think they'll grow here," Winden said. "We'll take them to Kandak."

Dante motioned to take in the islands. "We're thinking you could use the fruit as bargaining tokens to rally other people to our banner. If so, best to keep the Star Tree close to home."

Niles rubbed his jaw. "Aye, that does seem practical."

"We'll be on our way, then. Our raid on the High Tower may have stirred up the Tauren. Best to move as fast as we can before they marshal a response."

"Did you see any sign of pursuit?"

"None. Keep your eyes sharp, though. Vordon knows us. Too many of his people saw us to think he won't connect the raid to Kandak."

They resupplied and headed on. In the great hall, the Dreamers were back in their beds, lost in the Mists. Some of the Kandean warriors had been swapped out for others, but they were no more numerous than when they'd reclaimed the Peaks from the Tauren. After seeing the city of Deladi, and the forces at Vordon's command, Niles' garrison looked paltry. Dante wondered if they'd be able to put up any resistance at all.

* * *

Three days later, they arrived in Kandak. The town looked more or less the same, but on their way down to the beach, they passed a woman cutting the thin, perfectly straight branches from a harvested arrow-tree. A team of fletchers trimmed off twigs, notched the branches' ends, and affixed arrowheads and the white feathers of sea geese. Most of the tips were obsidian, flaked to a razor's edge, but others were shiny iron, likely acquired in trade from one of the
Sword of the South
's earlier visits.

Dante glanced at the bay. "Given any thought to where we should plant the tree?"

Winden padded through the shade. "On the coast. Not too close to Kandak. Somewhere secret."

"Sounds like you have somewhere specific in mind."

She smiled but would say no more. She acquired a trio of machetes, however, then led them south past the bay, following a trail into the jungle. When this petered out, they hacked their way forward, taking game trails where possible. Within minutes, Dante was sweaty and filthy.

When they came to a stream, he was ready to dive in. Yet he barely had time to wash his face before Winden directed them upstream. The growth was so thick it was easier to wade through the shallows.

"You're sure this is a good idea?" Blays said. "Remember, you're going to have to come out here all the time."

Winden swept back her sweaty hair, securing it behind her head. "Then we'll just have to clear a trail."

A low roar sifted through the trees. The stream led to a round pool overhung by a waterfall forty feet wide and ten high. Trees crowded the banks, but a small island in the middle of the pool held nothing but shrubs and grass.

"There," Winden pointed.

Dante eyed the island. "You mean the only place that trees
aren't
growing?"

"The Star Tree is no normal tree. And look." She nodded to the rocks around the pool's edges. Dozens of crabs sunned themselves, harmoniously picking their way between small snails studding every damp surface. "Everything with a shell loves this place."

"She's the Harvester," Blays said. "We're two city folk who barely know where corn comes from. I say we trust her."

Something in Dante wanted to argue, but he suspected that was nothing more than a desire for control. "Lead on."

Winden tossed her cape aside and waded into the pool, which Dante discovered was much colder than her indifference implied. Holding his pack above his head, he walked until the water reached his throat, then paddled toward the island. Winden climbed ashore, wringing the water from her shirt. It clung to her tightly. Under other circumstances, he might have enjoyed the scene, but knowing his father had helped raise her, he felt compelled to look away.

Blays heaved himself onto the island. They moved toward its grassy center. This was in direct sunlight, defraying the chill of their sodden clothing.

Dante got out the three living seeds. "Well?"

"I've been thinking," Winden said. "The twelfth chamber, maybe it means nothing. Maybe we should simply harvest the seed the way we would any other."

"You know more about this than I do. Let me know if you need a hand."

She got a copper trowel from her bag, its surface worn and green. She dug a shallow hole, placed the seed inside, and covered it loosely. Dante moved his mind within it. Winden drew nether from the grass, surrounding the seed with it. The shadows moved oddly, swooping back, as if wary of what hid inside. Dante could see her urging them forward, but only a trickle of them would touch the seed's surface. And none would enter.

They went still. Winden frowned. "Something is wrong. It's like the seed doesn't want to grow."

"Or the black gunk is afraid of getting eaten," Blays said. "What
is
this thing?"

Dante massaged his forehead. "Maybe the nether knows it isn't natural."

Winden returned to her work, probing the seed with the shadows. Twenty minutes later, she stood, hurling her copper trowel down with a clang.

"I don't understand," she said. "I can't find a way in."

Dante crossed his arms. "You shouldn't
have
to find a way in. They should just absorb."

"I could force them to."

"And that might kill this one, too. Try some more. Maybe we're missing something."

She exhaled and got out her water skin. After pacing around the island, she came back to the patch of overturned dirt and resumed her attempts. She lasted another thirty minutes before swearing, standing, and stamping to the island's edge.

After she calmed down, Dante took over, with Winden providing instruction. She might be the Harvester, but he was far and away the superior nethermancer. A part of him was sure he'd find a way inside the seed in seconds. Thirty minutes later, he was still searching for a way in.

"There," he said. "I think I see a seam."

Winden squinted. "I don't see it."

Keeping an eye on the shadow-filled chambers, Dante forced the nether into the hair-fine crack he'd found. As it penetrated the surface, a fissure formed in the largest chamber. It burst open, followed in turn by the chamber next to it, and then the one after that. He watched as the seed died.

"Son of a gods-damned bitch!" He lurched to his feet. "I thought I had it."

"This isn't working," Winden said.

"You don't say! Well, we have two more chances to not fail. After that, everyone on this island is stuck here forever."

She glared at him. Dante grabbed his temples, squeezing hard. At the island's edge, a crab crawled up a rock, waving one oversized claw back and forth like it was leading a sing-along.

"That crab there." Dante was instantly calm again. "Could you harvest it?"

"Of course not," Winden said.

"Why not? If the Star Tree is part shell, then maybe it has to be harvested as a shell, too."

"Animals, they're different. They're born knowing their size. But a plant can grow forever."

"So you say. But maybe it's just difficult. And that's why growing Star Trees was so difficult for the Dresh." He hissed air through his teeth. "They knew what writing is, right? Would it have been that hard to make a permanent record of the most vital knowledge on the island?"

"Here's an idea," Blays said. "Let's go for a swim."

Dante glanced at the pool. "How's that going to help grow the tree?"

"By cooling our boiling heads. Come on."

Before anyone could voice objections, Blays peeled off his shirt and leaped into the water, landing in a ball. It seemed pointless, but Dante was hot and sweaty. A quick dip would improve his mood; mood, in turn, had a great deal of influence over the efficiency of the mind. Muttering profanity, he dived into the pond. The water was bracingly cold. He swam beneath the falls, letting the water batter his head. Shivering, he paddled a loop around the pool, then returned to the island.

He felt much better. The physical activity had stirred his brain as well. As the others climbed ashore and dried off, he paced about, letting an idea take shape.

"I think we should try the chambers again," Dante said. "It can't be coincidence that there's twelve, and only one is empty."