Page 53 of Fate of the Argosi

‘Then I guess I’m alive.’

She nodded, then slid her hand away. ‘That’s what I thought.’

‘Well, good th—’

‘I think I might be dead.’

I reached out to stroke her cheek, but she drew back into the shadows by the railing. ‘Don’t be silly, sweetheart. You’re not dea—’

‘Ferius!’ Ala’tris called out, crossing the deck towards us. ‘I need to speak with you.’

‘I delivered your message,’ Remeny said to his Lady Mage, sounding a touch hurt at not being trusted with his vitally important mission.

‘Do me a favour, will you?’ I asked him. Stepping over to the railing, I took the girl’s hand before she could shy away and placed it in Remeny’s. ‘Take her below decks. Do you know her parents?’

‘They reside in Gitabria.’

The Mahdek don’t tend to speak of people as being dead, especially not around children. Instead they’ll refer to them as residing in this place or that place, which happens to be wherever they died.

‘She has a great-uncle though,’ Remeny said. ‘Do you want me to bring her to him?’

‘Take her straight there, okay? Tell him . . . tell him I’ll come down in a while to have a chat.’

Most of the Mahdek never came up on deck. They stayed below, cooking meals or mending clothes, sharing knowledge and skills that might be needed on the island or just singing songs to each other. All the things that made the hours pass as if this were merely an especially long night rather than a realm so foreign it might well be the land of the dead.

Ala’tris touched my shoulder, a gesture of urgency rather than familiarity. ‘Ferius, I’m sorry, but Sar’ephir awaits us on the forecastle. There’s a . . . matter of some importance that we need to discuss.’

‘I’m coming,’ I said, then turned briefly to Remeny and the girl. ‘Go on below and find yourselves something sweet. A reward for being the best darned messengers on this whole ship.’

Remeny shot me a big, mischievous grin. The cherubic little girl saw it and then smiled up at me too, matching him tooth for tooth, as if her cryptic words of a moment ago had been a silly prank and suddenly everything was okay again.

That was the clue I missed.

31

Troubled Waters

Sar’ephir’s graceful yet daunting figure dominated the forecastle. Her previously beige robes, now a rich sable that glinted as if woven from tiny grains of onyx sand, fluttered in a wind that touched no one but her. With her sleeveless, tightly muscled arms outstretched and facing away from us, she could’ve been mistaken for a living ship’s figurehead. The thick make-up that had covered her scalp was gone, the winding lines that swirled like snakes upon her skull revealed for all to see as she guided our ship through the shadowblack.

‘It isn’t her fault,’ Ala’tris said quickly, as if forestalling some anticipated revulsion on my part. ‘The markings appear on those attuned to the shadowblack when they’re young, and grow with the years.’

‘I’m not Jan’Tep,’ I reminded her. ‘To me, she looks . . . majestic.’

‘Does it matter what she looks like to you, Ferius?’Enna would’ve asked, reminding me that an Argosi has to see the world not only through our own eyes but through those of others. It didn’t do Sar’ephir one lick of good whether I thought her markings were beautiful. What mattered was how her own people saw them.

‘Vile. Disgusting. Despicable,’ I thought, imagining myself a Jan’Tep lord magus or maybe even one of Sar’ephir’s parents. ‘All the good in our people, all the sacrifices we make to keep ourselves pure, and look at this vile thing you’ve become. Why would you allow yourself to live when your very existence threatens all those you profess to love?’

‘Ferius?’ Ala’tris asked.

I’d meant to snap myself out of it, but when I turned to Ala’tris, she who was the epitome of the perfect young Jan’Tep mage, I caught the tightness around her upper lip that wanted badly to curl into a sneer. I saw too the lines on her usually smooth brow that spoke of concern for her friend’s well-being and shame in her own prejudices. Durral always said that it was within the cracks of a person’s innate goodness that we can find their decency – something none of us are born with but which is the more worthy pursuit of our shared humanity.

‘You said there was a problem?’ I asked.

Ala’tris nodded and walked up the stairs to the forecastle ahead of me. But before she reached the top, she stumbled, landing hard on her knees. I took the first two steps then vaulted the rest to help her up.

‘Clumsy of me,’ she said, attempting to deflect my concern with a frail laugh. As soon as she was back on her feet, she tried to take her hand back. I didn’t let her. ‘Ferius, please, it was just the rolling of the ship. You can let me go.’

‘Ain’t holding you that tight, sister. One good yank should do the trick.’

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