Page 106 of The Cradle of Ice
“For their cherished to be preserved,” he mumbled. “To live forever in the dreams of the Oshkapeers.”
Daal stared across the waves, his features pale, his eyes lost. She didn’t need to touch him, to share that intimacy, to know he was recalling his own experience with the Dreamers. She had tried to pry the story from him, but before she could press the matter, Graylin had rushed in with the others, with word of their discovery of the Fyredragon and a rekindled hope that the Sparrowhawk could be repaired.
She could hardly get her own voice heard over their excited chatter. When she did finally manage, Graylin had balked at her going on this voyage. But by then, it was too late. She had already informed the Reef Farer of her intention; to refuse at the last moment would risk insulting an ally who remained their strongest advocate. Graylin finally conceded, knowing they would need Iskar’s cooperation if they hoped to get the Sparrowhawk flying again.
Not that he would allow Nyx to go by herself.
Vikas kept behind her on the pier, her ever-present shadow. Shiya stood alongside her. The bronze woman’s strength would be needed if Nyx hoped to use bridle-song to reach those Dreamers deep in the sea.
Still, Graylin wasn’t satisfied with just Shiya and Vikas as guardians. The knight was already aboard the Reef Farer’s barge, speaking to the Crèche leader and his lissome consort. The pair—Berent and Ularia—had shed out of their festival finery and wore plain white robes, the color of mourning. The only embellishment was the Reef Farer’s stone circlet of gemstones and Ularia’s diadem that held a single bright emerald.
Meryk stood with Graylin, aiding in communication, though both the Reef Farer and his consort understood a smattering of Noorish.
Everyone else in their group had remained behind in Iskar, to start work on the swyftship. Floraan had promised to rally her fellow Noor in the Crèche—those that weren’t joining the flotilla—to aid in the labor. Henna had pleaded to go with her brother, but her mother was not about to let her daughter travel so far from her side.
Graylin nodded to the Reef Farer, then strode across the barge toward Nyx. Once at the rail, he extended a hand toward her. “The Reef Farer is heading out. We should get settled.”
Before taking his hand and boarding, Nyx turned to Daal. “I’ll see you in Kefta.”
Daal nodded, his lips a hard line of worry. He turned and crossed to the other side of the pier, to where his family’s skiff was moored. Neffa and another orkso floated in their harnesses, waiting for the voyage to the island town.
Daal would be traveling separately—not only because he was considered unworthy of accompanying the Reef Farer, but because Nyx would need that skiff later. Her group intended to sneak off from Kefta and attempt to contact the Oshkapeers.
As Nyx took Graylin’s hand and stepped into the barge, she searched the mists overhead, praying they would be successful. With Bashaliia gone, it felt as if a part of her was missing. She wondered if this was how Bashaliia felt, cut off from the melding with his brethren. Though for him, it must be a thousandfold more painful. He had given up so much to come with her.
And look what that sacrifice had wrought.
I cannot let it stand.
She joined Graylin on the deck, more determined than ever to discover what the Dreamers knew about the raash’ke.
Once Shiya and Vikas boarded, Graylin drew their group to the stern, collecting Meryk, too. Daal’s father seemed to be trying to stare everywhere at once, both nervous and excited to be aboard the Reef Farer’s barge.
The wide-bellied craft was sculpted of woven kelp that swept up into waist-high walls, bolstered by a long keel that appeared to be the rib bone of some great sea beast. In the center, a pair of shell-encrusted chairs sat atop a dais, thrones for the Reef Farer and his consort. Elsewhere, benches striped the deck, dotted with those who were closest to the leader.
It was an honor to be allowed to travel with such esteemed company, a respect that the Reef Farer hoped would rub off on Nyx’s group, to help assuage the growing tension in the village. Nevertheless, they were relegated to the barge’s stern—which was just as well.
Nyx still felt she shouldn’t be here.
The rails of the barge were decorated with garlands of a sea plant, blooming with bright white blossoms. Stone bells adorned its length, ringing a mournful note as the barge left the dock, pulled by a shoal of six orksos.
Across the waves, the prayerful dirge continued to echo.
Nyx stared over to where Daal guided his skiff. He met her gaze, then turned away, plainly still unconvinced of this course.
He was not the only one.
Graylin sat heavily beside her. He let out a long breath and leaned over, keeping his voice low. “Is it wise to trespass where it is forbidden? Especially now.”
She frowned at him. Everything had happened so quickly that none of them had a proper chance to discuss matters in detail. It had been a hard morning for all of them—and it was only the middle of what would surely be an even longer day.
“We have to risk trespassing,” she answered. “Daal believes the Oshkapeers know more about the raash’ke. We must find out what that is. There’s so much we don’t know about them, about their history. Something in the past must have turned that horde more savage.”
“Not necessarily,” Graylin huffed. “I know the Mýr swamps. Bashaliia’s brethren were as much a terror to those living there as the raash’ke are to the Crèche.”
“This is different,” she mumbled.
“How?”
