Page 67 of The Isles of the Gods
“Less than they’d have liked, in my case, but something,” I agree. “It’s also the story of how the first War of the Gods happened, five centuries ago. The Mellaceans were hungry for farmland, and they’d had a few generations to work out how hard it was to import everything, so they tried for more territory. If there’s one thing Alinor has plenty of, it’s rolling green hills, and many of the settlers were from Alinor—that’s whywe share a language. Settlers often leave for a reason, so they probably weren’t short on grudges, and between one thing and another, they set their gaze on our farmland.”
“And started a war.”
“Which they lost—the god of risk took a gamble that didn’t pay off.”
I catch Keegan glancing at me, maybe on the verge of pointing out the only thing that saved us then was the willingness of my many-greats-uncle Anselm to give up his life for the cause. He and I don’t compare that favorably right now.
“Anyway,” I press on, “Macean was bound in sleep, with Barrica the Sentinel to watch over him, and since then his people have become a nation of traders, of inventors. Mellacea is a fascinating place. Under other circumstances.”
“I’m sure it is, but I’ll settle for a brief visit,” Selly says, dry. “And we’ll have to see the sights another time. I remember the wharves here stretch out from the harbor square in every direction, like the crosstrees off a mast. We should be able to pull in at the outermost end, where there’ll be fewer people to see us, and leave the boat before any of the officials come to find us, if we’re lucky. We can sell the boat in the dockside square. For less than we’d get another time, but it’ll do us for somewhere to stay tonight.”
We’re closer to shore now, and all three of us are watching the land as it looms larger in the dark. I can see the piers she described—from the sky, this place would look like one giant tree. Huge limbs stretch out within the shelter of the harbor walls, smaller ones branching off, each of them lined with dozens of boats from all over the world.
The city itself is a crammed-together collection of tall, square buildings, jostling for space on the only flat ground for miles. I’ve always wanted to visit. I wanted to see what was the same as home, what was different. I wanted to see the bright lights—they say it’s like a rainbow come nightfall—and walk the streets between their towering buildings, and go to their dance halls. I wanted to have an adventure, and to be anonymous.
Now my life depends on that anonymity. Selly was right. This place wants to kill me.
“We’ll moor as far out as we can go,” Selly says, pointing to the end of a smaller branch. “Keegan, get the sail down. Leander, can you have the water spirits guide us in?”
“We need to stop using his name,” Keegan says quietly, rising to his feet and reaching out to take her pocketknife so he can saw through the rope where the sail’s lashed to the top of the mast.
“What should I call him, then?” Selly asks.
“Maxim,” I volunteer. “It’s my favorite middle name.”
She lifts a brow. “How many do you have?”
“Leander Darelion Anselm Maxim Sam—” I begin to recite before she cuts me off.
“Maxim it is.”
“Or nothing,” Keegan says. “Ignore him. If we pay attention to him, it draws attention to him. He’s just a sailor—a nobody.”
“You’ve been waiting years to say that,” I tell him, forcing a quick grin, shoving down the fear that wants to rise up in my chest at the thought of being noticed. “Not sure it’s a workableplan, though. Who’s going to believe it? I mean, look at me. This level of handsome can’t be ignored.”
“I don’t find it difficult at all,” Selly replies blandly, and Keegan actually snorts.
He gets through the rope holding up the sail, sitting with a startled thump as the ragged sailcloth comes away from the mast, and the whole boat rocks with the impact.
We glide slowly through the water, the masts of the ships around us stretching toward the stars, their hulls crammed in side by side like animals in a pen, watching us in the dark.
I pull the lowest button off my shirt and drop it into the silent waters as my offering. Then I close my eyes, reaching out to the water spirits to show them where I’d like the boat to go. It’s almost impossible to find the playful touch I need for them—the fear and the guilt beating through me in time with my heart are making me sick.
Every part of this—every soul killed at sea, the risk the two who are with me now are taking, the risk of war itself, and everything that will cost the world—lies squarely on my shoulders. If I’d made the sacrifice when I should have, Mellacea never would have dreamed of war. Alinor would have been too strong.
All for the lack of me boarding a boat to visit a temple, cut my palm, and spill a little blood. It would have taken no time at all.
“Take this,” I hear Selly say quietly, and then she’s pushing past me up to the bow. A minute later we bump softly against one of the rough wooden pillars supporting the pier. She reaches up for a big loop of rope secured to the pier itself and ties it to something in the bow of theLittle Lizabetta.
Slowly, our boat drifts the few feet out to the end of her line,and there she stays, held in place by the tide that’s gently flowing out of the harbor.
For a long moment nobody speaks.
We’ve done it—we’ve sailed an impossible distance in a too-small boat, and hit our target. We’ve survived the death and destruction we left behind, the burning ship sinking into the sea, and with only half a dozen apples and a shore boat, we’ve made it to Mellacea.
But though it should feel like a triumph, I’m realizing our plan was mostly academic. I never imagined what it would be like when we found ourselves in the port of an enemy city, in a place where the churches are filling up every day with worshippers of a god who’d like to dismantle ours. We’re hungry, thirsty, exhausted, salty and filthy, and flat broke.
And we still have a long way to go.
