Kushiel's Chosen

Whether or not 'twas meant as a warning, I took it as such, gazing up at his shadowed face. "What happened to him?"



"I killed him, I," Kazan Atrabiades replied curtly.



And with that, he strode toward the stern of the ship, leaving me to ponder his words.



If I had thought that our journey was done when we made landfall, I was mistaken. By moon and starlight, aided by the lamphouse at the outermost point, our six ghostly ships sailed into the harbor of a small town whose name I never knew, on the isle of Gavrilos, which is famed for its olive oil. There we dropped anchor, and a delegation of townsmen came out to meet the pirates on the wharf, bleary-eyed by torchlight, but full of good spirits and jest.



Some manner of trade, it seemed, was taking place. Too alert for sleep, I stood watching on the deck while Kazan's sailors ducked in and out of the hold, carrying out goods for the townsfolk's consideration. Salt and spices were met with cries of excitement; silks and fine linens with shrugs, although, here and there, I saw men fingering the fabrics with guilty pleasure.



To my surprise, Kazan was treated with respect and admiration. I did not know, then, the degree to which trade had been suppressed on the Illyrian coast, nor the heavy tariffs imposed on imports. His goods were stolen, true, but among his countrymen, Kazan Atrabiades bought and traded at a fair price. If he made a profit at it, so be it; 'twas at the expense of La Serenissima, and the Illyrians admired him for it.



At the time, I could only gauge this by their demeanor and attitudes, grateful that Delaunay's training allowed me that much. All around me was the give and take of conversation, a hushed midnight banter, full of barter and exchange. I understood not a word of it, and it was maddening.



No few of them cast glances my way, and I saw their hands move surreptitiously in gestures to avert evil. I daresay I looked unearthly enough, a bedraggled D'Angeline apparition in trailing grey, oddly corseted in bandages. Kazan Atrabiades took little heed, ignoring my presence, busy with matters of trade.



I was relieved when the deal was concluded and Glaukos reappeared at my side, tutting with concern and ordering me off my feet. He sat companionably with me while Kazan's men loaded massive jars of oil into the hold, lashing them in place with ropes.



" 'Tis sleeping you should be, my lady," he said to me. "We'll be off again at first light, and no more than three hours' journey to port."



"Another trade venture?" I asked wearily. I was bone-tired, sick of the sea, and my skin itched fiercely from a fine coating of salt.



"Ah, now, next stop's the last, and glad enough I'll be to see home. You'll feel better in a proper berth, you'll see." Glaukos peered at my face, turning my chin in his hand. "Though you're healing up well enough, I reckon. Unless the moonlight plays tricks on me, that nasty bruise on your jaw's well-nigh faded, my lady. You were ill-treated, were you?"



"Yes." I answered absentmindedly. "As you say, 'tis a long story. Glaukos, why did Kazan Atrabiades kill his brother?"



He made a hushing sound, glancing quickly about, although there was no one to hear but the sailors, who spoke no Caerdicci. Kazan remained ashore, drinking toasts and laughing with the villagers. "We should not speak of this aloud. Who told you that?"



"He did," I said reasonably. "Who else? That thing I saw on the mast, 'twas no figment of my dreaming. He called it somewhat, a, a kríavbhog. He said it had to do with a blood-curse."



"Aye." Glaukos sighed. "These Illyrians, they are superstitious, and no mistake. What wasn't bred into them since the mountains were young, the Chowati brought when they invaded and mingled their blood and their ways with the Illyrians. Five hundred years later, they hear Vili singing in every breeze, maredonoi in the waves; every kitchen hearth must have its ushkova, and every home its domuvic to be coaxed and bribed. In the fields, they hide eggs for the pölvu. In the forests, they turn their clothes backward so the leskii won't find them. Kazan, he's better than most. He fears only the kríavbhog and mocks the rest."



"He is right to fear," I murmured, "if what I saw was real."



"Who can say?" Raising his hands, Glaukos shrugged. "His mother cursed him, by the blood he shed himself. Kazan believes if he ever returns to Epidauro, the kríavbhog will take him, for such were the words of her curse. Other than that, he thinks himself invulnerable. Because he believes it, his men believe it too, and follow him unquestioning."



"And you?" I searched his face in the faint light. "Do you believe it?"



He smiled into his beard. "I am old, my lady, and trained too well to the rationalism of Tiberium, city of my birth. I believe what I see. Ah, now, I've gone and said too much. If you want to know more of it, ask Kazan yourself, and don't blame me if he snarls. Though if you've any sense, you'll heed my advice and sleep."



In the end, since there was nothing else for it, I did, waking only when we headed out to sea once more, oars dipping in long, swift strokes until we were far enough out to hoist the mainsail and catch a bellyful of wind.



Dawn broke fair, pale violet sky giving way to orange, and the Illyrians sang as they sailed. With the relative safety of the coast on their side, holds full of goods and homeward bound, they were in high spirits. Glaukos had spoken true; 'twas still high morning when we came upon a small archipelago of islands. Six or eight, I made out at a distance, though only a few of them looked inhabited.



Our fleet made for one of the smaller islands, steep-cliffed, by the look of it, crowned with a pine-forested range of hills. I felt my breath catch in my throat as we navigated the sheer coast, uncomfortably reminded of La Dolorosa's crags. There was no sign of human life, no harbor or bay, and I wondered what Atrabiades was about. From any approach, I saw no means of access.



So I thought, until we rounded a sharp outcropping and Kazan Atrabiades shouted out a command. The sail cut loose, yard swinging abruptly as we heeled with that stomach-lurching swiftness. Then I saw, before us, a narrow inlet hidden in the shadows of the overhanging cliffs. The Illyrians trimmed the sails close and went to oars, jesting good-naturedly, and as the lead ship, we glided into the cool shade.



Cliff walls, high and grey, rose on either side of us to form a towering corridor. The water lapped softly at the sides of the ship, nearly black in the absence of sunlight. The splashing of the oars echoed oddly. So we proceeded, for several long minutes, hearing the sounds of the other ships following.



And then the cliffs fell away, and the vista opened onto a perfect natural harbor, a sandy bay sheltered on all sides.



The sun shone bright overhead in a clear blue sky, and the water glittered aquamarine beneath it, dotted here and there with fishing boats. Along the half-moon of the shore, I saw a charming village. A low terrace rose on the hill behind it, invisible from the sea, planted with grapevines; further to the right, below the pine forests, I could make out white specks that were surely grazing sheep on the hillside.



"The isle of Dobrek," Glaukos said, standing beside me. "Home."



"It's so..." I could hear the bewilderment in my voice, ". .. pretty!"



He chuckled. "Ah now, did I not tell you I had no regrets?"



FIFTY-ONE



Across the bay, the wind picked up once more, a merry breeze that sent our six ships scudding across the water like seabirds. We were spotted ashore, and it seemed the village entire turned out to meet us.



At some twenty yards out, the sailors launched into a flurry of action, taking down the sails and lashing them to the yard with swift, coordinated gestures. Others took to oars, checking our incoming speed and maneuvering the vessels skillfully alongside the waiting docks. The heavily laden craft wallowed a bit, but flat-bottomed as they were, they had a shallow draw and managed the docking without scraping the sandy bay.



Throughout it all, Kazan Atrabiades stood in the prow of the lead ship, legs braced, arms upraised in a sign of victory. And the folk ashore cheered him mightily, men and women alike.



It was a hero's homecoming, and no mistaking it. Kazan leapt ashore once the first line was lashed to the pilings, greeted with hearty embraces by the men and doting smiles or squeals of admiration by the women. 'Twas a grand reunion all around, as the other sailors were welcomed home by family and friends; even Glaukos moved spryly to disembark, greeting a sturdy young woman less than half his age with resounding kisses on both cheeks, making her blush prettily and clasp his hands.



Amidst it all, I stood on the ship, forgotten.



It did not last long. I saw the first glance, heard the first voice fall silent, a silence that spread like a ripple from a dropped stone, rings of soft murmurs following in its wake. "Ështa në Vila!" I heard more than once, knowing now what it meant; now, it merely made me glance uneasily at the mizzenmast, sail furled harmlessly. If the kríavbhog was there, it did not show itself.



"Djo, djo," Kazan Atrabiades said soothingly, holding up one hand for silence. Once they were listening, he pointed to me and spoke at length in Hlyrian.



I could see from the way the tension left their expressions that he was explaining I was no Vila, but a mortal hostage, reassuring them. Nonetheless, my inability to comprehend a word he spoke filled me with mingled fear and frustration. When I cast an imploring look in Glaukos' direction, he hurried to the dockside. "Ah, now, don't fear, my lady!" he exclaimed. "Kazan, he's telling them you're D'Angeline, that's all, and to be treated as an honored guest during your stay here. Didn't I promise you he'd honor the conventions?"



"You did," I said, taking little comfort in it. Kazan Atrabiades' words were all too fresh in my mind. If he lived, I would give you to my brother. I did not care overmuch to trust to the honor of a fratricide, no matter how much his people admired him. Better a hostage than a slave, but it came down to much the same. In the end, I was what I had been all too often for the duration of my short life: valuable goods.



Whatever Kazan said, they seemed to accept it, reluctantly setting aside their curiosity to go about their business, unloading the ships and implementing a complicated system of distribution. Glaukos led me over to where Kazan was directing the operations.



"My lord," I said, taking a deep breath, forgetting once more not to address him thusly, "if I might speak to you-"



"Sa të djambo!" he snapped at me, and I did not need a translator to know I'd been told to keep quiet in the rudest possible terms. I closed my mouth sharply, and Kazan Atrabiades turned to Glaukos, giving him instructions in a string of rapid Ulyrian. Glaukos replied in the same tongue, explaining somewhat and pointing to my bandaged midsection. The exchange continued for some time, growing heated. In the end, Kazan shrugged and turned away, dismissing us.



"You're to come with me, for now, my lady," Glaukos informed me. His weathered face was flushed. "Come, my little Zilje will see to those wrappings and draw you a bath." His young wife--for I learned later she was such-came forward with a half-curtsy, coloring to the roots of her red-blond hair.



"Thank you," I said, with as much warmth as I could muster. "Glaukos, how do I say 'thank you' in Ulyrian?" I repeated it when he told me, smiling at her. "Falemir dít, Zilje."



And with that, Glaukos lent me his arm, and with young wife fluttering anxiously at his side, aided me in my slow, painful process across the hot sands toward his lodgings.



All told, I was three days in the house of Glaukos, recuperating.



Young and resilient though I was, my ordeal had taken a greater toll than I cared to reckon. Each day I rose, insistent, by mid-morning; by mid-afternoon, I was limp with exhaustion and my ribs ached dully. Zilje scolded me in II-lyrian, regarding me with a certain proprietary awe, as if I were a willful and exotic pet her husband had brought back from his seafaring, while her younger sister Krísta, who dwelt with them, stared at me wide-eyed.



There was a great deal of traffic by the women of Dobrek to the physician's house in those three days. I daresay the village had never seen so many toothaches at once. Glaukos, for his part, ignored it; I smiled and nodded, trapped by my own weakness. Zilje dispensed cloves to chew for the pain, and gossiped eagerly with the visitors.



It nearly drove me mad, being unable to understand. I have always been good with languages, and thanks to Delaunay's insistence, I mastered the trick of learning them early. I may have been a slave in Skaldia, but at least I always knew what was being said in my presence. Here, it was different. I speak D'Angeline, Caerdicci, Skaldic and Cruithne with a considerable degree of fluency; I do passing well at Habiru and Hellene, and can make myself understood among Tsingani.



Illyrian, it seemed, was unrelated to any of these.



Since I had naught else to do save heal, I set myself with grim determination to mastering what I might of the Illyrian language. My task was complicated by the fact that Glaukos was often absent or unavailable, and Zilje and I shared no tongue in common. Still, I garnered some small stock of phrases, and was able by the end of my stay to say "please" and "thank you," along with a few simple courtesies. From these, I was able to extract a glimmering of the syntax of Illyrian. It was a beginning.



As to Glaukos' whereabouts, I learned that he served as bookkeeper to Kazan Atrabiades as well as physician, and had been busy cataloguing the inventory and distribution of their latest plunder, entrusting Zilje to see to the day-to-day needs of the villagers. There was genuine affection between the ex-slave and his young wife. I confess, it had been my first thought that she had been given him as reward for good service, but in this I was mistaken. He regarded her fondly, and she him; and so she should, for he had a kinder heart than many who served Kazan. Her sister Krísta treated him as an indulgent uncle, which seemed to suit all three.