The First Betrayal Page 2

  The fishing shacks were no great loss, since they were rebuilt every year after the winter storms. But if the villagers had been taking shelter in their shacks, as they would have been during an ordinary storm, then they might well have perished.

  Terza raised her eyes and looked him in the face. “It was thanks to your warning that none were harmed. If the gods had not told you there was a great storm coming, by the time we realized our peril it would have been too late.”

  Now it was Josan’s turn to look away, made uncomfortable by the reminder that he had used deception to gain his way.

  “I see your cottage is gone,” Renzo said. “It will take some time for us…”

  “No need,” Josan interrupted him. “We can rebuild it in the spring.”

  Renzo knew him well enough not to conceal his relief. Rebuilding the cottage would have taken precious days of labor at a time when all efforts had to be focused on preparing for winter.

  “Of course we will replace whatever you lost, but most of our folk will stay in the village,” Renzo said. “Time enough to rebuild here when spring comes.”

  Some of Renzo’s people lived on the mainland year-round, tending crops or fishing in the protected waters of the sound. Others came to the island for the summer months, catching shellfish from the ocean beds. In the fall, they hunted the birds that rested in the thickets and marshes before resuming their journey south.

  Each year as winter approached, the villagers retreated to the mainland, leaving only the flimsy fishing shacks at the mercy of the harsh winter storms. Josan would join them there when the first moonrise of winter relieved him of his duty.

  “Now that we see you are well, I have a favor to ask,” Renzo said. “During the early hours of the storm, a foreign ship sailed into the Angry Bay. The captain sent his noble passenger ashore in a dinghy, and we gave her shelter during the storm. Trouble is, we can’t understand a word that she is saying, nor she us. I think she wants us to go look for her ship, but…” Renzo’s voice trailed off.

  The ship was most likely sunk. Someone would have to explain this to her. It was fortunate that Josan’s training had included the language of both the Ikarian and Seddonian courts, as well as a smattering of the low tongue used by sailors. Pantomime and drawings scratched in the sand could only convey so much.

  “I will keep the watch for you this night,” Terza said.

  After a moment’s consideration Josan nodded. He disliked leaving his duties to another, but this would not be the first night that Terza had spent as keeper. After the death of Brother Hakim, the previous keeper, Renzo and Terza had taken turns serving at the lighthouse until Josan had arrived to take the post.

  Terza accompanied him as he climbed to the top course and showed her where he had stored the supplies that she would need. Then he grabbed his robe, and after a moment’s thought, his waterproof writing case.

  Renzo was waiting for him at the base of the lighthouse.

  “Come now, we must hurry if we are to return before full dark,” he said.

  As Josan and Renzo set off, he found his thoughts turning to the stranded noblewoman. His curiosity stirred as he wondered who she was and what had brought her to this wild place. It had been years since he had spoken with a person of education, and he was looking forward to whatever news she had to offer of the civilized world.

  Perhaps there would even be news of the collegium, and of those he had left behind. Unconsciously his steps quickened, until a quiet word from Renzo reminded him to save his strength, for they still had a long way to travel.

  Chapter 2

  It was fortunate that he had Renzo to guide him, for on his own Josan would have been lost, which was quite a feat when you considered that this was the smallest of the barrier islands. But the power of the storm had changed the landscape almost beyond recognition. Paths through the dune grasses had disappeared, covered by sand sculpted into strange shapes by the wind. Pools of standing water made ponds and marshes out of what had been dry land, and necessitated frequent detours. Familiar dunes had disappeared or been reduced to mere shadows of their former selves, while others had appeared as if out of nowhere.

  When they reached the new channel, Renzo told Josan to wait on the bank as he lowered himself into the water. The muddy water came up to his waist as he made his way slowly across. Only when he reached the far bank did he motion for Josan to follow.

  Josan took off his sandals, tying their straps around his neck, before he slid down the bank into the water. He stood, his feet sinking into thick mud, as he tried to brace himself against the current. The chill water bit through his flesh into his bones, but even as he shivered, a part of him wondered at the source of the flowing current. Did it obey the pull of the tides? Or was there some imbalance between the water of the deep ocean toward the east and the water of the protected sound to the west?

  As Josan reached the far bank, Renzo leaned down, extending his right hand. The old fisherman had lost none of his strength, and he pulled Josan up the bank with ease, as if he were a child instead of a man grown. As Josan sat down to retie his sandals, Renzo stood gazing at the channel and shaking his head.

  “It’s nearly half again as wide as it was when Terza and I came this way,” Renzo explained. “No telling how big it will be by tomorrow. You may need to swim across until we can build a rope bridge.”

  Josan nodded. Swimming was another of those skills which he had learned since he had left behind his sheltered life in Karystos. He was a fair swimmer, but at this time of year the seawater was too cold to endure for long. Still, he would do what he must.

  He stood and stamped his feet, trying to restore warmth and feeling to them. The waterlogged hem of his robe slapped wetly against his shins as they walked. When his feet began to stumble, he forced himself to clear his mind and pay attention to each step. He was all too conscious of his empty belly and parched mouth for there had been no freshwater to spare for the journey. Yet he did not complain, for how could he, when Renzo—who was more than twice his age—bore such discomforts without complaint and showed no signs of fatigue even though this was the second time he had made this difficult trek that day?

  The sun had set and the last of the twilight was fading when they crested a dune and saw the glow of fire pits just ahead. Their arrival had been noted, and cheerful voices hailed them as they approached. Young Piero brought two rough wool blankets, draping one around Josan’s shoulders and the other over Renzo’s back. Josan clutched the blanket around him like a cape with one hand, while with the other he accepted a wooden cup filled with warm tea. He drank it down in quick gulps, eager to slake his thirst. When it was emptied, Young Piero returned and refilled it. This time he drank a bit more slowly, pausing to look around. A dozen men sat around the largest of the fire pits. They looked weary, but content. And well they might be, having passed through the storm with no harm.

  To his right he glimpsed the rounded outline of dark shapes, which he assumed were the prized boats. Ahead of him he could see a handful of low tents, each with a small fire in front. The tents must have been erected after the winds had died down, and he wondered what the villagers had done for shelter during the height of the storm. Had they hidden under the boats? Trusted their safety to one of the shallow caves that dotted the bluffs? Or had they simply huddled together in the scrub forest, using tarps to shelter themselves from the worst of the rain?

  Having safely delivered his charge, Renzo took a seat near the fire pit and accepted a square of dried fish, unwrapping the seaweed wrapper so he could gnaw on the salty contents. Josan’s own stomach rumbled with hunger, but there would be time for food later. He had not been brought here simply to share their hospitality.

  He drew himself erect as Old Piero approached. Old Piero was not truly aged—indeed his hair was still straw-colored—but since his son had been old enough to cast a net, he had borne the name of Old Piero. At his side was a diminutive woman, wearing an embroidered woolen shawl over a dark-c
olored dress.

  Josan handed his cup to Young Piero, then began a bow of greeting, but the courtly gesture was cut short as the blanket threatened to slip from his shoulders.

  “Piero, I was pleased to hear that your people survived the great storm unscathed,” Josan said.

  “That we did, and were grateful for your warning. And you? Is the lighthouse still standing?”

  Josan nodded. “Yes, though the shoreline has shrunk. Another storm of this size and it will be in the sea rather than next to it.”

  “May the gods grant us years before such a thing comes to pass. One such storm is enough for any man’s lifetime.”

  Josan then turned his attention to the woman who had waited patiently throughout this exchange. Her dark eyes and golden complexion marked her as a foreigner, and the gown she wore was in the style of the Seddonian court. She held herself with grace, as if daring anyone to notice that the hem of her gown was crusted with sand and dried sea spray.

  “Noble lady, how may I serve you?” he asked, the fluid syllables of Decanese coming as easily to his tongue as if he spoke them every day.

  “At last, a person of civilization,” she exclaimed, her face brightening. “I was beginning to despair of ever making myself understood.”

  “I am Brother Josan, who tends the lighthouse on the south point,” he said, giving a second shallow bow.

  “I am Lady Ysobel Flordelis of Alcina,” she said, naming one of the islands in the Seddonian Federation. “We were sailing to Karystos when the ship encountered a great storm at sea. The ship was gravely damaged, so the captain sent me, my maid, and four of his sailors ashore in a small boat, while he planned to anchor in the cove to ride out the storm. One of these folk found our party and convinced us to follow him to shelter. But now they will not take us back to the shore so we can rejoin the ship,” she explained. “I am grateful for their care, but they simply must take us back in the morning. Captain Tollen will be frantic searching for us.”

  It was late in the year to be making such a journey, but the Seddonians were renowned as expert navigators and ship handlers. It was rare that you heard of one of their ships coming to grief. Still, he supposed the storm could well have caught them by surprise, and there was no telling how badly the ship had been damaged before the captain spotted the island and managed to set his noble passenger ashore.

  Josan turned his attention back to Piero. “Was there any trace of her ship found?”

  “Not even a scrap of wood, so it’s likely the ship was dragged out to sea before it wrecked against the shoals.”

  “They may have survived,” Josan said, though he knew it was unlikely.

  “My son saw the ship when they sailed into the bay. One of the great masts was snapped clean off. And only a fool would anchor in the Angry Bay, where even on a calm day the tide is likely to rip an anchor up by its roots. If we’d had more time, we would have tried to warn them, but the waters were already choppy and none of us were going to risk our lives for theirs,” Piero said with a fatalistic shrug.

  If it had been an Ikarian ship, they might have risked their lives to pass on a warning. Then again, they might not have. The villagers believed that every time a man ventured out on the sea, he was putting his life into the hands of the gods, and if the gods decided it was time to take that life then there was nothing anyone could do.

  It was left to Josan to pass on the grim news. “The headman has already sent men to the bay where you landed, but found no trace of your ship, nor of any survivors. It is possible that they were blown out to sea, but if so, they will be far from here.”

  “Or it is possible that the ship foundered and all are lost,” she said.

  “That is likely the case.”

  Her face looked grim, but she did not weep, for which he was grateful. His life among the brethren had made him wary around women, and he would not know how to comfort one in distress. The questions that he had prepared during the journey dried up in his mouth. His own curiosity was a petty thing when balanced against her loss.

  “It seems I must make my own way to Karystos. When is the next ship expected?”

  “There will be no ship until spring,” Josan said. The shifting sandbars around the island that were the reason for the lighthouse also made the island treacherous to approach. Ships passed up and down the coastline during the sailing season, but trading ships stopped at the island only twice each year, to deliver cabbage-seed oil for the lamps and other precious supplies from the capital. For the rest of their needs, the villagers sent their goods along the mainland road that led to the town of Skalla, with its sheltered harbor where ships could safely anchor.

  “Tell her that tomorrow I will take her and her folk to the mainland,” Piero said. He must have guessed what her question would be, having recognized the word for ship, which was the same in pidgin as in Decanese. “We’ll set them on the trading road, and once they reach Skalla they can either find a captain still willing to brave the autumn storms or take the coach road down to the south.”

  Josan translated his offer.

  “Please tell the headman that I accept his kind offer. And now I must bid you good night, for I should tell my companions what I have learned.”

  “Of course, my lady,” Josan said. He watched as she turned and made her way toward the largest of the tents.

  “Sensible enough, for all she’s a noble,” Piero observed. Then he clapped Josan on the shoulder. “Come now, there wasn’t time for a hot meal, but there’s plenty of salted yellowtail, and I reckon you wouldn’t say no to another cup of tea to warm your bones.”

  Josan nodded and followed him to the fire pit. The warmth of the flames had dried out the surrounding sands and he sank down, grateful to finally be able to rest. It had been more than two days since he had slept, and exhaustion had dulled the edge of his hunger, though he gnawed absently at the strips of salted fish. Well used to his silences, the villagers did not press him for conversation, so he was left in peace to listen as they recounted what damage they had seen from the storm, and whether it was likely to have disturbed the shellfish beds. A few of the men fretted over their families, wondering what they would find when they escorted Lady Ysobel to the mainland. When Josan could keep his eyes open no longer, he wrapped the blanket tightly around himself and curled up to sleep on the sand.

  Morning came, the dawn revealing clear skies with only a few wispy clouds scattered overhead. Sleep had restored both his body and wits, and he felt confident that he could find his way back to the lighthouse without too many detours.

  There was fresh tea and salted fish left over from last night. After eating his fill, Josan opened his writing case and unrolled the scroll that he had previously written to the head of his order. He penned a quick postscript describing the damage done by the storm, assuring the brethren that he was well, but that the lighthouse would likely not survive another such tempest.

  He hoped his words did not sound too much like begging.

  He tied the scroll, then gave it to Piero, who assured him he would see that it was sent along to Karystos.

  Then he waited impatiently for Lady Ysobel to arise. It would be a long journey back to the lighthouse, and he was impatient to get started. But courtesy dictated that he not leave until he had bade Lady Ysobel farewell and ensured that there was nothing else he needed to translate for her.

  Though he had been anxious to meet her, he no longer had any urge to prolong their encounter. There was something about her that had made him uncomfortable, far too self-conscious to ask her any of the questions that he had stored up. He wondered if it would have been different if the stranger had been a nobleman. Or perhaps it was simply that after so long spent alone, he was no longer in the habit of making civilized conversation.

  The lady emerged from her tent only an hour after dawn, showing commendable promptness. Josan made his way toward her and bowed.

  “Lady Ysobel, the greetings of the day to you,” he said. This time, with no
blanket to encumber him, he managed a credible version of the bow appropriate for a freeman conversing with a member of the nobility. “If there is anything you wish to ask Piero, you must tell me now, for soon I must take my leave.”

  She arched her eyebrows in surprise. “You are not coming with us?”

  “My duty binds me here,” he said. “Do you or any of your party speak Ikarian?” he asked, switching to that tongue.

  “Of course,” she said, answering him in his native tongue.

  “Then once you reach the town of Skalla you will be able to make yourself understood.”

  “And how is it that you speak my tongue as if you were born to it, and Ikarian as if you were a member of their court?”

  “My home was in Karystos for many years. But now I live here and serve my order by tending the lighthouse.”

  She studied his features for a long moment. “I feel as if we have met before,” she observed. “Perhaps in Karystos, a half dozen years past? Though I do not recall meeting any monks when I was last there….” Her brow wrinkled in thought.

  “I am of the Learned Brethren.” He waited, but there was no trace of comprehension in her face. “A son of the collegium,” he added.

  The wrinkles cleared as her face resumed an impassive mask. “Of course. My pardon, but I did not expect to find one of the brethren so far from civilization.”

  Her response was a masterpiece of tact, as was to be expected from one of the court. Though no one ever spoke of it aloud, somehow it was common knowledge that the noble families of Ikaria disposed of their bastard sons by leaving the infants on the steps of the collegium, along with a purse of gold. It was not Josan she had recognized, but rather some trait he had in common with his unknown sire, or perhaps an uncle or half brother who frequented the court.

  “There is knowledge to be found everywhere,” Josan said.

  Though in truth there was little on the island to occupy one from a scholarly order. He kept a journal of his days, as his predecessors had done. But he could pursue no great work, and no scholarly discoveries would be credited to his name. Once he had been a rising star, and some had whispered that in time he would take his place as head of the collegium. But the breakbone fever that had nearly cost him his life had robbed him of something almost equally precious. His mind had been damaged, and he knew that he was only a shadow of the man he had once been.