12 of Eylestre, Continued

I must have fallen asleep at some point. There had been no more nightmares, only the thick, black well of exhaustion, and then I woke to the sound of birdsong, high and sweet and echoing slightly.

I opened my eyes.

For several seconds I didn't know where I was, or how I had gotten there, only aware of two things: the big body cradling mine, and the masculine arm wrapped securely around my waist.

Arramy.

I blinked slowly.

The events of the day before began intruding, unspooling through my head, but I lay there, strangely quiet. It was the calm of an ancient lake high in the mountains, cold and fathomless; there was a stony strength in the depths of it that would not yield to the things on the surface.

I was very young when my mother died. With time, my memories of her had faded like sun-bleached, washed-out Oltaven linen: all that was left of the original print a suggestion of shapes or a hint of color in the seams. For most of my life, I was left with only the vague impression that I had been loved, a few belongings that Father had given me, and the silvotypes of her that once hung in his office. I wished I had been able to know her, but I had never looked for her in a crowd, never thought I glimpsed her through a shop window, never made a note to tell her about this or that before remembering I couldn't. After the fire, I mourned the things she had left behind, but I didn't really mourn her.

Father's memory was beginning to fade too, slipping away in bits and pieces. At first a few days would pass before I realized I hadn't thought of him, then days became weeks. Now, it seemed like he had been gone forever. I missed him terribly, but no longer feared a future without him, and had forged a sort of ragged, lumpy, ill-fitting-but-functional peace with my own independence.

I wasn't sure if it was good or bad to find that reassuring, in a grim, dull-bladed sort of way. I had survived losing my parents, and surviving had taught me that time would wash everything out, the pain would fade, and new purpose would replace uncertainty.

Eventually. If we survived.

There was no way of knowing what would come even an hour later, but in that moment I was dry, and warm, and I wouldn't have to face whatever was coming alone. So I didn't move, soaking that moment in as long as I could, listening to the birds greet the sun, watching the dawn stretch rose-gold fingers through the window above us..

Finally, I felt Arramy's breathing change and his muscles tense. Then, carefully, he eased himself up on an elbow and looked down at me. "Morning."

I tilted my head, glancing half over my shoulder at him. "Morning."

A tiny suggestion of a smile lit his eyes.

It was time to go.

With a sigh, I pushed my aching body off the mattress, stretching the kinks out of my spine as Arramy sat up and pulled his coat back on.

"We should head south, toward the coast," he said quietly. "See if we can't find passage to the colonies... Get to the plantation."

I pressed my lips together, then nodded, agreeing readily enough. It was as good a goal as any.

He got to his feet, then turned and held out his hand.

Without hesitation, I let him pull me to my feet. Then we gathered what little belongings we had and left the empty factory.

The only thing left to do now was keep going, one weary step at a time.

~~~

The river road took us north, first, and east, up the Pannevys and deeper into the Tetton countryside. Less than a mile out of Dovan's Leap, we began passing rolling pastureland and herds of shaggy grey sheep with dark brown legs and faces.

This turned out to be a good thing. The farther we got from Vreis and the heavily populated industrial areas around it, the less people seemed to care about politics and what the Dailies had to say about tensions with the Illyrians.

We caught a ride on a flat-bed hay lorry for several miles – a hay lorry driven by a farmer who didn't talk and didn't ask questions, and refused to take any of the coins Arramy offered, either – and by midmorning we reached a small fishing village nestled in a bend in the river.

There wasn't even a signpost to tell us where we were, only a handful of beam-and-daub huts built along one side of the river road, directly across from a small, messy bunch of docks jutting out into a shallow manmade harbor.

At first I thought we were going to keep going right on through, but Arramy did a swift double take at something in the water, and then to my surprise he just planted his feet on the ground and stood up off of the back of the lorry.

"Come on."

I scrambled for my valise, then ground my teeth and scooted forward until I dropped off the end of the lorry bed. There were a few moments of stumbling and wobbling, but I managed not to fall over as the lorry rumbled on without me. Then, shaking out my skirt, I looked around.

Arramy hadn't wasted any time. He was already at the far end of one of the docks, crouched beside the stern of a parcel quog, talking to a middle-aged man who was standing on the aft deck of the boat, apparently in the middle of an engine repair. The housing of the motor was open, revealing a mass of tubes and gears and pistons. He hadn't been making much headway, though, judging from the way he was shaking his head and the heap of motor parts littering the deck.

I made my way down to the dock in time to hear Arramy say, "If I get it running, would you give me and my girl a lift upriver?"

The man scratched at his jaw, and a pair of merry Tettian blue eyes slid from Arramy up to me. "Oh, I think we could arrange something," he said, giving me a wink.

My fingers paused in picking bits of hay off my jacket, heat flaring across my cheeks. Not because of the old man, but because of that casual little 'my girl' that had dropped out of Arramy's mouth. I stared at him, searching for any sign of... well, anything. Embarrassment. Humor? Mockery, even, but he just began rolling up his sleeves.

"What's all this?" I asked, lifting an eyebrow, doggedly ignoring both Arramy and the warmth swarming through my face. If I ignored it, it would go away. He was only doing what he was supposed to do. That was the plan, after all, looking like a married couple.

"Your man, here, has kindly offered to fix this mess if I take you both upriver. So you might as well come aboard, my dear," the man in the boat announced, waving a hand at the open boarding gate set into the gunwale. "No sense waiting out in the weather. We can put a pot of tea on."

I couldn't think of anything else to do but nod and grin and go along with it. I could do this. I could pretend everything was normal, and the idea of being Arramy's wife wasn't making my head swim and my heart beat like the tribal drums in a Ronyran Sossa Hannia festival.

The man – the apparent owner and operator of the quog – kept talking as he ushered me into the pilot's nest, and then down a tight spiral staircase into the hold of the boat. "Main rod's bent or some such nonsense. I'm a fair hand at the small things, but rebuilding the whole mess is beyond me. I was going to have to wait for Tamel to sober up, so if your man knows what he's about, it'll save me a day. I'm Denzig, by the way. You can call me Den if you prefer. Welcome to Number 47 of the Honor Brothers Shipping Company. Every once in a while she likes to remind me who's in charge, but we get along alright on the whole. Never missed a delivery yet... And who might you be?"

"Larra," I got out, ducking around some sort of bright red rubbercloth floatation device hanging from the wall at the bottom of the stairwell. "And Kaen," I added. "Anderfield. You can check our papers if you need to."

"Larra and Kaen is good enough for me," Denzig called from a tiny hob set in an equally tiny galley beneath one of the starboard portholes. He fished a packet of tea out of a canister and ran water from the filter tank above a short scullery tub, filling a copper kettle that he set on the hob.

He glanced at where I lurked on the bottom step, then smiled, his eyes almost disappearing in a patchwork of crows-feet that spoke of a long life spent laughing. He wagged his head toward a little eating booth just big enough to sit four. "Have a seat, have a seat. I won't be a moment."

I swallowed, not entirely sure what to think. At one time in my life, I would have trusted that sort of kindness. Now I clutched my valise a little tighter, a wary prickle crawling up my nape as I came farther into the hold. Reluctantly, I sank into the booth, sliding over the worn seat cushion to sit with my back up against the bulkhead of the boat, with a good view of both Denzig and the door. If he tried to signal anyone or leave, I would know.

Denzig didn't seem on edge, though. He puttered around, whistling as he opened the belly of the stove and stoked the fire, added a few lumps of coal from a skuttle beneath the scullery, and then began rummaging through a cupboard, pulling out three mismatched tea mugs and a tin of salt crackers.

A minute later the kettle sputtered out a whistle, and he nabbed it, placing it on a tea tray that he brought over to the table. Then he proceeded to insist on pouring the tea himself, waving my hands away with a "Psh! I haven't had anyone to dote on in a long while. My Berinia's been gone for near on five years now. It's just me, sailing up and down the river with the special post... And... if you don't mind me saying, you look like you could use some taking care of."

I blinked, suddenly all too aware of the day and night spent running through tunnels and sleeping rough. That savory pie seemed a lifetime ago, too, and it was all I could do to keep from inhaling the salt crackers when Denzig set a plate of them in front of me. "Thank you," I managed around a mouthful of crumbs.

Denzig smiled again and took a sip of tea. "Don't mention it."

I smiled back, trying to let it reach my eyes.

A rumble sounded outside, then, the boat's engine coughing once, twice, before falling silent for a moment. Then it coughed again, this time roaring all the way to life. There was a heavy clang, and then footsteps approached the pilot's nest.

"Ah. Seems we're back in business," Denzig said quietly. He finished off his tea and got to his feet, shuffling his teacup and saucer to the scullery board. "I'll need to get us under way, now, but you sit and enjoy your tea. Aft cabin's through there if you want somewhere to put your bag." He aimed a thumb at a narrow doorway to the right of the stairwell, and then he was gone, leaving me sitting there surrounded by his personal belongings, totally unaware that he was about to harbor wanted fugitives.

Somehow, we had stumbled upon a perfectly decent, nice, normal human being. How unfortunate that the normal, decent, nice people were usually the first to get hurt.

I swallowed my mouthful of cracker and took another, then sipped at my tea. It wasn't half bad. 

.....................................................

AN: True to my nature, I've decided to change something as I edit/write this thing... if suddenly Bren 'rediscovers' that she's falling for Arramy, that will be why. I'm moving that particular development because it sorta felt rushed. (WHAT??? *eyes two whole previous books*.) But, seriously, at this point, I think she would still be rebuilding trust, not falling head over heels, (and honestly, this whole romance is more of a slow sinking till she's in over her head, not falling) so I got some legwork to do in the emotional department. Bear with me! I'll doctor up the previous chapters, but no need to reread them. I just wanted to give you a heads up.