CHAPTER 49

Alos swung the Brise southeastward, quartering the prevailing winds off the starboard stern, saying, "Sarain: it's across the Avagon, 'tween Chabba and Hum. Just keep her headed southeasterly and we'll strike land sooner or later." And then he headed back to bed, under his breath grumbling, "The next bedamned seaport we come to, someone needs to get some bedamned charts so that someone can properly navigate and reckon, for who knows how far the bedamned coast of Sarain is and who knows where along the bedamned shores we'll make landfall and…"

The next days saw the ship heading southeasterly, at times running before a spanking breeze, at other times drifting slowly, nearly becalmed. And though the air was at times capricious, for the most part the weather held fair, but for a running three days of rain.

Yet in spite of the wind or its lack, in spite of the rain or not, now and again throughout the day Delon would sing to Ferai, and she would listen raptly, while in the stern Alos would smile and tap out a rhythmic beat.

And all along the course, especially at the change of shifts, in the twilight Arin and the others continued to debate the merits of following after a fortune-teller's card, debating as well what they might find at journey's end:

"Perhaps the labyrinth is inside the temple," suggested Egil, "rather than without. Perhaps that's where the confusing journey Old Nom spoke of is, perhaps that's where it both begins and ends."

Aiko blew out a long puff of air, and at a cocked eyebrow from Arin, the Ryodoan said, "Perhaps the confusing maze is in the very religion itself, and one must escape it altogether to be free."

"You mean leave the temple?" asked Ferret.

Aiko shook her head. "No, Ferai. I mean leave the religion itself behind."

"Oh."

They drifted slowly long moments more, the wind but a waft of air, the ship nearly in irons. Finally Ferret said, "I'm not a very religious person. It seems rather foolish to me."

"Huah," grunted Delon. "You do not believe in Adon or Elwydd at all?"

"Or Garlon?" added Alos.

"Oh, I suppose I do," Ferret replied, "if only to call upon them in oaths now and then. It's just that in my life they seem to hold no sway." She turned to Arin. "What about you, Dara? Do you worship Adon or Elwydd? Pray to them? Make offerings? Do you think that following a particular religion, that believing in a god or gods makes you a better person?"

Arin smiled. "Nay, Ferai, I do not. Adon Himself says that deeds, not faith, mark the goodness of a person."

"You've spoken to Adon?" asked Delon. "Seen Him?"

"Nay, I have not," replied Arin. "But there are those who indeed have."

Delon blew out a breath. "Adon. The God Himself."

Arin shook her head. "He does not claim to be so. He says that the true gods are far above Himself, Elwydd, Gyphon, Garlon, and the others."

"Even the gods are ruled by the Fates," intoned Egil. "Or so my people say."

Ferret turned to Egil. "Then those above Adon and the others, those are the Fates?"

Egil turned up the palms of his hands. "You'll have to ask someone other than me, lass, for I don't know."

They drifted onward, and then Delon said, "What do you suppose the cursed keeper of faith in the maze thinks of religion and gods? And why do you think he's cursed?"

Some seventeen days after they had fled the city of Pendwyr, they sighted a coast ahead. The setting sun lent an orange cast to the land, but along the stretch the stone itself was dun colored, and not the red expected.

Ferret groaned. "Oh, no. The door on Old Nom's card is in rock the color of blood."

"Perhaps this is not Sarain," said Delon.

"Even if it is, Delon, mayhap it is as thou hast suggested," said Arin. "Mayhap the red stone is inland."

"The thing to do," said Egil, "is to find a port city and see where we are. Whether or not this is Sarain, let us find a scholar to translate the runes on Ferret's drawing. If the scholar can read them, then we might know, or perhaps he can advise us, where we need next go."

Arin nodded, then turned to Alos. "Canst thou find us a port city?"

Alos snorted. "Not immediately. But perhaps she can." The oldster pointed southward along the shore. There in the near distance fared a small dhow, her sails blooming orange in the light of the setting sun.

They swung the ship to starboard and closed with the dhow, though it was deep twilight ere they overtook the craft. It was a fishing boat crewed by three, and they cast down their knives and threw up their hands in surrender.

"Heh," cackled Alos. "They think we are pirates."

Arin showed the crew her own empty hands, attempting to convince them that they had little to fear. Then she and the others tried all the languages they knew-and between them, Ferret and Delon proved to know many-to no success. Finally Alos snapped, "Here, let me," and called out, "Sarain?"

The fishermen nodded and bowed, and gestured toward the coast.

Then Alos called out, "Chabba?"

And the crew of the dhow pointed to the south.

"Well and good," cried Alos, and saluted.

Then the oldster sat back down at the helm. "South we go. The port city of Aban is on the border."

As they swung away from the dhow amid gestures and calls of farewell, Aiko turned to Alos and said, "That was clever of you, ningen toshi totta."

Alos looked at her, then growled, "I'm a drunkard, not stupid."

Two days later in early morn they came to the gape of a great bay, its waters faintly colored by the outflow of the distant River Ennil, according to Alos, the border between Chabba and Sarain. Into the sound they fared, sailing easterly most of the day, the waters darkening with each nautical league as they came closer to the estuarial flow. Just after dawn they sighted the wide mouth of the river and up the slow-moving stream they sailed, its waters muddy with orange-laden silt. Some ten miles inland they arrived at last at the port city of Aban, with its docks to the left and right. They chose the piers larboard, for those were the ones in Sarain.

A hot golden sun rose through the midmorn as Arin and her companions trudged uphill along the narrow, twisting streets of Aban, the ways crowded with horses and camels and people moving to and fro. The men for the most part were black haired and brown skinned and swathed in robes, though some wore other garb-especially those men who rode horses, with their lavish cloaks and capacious shirts and wide-legged pantaloons, the latter tied tightly at the ankle on the outside of the boot. Bright turbans adorned the men's heads, that or red fezzes with black tassels hanging down.

Women were there, too, or so the comrades surmised, for the females were covered from head to toe with voluminous robes and only their eyes and hands could be seen. Some of these moved through the streets without speaking in groups of three or more, while others rode singly in enclosed litters, borne by burly men.

"You were right, Delon," said Ferret, pointing to signs above shops and inns as she and the others walked along the streets of Aban. "The writing, the letters: some of them look to be the same as the symbols in the inscription on Old Nom's card."

"Don't jump to conclusions, luv," replied Delon. "The lettering in Hurn is nearly identical. I think we'll have to wait until we can find someone who can read what you've written."

"When we find the Golden Crescent," said Egil, "we'll ask the innkeeper to translate it for us. That should prove quickly enough whether it's Sarainese or not."

"If it's not Sarainese," wheezed Alos, panting with the effort of walking uphill, perspiration funnelling down his face, "then as Dara Arin said, we'll sail on to Hurn, eh?"