The kitten purred, and then curled up, not sleeping, but simply being safe in the middle of the huge bed. Nettle stood up to go. I think that was when I realized that I was watching Thick's dream but was no longer part of it. I had vanished from it, along with all other discordant and dangerous elements. I had no place in his mother's world.
“Farewell for now,” Nettle told him. And added, “Now remember how easy it is to come here. When you decide to sleep, all you have to do is think of this cushion.” She touched one of the many brightly embroidered pillows on the bed. “Remember this, and when you dream, you'll come straight here. Can you do that?”
The kitten rumbled a purr in response, and then Thick's dream began to fade around me. In a moment, I stood again on the hillside by the melted glass tower. The brambles and fog had vanished, leaving a vista of green valleys and shining rivers threading through them.
“You didn't tell him he wouldn't be seasick anymore,” I suddenly remembered. Then I winced at how ungrateful my words sounded. Nettle scowled at me and I saw the weariness in her eyes.
“Do you think it was easy to find all those things and assemble them around him? He kept trying to change it all back into cold seawater.” She rubbed her eyes. “I'm sleeping, and yet I suspect I'm going to wake exhausted.”
“I apologize,” I answered gravely. “Well do I know that magic can take a toll. I spoke without thinking.”
“Magic,” she snorted. “This dream-shaping is not magic. It is just a thing I can do.”
And with that thought, she left me. I pushed from my mind the dread of what might be said when she gave Burrich my words. There was nothing I could do about any of that. I sat down at the base of her tower, but without Nettle to anchor it, the dream was already fading. I sank through it into a dreamless sleep of my own.
Chapter 7
VOYAGE
Do not make the error of thinking of the Out Islands as a kingdom under a sole monarch, such as we have in the Six Duchies, or even as an alliance of peoples such as we see in the Mountain Kingdom. Not even the individual islands, small as they may seem, are under the sole command of any single lord or noble. In fact, there are no “nobles or lords” recognized among the Outislanders. Men have status according to their prowess as warriors and the richness of the spoils they bring back. Some have the backing of their matriarchal clans to enhance whatever reputation they may claim by force of arms. Clans hold territory on the islands, it is true, but these lands are the matriarchal farmlands and gathering beaches, owned by the women and passed down through their daughters.
Towns, especially harbor towns, belong to no single clan and mob law is generally the rule in them. The City Guard will not come to your aid if you are robbed or assaulted in an Out Island town. Each man is expected to enforce the respect others should give him. Cry out for help and you will be judged weak and beneath notice. Sometimes, however, the dominant clan in the area may have a “stronghouse” in the town and set itself up in judgment over disputes there.
The Outislanders do not build castles and forts such as we have in the Six Duchies. A siege is more likely to be conducted by enemy vessels taking control of a harbor or river mouth rather than by a land force attempting to seize land. It is not unusual, however, to find one or two clan “stronghouses” in each major town. These are fortified structures built to withstand attack and often having deep cellars with not only a well for water but also substantial storage for food. These “stronghouses” usually belonged to the dominant clan in each town, and were designed more for shelter from civil strife than to withstand foreign attack.
— SHELLBYE'S “OUT ISLAND TRAVELS”
When I awoke, I could feel that the ship was calmer. I had not slept for many hours, but I felt rested. About me on the deck, men still sprawled, immersed in slumber as if they had not slept well in days, as was the case.
I rose carefully, bundling my blanket in my arms and stepping through the prone bodies. I put my blanket back into my sea chest, changed into a cleaner shirt, and then went back on deck. Night was venturing toward morning. The clouds had rained themselves out, and fading stars showed through their rent curtains. The canvas had been reset to take advantage of a kindlier wind. The barefoot sailors moved in quiet competence on the deck. It felt like the dawn after a storm.
I found Thick curled up and sleeping, the lines of his face slack and peaceful, his breathing hoarse and steady. Nearby, Web dozed; his head drooped forward onto his bent knees. My eyes could barely make out the dark shape of a seabird perched on the railing. It was a gull of some sort, larger than the average. I caught the bright glint of Risk's eye, and nodded to her in affable greeting as I approached slowly, giving Web time to open his eyes and lift his head. He smiled at me.
