Final Passage (The Prisoner and the Sun #3) Page 7

  “Are you sure you do not need my support?”

  They had crossed the marketplace and now stood before the tall doors of the Assembly Hall. As Iliff looked on them, he feared that their decision to grant Depar his Final Passage would upset the Assembly. And that was to say nothing of their decision to follow him to the Far Place.

  “No,” she said. “I can address the Assembly alone. I would rather you speak with Tradd. Word of this will spread quickly, and he needs to be told by one of us. He will have a decision to make.”

  Iliff kissed her, pleased to feel her bitterness dissipated, her hope returning. As she entered the Hall, he turned his own feet toward the bluff and made his way down the stone steps in the cliff wall. Though the gray clouds had begun to lighten, the air remained bold and icy, cutting in and out of his lungs. From his high vantage, Iliff could see the barge Tradd had told them of the night before. It was still in its crude stages, a giant raft moored between two docks. He spotted Tradd atop it, holding the main mast aloft while a half-dozen men worked to secure it between the timbers.

  When Iliff reached the shore, he stood for a time and watched them work. Tradd had stripped his coat, and the muscles of his back showed as small hillocks beneath his tunic. Iliff smiled. Filo often remarked that having Tradd was as good as having ten additional men on his crew.

  At last, the men moved away, and Tradd stepped back from the mast, which stood strong and straight. Iliff applauded. Tradd turned, a look of surprise on his face, then bounded from the barge and down the dock.

  “Iliff!” he called, his lips stretching into a broad smile.

  “That’s quite impressive,” Iliff said, nodding beyond him.

  Tradd arrived beside him panting, his face aglow with pride. “You came!” He threw an arm over Iliff’s shoulder. Iliff clapped his back and laughed, even though tears threatened. He swallowed and cleared his throat.

  “If you’ve a moment, Tradd, I’d like us to take a walk.”

  They left the boatyard and went along the shore away from the bluff. A light mist rose from the lake, and Iliff wondered when they would begin to see ice. The lake did not always freeze, but the last winters had been especially cold, and the elders forecast this year’s to be colder still. Before long all of the boats would be moored, they said, remaining so until the spring thaw.

  “I need to talk to you about something serious,” Iliff said.

  Tradd turned to Iliff, his expression gone flat. Steam puffed from his wide nostrils.

  “First I want to give you something.” Iliff reached into his coat pocket and palmed the gift that Adramina had placed in his hand so long ago. Ever since his return from the forest, his return across the swamp, he had carried it in memory of his former companion, the part of himself he had so long denied. He held it out now for Tradd.

  “What is it?” Tradd asked, taking the small pouch and opening it.

  “It’s a tinder pouch,” Iliff said. “Something your father and I shared. If ever you desire your father’s nearness, strike the flint to the metal. It will make a white fire. There you will find your father’s essence.”

  Scarcely breathing, Tradd poked through the pouch. He retied it carefully and set it in the front pocket of his trousers.

  “You’ve grown much since your father placed you in our care,” Iliff said as they resumed walking. “And you’ve done well here, Tradd. Very well. The township embraces you as one of our own. Indeed, you are one of us. You grow the plants that sustain us through the seasons. And in winter, you build the boats that deliver our fallen the length of the Great Sea.” He thought for a moment. “It is a journey that Skye and I will soon be making.”

  “You mean… you’ll be passing?”

  “No, not passing. But departing here.”

  “Departing,” Tradd repeated uncertainly.

  “Do you remember the story of how I left the prison?”

  Tradd nodded and so did Iliff. He had told Tradd the story many times in the past years. The stories of his journeys were some of Tradd’s favorites, especially the ones with Troll in them.

  “Well, just as I left the prison, so we are leaving the township. Skye and I believe the way to the Sun lies over the Great Sea and beyond the Far Place. And with Depar’s passing last night, we believe we have now but to follow him to arrive there.”

  Pebbles crunched beneath their slow footfalls. Though Tradd said nothing, Iliff sensed his fear.

  “Yes, the journey is likely to be dangerous,” he said. “We will be crossing a sea that is vast and unknown. We will journey over lands where only the fallen have heretofore gone. We don’t know what is going to happen, Tradd. We know only that to remain here is to surrender to the seasons.”

  “When will you leave?”

  “Before the middle winter.”

  “Does it have to be so soon?” Tradd asked.

  Iliff thought of the old Garott woman in the marketplace. He thought of Skye.

  “Yes,” he said.

  Tradd turned from Iliff and stood in a hunch, his fists thrust deep in his pockets. His back tensed beneath Iliff’s hand.

  “You are grown now, Tradd. Just as you are old enough to receive the tinder pouch, so you are old enough to make your own decisions. If you wish to come with us, if you wish to face the uncertainties of which I have spoken, we welcome you. But if your heart is with the township, if you prefer to remain, we understand. We would be saddened both, but we would understand.”

  Iliff listened to Tradd’s breaths become short and unsure.

  “But whatever the decision, Tradd, it must be your own.”

  Tradd raised his head as though he were going to speak, but then shot it low again. Iliff saw the rims of moisture beneath his eyes.

  “Tradd…”

  Tradd wheeled from him, from the township, and trudged along the shore. Iliff followed, but Tradd’s strides became longer and more defiant. When Iliff called to him again, Tradd broke into a loping run. His footfalls pounded along the lakeshore until he became small. Winded, Iliff pulled up and watched Tradd’s distant figure climb toward the wood and, at last, disappear inside the barren trees.

  Chapter 11

  That afternoon, Filo, the boat master, appeared at their cottage. He had been one of a handful of Assembly members to oppose Skye’s decision to grant Depar his Final Passage, becoming loud in his contention. But now he stood on the stoop without his hat, his blonde hair combed to one side and his beard trim. Iliff saw that he was wearing his nicest shirt.

  “Filo,” Iliff said. “Please, come inside.”

  Filo nodded and stamped the snow from his boots, for it had begun falling again that day. He stepped past Iliff, his eyes downcast, and sank into one of the chairs in the sitting room. Skye soon appeared with cups of hot lenk.

  “Thank you,” Filo murmured.

  They sat in silence for a time. Filo sipped from his cup and gazed around the room and out the window, where large flakes blew about like feathers. At last it was Skye who spoke.

  “Tradd did not return to the boatyard?” she asked.

  “Hm? No, no, he didn’t,” Filo answered.

  “That’s my fault, I’m afraid,” Iliff said to Filo. “I told him of our plans today. He did not receive the news well.”

  “Well, neither did I, as you probably know,” Filo said, meeting Iliff’s eyes for the first time. He turned now to Skye. “I apologize for my outburst this morning, my lady. I… I should never have raised my voice to you.” He frowned and ran his hand once down his beard. “You have to understand, I lost both parents to the man’s treachery. It frightens me. Even in death, he may yet lead two more to their ruin—two whom I care for very much. No doubt this is Tradd’s fear as well.”

  Iliff nodded solemnly and looked outside where day was already turning to dusk. He cast his awareness out again, but felt nothing. He tensed his jaw. He should have been more careful with Tradd that morning.

  “On the surface it sounds reckless, I know,” Skye
said. “Following Depar over the Sea, journeying through the Far Place. It is not a journey I would ever consider lightly. But I do believe the legends, Filo. Long have I felt their truth.”

  Filo turned his cocked eye on Iliff.

  “As do I,” Iliff said. “When I was a boy, Filo, I believed the stone walls around me to be all there was. As did all the prisoners who lived and labored there—and there were thousands. But one day I was told that a world lay beyond the walls. I was told that there was a Sun. It would have been very easy to laugh off the story, to dismiss it as an old man’s ramblings. But like Skye, I felt the truth of the story. I left my prison for it, and indeed, I discovered a world beyond the walls. An amazing world, Filo. And to think that had I never left, I would still be there. Pressed inside those stone walls, aware of nothing more.”

  Iliff thought of his prison-self, of Yuri. He wondered whether Yuri was still alive, still laboring there.

  “Well, that is all well and good,” Filo said, “but this world in which we live is very different from a prison. You and Skye have traveled far on your missions. You have seen. There are no walls out there.”

  “None that we can see perhaps,” Iliff said. “But think of it. Who living has ever voyaged across the Great Sea? Who has ever ventured to the Far Place? Might there not be lands beyond those? And yet none among us save the late Queen has considered such a thing. How can you say, then, that there are no walls?”

  Filo frowned and stroked his beard again.

  “And remember,” Skye said. “Iliff’s prison once seemed vast and unending to him.”

  Filo grunted and took another swallow of his lenk. At length, he wiped his mouth.

  “Well, if you’re as intent on doing this as you sound,” he said, “I’ll not have you going in just any boat. You’re going to need one that’s adept to the seas. I want you to take the barge.”

  “The barge?” Iliff said.

  “No,” Skye demurred. “We could not possibly…”

  “It will be ready shortly,” Filo said, nodding his insistence. “I do not know the deeper seas, but the barge is being built to handle the waters of the coast, which are temperamental and unruly, especially farther east. We’re going to add ballast in the coming days so she is as stable as we can make her.”

  Iliff and Skye glanced at one another.

  “Do not frown so,” Filo said. “It is a small thing and will put my mind at… well, at some ease, anyway. The same can be said for the rest of the township. Word of your journey has gotten out. Many worry for you.”

  “Your offer is very kind,” Iliff said. “But I’ve never commanded a barge.”

  “It would not be difficult for someone your size,” Filo said, looking Iliff up and down. “It only takes two of us to raise and lower the sail, and one to handle the steering oar. Come to the docks tomorrow and I’ll show you. We’ll take one of the barges out onto the lake.”

  It was dark when Skye and Iliff bid Filo goodnight. They stood on the front stoop for a long while after he had left, watching the snow fall around them. Iliff felt Skye reaching her awareness over the south wood.

  “Do you feel him?”

  Skye shook her head. “There is too much between us and Tradd now. Too many living threads. I feel only his residue from the wood, a lonely trail, Iliff. It leads south into the swamp.” She rubbed Iliff’s hand and peered up again at the falling snow. “Should we send out a party?”

  Iliff thought of Tradd’s late mother, the large woman with the sad eyes. It now struck him that she had reacted in much the same way as Tradd upon being told that he sought the Sun, that he would not be staying.

  “No,” Iliff said at length. “It is as Filo said. Tradd is upset and fears losing us. He needs time to consider all that is happening. No, let us not send for him just yet. He can take care of himself out of doors. The cold and snow will not reach him in the swamp.”

  As they returned inside the cottage, Iliff looked over his shoulder into the bitter night and hoped that he was right.

  * * *

  In the days that followed, Skye and the women of the infirmary prepared Depar’s body for Final Passage. They bathed and perfumed him, attired him in white vestments, and performed a series of final rites. Meanwhile, Iliff joined the boat makers on the docks to help prepare Depar’s skiff, as well as the barge that he and Skye would be sailing. Iliff had one of the barge’s cabins filled with food, fresh water, and supplies and the other cabin set up as sleeping quarters. Upon its completion, he took the barge onto the lake with a small crew, conducting several runs to the far shore.

  The reaction of the townspeople was mixed. Some thought the whole affair outlandish and remained distant from their doings. Others looked on in a kind of sad concern. But many, especially the younger Fythe and Garott, were unabashed in their enthusiasm. They trailed Iliff and Skye, asking one question after another, imploring them to retell the old legends.

  But throughout the many preparations and reactions, Iliff and Skye’s thoughts remained elsewhere, for Tradd had not returned during this time.

  On the fifth day of his absence, Iliff organized a search party. Among the dozen men in the party was Newt, whom Iliff had rescued from Lucious’ dwelling years before. The boy had since grown to become a young man, tall and strong, joining the guard as soon as he was allowed. He was now a junior captain. Stype gave Newt leave from service, and he and Iliff led the search.

  The men combed the swamp in boats and on foot. And though they found evidence of Tradd’s presence on the swamp’s fringes—a primitive camp site and discarded fish bones—his trail only led them deeper and deeper south until the brown morass swallowed all traces. Neither Iliff nor Newt, who had honed his perceptual powers under Stype’s guidance, could feel him anymore.

  “It is like trying to peer through mud,” Newt commented one day.

  Iliff nodded and waved at the mosquitoes that clouded the air around their heads. All in the search party wore a pungent root around their necks to keep the whining insects at bay. “It is not just you,” Iliff said. “I’m not sure why, but it is even harder to feel from within the swamp than without.”

  “Do you think he is all right?”

  “He has lived in the swamp before,” Iliff said. “He knows where to find food.”

  “It is quite a different place,” Newt said, looking around them. “And warm. It doesn’t snow here, you say?”

  Iliff shook his head, recalling his years on the island. But though there was no snow in the swamp, he could feel its steady fall in the hills at their back. On the morning of their departure, the great lake had begun to scab ice along its shore. And each day he and the men searched, Iliff knew the cold latticework would only reach farther into the water, ever bolder, ever denser.

  They had been a week in the swamp when Iliff ended the search. It crushed his heart, but he had little choice. They were simply wandering, and the lake would soon become impassable. With each fruitless day, the old woman’s words had become louder in his head, more insistent.

  Winter is falling upon her, too.

  * * *

  The night of Iliff’s return, he and Skye lay in bed, neither of them sleeping.

  “I cannot bear the thought of his returning here,” Skye said, “only to discover that we have departed.”

  “I know,” Iliff said, for the thought had been haunting him as well. “We will delay as long as we can. It is all we can do.”

  “I will never forget Troll’s face the day I took Tradd to the township,” Skye said. “So much sadness there, and yet so much trust. I promised Troll that he never need worry for his son.”

  Iliff remembered Troll bending down to take the herbs from her. He remembered her kissing his cheek and speaking into his ear.

  “And you have kept your word,” Iliff said. “Troll asked that we raise him to be more than a troll, more than a hunter. These we have done. He is among the most capable of those who live and labor here. And if he returns in our absence,
he will live long days as a man among them.”

  “But not to see him again…” Skye said. “If we had to wait a little longer, even if it were after the lake becomes ice, could the boats not be carried to the sea? Just as you had the stone blocks carried over land?”

  Upon Iliff’s return from the search, he had consulted the Fythe elders. They told him that the color and movement of the clouds portended colder nights, the coldest of the season thus far. If the boats were to have any chance of voyaging from the lake to the sea, they would have to leave soon.

  He shook his head. “I’m afraid not. The barge is too large and the distance too great. It would require many men and beasts, and weeks of labor. Then there are the cliff walls that separate land and sea.”

  “What if we were to wait until spring and sail then?”

  Iliff studied the dark outline of Salvatore’s bag, packed now and hanging from the post at the foot of their bed. He still had not told Skye of his encounter with the old woman in the marketplace.

  “Iliff?”

  “Spring is too long to wait.”

  He could hear her turning toward him.

  “Listen, I am as saddened by Tradd’s absence as anyone,” he said. “It reminds me much of Troll’s parting in the forest, when he left to join the hunter. Even now I reach toward the south wood, as you do, hoping to feel Tradd returning through the trees. But he is grown now, Skye. Whatever this decision he has made, we must accept it and look now to our own journey.”

  Iliff waited for Skye’s response. He worried that she sensed what he was not telling her. But all he felt in the space they shared was her grief and growing weariness, and before long, she was asleep beside him.

  Chapter 12

  A week later, the entire township turned out for their departure. Huddled inside heavy coats and dark shawls, they packed the rocky shore that had been salted and cleared of ice the night before. More people looked on from the docks. They were dressed in funeral attire, Iliff saw, but he did not think it was to honor the old man who lay recumbent in the skiff.