to reach the rest of the islands, which varied in size from roughly half as large as the main islands to little more than boulders sticking out of the water.
The bridge was one of those made of several arches, Forthwind didn't know the term. They were made of gleaming white stone that was almost hard to look at in the sunlight, the walking areas made of beautiful cobblestones and lined with all sorts of colorful plants. Benches were scattered, shaded from the sun with brightly-colored awnings, and people lingered as often as they came and went, buying food from carts or bringing along their own baskets.
"It's beautiful. I've never considered a bridge a place to linger before. They're only good for crossing." Sometimes to another location in this world and sometimes, as in his mother's case, a way to cross to the next world.
Dante's fingers rested briefly on his back in quiet comfort. "You continentals have all the space you could ever need. We of Verona have precious little of it, and so find use in every scrap. The view is unparalleled; even the nobile house do not have a view like this."
"It's something else, that is true." It would have been nice to linger, enjoy themselves like everyone else.
But there was vengeance wanting, and Dante with a goal would be stopped by neither man nor god.
As they reached the opposite end of the bridge, Dante swept out an arm and with another of his whisper smiles said, "Welcome to Isola della vita."
It certainly smelled like farmland, but that wasn't an insult to Forthwind's mind. The smells reminded him of home, of waking at dawn to tend the cows, working the field on all but the rainiest days, listening to his mother sing, his parents banter, the hired workers making jokes and singing along.
Before his father had drawn the wrath of the wrong man, and shame had driven his mother to suicide, and Forthwind was left with nothing but a broken life and a shattered heart.
He'd watched the man who'd destroyed his family flourish, burning for revenge. But he'd longed for his father more, and revenge would not give him that. All he got was the rare letter, from a man who had for so long seemed depressed and broken. Until he started to speak of a new prisoner and began to sound like his old self, healing Forthwind in ways that vengeance never would. A man named Carac, who was also imprisoned for a murder he'd not committed, and Forthwind's father had feared for him and the way vengeance had grabbed hold of his heart and was poisoning it.
The gentle, unspoken admonishment that Forthwind should not do the same was there, and gradually Forthwind had heeded the advice. Even when Dante had shown up and told him so much and offered vengeance, Forthwind had heeded his father's wishes and refused.
Looking at the way it consumed Dante, he couldn't regret his choice.
Well, mostly, anyway.
Eventually they came to a stop in front of a huge stable complex that must have once been quite impressive but now looked sad and forgotten by time.
Beside him, Dante was frowning in that way that said something was troubling him, and the gears of his mind were spinning faster than a wind gauge in a storm.
Dante turned on his heel and walked across the street, and Forthwind followed close behind.
They stepped into a noodle shop, and Forthwind breathed in the pleasant aroma of fresh pasta, fish broth, and simmering tomato sauce. At the counter, Dante returned the attendant's cheerful greeting and then ordered squid ink ramen piled with shrimp, scallions, and some sort of fish Forthwind didn't recognize. But then, he didn't recognize most of what Dante ordered; seafood was a whole new world to him.
When it was his turn, Forthwind decided on tagliatelle with artichokes and cured ham. Then they threaded their way through the busy restaurant to a table in the corner, resting on plush cushions as a server brought them glasses of chilled plum liquor.
"Good place for information, I take it?" Forthwind asked, ignoring the not-terribly-subtle stares of the people around him. At least they were curious, not hostile. In his own language, he said, "Surely Verona sees plenty of people with brown and black skin."
Dante smiled faintly. "Not really. We don't have trade deals with inland countries, and I think I've met maybe two sailors from your country, and they were on a trade route that did not include Verona."
"I thought everything