The Wraiths of Will and Pleasure - By Storm Constantine Page 0,189

the issue should be examined properly.

Throughout the journey, the shamans on Night’s Arrow had called to Tarsis, the West wind, and he blew the ship all the way to the shores of the far land known now as Attaris, the domain of winter. Before land was in sight, but when birds could already be seen wheeling high above, the sea became calm. This was unnatural in those waters and the shamans set about at once their whistling and singing, but Tarsis had turned his back on them and had taken his sons with him.

The air was very cold and everyone huddled on deck, scanning the horizon. Zackala joined Ulaume and Flick at the prow, and for the first time deigned to speak to them. Although his head remained covered in a black scarf, his face was now visible: a dark countenance with a certain rakish gypsy appeal to it. ‘This is unnatural,’ he said. ‘Prepare yourselves for Gelaming activity.’ The prospect appeared to delight him.

‘Have they calmed the wind?’ Flick asked.

Zackala glanced at the sky. ‘More than that. They will wait for night to fall. We must hope our wind-singers are capable of combating it.’ He directed a wolfish grin at them and departed.

A strange twilight crept in from the west. Ulaume could feel all the small hairs on his body twitching, and he had to keep scratching his head. ‘Now might be a good time to reacquaint yourself with the dehara,’ he said to Flick.

Flick shook his head. ‘No. The ones I know of are inappropriate in this situation.’

‘Aruhani is your patron…’

‘He is not!’

Ulaume raised his hands. ‘It was just a suggestion.’

Flick frowned. ‘I know. Sorry. I just feel odd.’ He gripped Ulaume’s arm. ‘Look! Did you see that?’

Ulaume looked to where Flick was pointing along the deck. ‘No. What?’

‘A black, scurrying thing.’ He grimaced. ‘Nothing. It’s my imagination. The wind-singers told us that the black djinn come aboard ships before a tempest strikes.’

‘That is good news,’ Ulaume said laconically. ‘There’s nothing there, Flick.’ He peered up at the thick clouds overhead. ‘I don’t sense a storm. Something else. It will be a portal opening again.’

The eerie song of the shamans filled the cold motionless air. Ulaume could not see them from where he stood, and they might as well have been mer-creatures, their voices rising up the darkest depths of the ocean. He shuddered.

A call came from the high rigging. ‘Land, ho!’

‘Thank Aru,’ Flick murmured.

Ulaume thought it best not to comment upon Flick’s choice of oath. ‘We’re not that close,’ he said. ‘I won’t be happy until there’s ground beneath our feet. At least, then, we can run.’ He could not see land ahead, but his eyes were not trained to see it from this distance and the light was bad.

‘Somehar has lit a lamp above the sails,’ Flick said. ‘It’s weird. Must be a spirit lamp or something.’

A flickering blue white flame could be seen at the top of the mast. ‘Nohar has lit that,’ Ulaume said.

Flick was silent for a moment. ‘No, they haven’t,’ he said softly. ‘It is the cloud fire.’

‘Don’t tell me: it’s a bad omen,’ Ulaume said.

Flick smiled. ‘Not exactly, but it means strange influences are about.’

‘We should go to the others.’

Flick nodded. ‘Yes.’

Lileem was with Tel-an-Kaa and Mima on the main deck. The Zigane was the most anxious Lileem had ever seen her, which did not bode well. The Gelaming were coming and soon they’d cut open the sky and pour down like icy rain. Lileem shuddered as she looked at the thick cloud. It was too congested, as if the sky itself was infected with disease.

Ulaume and Flick came to join them and Tel-an-Kaa said, ‘The Tigron searches for you most earnestly, my friends.’ The comment sounded like a criticism.

‘I don’t know why,’ Flick said. ‘He hasn’t bothered before.’

‘I just hope Immanion hasn’t caught scent of Lileem or Mima,’ said the Zigane.

Flick grimaced. ‘I don’t think it’s that.’

Neither did Lileem, but she kept silent. All too often now, she was keeping silent. She felt like a watcher, observing life from the outside. It pleased her to think that none of her friends really knew her. It pleased her to think that one day she would know herself.

A breeze started up and it smelled sour. It came from the north and it felt unnaturally warm and clammy against the skin. Soon, Lileem thought, it would happen. Her fingers reached inside her coat pocket for the carving of the Tigron. It was cold