A Triumph of Souls Read online

  Ehomba glanced over at him. “Why should it be? As you have said yourself, I have no sense of humor.”

  Stanager moved nearer. “If you had no notion of how to leave a place like this, why did you guide us into it?”

  “Because you insisted you needed a place to rest and repair, and this was the only such shelter I could detect. Attend to the ship first, I thought, and deal with the leaving later.”

  “Well, the later has arrived, bruther.” Simna was no longer smiling. “Time to deal with it.”

  “I am trying, my friend.” He looked hopefully at their Captain. “Have you any ideas?”

  Placing her hands on the rail, she regarded the valley in the sea. Soon it would start to grow dark again. “Terious and his people are stout of arm and strong of back, but I don’t think even they could kedge uphill.” She spared a quick glance for the sails. “We have some wind, but not enough to gain sufficient momentum to push us up one of these enclosing slopes. We might sail partway before sliding back. This is a magical place. Your friend claims you are a magician.” Her gaze was steely. “Make some magic, Etjole, or we will surely all grow old together in this place.”

  “My friend is constantly overrating my abilities. It is a conceit of his.”

  “There must be a way out!” Simna was, however mildly and gracefully, feeling the gnawing edge of panic. “You speak to dolphins; I’ve seen you do it. Call them up and make a bargain with them! Have them pull and push us back to the surface above.”

  “I can speak to the sleek people of the sea, yes,” Ehomba admitted, “but I cannot call them up, Simna. And believe me, I have been looking for them. But from where we are now I see neither spout nor fin.”

  “Then talk to the fishes! I know there are many here, and of diverse kinds. Strike a compact with them.”

  The herdsman flashed a look of regretful sadness. “Would that I could, my friend. But fish are of a lower order than dolphins, and can speak but few words.” Peering out across the sea, he tried to see hope where there was only seaweed and water.

  “The sky-metal sword! Call forth a wind strong enough to fill every sail and blow us out of here.”

  “Now Simna, remember what I have told you. Care must be taken in the use of that blade. If it is used too often and too many times in the same period, the consequences of its employment become dangerously unpredictable. Perhaps in a few weeks it might be safe to try again.”

  “A few weeks!” Whirling, the swordsman stalked off in search of a sympathetic ear to bend with his complaints. Knowing that the cat would not tolerate his ranting, he settled instead on poor Hunkapa Aub, who would sit and smile patiently through any tirade, no matter how lengthy or pointless.

  “What are we going to do?” Stanager had moved to stand close to the herdsman—though not so close as before.

  “As I said, I do not know.” Ehomba brooded on the matter. “The answer is here. There is always an answer, or there could not be a problem. But I confess I do not see it. Not yet.”

  She put a hand on his shoulder. A reassuring hand, devoid of secondary meaning. “Look hard then, herdsman. I will look elsewhere, and between us it can be hoped that a solution will be discovered.” Turning, she headed toward the main deck.

  Left to himself, Ehomba contemplated fish and weed, sea and sky. Somehow the Grömsketter had to be pushed or pulled out of the valley and back onto the surface of the ocean proper. If it could not be done by wind or muscle power, then some other way must be found. His eyes fell to where the water lapped gently against the sturdy side of the ship.

  If only Simna was right and I could talk to fish, he thought. But those fish he could speak with had little to say, fish not being noted even at their most amenable as being among the most voluble of conversationalists. Yet again it struck him forcefully what a wonderful place the valley would be to live, if only there was a little bit of land.

  Of course, in the absence of land there were other things with which the appropriately equipped might endeavor to make a living. There was an abundance of fish, and calm conditions, and seaweeds in abundance.

  A fragment of an old tale of Meruba’s popped into his head. He struggled to remember the details, to envision all of it, but it hovered frustratingly just out of reach, skipping and skittering away from his most strenuous efforts at recall.

  He went to bed with it nagging at him, and the ship still trapped within the haven that had become a prison.

  “Put a boat over the side.”

  The morning had dawned a duplicate of the previous mornings in the valley: calm, sunny, the water stirred by only the gentlest of breezes. Anxiety was now scribed plain on the faces of the crew, for, having completed even unnecessary repairs, they had begun to wonder why they continued to remain in the watery depression, and at the lack of explanation from their Captain and mates.

  “Going fishing?” Hovering near the stern rail, Simna ibn Sind eyed his friend glumly.

  “In a manner of speaking.” The herdsman turned back to Stanager. “What I intend will demand my full attention.”

  “I’ll send Terious to row you. Unless you plan to go far.”

  “I hope not. You are not coming?”

  She gestured behind her. “The Grömsketter is my charge. A Captain does not leave her ship in the middle of the ocean unless it is at the invitation of another vessel to visit. But I will watch.”

  He nodded. “Let us not waste time, then. When the sun rises to the midpoint of the sky, it will be too hot.”

  “I know. What are you looking for, Etjole?”

  “I am not sure. A part of an old wives’ tale.”

  “That’s not very encouraging.”

  He smiled hopefully. “The old wives of the Naumkib are not like any others.”

  As soon as the boat had been safely lowered, Ehomba followed the first mate aboard. Settling himself in the bow, he instructed the complaisant Terious to row for the thickest, densest mat of seaweed he could find.

  “We won’t make much progress through that,” the mate warned his passenger as he pulled hard and steady on the oars. The boat moved away from the Grömsketter, out into the open water of the valley. “And not for very long, either. As soon as we’re in among the weed it will be like trying to row through mud.”

  “Then we will back out and try another place.” Ehomba stood in the bow, one foot on the small foreseat, his right arm hanging at his side and the left resting on his knee.

  True to the first mate’s word, they soon found themselves surrounded by thick green water plants, the little boat struggling to make any additional headway despite Terious’s most strenuous efforts.

  “This is the best I can do,” the mate declared.

  “Row us back out, then.” Ehomba’s sharp, experienced eyes scanned the mass of weed and saw nothing. It stank of salt and the open ocean. “We will try another patch.”

  They did not have to. A dark, slick shape was rising before them. Decorated with leafy structures that perfectly mimicked the surrounding seaweed, trailing streamers of glossy green the exact same size and shape as kelp roots, it regarded them out of black, pupil-less eyes that were gently bulging ovals lustrous as black star sapphires. The small slit of a mouth was a tiny oval set over where one would expect to find a chin, except there was none; the rest of the face was smooth and shiny as the seaweed it counterfeited. Gills on both sides of the neck revealed themselves only when they rippled to expose momentarily the pink beneath.

  “Kalinda uelle Mak!” Terious exclaimed as he briefly lost his grip on the oars. “What in the name of all the ten seas is that!”

  “A missing piece of memory,” Ehomba told him, not flinching away from the aqueous apparition. “Part of a tale told since childhood to the young people of my village by those of the Naumkib who have been to sea.” Manipulating his expression in what he hoped was the appropriate manner, he made a round circle of his mouth and blew softly. “It is a sargassum man.”

  IV

  T
he initial reaction on board the Grömsketter to the sudden eruption of the gilled, beleafed, brown-and-green homunculus directly in front of Ehomba was one of confusion and alarm. His sleep disturbed, Ahlitah stirred reluctantly to wakefulness. Simna and Hunkapa Aub rushed to the railing, and it was the swordsman who broke out into a broad grin and hastened to reassure the crew.

  “It’s all right! I told you my friend was a wizard. See what he has summoned up out of the sea.”

  “It didn’t look like he called anything up,” declared one of the crew from his position in the rigging just above the helm deck. “It looked like they were starting to back clear of the weed and the malformed thing just arose in front of them.”

  Simna threw the sailor a look of transient anger, then smiled anew at the uncertain Stanager. “No, Etjole called it forth. You’ll see. Everyone will see.” He returned his attention to the patch of drifting weed where the confrontation was taking place.

  I hope, he thought uneasily.

  Out on the open water, observing that his lanky passenger had not lost his, Terious regained his composure. “A what man?”

  Not taking his eyes from the inquisitive dark green humanoid shape that now bobbed effortlessly in front of them, Ehomba endeavored to explain. “Sargassum man. They dwell in the mats of seaweed that float on the surface of all the oceans of the world. I have never seen one before, but they were described to me in stories told by the old people of my village.” Glancing back over a shoulder, he regarded the astonished mate curiously.

  “Did you not know, Terious, that the world is home to many kinds of men? There are hu-mans, like you and I, and sargassum men, like this fellow here. There are cavemen, and neander men, treemen and sandmen, and many other kinds of men not often encountered but as comfortable in this world as you or I.”

  The mate shook his head slowly. “I have never heard of or seen any of the kinds of men you speak of, sir.”

  “Ah well. It may be that living in such a poor, dry land as the Naumkib do, we learn to see things a little more clearly than other peoples. Perhaps it is because there is so little around for us to look at.” Turning back to the leafy humanoid shape that waited patiently in the midst of the mass of weed, Ehomba pursed his lips in an odd way and made sputtering noises. To Terious they sounded like the gurgling a child makes when it blows bubbles underwater. After all that he had witnessed during the last several days, the mate was not at all surprised when the outlandish sea creature responded in kind.

  “Good day to you, sargassum man.” Ehomba hoped he was remembering to make the sounds exactly the way his grandfather had instructed him.

  In this he must have been successful, because the green-skinned being replied in kind. “Hello, landsman. You are an interesting color.”

  “I am not green, if that is what you mean.” When Ehomba smiled, the sargassum man made a perfect round O with his lipless mouth. Tongue and gullet were entirely black. “I did not expect to find one of your kind here—but I had hope.”

  “‘One’?” Lifting a supple, tubular arm that was fringed with kelp-like protrusions, the humanoid made a sweeping gesture. “My entire family is here; my wife and three children, and my uncle and his wife and two children, and an elderly cousin.”

  Strain his eyes as he might while surveying the surrounding floating weed, Ehomba could see nothing. “They must be far away.”

  A burbling noise rose from the depths of the sargassum man’s throat. It reminded the herdsman of the sound a badly clogged drain might make. “They are right here.” Turning slightly to his left, he pointed. Not off into the distance, but down.

  Two sargassum children popped their heads out of the water not an arm’s length from the boat, giggling like gargling eight-year-olds. They so startled Terious that for the second time he momentarily lost his grip on the oars. Watery laughter trailing behind, the effervescent pair ducked back beneath the weed mat. Though they were blowing bubbles less than a foot below the surface, their natural camouflage made them impossible to see even when Ehomba looked directly at them.

  “We like this place,” the adult was saying. “It is always calm here. The winds are mild and no landsmen ships with hooks and nets visit the valley.” His expression, insofar as it was possible to do so, darkened. “No sharks, either. And this weed patch is thick and healthy and full of good things to eat.”

  “What do you find to eat in the weed?” The sun was still high, the languorous afternoon warm, and Ehomba was not above making casual conversation. Who knew when the chance to do so with another of these people might arise? Stuffed full of questions as always, he was reluctant to bring up the reason for his coming lest it cut the conversation short.

  “The same sort of things a landsman would find in his garden. The weed itself is very tasty, and despite how uniform it appears to most landsmen, there are actually many different kinds of weed. Each has its own spice and flavor. Living in the weed are millions of little creatures; shrimp and small fish, and the larger fish that prey upon the smaller. There are comb jellies and moon jellies in many flavors, seahorses that crunch when you bite into them, and shellfish that have to be sucked out of their homes and down your throat. Oh, there is plenty to eat.” Pushing a leafy hand down through the dense mat of green stuff and into the water, he drew forth a juvenile octopus.

  “No thank you,” Ehomba told him politely.

  “What’s he doing?” The first mate tried to see around Ehomba. “What are you two talking about?”

  The herdsman glanced back. “Food.”

  “Oh.” Terious was not displeased. He quite liked octopus himself. “What does he say about getting us out of here?”

  “I am coming to that.” With a reluctant sigh, Ehomba remembered that he was not here to discuss the delights of sargassum living, and that on the larger boat behind him waited anxious others silently watching who were depending on him to extricate them from what had become an inopportune situation.

  “We think your valley is beautiful,” he told the humanoid, “and we would like to stay and visit, but we have business to attend to on the other side of the ocean.”

  “Landsmen spend too much time attending to business and not enough time living. If you spent more time in the sea you would be happier.”

  “I could not agree with you more,” Ehomba replied. “However, I am a herder of cattle and sheep, and they do not do as well in the ocean as jellyfish and clams.”

  “I fathom.” The sargassum man popped something small and blue into his mouth.

  “There is a problem with our leaving. Our ship cannot sail up the walls of your valley. There is not enough wind to make her go fast enough. Not even if we sailed in circles until we got going as fast as we can and then tried. We need help.”

  The humanoid nodded gravely. What strange thoughts must lie behind those impenetrable black eyes? the herdsman wondered. What sights must they have seen? To someone like himself who so loved the sea, the temptation to wish oneself a similar life was almost irresistible. Not all wishes in life, he reminded himself, could be fulfilled. He knew that despite his yearning, his desire to spend time at sea would have to restrict itself to long swims from shore and endless walks on the beach below the village. Perhaps, he mused, the sargassum man longs to walk on dry lands.

  “We can do nothing.” The sympathetic humanoid spread leafy arms wide. “We could pull your ship out of the valley, but it would take a thousand sargassum men, and there are not that many dwelling within many weeks’ journey of this place. Most live farther to the south, where the water is warmer and the seaweed beds more extensive.”

  “Then there is nothing you can do for us?” Though disappointed, Ehomba was not surprised.

  “Nothing. Nothing by ourselves.” The humanoid pressed four kelp-like, nailless fingers to his forehead. “Others might well do better.”

  “Dolphins?” The herdsman’s hopes rose. “There are dolphins in the area? I can tell them myself what it is that we need.”

&nbs
p; “No. No dolphins here. They like clear, open water where they can swim fast and breathe easy. None of their greater cousins are around, either. It is too bad. A few of them could easily pull your boat to safety. But I think I know someone who might be able to help you. This is not a certain thing, landsman. But I like you. You come to learn and not to lecture, without hook or net or line, and, unlike most of your kind, you have learned how to look into the water and see something besides food. I will do what I can.” He started to sink back beneath the weed-choked surface.

  “Wait!” Ehomba burbled. “When will we know if you can help?”

  With only his head remaining above water, the sargassum man gurgled a reply. “When the king comes to you. If he is willing.”

  Then he was gone.

  Leaning over the prow of the longboat, the herdsman peered down into the water. There was a lot of life to see less than a few feet from his nose: tiny crustaceans crawling through the gently bobbing mat, the flash of falling sunlight off the silver sides of small fish, the fine patterns of jellyfish drifting near the surface like abandoned, sodden doilies of fine lace. But no sargassum man. He was gone. Or at least it appeared that he was gone. Like his offspring, he might well be lingering only a few feet away, laughing silently at the blind landsman who had eyes but could not see.

  “Take us back to the ship.” Ehomba turned away from the water and sat himself down. His back ached from leaning so long over the prow.

  Reversing his position on the center seat, the first mate took a firmer grip on the oars and pulled hard to extricate them from the clinging weed. “Well, sir? What did the weed fella say? Will they help us?”

  “They cannot. But he promised to speak to one who might, and entreat with him on our behalf.”

  “One what?” Looking back at his passenger as they pulled free of the weed and into open water, he hauled on one oar and pushed on the other, turning them toward the Grömsketter.