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The sheets of coarse paper were in the back of the last volume in the Mysteries. If Galen were still alive, Faunos would never have seen them at all, and he only discovered them when he was opening the books to ‘air,’ which was vital to their preservation. If they were sealed up for too long, moisture inside the leather wrappings would make black or green mold bloom in the books’ bindings, and after a millennium of being treasured, the volumes would quickly go to ruin. One of the first lessons Galen had taught him was how to care for them, and one of the most important things he must remember was that the books needed to ‘breathe’ every day.
They were lying open on the narrow bunk in a tiny cabin, high in the stern of the galley. Faunos had slithered down the curved timber wall and sat on the floor, too tired to think clearly and much too restless to sleep. The books would lie open for an hour, perhaps two, and when the goatskin wrappings had been cleaned and checked for moisture, he could put them away.
He saw the sheets of paper as he opened up the Mysteries. They shifted in the back, and curiosity made him slide them out, wondering if they might be Galen’s notes, or even his father’s. He knew his father’s handwriting well, but this was Galen’s. And the sheets of old, crinkled brown paper did not carry notes.
It was a letter, and as he saw the first few lines, Faunos felt as if he had been struck a blow.
‘You won’t find this for some time,’ Galen had written, ‘and I hope I shall be bare bones by the time you read these words. But I have so much to say to you, my dear child, that I could never say while we both clung to life. I would tell you this: your gift is greater than your father’s. Dormant in your flesh is a Power the equal of Diomedas himself, while Mykenos, may the gods love him as I did, would never allow himself to feel, and employ, the fullness of the grace that was born in him.
‘I never told you this, for I had no wish to frighten you, and the Power already affrights you enough, for you know as well as do we all, the price it will exact from you. But you know also that nothing fine is ever won without struggle, without pain. To be sure, a path lies ahead of you which will be fraught with both, but I have seen your strength as you grew from child to man. You have the fortitude to profit from hardship; and if you can do this, abilities you cannot yet grasp lie before you.
‘So I bid you -- run and hide! Keep safe while you learn. These books are your allies, your friends and kin, but you will need more. On the Keltoi shores there are men and women with the skills of the shaman. Seek a mentor, my child, one who knows the Power and can read the books. Find someone who will love you like a son, as I did.
‘This parting is not of my choosing. I leave so much undone, and am pained with regret. But this much, do I know: you possess the strength to survive, and gifts which exceed anything your father would permit. Go warily in the world, Faunos Phinneas Aeson, for it is stranger than you know. Never forget your heritage, which is the glory of Zeheft; and honor your great father, whom it was my duty to serve.
‘I love you always, my son.’
Faunos’s eyes stung with hot, painful tears as he read the three flimsy sheets. He read them twice, and then very carefully slid them back into the final pages of the book, where they would be preserved like a thread of memory.
A knife seemed wedged in his gut, and he hugged his arms about his knees, wishing to all the gods that he could just slither down into a deep, dreamless sleep, and not wake till the ship reached Thebes.
Sound sleep eluded him, but he sank into a torpor, a light doze that granted him an hour’s peace while the Quezelus swung wide around the shoals known as the Myrmidae, and thrust her beaked prow out into the open ocean.
The smell of fish frying teased him awake. He smelt ale too, and only then became aware of his parched tongue. For the first time in so long, he was hungry. Youth was still on his side, as Galen had always known. Like any young thing, he would struggle to live while a shadow of hope remained.
The sun had swung well across the sky. It was afternoon, and Vayal, the Myrmidae, familiar waters, were all far astern. He had packed the books and pushed the laced-shut goatskins under the bunk when he heard a shrill commotion from the deck, and he cocked at eat to the port through which the following wind blew grudgingly.
The voice was bellowing down from somewhere up on the mast, and he made out words now. “Sails! Red sails!”
Feet pounded across the galley -- the crew needed no orders to get behind the oars. Before Faunos had reasoned what the lookout meant by ‘red sails,’ the galley was cracking on a decent speed. A warship? Was the Quezelus trespassing in someone’s waters?
Heart in his mouth, he left the cabin and scrambled up the ladder into the open air. He had barely put his head through when he sat the galley’s captain. Senmet was a short, stocky man with skin as bronze as the Aegyptian and curly hair that hugged his skull like a cap. He wore big emerald earrings, and would have been handsome indeed, if his nose had not been broken many years ago. It had set crooked, which gave his features a rakish look. He kholed his eyes and gilded the lids, in the Incari manner, and his fingers were thick with silver rings.
“I told you, boy,” he said grimly in the accent of Incaria, “you’re headed into dangerous seas. You knew this when you shipped out with us.” He gestured at the horizon, aft and starboard. “She’s a galley out of Casserta or Onides, by the look of her.”
A warship? Or is it pirates?” Faunos clambered up on deck and shaded his eyes to follow the line of Senmet’s pointing hand.
“They’d say hunters, profiteers, privateers, mercenaries,” Senmet said with wry humor, “but those are all fancy names for the same thing. If we had a valuable cargo, we’d stand to lose it.” He gave Faunos a grin, displaying good teeth. “Fortunately, we’re loaded with shipnails and pottery, and I’ll be damned if I know what in Hados pirates would want with them.”
Faunos had made out the scarlet sails now. He gave Senmet a hard look. “Still, you’re trying to outrun them.”
“Still.” Senmet leaned on the rail beside him and watched the big, triangular red sail, which was gaining slowly over the Quezelus. “It’s a matter of pride … I don’t like being boarded, and they don’t like finding out they’ve just run down a galley full of nail and pots! So,” he said philosophically, “the bastards will rummage through my own belongings and yours, and those of every man aboard, and if it shines, or if it’s pretty, they’ll take it. They’ll help themselves to every drop of wine and ale, and every bite of food, which means we’ll be fishing for our supper and drinking water, all the way to Thebes! And then they’ll look around for something young and pretty to beguile away a night or three, before I find myself on some dock in Casserta or Onides, ransoming you back with money you’ll be owing me till you’ve worked it off.”
“So you’re trying to outrun them,” Faunos repeated. “Will you give me a sword? I was taught how to use one well.”
The captain hesitated, frowning deeply at him. “Lessons only, or have you survived a real fight?”
“Lessons,” Faunos admitted.
The Incariman shook his head slowly. “This is not the time to try your hand against an actual foeman for the first time. These bastards will be stone-cold sober, and there’s precious few fools among them. They’re well schooled in brawling, street fighting … and with all due respect to your teachers, boy, lessons and brawling are two different things.”
It was exactly what had been on Faunos’s mind, and he did not try to defend what he knew of the warrior arts. Galen had warned him time and again that his first fights were critical, and he must choose carefully when to fight, when to run. “Then, what do you want of me, Captain? I don’t want trouble any more than you do, if we can avoid it.”
They were lying open on the narrow bunk in a tiny cabin, high in the stern of the galley. Faunos had slithered down the curved timber wall and sat on the floor, too tired to think clearly and much too restless to sleep. The books would lie open for an hour, perhaps two, and when the goatskin wrappings had been cleaned and checked for moisture, he could put them away.
He saw the sheets of paper as he opened up the Mysteries. They shifted in the back, and curiosity made him slide them out, wondering if they might be Galen’s notes, or even his father’s. He knew his father’s handwriting well, but this was Galen’s. And the sheets of old, crinkled brown paper did not carry notes.
It was a letter, and as he saw the first few lines, Faunos felt as if he had been struck a blow.
‘You won’t find this for some time,’ Galen had written, ‘and I hope I shall be bare bones by the time you read these words. But I have so much to say to you, my dear child, that I could never say while we both clung to life. I would tell you this: your gift is greater than your father’s. Dormant in your flesh is a Power the equal of Diomedas himself, while Mykenos, may the gods love him as I did, would never allow himself to feel, and employ, the fullness of the grace that was born in him.
‘I never told you this, for I had no wish to frighten you, and the Power already affrights you enough, for you know as well as do we all, the price it will exact from you. But you know also that nothing fine is ever won without struggle, without pain. To be sure, a path lies ahead of you which will be fraught with both, but I have seen your strength as you grew from child to man. You have the fortitude to profit from hardship; and if you can do this, abilities you cannot yet grasp lie before you.
‘So I bid you -- run and hide! Keep safe while you learn. These books are your allies, your friends and kin, but you will need more. On the Keltoi shores there are men and women with the skills of the shaman. Seek a mentor, my child, one who knows the Power and can read the books. Find someone who will love you like a son, as I did.
‘This parting is not of my choosing. I leave so much undone, and am pained with regret. But this much, do I know: you possess the strength to survive, and gifts which exceed anything your father would permit. Go warily in the world, Faunos Phinneas Aeson, for it is stranger than you know. Never forget your heritage, which is the glory of Zeheft; and honor your great father, whom it was my duty to serve.
‘I love you always, my son.’
Faunos’s eyes stung with hot, painful tears as he read the three flimsy sheets. He read them twice, and then very carefully slid them back into the final pages of the book, where they would be preserved like a thread of memory.
A knife seemed wedged in his gut, and he hugged his arms about his knees, wishing to all the gods that he could just slither down into a deep, dreamless sleep, and not wake till the ship reached Thebes.
Sound sleep eluded him, but he sank into a torpor, a light doze that granted him an hour’s peace while the Quezelus swung wide around the shoals known as the Myrmidae, and thrust her beaked prow out into the open ocean.
The smell of fish frying teased him awake. He smelt ale too, and only then became aware of his parched tongue. For the first time in so long, he was hungry. Youth was still on his side, as Galen had always known. Like any young thing, he would struggle to live while a shadow of hope remained.
The sun had swung well across the sky. It was afternoon, and Vayal, the Myrmidae, familiar waters, were all far astern. He had packed the books and pushed the laced-shut goatskins under the bunk when he heard a shrill commotion from the deck, and he cocked at eat to the port through which the following wind blew grudgingly.
The voice was bellowing down from somewhere up on the mast, and he made out words now. “Sails! Red sails!”
Feet pounded across the galley -- the crew needed no orders to get behind the oars. Before Faunos had reasoned what the lookout meant by ‘red sails,’ the galley was cracking on a decent speed. A warship? Was the Quezelus trespassing in someone’s waters?
Heart in his mouth, he left the cabin and scrambled up the ladder into the open air. He had barely put his head through when he sat the galley’s captain. Senmet was a short, stocky man with skin as bronze as the Aegyptian and curly hair that hugged his skull like a cap. He wore big emerald earrings, and would have been handsome indeed, if his nose had not been broken many years ago. It had set crooked, which gave his features a rakish look. He kholed his eyes and gilded the lids, in the Incari manner, and his fingers were thick with silver rings.
“I told you, boy,” he said grimly in the accent of Incaria, “you’re headed into dangerous seas. You knew this when you shipped out with us.” He gestured at the horizon, aft and starboard. “She’s a galley out of Casserta or Onides, by the look of her.”
A warship? Or is it pirates?” Faunos clambered up on deck and shaded his eyes to follow the line of Senmet’s pointing hand.
“They’d say hunters, profiteers, privateers, mercenaries,” Senmet said with wry humor, “but those are all fancy names for the same thing. If we had a valuable cargo, we’d stand to lose it.” He gave Faunos a grin, displaying good teeth. “Fortunately, we’re loaded with shipnails and pottery, and I’ll be damned if I know what in Hados pirates would want with them.”
Faunos had made out the scarlet sails now. He gave Senmet a hard look. “Still, you’re trying to outrun them.”
“Still.” Senmet leaned on the rail beside him and watched the big, triangular red sail, which was gaining slowly over the Quezelus. “It’s a matter of pride … I don’t like being boarded, and they don’t like finding out they’ve just run down a galley full of nail and pots! So,” he said philosophically, “the bastards will rummage through my own belongings and yours, and those of every man aboard, and if it shines, or if it’s pretty, they’ll take it. They’ll help themselves to every drop of wine and ale, and every bite of food, which means we’ll be fishing for our supper and drinking water, all the way to Thebes! And then they’ll look around for something young and pretty to beguile away a night or three, before I find myself on some dock in Casserta or Onides, ransoming you back with money you’ll be owing me till you’ve worked it off.”
“So you’re trying to outrun them,” Faunos repeated. “Will you give me a sword? I was taught how to use one well.”
The captain hesitated, frowning deeply at him. “Lessons only, or have you survived a real fight?”
“Lessons,” Faunos admitted.
The Incariman shook his head slowly. “This is not the time to try your hand against an actual foeman for the first time. These bastards will be stone-cold sober, and there’s precious few fools among them. They’re well schooled in brawling, street fighting … and with all due respect to your teachers, boy, lessons and brawling are two different things.”
It was exactly what had been on Faunos’s mind, and he did not try to defend what he knew of the warrior arts. Galen had warned him time and again that his first fights were critical, and he must choose carefully when to fight, when to run. “Then, what do you want of me, Captain? I don’t want trouble any more than you do, if we can avoid it.”
Turn page to Chapter Twenty continued...
Return to Chapter Nineteen...
