Ancestors of Avalon. Marion Zimmer Bradley

Tiriki gazed upward. Mists veiled the horizon, but the moon was very new and had already set. Directly overhead the darkness was studded with stars in such profusion, it would be a wonder if she could make out any constellations at all.

      ‘Perhaps,’ Chedan was saying, ‘you may have heard old folks muttering that the days of spring and winter are not as they used to be. Well, they are not forgetful; they are right. Old Temple documents have proved it. The time of the planting season, the coming of the rains – all the cosmos is caught up in some unfathomable change – and we, too, must adapt, or perish.’

      Tiriki wrenched her attention away from the confused splendor of the skies to try to make sense of his words. ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘Ever since the fall of the Ancient Land, the princes have ruled without restraint, forgetting their duty to serve as they pursued power. Perhaps we were saved so that we might revitalize the ancient wisdom in a new land. I am not speaking of Micail, of course, or Reio-ta. And Prince Tjalan, too, is – was – a great man. Or would have been—’

      Seeing Chedan’s distress, she reached to comfort him.

      ‘No doubt you are right,’ Reidel said briskly, ‘but at the moment it is getting us to the new land that must be my concern.’

      ‘The stars may be unconstant,’ Tiriki said, ‘but nothing has happened to the sun and moon, has it? By them we can sail east until we find land. And if there is no land – we can take further counsel then.’

      Chedan smiled at her approvingly and Reidel nodded, seeing the sense of what she said. She sat back and let her eyes drift up again toward the patch of stars. Cold and high, they mocked her and every mortal being. Rely on nothing, they seemed to say, for your hard-won knowledge will do you little good where you are going now.

      Tiriki woke to the familiar sway of her hammock and groaned from the nausea that was becoming equally familiar within. It was the third day after the storm.

      ‘Here—’ said a quiet voice. ‘Use the basin.’

      Tiriki opened her eyes and saw Damisa holding a brass bowl, and the sight of it intensified her need. After several painful moments she lay back and wiped her face with the damp cloth Damisa offered her.

      ‘Thank you. I have never been a good sailor, but I would have thought I’d be accustomed to the motion by now.’ Tiriki could not tell whether duty or liking had prompted her assistance, but she needed Damisa’s help too much to care. ‘How goes it with the ship?’

      The girl shrugged. ‘The wind has come up, and every time the masts creak someone wonders whether they will crack, but without it we scarcely seem to move at all. If the wind blows contrary they complain that we’re lost, and when it dies they wail that we’ll all starve. Elis and I have cooked up a pot of gruel, by the way. You’ll feel better for a little fresh air and a bit of breakfast.’

      Tiriki shuddered. ‘Not just yet, I think, but I will come on deck. I promised Chedan to help him work on revising the star maps, though the way I feel, I fear I’ll be able to do little more than make approving noises and hold his hand.’

      ‘He’s not the only one who needs his hand held,’ Damisa replied. ‘I’ve tried to keep the others too busy to get into mischief, but the deck pitches too much for the meditation postures, and we can only debate the sayings of the mages for so long. They may be young,’ she added from the vantage of her nineteen years, ‘but they were selected for intelligence, and they can see our danger.’

      ‘I suppose so,’ Tiriki sighed. ‘Very well. I will come.’

      ‘If you spend the morning with the others, I can do a thorough inventory of the supplies. With your permission, of course—’ she added reluctantly.

      Tiriki realized just how much of an afterthought that request had been and suppressed a smile. She could remember feeling a similar disdain for the ignorance of her juniors and the weaknesses of her elders when she was that age.

      ‘Of course,’ she echoed blandly. ‘And Damisa – I am grateful to you for taking on this responsibility while I’ve been ill.’ In the dim light she could not see if the girl was blushing, but when Damisa replied her tone was calm.

      ‘I was a princess of Alkonath before I was an acolyte. To lead is what I was brought up to do.’

      

      Damisa had spoken with confidence, but by the time she finished her survey of the supplies stored in the Crimson Serpent, she was beginning to wish she had not claimed so much responsibility. But facing unpleasant truths was also part of the job. She could only hope that Captain Reidel, though he was only a commoner, would be able to do the same.