THIRTY-FIVE

QUENTIN awoke to the quiet touch of Toli on his shoulder, shaking him gently from sleep. He came up with a start, confused. The lulling creak of the ship reassured him and he remembered they were on board the Marribo, making for Valdai.

“You cried out in your sleep, Kenta,” said Toli.

“Did I?” Quentin rubbed the sleep from his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I don’t remember…” Then it hit him afresh-the dream.

“Oh, Toli, I had a dream.” In the dark he could see Toli’s eyes, liquid pools which glittered in the reflected light of a sky full of stars. The moon had set, leaving the lesser lights of the heavens to glow and sparkle like the lanterns of the night fishermen spread upon an endless sea.

“Tell me your dream. Now, before you forget.”

“Well, I was standing on a mountain. And I looked out and saw all the earth covered in darkness. And I felt the darkness was like an animal. Watching, waiting.”

As he spoke Quentin again entered into the spirit of his dream. He saw again, as in the dream, but clearer, more real this time, that faraway land stretching out under a black and barren sky. An ancient land of years beyond counting and darkness huddled close like a preying creature-breathing, waiting.

He continued. “Into the darkness there came a light, like a single candle flame, falling-an ember, a spark-falling as from the very pinnacle of the sky.”

Again he saw the pinpoint of light falling through space, arcing across the sky, tumbling down and down toward the earth.

“And the light fell to earth and broke into a thousand pieces, scattering over the land, burning into the darkness. A shower of light. And each splintered fragment became a flame just like the first and began burning and the darkness receded before the light.”

“That was all. Then I woke up.”

Quentin remained silent as he remembered the dazzling rain of light and the feeling that somehow the dream had something to do with him. He brought his eyes back to Toli, who wore a look of quiet wonder.

“This is a dream of power.”

“Do you think so? In the temple I would have dreams like this-seeing dreams, we called them. But I thought the dreams had stopped. I haven’t seen an omen or had a dream since I left the temple… not counting Dekra.” He was silent again for a while. “What do you think it means?”

“It is said among my people that truth is like a light.”

“And evil is like the darkness. Yes, we say the same thing. The truth is coming, maybe now is here, that will strike into the darkness and take hold against it.”

“A dream can mean many things, and all of them are right.”

“Do you think this might be one answer?”

“I think it is your dream and that you will find the answer within yourself.”

“Yes, perhaps I will. It was so real-I was there. I saw it.”

Quentin lay back down on the thick straw pallet. He turned the dream over in his mind and finally, feeling sleepy again, said, “We had better get some sleep. We come into Valdai tomorrow morning…” But Toli was already fast asleep.

When Quentin stirred to the smell of fresh salt air, the port of Valdai was already within sight. The sun was up, filling the sky with golden light. The sky arched royal blue overhead, spotted with a few wisps of clouds sailing across its empty reaches.

Toli was up and had already seen to the horses. Quentin found him standing at the rail looking on as Valdai neared.

“Look,” he said, pointing as Quentin came to stand beside him. “Another ship is coming in, too.”

Just ahead of them a ship plowed the water, dividing the waves and tossing back a harvest of white foam. The ship was stubby, squat, and low in the water-a usual enough design for a ship, but Quentin got an uneasy feeling as he watched it moving toward the harbor. There was something strange about it-what was it? Then he saw what it was that bothered him.

“Toli, that ship has black sails!”

Toli said nothing, but the quick shake of his head acknowledged the fact.

“That is odd,” remarked Quentin. “I know very little about ships, but I have never heard of any with black sails before. I wonder where they are from?”

“You might well wonder.” A deep voice spoke from behind him. Quentin turned to greet Captain Wiggam, who continued, “She's running the black sails from Karsh, like as not. Yes. Take note of her.”

The captain had become very friendly with Quentin in the few days of their short voyage. And he had become concerned with Quentin’s plans to join his friends. “Forget Karsh,” he said, regarding the ship with distaste. “Come with me. I will make you a sailor and show you the world.”

“I cannot forget my friends,” replied Quentin. It was not the first time Captain Wiggam had made the offer. “Though, maybe when we return…”

“Sure enough,” said Wiggam, Quentin thought a little sadly. “You look me up in any port, and wherever I be you have a ride with me.” The captain folded his hands behind him and walked aft along the rail.

“He would like to help,” said Toli when the captain had gone, “but he is afraid.”

“Do you think?” Quentin watched the retreating figure and shrugged. “Anyway, it is not his concern; it is ours alone.”

“It is anyone’s who will accept it,” said Toli with a certain finality.

Valdai shook with activity. A smaller port and harbor than Bestou, it nevertheless was just as busy. Elsendor, a far larger realm than Mensandor, had many such ports all along its western coasts. These served the whole world.

“There is the Black Ship,” said Quentin, pointing across the harbor. They had come to dock at the northern end of the harbor, while the Black Ship, as they called it, being smaller had gone further in, toward the southern end. But Quentin could see the black sails hanging slack as her crew set about furling them.

The gangplank was soon down, and Quentin and Toli made their farewells. They led the horses down onto the quay and waved a final goodbye to Captain Wiggam who watched them from the deck, smoking his pipe. He waved once and turned away.

“We have to find somewhere to keep the horses,” said Quentin. A plan was already forming in his head. “There is probably a smith here. We will find one; perhaps he can help us.”

The search was but a short one. The task of making the smith understand what it was they were trying to ask him proved much harder. The inhabitants of Elsendor, though like their neighbors of Mensandor in many ways, had a thick dialect all their own-a fact which Quentin had not foreseen, and which taxed his meager language skills beyond their limit. The smith, struggling to unravel the meaning of Quentin’s strange (to him) request kept insisting that Quentin wanted his horses shod.

“No. No shoes. We want you to keep the horses for us, or tell us someone who will.”

The burly, smoke-smeared man, smiling still, shook his head once more. Then he got up and came to Balder, patted him on the neck and reached down for a hoof. He saw the shoe, tapped it with his hammer and grunted his approval. He replaced the animal’s foot and spread out his arms questioningly to Quentin.

Toli had disappeared into the rear of the smith’s shop and now returned saying, “There are horses in a stable yard behind this place. Water and food, too.”

“Come,” Quentin told the smith. He led them back to the stable yard and pointed to the horses there. “Will you keep our horses?” He pointed at Balder and Ela, that was the name Toli had given his horse, and then he pointed at the smith and then again at the stable yard. The smith’s face lit up with the slow dawn of understanding. He shook his head repeatedly up and down. Then he held out his hand and jabbed his palm with a grimy finger.

“He wants money. Now what are we going to do?” wondered Quentin.

At that moment a familiar figure appeared in the front of the shop. “It’s Captain Wiggam. Hello, captain!” Quentin called.