It was the kishion.
She recognized him instantly and her heart lurched with memories. They were like cobwebs spun around one another in her mind. In the tangled skein, it was almost impossible to discern where one started and another ended. He was her protector. He would escort her to the cursed shores of Dahomey.
This has already happened! Maia wanted to shriek out loud, but her tongue was swollen and she was helpless against the tide of time that drew her ever onward. Someone she cared for was in danger. She fought against the current that continued to move her through the memory, but was helpless to stop it. She sat down on the low wooden bench and the soldiers filled in around her, protecting her on each side and in front and behind.
“Shove off,” Rawlt said.
The kishion obeyed, using the pole to push away from the pier. Oars were slid into place quickly and the men began to row. With so many men on board, the vessel rode very low in the river, and water slopped against the side of the hull.
Maia glanced over her shoulder, looking at the kishion in the back of the skiff. She was afraid of him. She remembered that fear, but it was different now . . . her feelings were allayed by all the experiences they had shared. He gazed at her, his expression a subtle blend of defiance and cruelty. Memories of all that had happened since that long-ago boat ride wove in and out, meshing with the sounds of slapping water, the dip and churn of the oarsmen.
Stars glittered in the dark sky above her.
Her senses blurred and she felt a queasy sort of feeling. Then she blinked and found herself on a different skiff. Looking down at her lap, she saw cloth of gold that shimmered like honey. She had rings on her fingers. She lifted her hand and felt the jeweled necklace around her neck, where the kystrel used to lay. Turning her head, she discovered that the soldiers had been replaced with men in black cassocks with silver eyes and gaunt determined faces. When she peered over her shoulder, she saw Corriveaux at the tiller, not the kishion. He was staring at her, his expression haughty with triumph, his eyes burned with lust and silver fire.
Maia felt something jolt and jostle her seat. The skiff had struck a dock post. The memories were merged somehow—she felt trapped between both worlds simultaneously.
“Up with you, lass,” Rawlt growled, seizing her arm with a strong hand. The boat swayed as she was led toward the pier, where two soldiers wearing her father’s livery stood waiting. The soldiers hoisted her up from the boat and onto the pier. Looking up, she saw Pent Tower rising above her. Torches hung from some of the walls, painting the stones with orange shadows. The smell of burning pitch stung her nose.
She stared up at the castle. It had been years since she had been there. Years since she had seen her father. He had summoned her in the middle of the night to send her to find the lost abbey in Dahomey. She had already lived this! She was prey to some vicious spider who could spin out her memories and tangle her in them.
Yes, this was a memory, she reminded herself. When she was asleep, when the Myriad One took over, she dreamed of the past. This moment was not that far in the past however. Not long after, she had boarded a ship with Captain Rawlt and the kishion—the Blessing of Burntisland. She could remember the look of the ship. It had sailed that very morning as soon as the tide came in.
They started walking down the pier toward the castle.
Again, Maia’s vision blurred. Now, she saw that she was on a different dock. It appeared to be morning, yet there was no sun. The sky was a pall of shadows and low-hanging clouds. The city that lay before her was small and squat, a fishing village. The dwellings were all made of timber, not stone. But what caught her gaze was the monolithic mountain that rose like a king behind the city, with cliffs so high that the clouds scudded against them. Only a small flat reef and a few rolling hills were lower down—the cliffs were massive and jagged and they reminded her of a giant, forbidding Leering. A Leering bigger than a city.
She was under the sway of the Myriad One and only barely conscious of her reality, but she knew this was Naess, where the Dochte Mandar ruled omnipotently. She knew it deep down, beneath the webs that confounded and confused her. The craggy mountain loomed over the city, a bier stone. It made her cower with fear to see how tiny the homes and fortresses were beneath it.
Then she noticed the light. She wondered how she could see the city so well with the sun hidden away. As the Dochte Mandar escorted her off the boat and led her down the pier, she noticed that the streets were full of cracked Leerings, giving off the colors of dawn. It was only the light from the Leerings that made it seem like daytime. The differences of this place fascinated her, even through the thrall of the Myriad One. The air was cool and frosty and the people were bundled up for it in fur-lined vests and fur caps. The men wore boots with pointed toes that curled up. The women’s hair was braided on each side, and they were only seen accompanied by men. There were carts and stands, trading and selling. The Dochte Mandar guided her past it all.