The Savage War Read online

  His mouth dry, Arnacin breathed, “And you?”

  “Me?” Carpason shrugged. “Frankly, I’m stunned beyond thought. I was under the impression all my life that those things simply did not exist, that everything could be explained with—a friend would say ‘sight.’ Since your arrival, you have been testing all I thought I knew. Be that as it may,” he said briskly, straightening, “it appears you are helpless to become seaworthy once again.”

  “How did you guess?” Arnacin grumbled.

  “I have contacts in the city, as well as outside of it. They’ve doomed your vessel. So it is my guess you are trying to decide whether to ask around until you can find out how they make their ships so you can start over again, or you are thinking of finding passage to take you home. However, after our conversation, I had better cross off my second guess.”

  “You better cross off your first guess, as well,” Arnacin laughed. “I am too fond of my ship to let it burn so easily. I just don’t know how I can help fix its… imperfection.”

  “What exactly is the problem?”

  “According to the sailors, no one sails a flat-bottomed ship without sinking.” The islander’s gaze went to the harbor where his ship rocked on the swells. He shrugged. “Yet it took me here in one piece through five storms. Only on the last one did it fail.”

  “That it did.” Carpason nodded, his gaze also drifting to the harbor. “Well, I don’t know anything about the craft, personally. However, I do know they’re not completely correct. No one now sails a flat-bottomed ship without sinking, yet those of us who have had to sit through dry history and war strategy lectures as boys know that Mira was first colonized by sailors of flat-bottomed ships. We also know that this castle holds all the histories, journals and plans of that time in its chambers.”

  As Arnacin’s eyes lit up, the lord grinned. “Come, I’ve been given permission to show you, now that I have once again made sure you are not a foreign spy.” The last was said with a smile and the islander returned the look of humor.

  Arnacin followed Carpason along passages very much alike to every other one. Yet then, they came to a series of wooden doors segmenting the corridors. The islander counted three such doorways and then abruptly the hallway widened. Open to the air, high windows lined the passage to Arnacin’s left, yet the flagstones lacked the weathered look of the window sills. Out of those fissures, he could see the hazy outline of mountains in the distance.

  His gaze was so captured by the view outside that he jumped when Carpason directed his attention to a pair of strong doors they were passing on their right. “Beware those doors, Arnacin. Only immediate relatives of the royal family and their personal attendants may pass through those without meeting death. It is their living space, and even I have never been beyond those doors.”

  Looking back over his shoulder at the doors that had gained an ominous air, the islander nodded. Nothing more was said about them, and he dared not ask if the lord even knew more.

  The end of the corridor, however, stopped at two immense, carved double doors, the likes of which Arnacin could well picture guarding a treasure house. Oddly, as Carpason opened one door, it did not groan as the islander thought for sure it would, but instead swung with ease, revealing a dark expanse.

  Stepping just inside, the lord lit the lanterns hanging there, and Arnacin inhaled sharply as the void took shape before them, filled only with shelves upon shelves of parchment receding away from them into the darkness. Light allowed sight of the domed roof far above them, and the islander bumped into the wall behind him trying to follow the shelves upward with his gaze.

  Beside him, Carpason chuckled, handing the islander a third lantern. “Be careful. If I judge your character rightly, I have the feeling you will become far more lost in here than anywhere else in the castle.”

  As he started to leave, Arnacin mentioned, “This seems quite a bit of information to reveal to someone you question as a spy.” Halting, the lord appraised the boy. “Honestly, Arnacin, did I not tell you I have contacts in and outside this castle and even through the rest of Mira? Considering your hair color, there is nothing you could do that I would not know.”

  “So I’m watched,” the islander whispered, feeling suddenly very alone indeed.

  Clapping the boy on the shoulder, Carpason admitted, “If I could let my heart rule my head, Arnacin, there is no one I would trust more. I would sooner trust you than myself. You have something about you… But I am a war general, and so reason tells me I cannot take such a chance.” With a comforting smile, he departed, leaving the islander to wander the cavernous room alone.

  Despite returning several times, Arnacin found that the library had little to offer him. Mira’s linear marks were entirely different from the island’s alphabet of curving letters, even if they did speak the same language. His only hope was to find one of the plans of an original Miran ship and then make sense of it without the aid of words. Therefore, he continued his pursuit.

  It was on the third day of combing the library that Arnacin stumbled upon someone else. A young lady sat huddled in a corner. Atop the desk beside her, a small candle cast its slight glow upon the book covertly hidden between her up-drawn knees. Leaning against the bookcase, Arnacin laughed inwardly at her obvious attempt to hide.

  Then, slowly, her red head lifted. They stared at one another for a split second without reaction and then her pale blue eyes widened and she slammed her book shut, hastily pushing herself into a more ladylike position.

  Laughing aloud, Arnacin folded his arms. Before him, the girl’s expression began to change from annoyance to puzzlement. For his part, the islander let her stare, while he in turn used the time to fully appraise her. She was about the age of his sister, he guessed, though her softer features and wider eyes made her seem even younger. Her slender, pale fingers, which gripped her book, looked like they had known little work and less sun, as did the rest of her. He could see the edges of three other skirts peeking beneath her heavy and bejeweled dress. Adding to his guess that she was more than any plain castle occupant, someone had carefully threaded pearls through the gently-restrained auburn hair that fell down her shoulders.

  “I thought you might reprimand me for reading,” the girl said finally. “But you can’t, can you? You’re dark-haired.”

  Ignoring another exasperating comment about his dark hair, Arnacin wondered, “Why should I ridicule you for reading?” He could not quite remove the laughter he knew showed on his face.

  Pursing her lips in a coy smile, she shrugged, reopening her book as she said in a rush, “I knew someone would agree with me someday.” Her voice grew slightly distant, if not slower, as her eyes once again skimmed a page. “Everyone around here says it is uncouth for a noble to read as a hobby and uncivilized for a girl to read at all, much less to read stories.”

  Imagining his sister’s expression if she heard words like those, the islander felt his laughter rise into his throat. Though he did his best to restrain it, he only succeeded in making it sound as if he was choking. This seemed to make the girl feel that she needed to defend herself, though she did so with an open smile.

  “I think of it as a vacation, soothing all types of hurts, but I always must do it in the dark, so no one knows. My nurse, Sara, says it’s a bad habit I picked up when mother died.” Arnacin dropped his gaze in understanding and she continued, “I only started to read—well, Mother begged Father to teach me to read, which he did while he would work on—” She glanced more guardedly at the boy before her and then, her voice smoothing, she shrugged. “I started reading stories after she died, but now, even Father couldn’t order me to stop. You won’t tell, will you?”

  Slowly, Arnacin shook his head, still smiling as the girl dived back behind her book. A moment later, however, she looked up, her face flushed bright red. “Father would kill me if he knew I forgot all my court training in favor of a story.” Regally, she rose, extending her free hand as she introduced herself with a new air in her ton
e. “I’m Princess Valoretta of Mira. Whom do I address and from what place where the hair is black?”

  The fact that she was princess came as no surprise and, politely, Arnacin took the tips of her fingers, shaking them slightly. He turned red as she laughed, “I see I had nothing to worry about. You know nothing.” Seeming to recognize the angry flush in his cheeks, she stumbled, “I mean… of course, in the matters of court. I’m sure you know plenty of things in reality…”

  As she reddened herself, Arnacin felt his smile return in slight apology. With a relieved grin she pressed, “But who are you?”

  “Arnacin,” the islander replied simply in his open and yet least informative way. “I’m stuck on this… island, continent, whatever it is, until I can fix my ship.”

  “It’s a continent,” the princess supplied. “You still haven’t said where you’re from. Certainly, you’re not from around here. Even the savages possess lighter hair.”

  Finally conceding, Arnacin admitted, “Enchantress Island. We’re not all dark-haired, although…” He paused to consider the truth of his thoughts. “I suppose most of us are, now that I think about it.”

  “I’ve never heard of it,” she mused, “but then, I’ve never heard of anyone with your coloring.” Even this did not seem to appease her curiosity and she asked, “Who is your king, that you don’t know court etiquette?”

  “We proudly proclaim independency there.”

  “How strange! Are you then savages?” Before he could reply to this seemingly odd question, she remarked musingly, “But no, even they have chosen leaders. How does such a system work?”

  Arnacin shrugged, averting his gaze from her questioning eyes. Regardless, the princess pressed on with the conversation. “Well then, just to say I have not slacked in my duties, Arnacin of Enchantress Island, for your own sake, if a noble lady ever holds out her hand to you again, take it lightly and bow, at least slightly. Always bow to any noble, actually, at entrance and exit.” Quickly she added, “Don’t do it to me, though. I would prefer a change. Do I need to tell you the proper titles to use when addressing a noble?”

  Arnacin shook his head and, as she started to add something, he finished for her with a smile, “But don’t use them on you.”

  “Exactly.” She grinned back. “And never finish for a noble either. They think it’s impudence.”

  “Then I’ll do it always,” Arnacin said, already hating the sound of courtly customs, “simply to aggravate them.”

  Laughing, the princess slapped him across the arm and then froze, her face whitening. “I’m sorry. I’ve been too open with you. Don’t think anything of it, please.”

  Soothingly, the islander shook his head, saying, “I prefer openness. It speaks from the heart.”

  Embarrassment flushed Valoretta’s cheeks as, swaying from side-to-side, she muttered, “Do you mind if I return to my book now?”

  Guessing she was acting completely outside of her training, Arnacin grinned, shaking his head. As she hastily dropped behind her book, he slipped off into the corridors of laden shelves.

  Carpason departed early the next morning, the one person with whom the islander felt comfortable enough to ask about Mira’s alphabet. Not able to surrender, however, Arnacin simply returned to the library. After all, codes were unraveled through vowels. What was so different about Mira’s characters?

  The islander did not know how long he tried, striving to make sense out of the tallies with long lines drawn across groups of them, before he found himself only flipping through random, usually smaller, books.

  One thin book had drawings throughout it that caught his attention. Most of the illustrations were of people acting in very peculiar manners, like the man in a handstand with his head in a small hole. One illustration was of a lady washing clothes in a cauldron; yet dark shapes seemed to be rising out of it with the steam. Although he could not decide whether it was just places where the ink had run, a shiver ran down his spine.

  He could not pull his attention away, however, until another light penetrated the darkness around him. Startling, he slammed the book closed as someone passed the other end of the row he occupied. A low gasp told him that he was not the only one to jump. At the end of the row, the princess Valoretta unfroze, exhaling in relief.

  “Arnacin of Enchantress Island,” she breathed, approaching. Spotting the book he held, she halted midstep, asking, “You’re not reading that, are you?”

  Turning the cover back to look at the unreadable title, the islander wondered, “What is it?”

  “Don’t you know? I thought, you being here, you surely knew how to read.”

  “I do,” Arnacin stated flatly, his cheeks once again burning. “Your characters are completely different from mine.”

  “But how can that be? We speak the same language.”

  Cocking his head and raising his eyebrows, Arnacin remarked, “Yes, I could ask the same.”

  A humble smile brushed the girl’s face as she conceded, “We’re from different lands.”

  “So, what am I supposedly reading?”

  “Savage Superstitions. Is that interesting to you?”

  “Does that mean uncouth superstitions or those of your natives?”

  “Our attackers’ superstitions, of course. That book is only a few years old. I forget the writer’s name, but he found out as much as he could of their beliefs in the hope that we could use it to manipulate the war to our end.”

  “It hasn’t worked, has it?”

  “No,” Valoretta answered, exhaling in defeat. Looking back at him, she redirected the conversation. “So, if you cannot read our writing, what brings you here?”

  Sighing himself, Arnacin shoved the book back on the shelf. “I’m stuck here until I can fix my ship and, although your father apparently granted me the use of your records, my ship is flat-bottomed.”

  He left the rest unsaid, figuring the princess could finish it herself, but her face was blank with a lack of understanding. Facing her, the islander explained, “The secret to crafting flat-bottomed ships is lost in your past, I’m told, and I never really knew the secret, so I was pointed in this direction.”

  Light dawned in Valoretta’s eyes and she nodded. “You want to find our ship diagrams and descriptions from those days.” Hopelessly, the islander nodded. Her next words made him start as much as her sudden presence had before. “Well then, I’ll simply need to teach you.”

  “Your nurse complains at you simply entering here—”

  “Arnacin of Enchantress Island,” the girl said regally. “Father agreed to support your departure. Therefore, Mira supports you. I am Mira, as much as he, so it is my responsibility to aid you in this dilemma.”

  Smiling, Arnacin shook his head. “Very well, My Lady. Your help is accepted.”

  Teasingly, the princess laughed, “For your own sake, that’s good, but you didn’t have a choice.”

  The first thing the princess did was lead Arnacin to where their historical documents housed the ship designs. There, they went over the drawings. Valoretta read the notes for the islander and, where she did not understand the terminology, Arnacin pointed out the parts of the ship. Unfortunately, those documents alone did not tell him what he needed to know, so they moved on to the histories of the first journey to Mira. This meant the islander simply listened to the fragments the princess read.

  It was agonizingly tedious. As Valoretta muttered, “This would be a lot faster if you knew how to read.”

  Arnacin did not bother to correct her, sliding down in the chair and dropping the last unreadable book she had passed him over his face.

  “Arnacin, listen,” the princess insisted. “I’ll summarize this for you. Before they founded Mira, our ancestors decided to escape their homeland, Carta, because the government… um, how do I condense this? Random people would suddenly be grabbed as slaves. The rations were terrible. No one was allowed to come or go. The government spied on everyone, so when these twenty men decided to escape with
their families, they chose to make a ship that didn’t look like a ship, or at least, what everyone expected of a ship. Therefore, they were able to hide it better.”

  “Is this supposed to help?” Arnacin asked, straightening again and resting his chin in his hand.

  Valoretta shrugged. “This one’s all very vague, actually. I’m trying to see if it will go into more detail.”

  Groaning, the islander again slipped down.

  The next day found them sitting at one of the library tables, a list they had written of both lands’ alphabets before them. Rubbing her hand over her forehead, Valoretta sighed, “There’s nothing in common. I can’t make any sense at all of yours. In the first place, you only have twenty-seven characters out of thirty.”

  For the past hour, Arnacin had simply watched her hopelessly scrutinizing the list, a knowing smirk on his face. Now, however, he leaned forward, stating, “There’s nothing in common with the shapes, but we’re speaking to each other.”

  Slowly, Valoretta looked up at him, her face blank. Laughing, the islander finished, “What sounds does each of your characters represent? Don’t they represent the same things mine do?”

  Throwing a book at him, she exclaimed, “You’ve been sitting here the whole time with the answer!”

  Mischievously, Arnacin shrugged.

  Within thirty minutes, they had the two alphabets translated into each other, although the books with the information Arnacin needed were written in still another language. Not ready to go into that subject yet, Arnacin practiced with Mira’s modern sea poetry, while Valoretta hunted for translations of their histories.

  Arnacin woke early the next morning and returned to the hall of books. Valoretta had finally located one modern translation of some portions of Miran history before she needed to rush off the evening before. Finding a seat, the islander found the place he had left off in the book and dove back in. He might not have been learning what he needed, but he found it fascinating all the same.