Part 68 (1/2)

'A miracle,' said the old man, trembling. 'A miracle. Or a curse.'

'Bolutu,' said Pazel, 'for Rin's sake tell them we're friends.'

Bolutu looked at his hands.

The father and son glanced behind them, as though tempted to run. The younger man pointed at Pazel. 'Did you hear it, Father?' he cried, his voice breaking with excitement.

'Don't . . . say it, it,' murmured the old man.

'Belesar,' said Hercol to Bolutu, 'speak to us this instant! Why are they so afraid? Why are you you?'

Bolutu turned to face them. He clutched at the amulet around his neck. He was shaking uncontrollably. 'No,' he said, his voice little more than a whisper. 'No. Rin. No.'

Pazel felt Thasha grope for his hand. She stepped forwards, towards the three motionless figures, and Pazel walked beside her.

The younger dlomu was steadying his father, but his eyes never left the newcomers. He struggled to speak again.

'It's just that we've never - I mean, Father has, as a child, but I've never seen--'

'What?' said Pazel, 'A human? But we just saw them - we saw six six of them.' of them.'

The young dlomu shook his head. Then he locked eyes with Thasha, who had drawn nearer still. Releasing Pazel, she put out the hand that had touched the Nilstone. Slowly, cautiously. A blind girl groping for his face.

'Say it,' she told him. 'You've never seen--'

'A woken human,' said the other, softly.

Thasha's face paled, and her eyes went wide and cold. Pazel reached for her arm, even as he grappled with the horror of what he'd just heard. She was trying to speak but could only gasp. He thought suddenly of Felthrup's terror on the quarterdeck, and knew that something like it was stirring in his mind.

Hercol gave a warning shout: across the little square, between two crumbling structures, a small human crowd was gathering. Some were dressed, after a fas.h.i.+on - sc.r.a.ps of leggings, torn and filthy s.h.i.+rts - but most wore nothing at all. They stood bunched together, or bent low, staring at the newcomers, obviously afraid. One man was biting his finger. Two or three uttered wordless moans.

Thasha clutched desperately at Pazel's arm. 'I didn't mean to,' she said. 'It was never supposed to happen. You believe me, don't you?'

He pressed her head against his chest. I love her I love her, he thought. And then: Who is she? What is this thing I love? Who is she? What is this thing I love?

The older dlomu stepped towards the crowd of men. He whistled and clapped his hands. At the sound, the whole group shuffled forwards, slow and fearful and close together. When they reached the old man they pawed at him, clung to his s.h.i.+rt. One by one their eyes returned to Pazel and Thasha and Hercol, and there was no human light in those eyes, no consciousness but the animal sort, that fearful otherness, that measureless sea.

Here ends The Rats and the Ruling Sea Book Two of The Chathrand Voyage. The Chathrand Voyage.

The Story is continued in The River of Shadows Book Three of The Chathrand Voyage. The Chathrand Voyage.

Acknowledgements

My partner, Kiran Asher, lived with me through the arduous journey of this book. No one should be subjected to such a fate. I'm profoundly grateful for her patience and her love.

A few close friends effectively kicked the door down in their eagerness to read The Rats and the Ruling Sea The Rats and the Ruling Sea. In addition to Kiran, Holly Hanson, Stephen Klink, Katie Pugh, Jan Red.i.c.k, and Edmund Zavada all shared generous and wise responses to the rough-hewn ma.n.u.script.

As Rats Rats left the home laboratory, I benefited from the insights of my wonderful editors Simon Spanton at Gollancz and Kaitlin h.e.l.ler at Del Rey, as well as the indispensable guidance of my agent, John Jarrold. Additional help came from Betsy Mitch.e.l.l, Gillian Redfearn, Lisa Rogers, Charlie Panayiotou, Shawn Speakman, David Moench, Jonathan Weir and teams of others whose names and heroic deeds remain trade secrets. left the home laboratory, I benefited from the insights of my wonderful editors Simon Spanton at Gollancz and Kaitlin h.e.l.ler at Del Rey, as well as the indispensable guidance of my agent, John Jarrold. Additional help came from Betsy Mitch.e.l.l, Gillian Redfearn, Lisa Rogers, Charlie Panayiotou, Shawn Speakman, David Moench, Jonathan Weir and teams of others whose names and heroic deeds remain trade secrets.

In addition, for encouragement and counsel, I'd like to thank Hillary Nelson, Tracy Winn, Amber Zavada, Paul Park, Bruce Hemmer, John Crowley, Corinne Demas, Gavin Grant, Nat Herold, Jedediah Berry, Karen Osborn, Julian Olf, Stefan Petrucha, Patrick Donnelly and Jim Lowry.

Many novels could end with a credits-roll surpa.s.sing those of Hollywood films, if every person who helped along the way received mention. Certainly this is such a book; and just as certainly, a few names that should not under any circ.u.mstances under any circ.u.mstances have been omitted will rise to haunt me when I sec this page in print. My apologies to those deserving souls. have been omitted will rise to haunt me when I sec this page in print. My apologies to those deserving souls.

Before the book, there's the idea; before the idea, the habits of mind in which it gestates. Since plunging into The Chathrand Voyage The Chathrand Voyage series I've had occasion to reflect, in turn, on the origins of those habits: in this case, my addiction to tales of the wondrous and improbable. I trace part of the answer to certain cherished evenings in Iowa, over three decades ago, listening to my father, John Red.i.c.k, read science fiction novels to an awestruck audience of one. Years late in all instances have been my expressions of thanks, so here's one more, Dad. series I've had occasion to reflect, in turn, on the origins of those habits: in this case, my addiction to tales of the wondrous and improbable. I trace part of the answer to certain cherished evenings in Iowa, over three decades ago, listening to my father, John Red.i.c.k, read science fiction novels to an awestruck audience of one. Years late in all instances have been my expressions of thanks, so here's one more, Dad.

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