“Ex-exploration—” Alfred stammered.
“No, not exploration!” Samah rose to his feet, stared hard at Alfred, who fell back before the penetrating gaze. “Not exploration. Reconnaissance!”
Samah glowered, glanced in grim triumph at the other Council members. “It seems we have, after all, awakened at a propitious time, Brethren. Once again, our ancient enemy intends to go to war.”
CHAPTER * 7
ADRIFT, SOMEWHERE THE GOODSEA
MORNING. ANOTHER MORNING OF DESPAIR, OF FEAR. THE MORN-ings are the worst time for me. I wake from terrible dreams and for a minute I pretend I’m back in my bed in my home and I tell myself that the dreams are nothing more than that. But I can’t ignore the fact that the horror-filled dreams might, at any time, become reality. We have not seen any sign of the dragon-snakes, but we know Someone is watching us. We are none of us seaman, we have no idea how to steer this ship, yet Something is steering it. Something guides it. And we have no idea what.
Dread keeps us from even venturing on the upper deck. We have fled to the lower part of the ship, where the Something seems content to leave us alone.
Each morning, Alake, Devon, and I meet and try to swallow the food for which we have no appetite. And we look at each other and we ask ourselves silently if today will be the day, the last day.
The waiting is the most awful part. Our terror grows in us daily. Our nerves are ragged, taut. Devon—good-natured Devon—quarreled with Alake over some little offhand remark she made about elves that he took completely the wrong way. I can hear them now, still raving at each other. It’s not anger that harries them, but fear. I think the fear will drive us mad.
In remembering, I can, for a while, forget. I will tell about our leave-taking.
It was bitter and grievous. As it turned out, making that initial decision to give ourselves up to the dragon-snakes was the easy part. We composed ourselves, dried our tears, and talked over what we were going to say to our parents. We chose Alake as our speaker and went out to the terrace.
Our parents were not prepared for the sight of us. Eliason, having so recently lost his beloved wife to some elven malady, could not bear to look at Sabia, his only daughter and the very image of her lovely mother. He turned away, his eyes filled with tears.
At this, Sabia lost her courage. Going to him, she put her arms around him and her tears mingled with his. Of course, this said everything.
“You overheard!” Dumaka accused us, scowling. “You were listening again!”
I had never seen him so furious. Alake’s carefully planned speech died on her trembling lips.
“Father, we mean to go. You cannot stop us . . .”
“No!” he roared in a fury, and began pounding on the coral with his clenched fist, beating it, smashing it until I saw the pink turn red with his blood. “No! I will die before I submit to this—”
“Yes, you will die!” Alake cried. “And our people will die! Is that what you want, Father?”
“Fight!” Dumaka’s black eyes flashed fire, foam frothed on his lips. “We will fight them! The beasts are mortal, just as we are. They have a heart that can be slashed open, a head that can be cut off—”
“Yes,” said my father stoutly. “We will do battle.”
His beard was torn. I saw great clumps of it lying on the floor at his feet. That was the first time I fully understood what our decision meant. I don’t think we had made it lightly, but we had made it considering only ourselves, thinking only of what we would suffer. Now I came to realize that though we might die and die horribly, we could only die once and it would be over and we would be safe with the One. Our parents (and those others who loved us) must suffer and die our deaths in their minds time and time again.
I was so ashamed, I couldn’t face him.
He and Dumaka were ranting on about battle-axes and weapons they would manufacture and how the elves would enchant them. Eliason actually recovered enough to offer a few broken suggestions. I couldn’t say a word. I began to think that maybe our people did have a chance, that we could fight the serpents and that our lives would be spared. And then I noticed Alake. She was strangely quiet, strangely calm.