Asunder: A Gathering of Chaos by Cameron Hopkin (electronic book reader .txt) 📗

man admitted it and apologized for seeming insincere. Still the attempts continued, four each day. Across the sea and up the river, it was the same. If it hadn’t been so annoying it would have been admirable.

But there was only one conversation that Kest wanted to have with the man, and it was one he needed two good hands for. So Kest waited and stayed silent, speaking only when he had to. That was how he discovered over the course of a week that the pain of boredom could, in fact, become so great that it was almost physical. It pained him more than his broken bone. Sometimes it pained him more than thoughts of home or the shame of being cast out. Those other things waxed and waned. The boredom was constant. That it was self-imposed made it worse, not better.

But now it was over! They were in Megalith, the floating city founded by the Seafarers. According to Gamarron’s carefully-dangled conversational hooks, the city had grown up along the marshy banks of the massively wide Hydenso River when the Seafarers of centuries past decided they didn’t want to pay the coastal Twin Cities’ ruinous tariffs. Instead, the Seafarers kept sailing upriver and moored their boats along the marshy shores where the trade roads passed within sight. There they set up shop on their ships, one by one… and they never left. Boat anchored next to boat, creating a loose web of shops connected by gangplanks, ropes, and the occasional anchor. At some point they’d built the Great Coliseum, but other than that, most of the growth in Megalith occurred when someone else decided to bring their vessel alongside another and tie up. Every so often a cluster of boats would break free during monsoon season and a village worth’s of people would find themselves floating back down to the Twin Cities, but bringing in a Weaver priestess to grow your boat down into the mud and rock of the riverbed cost so much that only the very oldest and richest establishments bothered.

Megalith was one of the biggest cities in the world – a city of hundreds of thousands, maybe even a million. Privately, Kest was a little concerned about this. He had always thought it might be nice to see the varied places of Asunder, but he’d thought he’d be a little older before he travelled. He’d never spoken directly to a Mainlander before. He knew their language, of course – it was the trade tongue, and since he’d planned on being chief someday, he had worked hard to master it. Still, he felt a little trepidation as he threw a rope tether up to a nearby fisherman on the dock. The grizzled old fellow was sucking on a cob pipe and dangling his line in the water.

“Could you tie us, please?” Kest said with a polite smile. He’d managed a good throw, and the coil of rope landed right next to the man. The codger didn’t seem to notice – he pulled his cap down lower and peered into the water. “Sir?” The old man grunted, spat in the water, and without ever looking up, nudged the coil of rope off the dock and into the water. Kest gaped at him.

“Best if we do it ourselves, son,” Gamarron said softly. He was rubbing his hands gently, which was the closest thing to a complaint that the young hunter had seen out of him all week. The monk had only ever stopped rowing to eat. As far as Kest could tell, the man hadn’t slept the entire eight days, either. His endurance was beyond belief. “Mainland city folk tend to mind their own business, and they’ll expect us to do the same.”

The young hunter looked at the rope trailing through the water. The dock cleat is less than a meter away from the old fisherman. It would be the easiest thing in the world for him to throw a quick loop around it. What a ridiculous place. He wondered how to secure the boat with only one good arm. The northerner expects me to ask him for help. Kest set his jaw stubbornly and pulled the wet rope into the boat one-handed.

Gamarron stood carefully, moving closer to him in the bow. “If you’ll just scoot –” he began.

“I’ve got it,” Kest grunted. He had the end of the rope in hand now, though he’d soaked his pants getting it. He made a loose loop out of the rope end, keeping it in his hand. Gamarron sat back without comment, observing, weighing, patient. That only added to Kest’s pique. Rising into a low crouch, he reached across the water to grip the boards of the dock with his good hand, still holding the loop of rope as he did so, pulling the boat and himself closer to the mooring cleat. The rowboat thumped against the wooden-caged air bladders that kept the dock afloat, and he tossed the loop around the cleat, cinching it tight and weaving a rough knot into the rope as best he could one-handed.

“Good work,” Gamarron murmured.

Kest felt a flash of pride but squelched it with anger. He’s not my friend. “It’s a knot,” he replied dismissively.

He reached for the nearby ladder and awkwardly pulled himself up to the dock. The joints in his hips and knees popped, and he felt weak, wobbly. Too much time sitting still. He stretched and sighed, favoring the nearby fisherman with a sour look that the gaffer pretended not to notice. “I’m never getting on any kind of boat again. Not ever,” he groaned. Gamarron hoisted himself up next to him, their remaining supplies in a burlap sack over his shoulder. There wasn’t much left.

“You should rethink that,” said the older man gravely. “Our ultimate destination is the Black Isle. Getting there without a ship is impossible.”

Kest scowled. “I’ll get on a ship if I have to. I won’t like it, but I do what needs doing.”

The warrior monk seemed mystified.