Read The Waterless Sea for Free Online

up the hill toward the tall trees at the cliff ’ s edge, a solitary figure, with the dark plait down her back.
    â€˜That’ s not the way to Fresca’ s house,’ said Trout.
    Mica elbowed him in the ribs. ‘Can’ t you see, she wants to be by herself ? She’ s gettin as sad as he was.’
    Come. Halasaa stood behind Heben, as tall and silent as a tree himself. I will show you a place to sleep.
    Calwyn pulled a rug around her shoulders, and sat down on the broad stone windowsill in the main room of the little cottage she and Mica shared. The window looked out across the dark, curved hand of the harbour, and the scattering of whitewashed cottages, where a smear of wood-smoke hung in the moonlight. Clouds smudged across the stars and the three moons, and a mist was spreading across the water.
    Was Darrow somewhere, in his small boat Heron , on that dark sea? It was the time that the sisters of Antaris called the Fingernail and the Quartered Apple. Did Darrow stare at the sky too, at these same moons? Or was he in a tavern in Gellan, listening with his quiet smile to the boasting of men? Or was he wrapped in his cloak, making an uncomfortable bed by a hedge, or snug in a hay-filled barn, somewhere on the plains of Kalysons?
    She remembered how they’ d sat side by side on this windowsill, in the autumn sunshine, when they were supposed to be making the cottage more habitable.
    â€˜Not like that. Try it again.’ Laughter twitched at the corners of Darrow’ s grey-green eyes. He was trying to teach Calwyn ironcraft, but he was a more patient teacher than she was a pupil. ‘You must sing the two notes together. One in your throat, and one in your mouth. Like this –’ He sang, and the broom swept across the floor by itself.
    Calwyn tried to copy him, but the notes buzzed and tickled in her nose, and she burst into laughter. ‘It’ s no use, I can’ t do it! And everyone knows that women can’ t sing the chantments of iron.’
    â€˜That’ s not true. I knew female ironcrafters in Merithuros. It’ s more difficult for women, but not impossible.’
    â€˜Impossible for me!’ She sneezed. ‘There’ s too much dust in here.’
    Darrow tweaked the end of her long plait. ‘Calwyn,’ he said, suddenly serious.
    She looked up. ‘Yes?’
    He took her hand between his. ‘Calwyn –’ But then Mica had come bustling in with a bucket and a brush, and Darrow had let Calwyn’ s hand drop, and turned away.
    Darrow had hardly spoken to her again before he went away. That winter, he had gradually fallen more silent. He’ d withdrawn to his hut on the cliff top, spending less and less time with her and the others. She noticed that when one of them spoke to him, a swift flicker of irritation crossed his face, like the shadow of a sea-hawk flickering across water, and his replies were short and impatient, almost angry.
    Sometimes, during those long winter nights when they sat around the fire, sharing songs and stories, Darrow would take out the ring, the blood-red ruby ring that had belonged to Samis, and study it as intently as if he could see visions unfurling in its dark depths. Calwyn saw, and it troubled her, but she said nothing. It was as if the ring had cast some kind of spell over him; she wished that they had left it in Spareth.
    At last there came a day, at the beginning of spring, when Darrow readied Heron and sailed away. He had told Tonno that he needed time to be alone, to think. To Calwyn, he had said nothing, not even goodbye.
    Just once, in all the time since Darrow had sailed away, three full turns of the moons, she had asked Halasaa, ‘Does he still live?’
    He hadn’ t needed to ask of whom she spoke. He had answered her gravely. Do you think so, my sister?
    â€˜Yes,’ she’ d said. ‘I think so.’
    Your bond with him is stronger than mine. If you believe he lives,