Kushiel's Avatar - Jacqueline Carey [262]
The harbor was dark and calm, the distant stars and crescent moon reflected on the still waters. Imriel and I clambered into the skiff, situating ourselves while Joscelin undid the line that secured it to the stunted palm. He was unarmed, his daggers and sword and vambraces rolled into a length of oilskin which I settled between my feet. It would be a long night's row, and these things would only encumber him.
Once the rope was untied, he shoved the skiff free of the bank, feet squelching in the mud. I held my breath as he climbed over the side, the sound of one oar scraping in its lock carrying over the quiet waters. The skiff rocked as Joscelin settled into the oarsman's seat, facing the stern of the vessel where I sat, taking my bearings against the night sky. There was the Eagle of Dân, ascendant in the tenth degree. I raised my arm and sighted along it. Our departure was timely. Joscelin dippedthe oars, splashing quietly, maneuvering us away from the bank. Imriel knelt in the prow.
"There," he whispered, spotting the Wheel low on the western horizon.
I aligned my pointing finger with the smallest spoke. "That way."
The oars dipped, and the skiff glided forward. Again, and again, and again. On the shore, Tisaar fell away behind us. When we were well into the open water, I turned to glance over my left shoulder, seeking the constellation of Moishe's Rod. There it was, with the serpent's dangling tail disappearing beneath my line of sight.
"We're on course," I whispered. "Go!"
Joscelin wasted no words, only nodded and began to row.
Swish, dip, pull; swish, dip, pull. Over and over, the sounds a litany unto themselves. How long? Five hours, Nemuel had estimated, marking time by the progress of the stars. By the sound of it, theirs had been a larger vessel, and heavier; but Nemuel had had six oarsmen, two for every oar, trading off in shifts of three.
We had only the three of us.
Truly, the lake was vast. By the first hour, we were altogether out of sight of land, at least insofar as I could see by starlight, which did not avail for distance. There were islands, from time to time, to the north and south of us. We passed them by, and returned to open water. The slow heavens revolved around us. I kept Moishe's Rod behind my left shoulder, my arm upraised and pointing ever westward. Imriel was a shadow in the prow. So bright, the stars! Their light pinned a silvery cap on Joscelin's fair hair, tied in a cabled braid. I could make out the ragged curve of his maimed ear.
And I could hear his breathing grow audible in the second hour.
Swish, dip, pull; a rhythm grown erratic. By the beginning of the third hour, as I gauged it, the skiff moved in steady jerks rather than a smooth glide, drifting ever southward. "Left," I whispered to Joscelin, over and over, correcting our course. "Left!"
He paused between strokes, breathing hard. "My arm," he murmured, apologetic. "It's not as strong as the right, not yet."
Somewhere in the third hour, we traded. It was an awkward maneuver, switching seats in the middle of the lake, hampered by darkness. I showed him our lodestone, the smallest spoke of the Wheel, and how to point the course, keeping Moishe's Rod over his left shoulder. I could see the broken blisters on his palms as he pointed our course.
And then I took my turn at the oars.
It was hard, as hard as anything I have known. At first the well-worn wood seemed silken to the touch, smooth and harmless. I pushed the handles forward, dipping the oars and