Blankmap: Book I

32. The Three-Day Blow

While Solomon had been learning of the newest twist in his ever-winding young life, the ri-Marij had not been idle. At Melion's command, a dozen of Kwajro's best fighters, accompanied by Emirita and Lojkan, had each taken a Lodrik and fanned out in every direction in search of the ship that Solomon had seen. The Irooj had commanded them not to fight, for the mission would be suicide. They were only to seek. As the sun set they began to file back to shore. Jara and a fearsome-looking man called Eribi had seen the bone-white ship trimmed with purple sails, anchored and bobbing in the lee of a small uninhabited island at the far corner of the atoll, and come speeding back to shore to report what they had found.

The rain came squalling in overnight, forcing the inhabitants of Kwajro into their homes to wait out the downpour. Rivulets ran through the sand, creating channels that puddled in every divot of the beach and made walking an unpleasant chore. Solomon Hyrax sat on the raised floor of Melion's home, feeling the cool breeze raise goosebumps on his damp skin, and poring over the next chapter of his father's old book--anything to be distracted from the present. Jacques had gone out that morning with the air of someone who would not be back for quite some time.

Jacques, in fact, was walking through the quiet village, unbowed despite the driving rain. It felt so good to be walking barefoot again, to be freed from the confines of his shoes, from the stiff formality of life in Naweego that he had resented for almost four decades. Wet sand clung to his feet. It took him several minutes to find the right door, identical as the guest homes in the village were, but eventually he found one with the tracks of small feet and a dragging tail in the sand by the door.

The Naweegan explorer pushed aside the heavy beaded curtain which kept all light from the anteroom of the house. He stooped and entered. Jacques heard a soft slithering, and before his eyes could fully adjust to the darkness he felt something bowl into his knees. With an undignified crash he hit the sandy floor of the guest house, and in an instant there was something heavy pressing into his chest. A fluttering tongue probed his face.

"Tije," came a voice from the darkness. "Heel."

The weight was lifted from Jacques' chest, the tongue retreated, and the room was brought out of darkness with the lighting of a lantern on the table.

"You've never been to Nonoear, have you?" Emirita stepped into the light, the tattoos on her face thrown into sharp relief by the flickering of the flame. "No one who has would be foolish enough to walk unannounced into a home where an atti is kept."

"No," said Jacques, getting to his feet. "I haven't." He brushed the sand from his back and stood with as much dignity as he could muster.

"Well then, Jacques Hyrax," said Emirita, one hand resting on the head of her fearsome pet, "to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

"We won't have any trouble from the ri-Gotterdamm today," he said. "Not in this." He gestured to the buckets pouring down outside of the dry one-room dwelling.

"Almost certainly not."

The atti still looked at Jacques warily, as though unsure whether he should be allowed to remain within his mistress' chamber.

"I have told my son about the Blankmap. He is ready to do what is right when the time comes. I am sure of it."

"And what is right, exactly? I wasn't aware that there was a precedent for such things."

"I don't know. And that's why I'm glad it's Solomon who has it, and not me. He's a better man than I, that much I do know."

"You speak of being good as though it were something you are. I have always found this way of thinking strange. To me, it is not that one is good. One does good. There is nothing immutable in our natures, no fixed quality we must ascribe ourselves. Even good."