Perisfin told Bram to pack his things and meet him on the wharf, at the dock of Fue. All of the docks had their patron gods. It was the Laramidian way.
It seemed so final. Were they leaving? Bram had never been far from Safran. He had gone to sea fishing with his father, he had sailed around the island of Safran, he had visited mainland villages selling his mother’s featherwork. But, he feared Perisfin had something more adventurous in mind. Something that would strand Bram in the unknown, as he’d been stranded on the Tyrant’s Tooth.
Bram’s sister Lanka was busy with the servants, preparing a dinner Bram knew he wouldn’t eat. She had taken over the household from Alis, and barely noticed him as he went to his room.
As he stuffed clothes and grooming utensils and Perisfin’s book into his canvas bag, he felt someone watching him. He turned to see Alis standing in his doorway. She had what looked like a pencil in her hand. A shard of wood. She scrunched her face and held it out.
“It’s a piece of Rebin’s spar,” she said, “from our guest room. I want you to take it with you.”
He sniffed and stepped forward. He took the splinter from her and nodded.
She blinked and looked at his shoes.
“You’re going to meet Perisfin?”
He nodded.
“Can I come?”
“Of course.”
He stuffed the splinter into his pants pocket.
—×—
The wharf was astir with activity. The redtail spawning was about to begin and the mouths of nearby streams would be swarming with fish. Nobody stared at Bram as he shouldered his bag toward the dock where the sage was awaiting him. The mournings for his parents had been forgotten. The rumors of Kevimiki’s curse had passed.
He saw the old man smoking his pipe, leaning on a post of the dock of Fue and staring out into the sea. As Bram and Alis came to a halt, Perisfin did not acknowledge them with his eyes. But he did take the pipe from his mouth and nod.
Bram was hoping they weren’t leaving right away. Some ships took weeks to load their trading stores. Maybe they’d just take their bunks and wait for the ship to stock. He set his bag on the dock.
“Are you excited for Pindi?”
Perisfin turned and peered down his nose at Bram.
“Dear boy, Kampania does not observe Pindi. This is a Laramidian holiday.”
Bram shrugged.
“But, still. The banners. The titan steak grilling. The fireworks.”
“It’s three days away,” the old man said, with a glance at Alis. “If the ship is still here, we’ll see it.”
Bram slipped his foot against the base of his bag, as if to secure it there.
“We’re going east?”
“We are.” He lifted the pipe to his mouth and puffed at it. “The Annihilation is rising again in Shamera.”
“In Osvay,” Bram said, recalling the old sailor’s tale.
Perisfin frowned appreciation at him.
“The rumors,” Bram said, “have made the rounds here while you were gone.”
Perisfin laughed. “Have they? All the way to Laramidia? Things are dire indeed.”
Alis stepped around Bram. Her fists were tight.
“Is Bram headed into danger?”
Perisfin pointed his pipe at her.
“We’re all headed into danger, Aliskoda Kansadi. What’s your piece in it?”
Her hands opened and her face went blank.
“Well,” she said, “I think he’s a good man. I just wish him well.”
Bram felt his face growing hot.
“You’ve come here to listen in?” the old man said. “For Bram or for your home? For your own family? For the Kansadis?”
Bram felt the splinter of Rebin’s spar in his pocket. Alis squared her shoulders. She stared into the old sage’s eyes.
“Bram is my countryman, and my family. And a good man. And a good apprentice.”
“His apprenticeship is over,” Perisfin said, his head shaking. He stared out over the sea and puffed at his pipe.
“So what now, then?”
The old man eyed her sideways.
“He goes east with me. A journeyman.”
Alis shook her head. “He can’t darn his own socks.” She glanced at Bram apologetically.
“I can,” he said.
Alis shook her head. “You can’t. You’re into your book and talking to monks and to scholars at the academy. You’re a good man, but you can’t fish. You can’t cook. You can’t cut your own hair.”
Bram glared at the dock. Why was she humiliating him in front of Perisfin?
“Fine,” the old man said. He tapped his pipe against the post, knocking free the ashes. “You go with us and keep him from becoming an animal.”
“What?” Bram said.
“Fine,” Alis said. “I’ll go pack my bags.”
“No,” Bram said. “Alis, you can’t.”
She refused to look at him. She only squinted defiantly at the old man, turned, and walked off the dock toward the city.
“Master,” Bram said. “Her father will be furious.”
“Probably. We’ll be long gone by then.”
Bram picked up his bag and considered going after her.
“You think,” the old man said, “that you’ll talk her out of it?”
Bram set his bag back on the dock.
“Lord Perisfin,” a voice spoke.
Bram and the old man turned. The old sailor Ybe was standing there in his ragged clothes, looking like a dock post with a scraggly beard.
“Sage Perisfin,” the old man said. “Do we know you?”
The sailor thumbed at the rope holding his soiled pants up.
“The boy knows me. I knew his father.”
Bram nodded. “He’s the one who told me of Osvay.”
Perisfin stood tall and tucked the pipe into his cloak. He pointed a gray finger at the sailor.
“You know of the true Osvay?”
“Indeed, sir.” The sailor scanned the wharf, his eyes resting here and there on boats and ships moored to the docks. He was blinking as if in frenzied thought.
“I’ve traded in Haogli. I had a woman there, once. Years ago. I’ve heard the dark whispers of evil books.”
Perisfin nodded. A cloud passed over the sun, casting a shadow over them.
“The red scriptures,” the old man said, “taught anew by Annihilation prophets.”
Ybe nodded.
“Yes, sir. Academies and shrines burned to purge all the other books. Monks and scholars executed. And wandering sages like you.”
Perisfin brought himself erect.
“You know the ways of the Inner Seas.”
“Yes,” the sailor said. “And I know the rumors. Shrines smashed, temples torn down, the great houses of Osvay scattered to the wind, their servants left to starve among the scoured fields.”
Ybe looked into the lapping waters, his face dark. Perisfin put a hand on his shoulder.
“My fellow. Things grow dark in the east. You know of the Named?”
Bram’s eyes grew wide. He had never heard his master say that word, but he felt its import. The Named.
“Yes, sir,” Ybe said. “The Named has returned, a council of red prophets gathered around her.”
Perisfin nodded. “A menace from the ancient past.” He turned his eyes to meet Bram’s.
“Which menace?” the boy asked. “The Annihilation?”
“Yes,” Perisfin said. “They’ve taken Osvay, the Vale of Shamera, sending their armies to subjugate the kingdoms to the north and south. Eventually, they will sail into the Inner Seas to threaten all kingdoms. Even to Laramidia. The Named is their leader, deep in the red scriptures of Annihilation.”
“So, the rumors are true,” said Ybe.
“They are,” said Perisfin. “You have a woman in Osvay?”
The old sailor nodded. “I had. I don’t know where she is now. She may—”
Perisfin squeezed the man’s shoulder and shook his head. “Come with us. You clearly know the east. We could use like minds.”
Ybe looked into the old sage’s eyes.
“You could help me look after Bram,” Perisfin said. “And, we could help you find your woman.”