"You'd never believe what I've been through since the storm split us up, Maia. While you were following your bosun friend around, leading the peaceful life of a deckhand, I've seen and done things …" Leie had shaken her head, as if at a loss to explain. "You wouldn't like where we're taking the rads and their space-pervert creature, so I've arranged for you to be dropped off where you'll be more comfortable. Just sit tight till I figure things out, you hear me? By summer I'll get you to some town. We'll think up a way for you to help me with my plan."
Leie's eyes had been filled with that old enthusiasm, now enhanced by a new, fierce determination. Through a fog of injury, pain, and confusion, Maia wondered what adventures had so changed her sister.
Then the import of Leie's words sank in. Leie and the reavers were going to put her ashore, and sail off with Renna! Kiel and Thalia and the men of the Manitou, as well. That was when Maia started straggling against her bonds, grunting to tell Leie she had to speak!
"There there. It'll be all right. Now, Maia, if you don't settle down, I'm going to have to … Aw, hell, I should've expected this. You always were a wengel-headed pain."
Maia caught a scent of strong herbs and alcohol as Leie pushed a soaked cloth over her nose. A cloying, choking sensation spread through the nasal passages and sinuses, making her want to cough and gag. Events got even more vague after that, but still, she had a distinct image of her sister leaning forward, kissing her on the forehead.
"Nighty-night," Leie murmured. Darkness followed.
The memory of pain and betrayal still hurt Maia, darkening and confusing her natural joy to find that Leie lived. But there was another matter. Burning foremost in her mind was one fact she focused on. An innocent, helpless man was being held captive somewhere on one of those other isles, without a friend in the world.
Except me. I must get to Renna!
Through the blue funk of her thoughts, she followed Naroin along a trail overlooking the bright sea, walking in silence back to where the reavers had dumped enough food and supplies to last until the next promised shipment. Lean-tos and makeshift tents made a ragged circle, offset from the trees. A cook fire was tended by one crew-woman whose ankle had been broken in the failed battle. She looked up desultorily and nodded without a word, going back to stirring lentils in a slowly simmering pot.
Naroin returned to her own chief pastime, using sharpened pieces of chert to shave a tree limb into a primitive bow. Not a legal weapon. But then, it wasn't legal, either, for the reavers to have dumped them here. Seizing the Manitou should have been followed by "dividing the cargo," then letting its crew and passengers go.
The special nature of this "cargo" made that unlikely, especially when it was one eagerly sought by every political force on the planet. When Maia last saw Captain Poulandres, hands bound on the quarterdeck of his own ship, the red-faced man had been threatening to raise hell, building toward a full summer rage by sheer anger. The reavers ignored him. Clearly, Poulandres had no idea what trouble he was in.
"It's for huntin'," Naroin said about the bow and slim arrow shafts. No one had seen anything larger than a bush shrew on the isle, but nobody complained. Anyway, the authorities were far away.
Maia threw herself on the blanket she had spread under a rough lean-to, atop a bed of shredded grass and leaves. Of her three possessions, her clothes and Captain Pegyul's sextant she kept with her always. The last item, a slim book of poems, she had found on her person as a ship's boat rowed the captive sailors to internment. During the ride up the creaky winch-lift, she had managed to focus on one randomly chosen page.
Have I been called? What is the aim Of thy great heart? Who is to be Bought by thy passion? Sappho, name Thine enemy!
For whoso flies thee now shall soon pursue; Who spurns thy gifts shall give anon; And whoso loves thee not, whate'er she do, Shall love thee yet, and soon.
A gift from Leie, she realized. Ever the more verbal of the two, while Maia had been the one attracted to things visual — patterns and puzzles. It could be taken as a peace offering, or a promise, or just an impulsive thing, with no more meaning than a friendly pat on the head.
She flipped through a few more poems, trying to appreciate them. But the gift, however well intended, was spoiled by a lingering sick-sweet odor left by the knockout drug. In her own eyes, Leie might have had good reasons for the act. Nevertheless, it mixed in Maia's heart with Tizbe Beller's ambush, the pragmatic betrayals of Kiel and Thalia, and the awful treachery of Baltha's southerlings. The list invited despair, if contemplated, so she refused,
