A pleasant song lulled Tari into wakefulness. She did not open her eyes at first. The song was intricate and windy, speeding up at times and then slowing down to convey tense, playfully exciting moments. She could imagine young people dancing to that tune with wide smiles on their faces. It resonated inside her, almost like it was coming from within rather than into her ears from some outside source. With a contented smile of her own and a heavy sigh, she opened her eyes. The music stopped.

You're awake! Rilen exclaimed. You've been sleeping for so long, I'd become rather bored.

Tari's smile widened and she rolled over in the coarse fabric in which she was wrapped, recalling at once the ethereal moments that had led up to her loss of consciousness.

Alright . . . what is this thing, where are we, how long have I been asleep . . . and what did you do?

What thing? You mean your hammock?

She pinched her bedding between her fingers, kneading the fabric. It's walls circled up around her to either side, obscuring her view of the room. Awkwardly, she attempted to lift herself up far enough to peer over the side. Now that she began to move, she felt like she was suspended in a big cloth sack.

Is that what this is? She threw an arm over one side and tried to use the leverage to lean over the edge, then felt the whole contraption tip half-hazzardously, threatening to roll her out into the unknown below. She withdrew her arm. How do I get out?

Just keep trying and you'll figure it out.

Thanks. Where are we?

We're on the Tadoream. It was the fastest ship Vinsc Cove had at its disposal, so I solicited its use.

You mean, you forced Choter to make the captain to take us onboard?

Precisely according to plan, just a little earlier than expected.

Frustrated now, Tari damned the consequences and rolled first to her left, then all the way to the right edge of the hammock, causing it to roll over in the air and drop her unceremoniously onto the hard wooden floor four feet below. She cracked her knee during the fall, and picked herself up with a curse.

Which brings us to my next two questions . . . .

You've been asleep for two days. I drained your dae'tin considerably when I fought off that . . . thing, and it's taken you this long to recover.

Oh. Did you kill it?

No, it got away. But I'm sure I damaged it. It's likely still unconscious.

Tari looked around the room. Four other hammocks were set across the room in line with her own, but all were empty. A half-couch was bolted to the floor along the opposite wall, and Tari sat on it gladly.

The ship rocked on the water with a motion felt more than seen, up and down over waves. She understood then how it might make some people sick, but she rather enjoyed it. Her thoughts were serious, though.

That was a Cori-va, wasn't it? She felt Rilen's affirmation.

I had been imagining that such a reunion with one of my people would be more . . . satisfying. His emotions hardened. But that was not a Cori-va, not truly. There was no light in his eyes. He was grafted to someone-- someone controlling him.

What do you mean? Tari rubbed her eyes. Her mouth tasted foul from sleep. She reached into her shirt pocket and found that the bundle of sharp-smelling peppermint was still there. She took out a leaf and placed it on her tongue.

A grafting can become a battle of wills, if one is not willing to be grafted. I could control you, if I wanted to, and destroy your consciousness. If I were a weaker Cori-va, you might be able to do the same to me.

But how evil would you have to be to do something like that? It's like . . . body-stealing.

It's a despicable thing, Rilen agreed angrily. As disgusting as cannibalism to a Cori-va A Cori-va might have been sentenced to death for it, but the gruesome crime was rarely committed; never, in my lifetime, nor for many, many generations before me. If my people have stooped so low in the years since I left them, I'm scared of what I'll find when we track them down.

Footsteps sounded outside, moving toward the door. It opened and Cyniver walked in. He looked deeply miserable, extremely pale by his people's standards, with his head drooping wearily, eyes downcast as he walked. He moved for the couch on which Tari was sitting, and his eyes fixed on her feet as he neared, then as he registered that she was there they slowly lifted to find her face.

Unfortunately, Cyniver has not adjusted well to sea-travel, Rilen informed her.

Cyniver seemed to force his face into a more cheerful expression when he saw her, and he began searching for something in his trouser pocket.

Sea-sickness?

Yes. He's been on the couch where you're sitting now for most of the trip so far, whittling away. He goes on deck every once in a while to throw up. Incidentally, the twins are both fine.

Cyniver had begun emptying his pocket onto the edge of the couch, biting his lower lip while he searched. The pile contained a small, sheathed knife, a roll of string, the folded map, and a small bottle of amber liquid among other little trinkets. Finally, Cyniver gave up and reached into his other pocket, at which point his face immediately relaxed and he released his lip before bringing out a tiny, wooden carving and holding it out to Tari, who accepted it curiously.

The thing was about the size of her index finger, and was carved with tedious detail into a gecko. The wood was stained red, and its tail was carved into a fat, beveled surface, and it's head had tiny nostrils and eyes. It was actually very cute. Cyniver was refilling his pockets.

"Wow, Cyniver," Tari held it up close to her face. "It's very-"

But Cyniver's forced cheer abruptly fell away, to be replaced by alarm, and he clasped a hand over his mouth as he ran back out of the cabin.

He's so odd, Rilen commented. And he doesn't usually have to run out again that soon, by the way.

Poor guy, Tari sympathized. I should give him the peppermint. See if it helps at all. What do you think of this carving?

I think he's fond of you, honestly, there was no mistaking Rilen's amusement.

Tari was shocked. That's impossible! He hasn't even understood a word I've ever said.

But it does make sense, doesn't it? Remember Olium's weird metaphors, the pendant he gave you, the promise you made? And it would explain why Cyniver keeps tagging along with us.

Such an avalanche of connections fell upon Tari's mind then that she wondered how she had missed the possibility before. On the other hand, she wondered that the man could not have made his intentions a little more clear instead of working his way into their company under false pretenses. But then her thoughts turned again; the meaning of Olium's cryptic messages were very obvious, now that she thought of them in this new light. She considered her promise to the elderly desert chief. It had seemed so innocent before, but now it almost seemed a commitment.

Well, you haven't even considered what you think of Cyniver himself, Rilen pried.

What are you talking about?

He doesn't seem like such a bad match to me.

It took a moment for the clear implications to take hold in Tari's sheltered mind. You mean, what do I think of him?

It's good that you corrected me there.

Tari's frowned. I don't think of him. I mean, he seems alright, but I don't love him and don't really know him . . . . We can't even understand each other.

Rilen's chuckles began in her mind and became sound as he materialized out of the shadows. He threw himself sideways into a hammock and lay there on his back with his legs dangling toward the ground. Tari found this uncharacteristically light manner to be a mockery of the seriousness of the situation.

"Most enduring relationships don't start with love, you know," he pointed out. "Haven't you ever had a crush on one of the boys in Maynod?"

She had not. "That's none of your concern!"

"Then you haven't. Remarkable."

Tari crossed her arms defensively. "That's beside the point. I don't want to even try to fall in love with someone I can't even talk to-"

"He's taller than you, you know. I've noticed that's the first thing you always notice about him. I think you like that."

"Don't interrupt! He's gritty, childish, and that red hair is definitely unnatural-"

"He's strong, though. He carried Kett on his back for miles. And he's not burly-strong, like Han back in Maynod. I remember you didn't like him because he was too heavy. Cyniver's as thin as everyone in Irsia . . . ."

"Why are you defending him?" Tari growled.

"I just don't think you're giving love a proper chance. What's holding you back, after all?"

"Lots of things!" Tari searched for something quickly. "I don't want to be tied down, least of all in the desert-- I hate the desert. I want to find the Cori-va with you."

Rilen snorted. "Perhaps I've read him wrong, but to my thinking, if he's willing to leave home and come with you all this way, even onto this ship, just because he fancies you, I would say he'd be willing to come with you much farther."

The sound of footsteps on wood neared once again, prompting Tari to forestall her reply, but this time it was Kett who stuck his head through the door. He had removed his shirt and tightened the strap of his trousers, and the sun had reddened the pale skin on his upper body in the days since Tari had last seen him.

"I hoped you'd be awake," he said to Tari. "One of the crew members has the flu. Do you have anything to help him sleep?"

Rilen sat up immediately, at once back to his usual sober demeanor. Tari stood up as well.

"I do if I can find my pack . . ." she told him helpfully.

"It's in a storage hold down the hall. I'll get it for you."

Kett left at a youthfully energetic pace, leaving Tari and Rilen to wait. There was quiet for a moment, then Tari turned to her friend.

"The bottom line is, we can't understand each other. It could never work."

Rilen only smiled. "Sometimes, two people can speak the same language and still not understand one another. He's not stupid, though, that's something."

"I guess . . ."

"Worth a go, then, don't you think?"

"Maybe . . ." Tari heard Kett's footsteps returning briskly from the hall.

"Excellent!" Rilen concluded before lodging himself back inside her mind.

Kett brought Tari's pack and led her to another cabin, where the ill crew member was resting.

After giving the man with a light soporific, Tari wandered out onto the deck. The ship was completely foreign to her, and she spent some time exploring its length with Rilen as her guide. He was quick to share his knowledge of seafaring with Tari, who found what he said, for the most part, to be completely senseless.

The stern's the rear, prow's the front, starboard's the right side, and aft is anything near the stern, was one such silly explanation.

Then why don't they just call them that? Tari reasoned.

Nobody knows, was Rilen's mysterious reply.

Tari loved the motion of the ship over the waves. The blue-green water captivated her, compelling her to lean over the edge to watch the ship part the liquid surface until it made her dizzy. The sky above was deep blue with cumulus clouds like balls of cotton scattered about its round, peaceful face. The ship itself smelled of a mixture of fish, salt, and seaweed which Tari found endearing, if not precisely appealing. Her favorite feature of all, however, was undoubtedly the breeze. Unhindered by trees or mountains or land dwellings, the wind was free to trace a course over miles and miles of flat sea at a time, and Tari could feel with her imagination that the air stroking her face had been miles away only an hour before, and it was like it had been perfectly purified in its course over the salty, clean water. To Tari, breathing that air felt like the healthiest thing she had ever experienced.

Tari saw that Kett must have been following the example of the other sailors, because most were shirtless. Tari counted ten of them, and all were busy, even if they had nothing to do. The dumpy captain was not feeling well, and came out occasionally to yell at whoever she thought looked the most idle. Tari made certain to stay far outside of the captain's crosshairs, not trusting her status as passenger to shield her from the woman's indiscriminate eye.

Having started her exploration from the front of the ship, it was a few minutes before she found Cyniver leaning over the stern. He was not appreciating the play of the waves.

Speak of a demon, Rilen noted him. Are you going to go to him? His emotions were a little too eager for Tari's comfort.

Rilen, go away.

There came an unmistakable wave of disappointment. Pardon?

I didn't stutter. Get lost.

Pah!

She felt him leave. Just then, Tari remembered that he was an old man by his people's standards, and realized that she had probably just denied him a speacial treat, to see young love in the bud. For her own selfish privacy, however, she didn't care.

Cyniver did not yet know she was there, and she took the opportunity to stand back and observe him in a way that was different from the way she had always looked at him before. Like a child examining a dragonfly, she was very critical in her scrutiny, and reserved the option within herself of pulling off its wings and leaving it behind for some fortunate frog to find. She noticed that his jaw was very strong, and he had an interesting scar on the bottom of his chin. She could not see his face from the angle at which she stood, but for the first time, she noticed the toned muscles on his tanned, un-shirted torso, and how they flexed under the skin of his back and stomach when he vomited.

Shaking herself and feeling slightly ashamed for stalling, she walked up beside him at the railing and pulled off a small clump of peppermint to give to him. He looked up weakly, accepted it without question, and shoved it into his mouth as though not caring if it were medicine or poison. There was, of course, nothing to say, so Tari merely rested her elbows on the rail beside him and leaned over, looking at the waves and thinking.

Now, out of the side of her eyes, she judged his face. His eyes were gray, like his father's, but darker, less noticeable, and were oval rather than the more preferable almond shape. The face itself was a little sharper than she might have liked, and his eyebrows were a little too thick. He definitely looked better when he was smiling.

Tari frowned. With all those things duly noted, however, all the features together actually formed a rather acceptable whole. And of course, there was always his height. Finally, Tari put what she was doing into objective perspective, and actually laughed aloud at how superficial she was being. She decided that looks would play no vital role in her decision of whether or not to approve of this man. Looks would only help her decide if he was worth considering.

Cyniver looked up at the sound of laughter, and Tari grinned at him. On impulse, she mimed pulling something out of her pocket. Understanding at once, Cyniver started emptying the pocket, and Tari stopped him when he drew out the string and the knife she had seen earlier. She picked them both up and measured out a length of the string from the roll. Carefully, she tied it around his wrist, not tight enough to hinder circulation, but close enough so that it wouldn't come off without being cut. Once she had it securely tied, Tari cut off the excess string, and handed both the remaining string and the knife, along with the rest of the mint, back to Cyniver for him to place in his pocket. Flashing him a brilliant smile, Tari walked away.

The gesture meant absolutely nothing. But Cyniver did not know that. It would be interesting to see how he would react.

Following ample deliberation, Tari had come to the conclusion that he was worth consideration, and she had marked him in her own special way.

Author's Note: This was a particularly ambitious chapter for me, because I was not sure I would be able to pull off believable romance. I'm still uneasy about it.

I'm at a point where I now have a clear picture of how this particular episode will continue and conclude, and I'm aiming for a little over 150'000 words. I have researched the market considerably, and have sighted a publisher with whom I think I might fit, but have no intention of sending away the manuscript until it has undergone extensive editing that is incisive to my own standards. It might be a while.

Ice Flyer: If you want a crack at editing the final manuscript, I consider proofreaders to be very valuable, and would not object to e-mailing you a copy for you to try your hand on. It will probably be a few months before completion, though.