The Wind Reader

Chapter 1.

An Ill Wind

If I hadn't been dead sure about talking my father into this trip, I might think the Divine Powers had slowed the wind to punish me for nagging. The sailors swore we were making good time, and the lone sail bellied out overhead, but the Rose of Rin felt like it was standing still. My hair would turn gray before we docked. I'd grow a beard down to my knees, and I'd still be on this wallowing pig of a boat.

Bracing my feet against the slight sway of the deck, I scooped the last handful of salted codfish out of the basin, flung them on the platter, and wiped my palms on my trousers. The job left my hands reeking, but I couldn't complain because it was easier than my father's. He was working on repairs near the stern at the moment, his blond head easy to spot among the lowland sailors. Like most Uplanders, Da was short and slight, so you could miss the muscles in his back and arms. I hoped these lowlanders were learning some respect from seeing him tote a heavy bucket of tar as if it weighed nothing, while the sailor working with him dragged his feet.

I emptied the basin overboard. Maybe we would be in Marketon by nightfall, as the sailors claimed, and Da and I would be off this tub, ready to negotiate with the timber buyer. Ready to make a deal with him about my timber, a notion that made me smile. I inherited the trees when my grandfather died, and now that I was finally fifteen and old enough to manage my own property, I'd be hanged if I'd sit home like a kid and let Da sell it cheap in Merinoic.

"Boy!" Cook called. He didn't seem to realize I had a name or, more likely, didn't care. "Aren't you done yet?"

I'd stopped working for a moment. Can't have that. No sir. Not allowed. Platter of fish in hand, I ducked into the canvas shelter where Cook had laid an iron grill over the glowing coals. I plunked the platter down at what passed for Cook's elbow, a red knob protruding from the mass of black hair furring his arm.

"All the salt is out?" Cook asked.

"I changed the water three times. Why do we have to eat dried fish anyway? That seems-" I stopped myself in time from saying stupid "-odd to me."

As he arranged fish on the grill, water dripped into the coals, hissing and sending up puffs of steam. "You Upland farmers have some other way to preserve fish?"

"You could catch fresh fish." I waved toward the flat, brown water rippling away to either side. "We're on a boat."

"You don't say. You see anyone aboard with time to fish?"

I snorted. The captain didn't give us time to scratch our backsides.

Cook pointed to a wheel of yellow cheese. "Slice that. Then fill the ale tankards." He poked at the fish with a huge knife.

By the time I fetched the ale, the fish were ready, and Cook sent me running around the boat with fish, cheese, and ale for the sailors. At last, everyone else was fed, and I flopped onto the deck next to Da and the sailor he'd been working with. The man leaned back against a barrel, face flushed, dinner only half eaten, while Da lounged beside him, not even sweaty. Ha!

I cradled the shallow wooden bowl of food in my lap and tore into it. My stomach had been rumbling since mid-morning.

Da grinned at me. "Your ma will be happy to know you've taken up cooking."

"Don't tell her," I mumbled around a mouthful of fish, which was pretty good, if I did say so myself. All the salt was out. "The girls can do it."

"I thought you didn't like your sisters' cooking."

"Better them than me." I nodded toward the shore creeping past. "Will we really get to Marketon by dark? We're hardly moving."

"Boat's low in the water." The deck hand spoke as if his tongue were too heavy. Keeping up with Da must have worn him out. I knew the feeling. "All that iron ore from your mountains," the man went on.

"Ore stolen from our mountains, you mean," I said.

The deck hand raised an eyebrow. "Your Lord Grimuld is the one shipping it."

"That's because Lord Grimuld is the one stealing it," I said. "At the market last month, the gossip was all about how he took a farm five leagues west of ours and had his men tear up the earth looking for it."

"You let him talk that way?" the deck hand asked Da. "The boy'll get himself in trouble."

"Boys become men, and a man needs to recognize wrong when he sees it. A cat can hiss at a king, we say." Da threw me a look I'd seen way too many times. "On the other hand, Clever-tongue, I've told you more than once that a man of sense talks when it'll do good but stays quiet when it won't."

I kept my eyes on my bowl and chewed hard on the remaining bit of my dinner. I'd heard Da say plenty about Grimuld. He'd been Lord of the Uplands only a year, and in that time, he'd not only stolen land but also tried to stamp out all the ways we revered the wind. Someone needed to talk about that. In my opinion, Da was too careful sometimes.

Farther along the deck, the captain was prodding sailors back to work. As Da dropped his empty bowl into mine and stood, the deck hand grabbed the top of the barrel and dragged himself erect. Or maybe not quite. I peered up at him. Surely he was swaying more than the motion of the boat would account for, and his face was so flushed, it was nearly purple. He took a single step before his knees buckled and he sprawled face down on the deck.

At the thunk of his head hitting wood, Da whirled and sprang to crouch on one side of him, while I lurched to the other. The captain came running, followed by a crowd of sailors.

"Is he drunk?" the captain demanded.

Da shook his head and rolled the groaning man gently onto his back. He laid his palm on the sailor's forehead. "He's fevered."

My heart sped up.

Da rubbed his hand on his thigh, hesitated, then yanked the deck hand's shirt out of his belt to expose his belly. A red rash bloomed all around the man's navel. The captain took a step backward. "Mountain Fever," he whispered.

I staggered back a step. I didn't mean to but, Sweet Powers, Fever!

The deck hand's eyes flew wide open. "I have the Fever?"

"Put in to shore," one of the sailors said. "Get him off the boat."

Da looked up sharply. "Abandon him, you mean? No."

"You get off and stay with him then." The sailor's voice shook.

Da looked at the captain, who was silent, gnawing his lip. I choked back the urge to tell Da to get away from the sick man. Or I would have if I'd been able to breathe. Last autumn, while out hunting, I'd stumbled on an empty house with dishes still on the table and a baby's rattle on the floor. That was what Fever left behind. That and graves in the meadow.

"There's a village a mile or so on," the captain said. "They'll have a healer. We'll leave him there." He jerked his head at the sailors. "Back to work." They wasted no time scuttling away. The captain strode after them.

"Go on back to Cook, Doniver." Da pulled the scarf off the sick man's neck.

"What about you?"

"Don't argue with me. Go right now. I'm just going to damp him down, see if I can fight that fever a bit." He moved to a nearby barrel, scooped water into one of the dinner bowls, and came back, dunking the scarf in the water.

"Come away when you're done," I said.

"Go!"

I ran back to where Cook stood, staring along the deck toward Da. When he stayed silent, I asked, "You want me to wash dishes?"

Cook shook himself. "Your father's a fool, you know that?"

"He's brave," I said sharply.

He glanced at me. "Dishes." He lifted a shoulder to wipe sweat from his jaw, then went to fuss with the stores.

The thing was, part of me thought maybe Cook was right.

I heated water, collected forgotten dishes, and scrubbed them, trying to watch Da and the shoreline at the same time. Da moved back and forth, wiping the deck hand down and then standing near the railing. Where was that village? The sooner the sick man was gone, the happier I'd be.

At last, a scattering of thatched houses straggled into sight, and the boat nosed in to the small dock, where two men sat fishing. Da tried to heave the deck hand to his feet, but the man sagged on his arm and no one moved to help. For a moment, I rocked back and forth. I could do what Da told me and stay with Cook. No one would blame me.

No one but me.

I ran to the man's other side. At a close sight of him, the air went out of me. The rash had spread. Oozing blisters blossomed on his face.

"Get away," Da snapped.

"You can't manage him alone." It made me queasy to touch him, but I pulled the man's left arm around my neck. He moaned.

Da set his jaw. Between us, we wrestled the man to where his fellow sailors had just thumped the gangway into place. They shuffled away as we got close.

"You there," the captain called to the two on the dock. "Get your healer."

The two villagers rose, their gazes on the deck hand, propped between me and Da. "What's wrong with him?" one of them asked.

The other's eyes rounded. He grabbed his companion's arm. "Fever!"

The first villager took a step backward. "Get him away! You can't leave him here!" He shouted toward the houses. "They want to leave a man with the Fever!" The second villager darted into the lane, shouting an alarm, sending up puffs of dust with every footfall.

Da and I stopped...