The Towers of the Sunset by Modesitt L. E

Author:Modesitt, L. E.
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 1992-06-03T16:00:00+00:00

LXVII

THE GRIFFIN SAILS through long, even swells, gentle enough that Creslin’s stomach has no protests, smooth enough that he actually has enjoyed a breakfast of pearapples and bread, washed down with redberry. Overhead and behind the ship, clouds linger, nearly black to the west, yet no longer following the sloop.

Creslin stands at the railing. A smudge of darkness lies off the starboard bow. Despite the clouds, the air is crisp, and a hint of green emerges from the dark waters below. In time, Klerris joins him.

Megaera stands a few cubits away, one hand lightly resting on the battered wood of the rail, the other on a cable that braces the foremast. She wears her faded gray travel clothes, worn though they are, that bring out the fire of her hair and the glint of her eyes.

Creslin avoids looking at her, knowing that if he looks too long, she will sense what he feels. His eyes drift astern to the western horizon. “The clouds aren’t really following any longer, like they did for an eight-day in Sligo, and in Montgren. Why not?”

“Why don’t you try to find out?” Klerris asks with an amused smile.

“You don’t make it easy, do you?”

“Does life?” Megaera’s voice crosses the distance between them.

Creslin ignores her words and sends his senses out upon the winds, aware of himself both on the gently pitching deck of the Griffin and in the skies behind the ship. For the first time, he looks at the winds themselves, not at the ground or at distant scenes; looks not with his eyes, but with his feelings, catching the snags and swirls, the heat and the chill, the rushes upward and downward, and—far overhead—the cold torrents that almost touch the Roof of the World day in and day out.

How long he is gone, how long he is suspended between two places, he does not know, only that when he stands fully on the deck again, there are small patches of blue in the overhead clouds.

“They’re blocked,” he announces before he realizes that Klerris and Megaera no longer stand beside him but have moved almost to the bowsprit, where they watch a dolphin pacing the sloop.

With a sigh, the silver-haired man walks stiffly toward them.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Megaera smiles as she watches the dolphin give a last leap and dive beneath the dark green water.

“Was it a female?”

“Who can tell?” Klerris says.

“It was a woman,” Megaera insists. “I could feel her spirit.”

“Then it was,” Creslin agrees.

The redhead’s smile lingers for a moment, but she says nothing.

“What did you find out?” Klerris looks at Creslin.

“The southern winds are stronger. The low ones. Nothing is stronger than the high torrents. Somehow, the way the low winds come across the gulf . . . it has something to do with the deserts on Recluce, especially the southern part and the northern hills.”

“Mountains and deserts always have a big impact on winds and weather. So do the seas. It has to do with how they affect the heat and the cold.

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