Read Online Daughters Of The Storm by Kim Wilkins - Free Book Online Page B

Ash’s study hall. The sun had warmed to a high, bright yellow, casting an unforgiving light on her decision to run away to home. If it could be called a decision and not an impulse. As her feet, swollen from heat and walking, carried her down towards the docks, she wondered if she should return to face Myrren and the elder seers.
    The sea roared out past the cliffs, but was gentle in the estuary, where dozens of ring-prowed longships skimmed past each other on their way in and out of the river. Their bright sails and canopies dazzled against the grey-blue water. The voices of the shipmasters, shouting at the crew, were stolen by the wind. The docks lined the estuary for two miles, the wide wooden planks standing firm against livestock and barrels and baskets of goods — wood, furs, spices, delicacies, treasures — being loaded on and off vessels. She watched it from a distance and it was curiously quiet, although once she was in among the jostling and noise she wouldn’t be able to think clearly, so she took a moment now.
    A deep breath that came with choking odours of fish, carrion, rubbish. She only had to find a vessel going upriver. The Wuldorea,wide and calm, led from here to Blicstowe — the Bright Place — which sat between green fields and below the gleaming white ruins of the giants. She hadn’t seen it in three years, since her father’s wedding. Home. Home.
    She started down the hill, jumping out of the way as a caravan of trading carts streamed past her. Horses’ breath and clattering hooves. A hawk circled overhead, riding the wind, the sun on its wings. The grass on the shoulder of the road was overgrown, tipped with yellow seeds. It tickled at her ankles as she descended and the sound of the docks grew louder and clearer in her ears.
    The smells of the docks overwhelmed her. Seaweed and fish and spices. A crowd of men were rolling barrels onto a vessel with a striped yellow and gold canopy, its sail rolled tightly at the crosstree. She approached hesitantly.
    â€˜Out of the way, please,’ one of the men said.
    â€˜I’m looking for a passage to Blicstowe,’ she said.
    He gestured to an indeterminate place in the distance. ‘We’re only going as far as Whitebyre. Try Alchfrid.’
    Ash looked around, confused.
    â€˜Further up the docks. His ship has a green and white canopy and a hawk carved on the prow.’
    She stepped back onto the thoroughfare, nearly colliding with four men carrying a hefty, wooden chest. She waited for them to pass, becoming aware somebody’s eyes were on her.
    Ash turned slowly. On the other side of the thoroughfare, under a dirty moleskin awning, sat a snow-haired woman with veiny hands clutched around a staff. Two men were queued up to buy journey charms from her, but her gaze was fixed on Ash. The sea wind gusted, rattling her awning and allowing shards of sun into the shadows. Gulls called to each other. Ash glanced away, moved further up the docks looking for Alchfrid’s ship.
    She found it a few moments later. The vessel was long and sleek, with a bright, taut canopy and a belly full of chests and baskets. Even the crew looked well-kept, in clean clothes and with neat beards. Now she only had to convince them to take her to Blicstowe.
    A tall, thin man with hair greying at the temples stood at the front of the vessel with a foot resting on the hawk’s head carving as he oversaw the loading of the cargo. Ash presumed this was Alchfrid and approached the edge of the dock.
    â€˜Hello,’ she called to him. ‘I need a passage to Blicstowe.’
    He turned and an expression of irritation crossed his brow and then was gone. ‘You’re travelling alone?’
    â€˜Yes.’ For some reason, her heartbeat quickened in her throat.
    â€˜Certainly. We push off in one hour. You can sleep under the canopy with the goods.’
    Relief washed through her. ‘Really? Thank you. Thank you.