'We'd lose too much distance to leeward,' he said briefly. 'This channel's too narrow for that. We'd go forward, of course, but we'd lose distance downwind. Have to make our way back again too soon. Not a problem in the open water where we have plenty of sea room, but awkward in a confined space like this.' He peered carefully at the coastline, now much closer to them.
'Nils!' the skirl called. 'Up oars!'
The oars rose, dripping, from the water. The rowers rested on them, keeping the blades clear of the sea. Accustomed to physical work as they were, none of them was even breathing hard. Slowly, the ship glided to a stop once more, rocking gently in the small waves.
Gundar shaded his eyes, peering at the narrow opening – barely thirty metres wide. He glanced down at the chart and the navigation notes that had come with it, sniffed the breeze, then squinted up at the position of the sun in the sky. Will understood that this was all part of the instinctive navigation system that the Skandians relied on. Some of them, Oberjarl Erak, for example, were masters of the art. It seemed that Gundar was another adept.
But obviously, it never hurt to ask a second opinion. The skirl looked around and sought out Selethen. Of all of them, he had the most knowledge of this part of the world.
'Ever been here before, Selethen?' he asked.
The Wakir shook his head. 'I've never been this far east. But I've heard of the Assaranyan Channel, of course. This is where I'd expect it to be. Further north and south, the land becomes more hilly.'
They all followed his gaze along the coastline. He was right. Here, the coast was flat and low lying. On either side, north and south, the brown, dry land rose into low hills.
'What exactly is this Assaranyan Channel, anyway?' Will asked.
Evanlyn, who had studied the route of their journey before she left Araluen, answered. 'It's a channel through the narrowest part of the land mass here. It runs for forty or fifty kilometres, then opens into a natural waterway to the Eastern Ocean.'
'A natural waterway?' Will said. 'Are you saying this part isn't natural?' He gestured towards the unimpressive-looking river mouth ahead of them.
'People believe it was man-made – hundreds, perhaps thousands of years ago. It runs straight through this low-lying area – that's why it was built here.'
'Of course,' Will said. 'And who built it?'
Evanlyn shrugged. 'Nobody knows for sure. We assume the Assaranyans.' Forestalling Will's next question, she went on: 'They were an ancient race, but we know precious little about them.'
'Except they were excellent diggers,' Alyss said dryly.
Evanlyn corrected her, but without any sense of superiority. 'Or they had a lot of time and a lot of slaves.'
Alyss acknowledged the point. 'Perhaps more likely.'
Will said nothing. He stared at the opening to the channel. It seemed so insignificant, he thought. Then he thought of the labour involved in digging a fifty-kilometre channel through this harsh, dry land. The prospect was daunting.
Gundar seemed to come to a decision.
'Well, as my old mam used to say: if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck and walks like a duck, it's probably a duck.'
'Very wise,' Halt replied. 'And what exactly do your mother's words of wisdom have to do with this situation?'
Gundar shrugged. 'It looks like a channel. It's in the right place for a channel. If I were digging one, this is where I'd dig a channel. So…'
'So it's probably the channel?' Selethen said.
Gundar grinned at him. 'Either that, or it's a duck,' he said. Then, cupping his hands round his mouth, he yelled at Nils. 'Let's get moving, Nils! Slow ahead!'
The lead oar nodded. 'Oars! Ready!'
Again there was the squeak of oars in the oarlocks and the involuntary grunt from the rowers as they prepared for the stroke.
'Give way all!'
Wolfwill surged forward again, gathering speed with each successive stroke, then settling to a smooth glide across the water. Gundar, eyes squinted in concentration, leaned on the starboard tiller to line the bow up with the centre of the channel.
They fell silent. The only sound was the creak and groan of the oars in their oarlocks as they swung up and down, back and forth, in unison, and the occasional grunt of exertion from one of the rowers. The sheer immensity of the task undertaken by those ancient people settled a kind of awe upon the travellers as the ship glided smoothly down the dead straight channel.
It had to be man-made, Alyss thought. No natural river was ever so straight. As they moved away from the ocean, the dull brown desert enveloped them on either side and the freshness of the sea breeze, light though it had been, was lost to them. The channel grew wider as they progressed, until it was nearly one hundred metres across. Erosion over the centuries had widened the channel considerably. On either bank, the immediate ground looked soft and treacherous for another twenty metres or so.
Selethen noticed Alyss studying the ground.
'Step in that and you might not come out alive,' he said thoughtfully. 'I'll wager it's quicksand.'
Alyss nodded. She had been thinking the same thing.
The heat beat down on them, folding itself around them like a blanket. The air was heavy with it.
Gundar spoke softly to two of the sailing crew. They hurried aft and slung buckets overside to haul up water. Then they passed along the rowing benches, tossing the cooling water over the hard-working men. A few of the rowers muttered their thanks.
The Skandians, experienced travellers as they were, had all donned long-sleeved linen shirts and had more of the same material fastened round their heads as bandannas to protect them from the sun. In the colder northern waters, Will had often seen them bare chested, seemingly impervious to the cold. But they were a fair-skinned race and years of raiding in the warm waters of the Constant Sea had taught them to respect the burning power of the sun.
The sea water flung on them soaked their shirts, but Will noticed that they dried within a few minutes. He recalled his own experience of the sun's power, in the desert of Arrida some years before, and shuddered at the memory.
Some of the crew busied themselves rigging canvas awnings so that those not engaged in rowing could shelter in their shade. It was a welcome relief to be out of the sun's direct glare. But the air itself was still heavy and oppressive. Will glanced over the stern. There was now no sign of the sparkling blue sea behind them. Only this brown river cutting straight through the equally brown sand.
'How long is the transit?' he asked Gundar. For some reason, he spoke softly. It seemed appropriate in this oppressive stillness.
Gundar considered the question. When he replied, it seemed that he had the same aversion to making too much noise.
'Five, perhaps six hours,' he said. Then he reconsidered. 'Could be more. The men will tire more quickly in this heat.'
Acting on that thought, he gave an order and the relief rowing crew began to change places with the rowers. They did it gradually, a pair of oars at a time, working forward from the stern. That way, the ship maintained its motion through the murky brown water beneath them. As each pair of rowers relinquished their oars to their replacements, they sprawled instantly on the deck in the shade of the awnings. They were tired, but nowhere near exhausted, Will knew. He'd had plenty of experience with Skandian crews in the past. They had an inbred ability to fall sleep almost anywhere, almost immediately. In an hour or so, they'd be rested and ready to replace their companions at the oars again.
'We might even anchor in the channel once it gets dark,' Gundar said. 'There'll be no moon until long past midnight and it could be a good idea to rest in the cool hours.'
Will could understand the wisdom of that. The channel might be straight, but with no reference points to guide them, the brown water would merge with the low brown banks either side. They could possibly veer one side or the other and run aground.
'Not such a good idea,' Halt said quietly. 'We have company.'
Ayagi and his people had been appalled at the news of Arisaka's rebellion against the Emperor. The common people of Nihon-Ja thought of the Emperor as a person whose accession to the throne was guided and consecrated by the gods. To rebel against him was an unthinkable sacrilege.
'We are your people, Lord Shigeru,' the white-haired village elder had said. 'Tell us what you want us to do. We'll stand beside you against Arisaka.'
There had been an indignant rumble of assent from the other villagers. Foremost among them, Horace had noted, had been Eiko, the heavily built worker Shigeru had first shaken hands with. Ayagi might be the village elder, but Eiko was obviously a person of considerable influence among the younger Kikori.
'Thank you, my friends,' Shigeru had replied. 'But at the moment I hope to avoid further bloodshed. All we need is a guide to the village of…' He had hesitated and looked to Shukin for the name of the village he had nominated as a rendezvous point with Reito and the survivors of the army.