Summer's Fall

by Carol E. Leever

  Templar feigned affront. "Shirking my duties! My father sent me out into the world to be an ambassador for Terizkand and to make valuable allies. That's what I'm doing."

  Omen looked pleased. "Your father considers me a valuable ally?"

  "Of course," Templar reassured him and then immediately shook his head. "Well, no, he considers your parents valuable allies. And he likes the idea of Indee being grateful to us for helping her out. But he did say you weren't the most annoying friend I've made in the past few years. And for him that's practically a compliment."

  "Swell." Omen sighed. "Did your father really tell you to be an ambassador?"

  "Absolutely," Templar replied. "I believe his exact words were, 'Get out of here you annoying brat and go do something useful.' The title of ambassador was of course implied — you just have to know how to read him."

  "Right." Omen motioned toward the ship. "Let's get aboard." He headed up the gangplank.

  Dev followed Templar, shaking his head at the folly of joining this group. Two sons of Cerioth, two talking cats, and a Night Dweller. I must be addlebrained to join them. At least Shalonie seems normal enough.

  Kadana met them on the main deck. Without fuss, she motioned them to follow her to the upper navigation deck where a golden-haired, blue-eyed young man waited by the ship's wheel. Judging by the tanned skin, bare feet, simple breeches and thin cotton shirt, Dev guessed the young man was Liethan Corsair. Though he remembered the Corsair had a title of some sort, he also knew that the Corsairs tended to forgo formalities.

  "I've spoken with your father," Kadana began without preamble, turning toward Omen. She kept her voice down so that it would not carry to the sailors. Most of their attention was taken up with preparing to cast off the lines while avoiding the enormous orange cat that was inspecting the ship. Kyr and Shalonie stood by the mainmast, and little Tyrin had already dug his claws into the wooden beam and had started climbing upward toward the ship's monkey.

  "If we have good winds, we have about three weeks of water ahead of us," Kadana continued. "It's my hope that if we stick to the summer route we'll avoid the main hunting grounds of the leviathan. But I also understand that there is some concern about Kyr attracting the creature?"

  Omen glanced briefly toward his brother. The boy was watching his little cat climb, staring worriedly up at him. "The dragons seem to think that the Widow Maker is attracted to mystics," he admitted. "He could hear the song before everyone else did. Don't know if that means anything."

  Kadana shot a quick look around the ship's many decks. "We had a hard time getting a full crew for this voyage. Everyone is on edge, and it's our job to keep things running smoothly. Sailors are a superstitious lot — so watch your words. And if you can, keep Kyr from speaking in the tongue of the dead. That won't go over well."

  "Understood," Omen agreed, though to Dev he sounded uncertain.

  "Let's cast off then," Kadana announced and started shouting orders to the sailors below. Dev leaned against the rail guard, keeping out of the way while Omen and the others headed back down to the main deck.

  "Bye Melia!" Tormy shouted from the forecastle. "Be a good Melia. We is being right back. Don't go nowheres."

  "I is a &$!*^!! pirate," Tyrin squealed and danced on the rigging like a thing possessed. "I is the orange scourge of the many seas!" The tiny cat let out a wicked chitter.

  "Well, at least I'll have plenty to write to Avarice about," Dev remarked to himself, and looked forward across the endless expanse of white-capped water.

  Chapter 10: Navigation

  SHALONIE

  Shalonie stood next to Haptis, the ship's navigator, and listened with great interest as he explained the workings of the helm.

  When she'd first come on board the Golden Voyage, she'd been delighted to learn that Kadana expected everyone in the group to take on a job. Understandable. They're light on crew for this journey. She pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. I should be scared, but this is so exciting! While she had plenty of her own research to keep her occupied, she'd always felt actively learning from an expert in the field — any field — was eminently more valuable than simple book learning. Seeing the sheer amount of magic present on the vessel made her positively giddy.

  The magical artifacts crafted by the fabled Ven'tarian Sorcerium are legendary! The ship was priceless, especially considering the Ven'tarians no longer existed. Known for their extraordinary ability to bind elemental spirits inside artifacts, the Ven'tarians, it was rumored, sought more and more powerful beings to bind. They had destroyed themselves and their entire people when one ambitious Ven'tarian sorcerer had attempted to bind a Night Lord.

  Ven'tarian magic wasn't a form of magic Shalonie practiced — the binding of any living creature seemed inherently wrong to her. But she knew that Ven'tarian artifacts were valued beyond compare and had never imagined she'd be sailing on one of their vessels.

  "And this, my lady, is the helm control," Haptis pointed out the ship's wheel which possessed a myriad of extraordinary buttons and levers, each embedded with glittering charms. He explained some of their functionality, though he frequently bowed his head and said sheepishly that he didn't understand how most of it worked and hadn't yet figured out half the devices.

  "Been sailing for nigh on forty years with the Corsairs," he told her after pointing out yet another lever he didn't understand. "But I never did see the likes of this vessel. And you should see the maps."

  He motioned toward a large platform table covered with pieces of vellum. Secured with golden clips. Must be ensorcelled or they'd blow away. Just above the platform on a raised upper deck, Tormy stretched out in the sun, his amber eyes gazing curiously down at the one piece of vellum that lay rolled open on the platform. A small corner fluttered in the breeze, but the vellum itself did not move.

  Beside him, leaning against a rope-bound crate sat the dark-haired Machelli spy, Devastation. While the supposed youth professed to know nothing about ships or sailing, he had adapted surprisingly well. He looked relaxed and content in the job he'd been given: mending a spare sail torn on the last voyage. He was barefoot, like the majority of the Corsair sailors, and while he claimed to have never sewn anything in his life, his hands moved with swift deftness, neatly stitching up white canvas as well as any master tailor. He's either an amazingly quick study or a pathological liar. She couldn't decide which.

  He is a Machelli, she reminded herself. Deceit, deception and manipulation are tools of their trade. Come to think of it, there are probably Machellis named Deceit, Deception and Manipulation.

  Dev winked when he noticed the assessing look she was giving his stitching work. His silver eyes twinkled with amusement as if aware she'd caught out his lie.

  Shalonie averted her eyes, then cursed herself for doing so. He's going to make something of that. She forced herself to look at him again.

  Dev possessed sharp, chiseled features that made him more pretty than handsome, but he also had a strangely wicked and equally boyish charm.

  Shalonie blushed despite herself.

  "Never sewn anything before?" she asked him lightly.

  "Not a stitch," he agreed. "Never thought it a skill I'd have any use for. Never saw the point in learning."

  "And it shows," she told him, eyeing the perfect row of stitches he'd already completed. "You're terrible at it." She doubted even the first mate would find anything to complain about with his work.

  "I know," he sighed apologetically, seeming anything but remorseful judging by the gleam of mirth in his eyes. "Probably have to rip it out and do it all over again."

  Stifling a smirk, Shalonie turned her attention back to the navigator. Dev is Omen's problem, she reminded herself, relieved. Not that I think Omen knows anything about him. Avarice must trust Dev, or she wouldn't have sent him along . . . Would she?

  While Shalonie had many mixed thoughts about Avarice, she knew the woman would never endanger her family — would in fact go to horrific means
to safeguard them if it came right down to it. There are stories . . .

  Dev looks no older than Omen himself, but I would bet gold that he's far older than he looks. As a Melian, Shalonie knew not to judge a person's age by their looks. Melians all possessed an extraordinarily long lifespan. Though not as long-lived as the elvin races, they outlived humans significantly. But the possibility that a Machelli had managed to trick death a time or two would not surprise her.

  "This is the route we are taking, my lady," Haptis interrupted her thoughts. He pointed to the map stretched out on the large platform. Thin black lines and numbers, as well as silver sigils and symbols written in several languages, trailed over the heavy vellum.

  "This is saying 'map' I think," Tormy explained. He reached out one of his enormous paws and covered the large black letters at the top of the vellum, claws carefully retracted as if he understood the value of the page. The words he covered in fact said "Luminal Sea Navigation." The cat's attempt to read made her smile. Curiously, he nodded his head in a rhythmic pattern as he studied the words. Is he sounding out the letters?

  "There is being lots of silent letters in the word 'map' isn't there?" Tormy announced. She realized that he had counted the marks and somehow determined there were too many letters to spell the word map. That indicated he did at least understand that "map" was a very short word. How smart are these cats?

  "Lots," she agreed sagely. Tyrin must be with Kyr and Omen in the galley. Bet he'd have something to say about the map as well. The little cat's penchant for learning new curse words always made her laugh, even at the most inappropriate times.

  Tormy nodded. "It is being written in Kharakhian, and that is having lots of silent letters," he explained. He looked up suddenly, ears perked forward. "I is reading Kharakhian," he sounded astonished. "I is brilliantnessness!" Both Dev and Haptis chuckled at that, but neither man corrected the cat.

  Tormy reached out then and pawed curiously at the long golden chain attached to the top of the map by a jeweled stud. The chain was long enough to span the map from corner to corner. It ended in a clasp.

  Shalonie guessed a small object should be clipped to it. But the object was missing.

  "Is this being our longitudinousnessness?" Tormy asked, batting at the chain playfully.

  "Ah, no, Master Tormy," Haptis explained. "Longitude is marked here." He traced the long lines running vertically down the map. "We're here." He pointed to a spot marked with wavy lines indicating currents and wind patterns. "I don't actually know what the chain is for," he admitted. "The others say I should remove the chains and melt the gold down — worth quite a bit. But the Ven'tarians don't do things without reasons — and all the maps have these chains. I imagine they have a use — just haven't managed to work it out yet."

  "They're Proximals," Shalonie told him, having seen similar devices in the course of her studies. "There should be a small glass or crystal ship figurine attached to the ends of the chain, but it's likely the ship's last navigator took it."

  "Proximals?" Haptis frowned. "Never heard of such things."

  "I'll show you," Shalonie said, searching the deck for something to use. She spied the small wooden pipe attached to Haptis' belt and motioned toward him. "Let me have your pipe. And Dev, give me a spare piece of that sail, small bit should do."

  Both Haptis and Dev looked equally curious but did as she asked. Haptis emptied the bit of burnt leaf from the pipe first, rubbing it clean on his trousers before handing it over to her. Dev slipped a knife from a hidden sheath under the sleeve of his linen shirt and cut off a small corner of the white canvas sail he was mending.

  Tormy's tail twitched wildly as he watched.

  Shalonie took the pipe and the canvas. She stuffed the white material inside the pipe's leaf bowl and then motioned to Dev. "Let me see the needle," she told him. He snapped the line of thread connecting his sewing needle to the sail and handed the thin piece of metal across to her. She carefully scratched small, thin symbols into the side of the pipe. "This won't work as well as the actual Proximals, but it should be enough to demonstrate the magic," she told them. "The pipe will represent the ship."

  "What's the piece of sail for?" Haptis asked.

  "It connects the real ship to the pipe — the magic in a Proximal is entangled with the object it represents." Shalonie finished carving the necessary marks. She took the end of the golden chain attached to the map and wound it around the shaft of the pipe. She held both tightly in her hand for a moment, channeling a surge of magical power into the pipe. It wouldn't by any means be the magical artifact the Ven'tarians would have created, but she hoped her Cypher Runes would approximate the device. The marks should be enough to direct the magic.

  She felt the chain warm in her hand and could barely suppress a titter, knowing that her guess as to the purpose of the chain had been correct. It was likely that the missing crystal ship would have had an earth elemental locked inside it. Her spell would replicate its magic without imprisoning a living entity. Cypher Runes are truly superior to other magics.

  "There!" she said, collecting herself quietly. She released the chain and pipe, and they watched as the pipe began sliding across the map. It appeared to come to a rest in the very location Haptis had marked as their position.

  "It's still moving," Shalonie said. "Just too slowly to really see — it will match the position of the actual ship in the ocean with the pipe's position on the map. Ven'tarian ships never get lost."

  "That's marvelous!" Haptis leaned over the platform to get a closer look at the map and the pipe. "How accurate is it?"

  "The original Proximal would have been extremely accurate," Shalonie told him. "This one's a mock-up. The magic won't hold long because a pipe doesn't really represent the ship — maybe a day at most. Get Kyr to carve you a figurine of the ship — the more accurate the representation, the more accurate the spell, and the longer it will last. A good figurine could last you at least a year before the magic would need to be renewed. The original one probably had an earth elemental inside it — they never wore out." She handed the needle back to Dev, who quickly threaded it and continued sewing.

  "Kyr?" Haptis asked. "The strange elvin lad with Prince Armand?"

  "I think he prefers to be called Omen, but yes, I meant the boy," Shalonie told him. She glanced over at Dev before adding, "The Machellis have these odd superstitions about names."

  "Says the girl who just turned a pipe and piece of sail into a magical artifact." Dev laughed, seeming to take no offense. "Names, words, symbols — they all have power. With the right words a Night Dweller can steal your soul. Wouldn't recommend that."

  "Fair enough," Shalonie conceded. Seems to know more about magic than I suspected. Aside from Avarice, the Machellis are known for their blade work, not spell casting.

  "Boy seems a bit touched in the head," Haptis continued, still focusing on the idea of getting Kyr to do something for him.

  Shalonie felt a lump form in her throat.

  "Kyr is being very touching," Tormy agreed sweetly. "He is scratching my ears all the times. And I is purring on account of the fact that I is liking having my ears scratched. He is being good at the carvings too."

  "You won't find a better sculptor," Shalonie told the navigator. "And if you explain what it's for, he's likely to put his own brand of magic into the carving — it will make it all the more powerful."

  Haptis nodded with difficulty, but his mistrust was obvious.

  Shalonie found her admiration for Omen growing. The constant prejudice against Kyr had to be a strain. Their elevated status prevented people from saying hurtful things outright, but the side glances and the barely concealed signs to ward off evil whenever Kyr lapsed into Kahdess had to be wearing.

  It's a wonder Omen doesn't get into more fights.

  She knew the cats with their often-loud commentary, or good-natured brand of destructive clumsiness, couldn't be easy to manage either. Yet Omen handled all with good humor and grace. And a sizabl
e bank account, she amended. The sheer amount of food that Tormy consumed would bankrupt a less prosperous family.

  Haptis peered at the map, then glanced out at the ocean swells rising and falling around the great vessel. Off their starboard bow, Shalonie spotted two fishing skiffs skimming along the top of the water, floating inches above the waves, dragging a net between them.

  Air elementals kept the small boats aloft, both controlled rather superbly by Templar who'd managed to master their power the moment he'd climbed aboard. The Terizkandian prince had no trouble manipulating the magic needed to keep both vessels under control — something the ship's fishing master had taken full advantage of, assigning Templar the duty for the duration of the trip.

  "Well, at least my calculations were not off," Haptis said, looking back down at the map and then back up again at the waves. "I wondered. It's nice to know for certain."

  Shalonie paused at that, glancing over at Dev who looked up abruptly.

  "You were worried about something, Haptis?" the Machelli asked sharply, his silver eyes narrowing. Apparently he too had heard the note of concern in the navigator's voice.

  Haptis tugged uncomfortably at one of his earlobes. "We're taking the summer route," he began haltingly. "Different seasons, you take different routes, ride different currents." He pointed to various lines along the map. "This route is calm in the summer— peaceful. Little in the way of rough weather. But with the appearance of the Widow Maker, we have to steer wider south than usual to avoid the Mourner's Straits where the leviathan appears on Haunter's Eve. Adds some time to the trip, but it's easy sailing. But I've never seen the water this choppy so early in summer."

  Shalonie cut her gaze toward the water where the skiffs rose and fell, the air elementals keeping them aloft over the ocean surface. The water didn't seem particularly choppy to her — though she could see whitecaps all around them. But she wasn't a sailor, and had spent very little time on board a ship. Haptis had lived his entire life at sea. "Do you think we're off course?" she asked bluntly.