Summer's Fall

by Carol E. Leever

  An animalistic shriek rained down upon them, and Kyr danced away from the door as he pointed. "Omen! The crow's nest!"

  Omen looked upward to see the young, ginger-haired lookout who had been up in the crow's nest, climb over the edge of the wooden frame. With him was the ship's monkey. Tail firmly wrapped around the rail, back feet clinging fiercely, the little creature tried to pull the sailor back from the edge. The monkey chittered and cried in distress, its frantic gestures showing Omen that even though it could not talk, it still understood the danger.

  The song of the Widow Maker rang onward relentlessly, beckoning. Only the steady purring thrum of Omen's shield kept his mind clear of its influence.

  Without warning, the lookout jumped, his body hurtling downward toward the deck. The monkey screamed. Immediately, the small creature raced down the mast pole after the man.

  Omen shifted the song in his mind, adding a new tune to the base of his shield as he reached outward with his psionics toward the plunging sailor. The pattern he needed formed instantly, and he grabbed the tumbling body, the impact of weight and force driving him to one knee as he focused all his attention on saving the sailor before the man's head could strike the deck. He was vaguely aware of Dev, Shalonie, and Kyr trying to hold the door he'd just abandoned, but his mind was centered on the cushion of force around the young man.

  He slowed. Stopped. Inches above the planks.

  Carefully, Omen lowered the sailor to the deck even as the little monkey leaped from the shrouds and landed on the sailor's chest. The creature cried and whimpered as it slapped tiny hands against the young man's cheeks as if trying to coax some sign of life from him. The pitiful whimpers pulled at Omen's heart.

  "He's all right," he tried to tell the monkey, forgetting momentarily that the fuzzy animal wouldn't understand his words. Omen tried to stand back up. Pain flared through him, and he had to gasp in a few deep breaths to steady his flailing shield. I can do this.He reset the calming purr of his shielding song, his eyes moving instinctively toward Tormy as if to remind himself of the sound of the cat's purr.

  Tormy still struggled with the three sailors he was holding in place. The woman caught under him was still hollering in terror. At least her fear is keeping her mind free of the song.

  Kadana passed by Tormy as she dragged Arbrios downward. She grabbed hold of the woman's arm and hauled her from beneath the large cat's orange rump. "On your feet! A big, fluffy, orange cat sat on you!" she snapped. "Get over it!" The woman fell silent as she stumbled after Kadana, the voice of her captain breaking through her panic.

  "We need to get them below." Kadana moved toward the door that Dev and Shalonie were just barely holding shut.

  "It's just a matter of time before they break through," Dev warned. "And sooner or later someone will think to go through a porthole. We have to stop this blasted song!"

  "Omen, can you do what your dad did back in Melia?" Templar's question was underscored with doubt.

  Omen quaked, remembering the terrible sound that had echoed through his mind when 7 had blasted the Widow Maker. He also remembered the dire warnings his father had given him. If I attack it, I'll likely end up brain-dead.

  "No," he admitted freely. "I can't begin to understand what my father did. My powers are not trained to that extent."

  "Can you shield the ship from the song?" his grandmother asked quickly.

  Omen squirmed at having to say no again. "I can probably shield four or five other people, but not for long. Certainly no longer than an hour."

  "It doesn't know who is on board," Kyr announced suddenly. "It wonders, it fears, and it hears my voice when I speak of the dead. But it doesn't know."

  "Is that importantnessness, Kyr?" Tyrin asked urgently. The kitten poked his head out from the boy's coat pocket. Omen knew that Kyr's mind was protected from the song by the bracelet around his wrist, and he was glad that his father's guess that the cats were not affected had been correct.

  The door behind them thumped hard again, shoving Dev forward. Templar reached out to help brace it, holding it in place.

  "We are surrounded by fish," Kyr whispered to the little cat, and Omen smiled sadly at the boy. His moments of strangeness took him down paths that Omen couldn't comprehend.

  "I don't know what. . ." Omen began only to trail off as Kyr's words replayed in his head. "It doesn't know . . . there may be something I can do after all." He looked up brightly. "I don't know if it will work, but I can at least try."

  "If you can think of something, do it!" Kadana urged. She waved one hand through the air as if to encompass her ship. "No wind, no momentum and this blasted song — we're dead in the water."

  Omen, heart pounding in his chest, moved forward toward the railing. He chose a spot next to Tormy who was still holding fast to the two sailors he'd pinned. The great cat was less agitated now that he was no longer sitting on anyone, and no longer being accused of eating anyone.

  Tormy rubbed his fuzzy head against Omen's side as he approached and immediately the soft purr began rumbling through the cat's body, reinforcing the shield Omen kept around him. He smiled faintly. This may destroy my mind. What will happen to the cats and Kyr if I'm gone?

  He shuddered, trying to force the dark thought out of his head. I have to try. We're dead in the water if I don't.

  He felt Kyr move up to the railing, taking a place by his side. The boy stared impassively out at the shapes of long dead men and women standing up on the waves. He must see things like this all the time.

  "All right," he whispered to himself. "Focus, Otharian pattern to reach out, and then the Loiritic pattern. Why didn't I learn the last two! Blast." He steadied his breath.

  He was familiar with the Otharian patterns, which he used to push or blast his powers outward. Of all the patterns, those came easiest to him, and the songs of the various forms were clear and waiting in the back of his mind. He only needed the weakest of them for this — just a simple battle tune, percussion and melody springing eagerly to the forefront of his mind. He held on tightly to the energy that formed as the pattern emerged.

  Now for the Loiritic pattern for the suggestion. Of the five, he'd only learned the first three — he'd used the third, the strongest he knew, but that song was harder to pull forward. Like singing in a round. Hold both songs together. He entwined the two tunes, Otharian and Loiritic, creating a new melody that throbbed in his head. He felt pain creep in just behind his eyes. Hold it! Hold it! he scolded himself.

  Now the suggestion. Just a hint, just a thought. This has to work. He formed the image of his father in his mind, pictured him as clearly as possible, standing there beside him at the railing. He thought of his father's eccentric thought patterns — sharp angles and vectors spinning off into chaos in a way he could never fully comprehend. The illusion had to be convincing enough to trick the Widow Maker.

  Power built within him. His skin grew hot, the throbbing of his pulse carrying the baseline of the song beating through him. The image formed, clear and bright. He could almost see 7 standing there beside him, golden hair damp with mist. Now! Omen pushed outward, briefly lowering his shield to push the thought forward.

  It wasn't precisely an attack on the mind of the Widow Maker — it was just a touch followed swiftly by a desperate retreat back behind the waiting shield. He pushed the suggestion outward, and for one brief moment he touched the mind of something old and monstrous, an entity beyond his understanding, vast and fragmented as if made up of thousands of different minds. A thousand eyes turned toward him, focusing on the intrusion, focusing on Omen.

  He backed swiftly away. Shield! Behind your shield! Omen cursed at himself as he tried to reach safety once more before the eyes spotted him. They locked on. Not going to make it!

  "He'll take them!" he heard a clear voice beside him shout out in Kahdess. Kyr, gripping the railing, screamed into the waves and fog. "This time he'll take them all! All your souls will be gone and you'll be alone forever!"

  Th
e boy's words did the trick. That along with the image of 7 standing there at the railing poised to attack was enough.

  Omen heard a terrible, rage-filled scream in his head as Urgolath withdrew its haunting attack. The lights vanished; the shapes faded from the water; the song at last ended. The ship drifted slowly forward, only a simple fog barring their way as the sound of water against the bulkhead washed over Omen.

  He crumpled, Tormy bracing him on one side, Kyr on the other. But there — just at the very back of his mind — Omen caught the image of something huge and dark, hundreds of long tentacles, eyes on long waving stalks, a vast mouth filled with gnashing teeth. He saw it rip its way out of a cave and rush forward into the open sea, bent on vengeance.

  The others raced toward him, freed now of the burden of holding back the sailors wanting to jump overboard.

  I want to go swimming. Omen sighed heavily, his head pounding with pain. He felt his grandmother's hand close around his.

  "You did it, Omen!" she praised. "You defeated it."

  "No," he shook his head, trying to clear it. The water looks so nice. So cool. He felt overheated. "I just scared it," he explained. "I made it think 7 was on board about to attack it. It has to lower its mental shield to sing. It won't dare sing again if it thinks 7 is going to steal more souls from it." I want to swim.

  He heard Kadana chuckle; he felt too weak to raise his head to see. "Clever! Now if we had some blasted wind we could outrun it for good and make port."

  "I might be able to get the ship's air elementals to rustle up some wind if I experiment a bit," Templar suggested.

  "Can't outrun it," Kyr spoke softly, but they all heard his words. He was sitting beside Omen on the deck, staring up at the sky. "It's in front of us."

  "Are you sure of that lad?" Kadana asked gently.

  Kyr smiled. "I hear it thrashing and wailing as it swims the open seas. Always hungry, now vengeful."

  I want to swim. Omen looked up. "Then let's attack it." His words were met with looks of shock. "I'm serious. It's coming for us. We have to fight it no matter what. Let's go forward full speed, hit it with everything we've got. You must have harpoons on board. It's a fish. Let's go fishing!" The water will be so cool on my hot skin.

  "We have several harpoons," Kadana agreed. She frowned thoughtfully. "I've never gone whaling, but I've used the harpoons before against giant squid who've attacked my ship. No reason they wouldn't work against a leviathan. It's an Autumn Dweller — they don't like cold iron."

  "Do you think we can kill something like that?" Shalonie asked worriedly.

  Kadana shrugged. "Sounds like we don't have a choice. I've found that most things bleed when you stick 'em with a blade." The others all began talking at once, all filled with various suggestions of how they could arm the ship for battle.

  I want to go swimming. Omen sighed as he staggered slowly to his feet, aided by Kyr's thin hands gripping his arm. The water looks so cool. He closed his hands over the railing.

  "You is not swimming," Tormy purred toward him, rubbing his warm nose against Omen's neck. The cat's slow steady purr rumbled through his body, fortifying his shield. "You is wanting to cook us breakfasts, 'member, 'member?" the cat told him. "You is liking the cookings."

  "I like cooking," Omen agreed. I'm starting to sound like Kyr. I like green.

  "So we is going to the kitchen?" Tormy asked eagerly. "You is cookings the breakfasts?"

  "Yes, breakfast," Omen agreed, and he followed his cat toward the door to the lower deck.

  Chapter 15: Hunt

  DEV

  The creature was gone. It had withdrawn its terrible song and with it, the decaying spirits of lost souls that had invaded their ship and gnawed at their sanity. It had fled from them because of whatever Omen had done.

  It was over.

  They were safe.

  But now Omen and Kadana wanted to charge after it.

  Hunt it.

  Get it before it got them. And that's assuming Omen is right and it really is coming for us. Why not just change course and flee? Far safer.

  Dev muttered a string of curses he'd known since his childhood in Revival. Curses he saved for moments like these.

  "&%$#!" little Tyrin repeated, jumping from rigging block to rigging block as he followed Dev. "That is being very descriptive." Unabashed awe glittered in the cat's amber eyes as he studied Dev carefully. "I is not even knowing that a &%$# had a flying &*@. You is very good at the cursings, Dev."

  He knew better than to encourage Tyrin's pertinacious line of questioning. "Where's Kyr?" he deflected, wondering why the creature was following him and not his master.

  "Kyr is being in the galley. With Omen. They is cooking the breakfast. I is learning the cursings."

  "Breakfast?"

  "That is being the meal after the wakings up."

  Pressing his lips together to keep from answering, Dev looked down to the main deck where all hands busied themselves with setting the ship back in order. Freed of the song's terrible compulsion, they worked quietly, seeming disoriented still.

  Why would Omen be cooking now?

  The sharp stink of the slushy muck that had dripped from the ghostly forms still lingered and assaulted Dev's nostrils as he climbed to the afterdeck.

  Can't imagine anyone wants to eat with this stench everywhere.

  Shalonie stood at the taffrail rounding the stern and stared out at the dark waves churning behind them. He couldn't hear her words, but her lips moved continuously. The mist was finally lifting, burning off as the sun rose in the far eastern sky.

  Praying to her Sundragons, no doubt. They're not going to be any help out here. That's the problem with domestic deities. Bloody useless when you're away from home.

  He decided not to disturb the girl's reverie, but instead made his way back to where Kadana had taken the helm. Three of the crew stood by Kadana's side, listening and nodding to a brisk catalog of orders. Dev heard them repeat the commands of how to position the ship's three harpoons.

  Etorina, a young Corsair sailor, held a leather scroll up for Kadana's perusal.

  Dev thought nothing of interrupting. "Lady Kadana—"

  "Captain," Etorina corrected him as Kadana leaned into what seemed to be a nautical chart scratched into the flaking leather.

  "Captain." Dev wasted no time."May I ask the wisdom of pursuing a mortiferous threat bent on eating all of our souls? Wouldn't it be more prudent to call ourselves lucky and run?"

  Kadana threw him a quick glance, her eyes sparkling like green fire.

  "I don't say this for myself." Dev cleared his throat. He knew he had to try to stop this folly. He also knew Kadana would never listen to him. But if I don't try to stop her, I won't be able to report to Avarice that I tried to stop her. "I say this for the sake of the families who would be . . . perturbed — your family, the Daenoths, the Corsairs, the Sundragons, Cerioth's brood — if something were to happen to their precious offspring."

  "We're going after the Widow Maker. If Kyr is correct, and I believe he is, we have no other choice." Kadana no longer even glanced at him. "Go below deck and see to my grandson, Devastation Machelli."

  Her mind's made up.

  Dev gave a curt nod in Kadana's direction and retreated.

  This is madness.

  He passed Templar who was leaning against the mainmast in an entirely too casual manner. "Don't take it to heart," the prince said flippantly. "She wouldn't even talk to me this morning. Just had the first mate tell me to make myself useful."

  Dev noted the sails, full and billowing despite the lack of wind. He also noted the periodic flurry of tiny gestures Templar directed at the sails and the slight sheen of sweat on the prince's brow. Guess his experiment was successful. One bit of good news.

  "We all do what we can." Templar grinned. "Tell Omen to save me some bacon."

  "Bacon," Tyrin cried and leaped onto Dev's shoulder from above.

  Should have been ready for that.

 
"Take me to bacon!" the little cat commanded. "Is I doing it right?" He addressed both Dev and Templar. "Grandma Kadana is saying, 'Go below deck and see to my grandson, Devastation Machelli.' And you is doing it." He nipped Dev's earlobe. "Is I saying it right? You is not going when I is saying it."

  The needle-sharp bite grazed tender skin. That little— Briefly Dev considered dropping the kitten into the rainwater barrel.

  "Perhaps you need to repeat his full name," Templar suggested, suppressing a laugh. "There's power in names."

  "Go below deck and take me to bacon, Devastation Machelli," Tyrin tried again.

  Biting back the words he would have liked to have flung at Templar's head along with his fist, Dev gave a sharp bow and proceeded below deck, the cat swaying on his shoulder as if he belonged there.

  "I like fried fish." Dev heard Kyr say as he pushed past three youths waiting at the entrance of the galley. Each sailor held a wooden tray, ready to carry food items to the mess.

  "But does it go with eggs?" Kyr's voice continued to be full of wonder. "Are they fish eggs?"

  "No, Kyr, we're not having fish eggs," Omen said patiently as he lifted one cast iron pan from the hot stove top and replaced it with another. "Fried fish and scrambled eggs. Chicken eggs. It's a breakfast they eat on the Corsair Isles. Arra sometimes makes it right on the beach over a fire." He poured a generous amount of oil into the hot pan. "I have to improvise."

  While they had the help of a dishwasher, Dev noted the absence of the ship's cook.

  Cupboards swung open, and jars slid from side to side but none fell out, held in place by the magical ship's many spells. The large pantry door knocked against the stove, and the fire elementals flickered to life in the lighting orbs as the grey haze of gloaming crushed the sunlight streaming in through the portholes.

  Tormy sat pressed up into a corner of the galley, away from the stove, and allowed Kyr to flick pieces of crisp bacon directly into his mouth.