Summer's Fall

by Carol E. Leever

  "What about the cats and Kyr?" Omen asked, his gaze on Tormy who was still sound asleep on his pile of pillows, the lack of twitching ears indicating that the giant feline was deeply asleep and not simply resting.

  "Fine," Dev replied. "Tormy's just tired — the fight took a lot out of him, and he appears to be a bit of a worrier. Shalonie took Kyr and Tyrin to the galley — the boy's been here the entire time. Stopped talking when he realized you were unconscious, but the cats seem to think he's fine, so no one's too concerned."

  Several emotions passed through Omen's features at that. He finally seemed to settle on unease. "He doesn't like to be left alone," Omen said softly. "He sometimes has a hard time figuring things out."

  Figuring out what's real, he means. Dev had caught on to that early. Mystic or not, the boy is insane. The kind of insane that needs a locked room and blind priestesses to pray over him.

  "Well, that and the fact that our dead crewmen appear to be talking to him," Dev quipped. "Avarice told me that if Kyr became nonverbal I should hand him a knife and a piece of wood and leave him alone. Seemed strange advice. I generally avoid giving sharp, pointy objects to crazy people, but I did as she suggested and it appeared to work. He's carving a rather remarkable replica of the ship."

  Omen's features hardened. "Kyr is not crazy!"

  Dev laughed out loud. "Omen, you're all crazy. Every last one of you, and for many more reasons than Kyr's weird talk. And I'm crazy for agreeing to come along with you. But there you have it. The world's full of crazy."

  His laughter seemed to disarm Omen whose features smoothed out. "I suppose."

  "You saved the ship," Dev said then, curious to see how he'd respond. He was beginning to suspect . . . Ah yes, there it is. Omen shook his head in denial. Not going to take credit for it. So humble — wonder how long that will last. Still it did appear to be genuine, but experience had taught Dev that sooner or later ego ruled supreme.

  "Shalonie saved the ship," Omen stated flatly.

  "She said you did," Dev replied.

  "I merely supplied the power; she did all the work," Omen insisted. "I don't even understand how she did it!"

  "No one does," Dev assured him. "She's tried to explain, but with the possible exception of Templar, none of us understood the explanation even after she repeated it several times. She even provided diagrams; didn't understand those either. Well . . . Tyrin claims he understood them perfectly, but I'm beginning to suspect he was having us on."

  Omen smiled faintly, but Dev could see his migraine was growing worse, the furrow between his eyes deepening. "Can't figure out why I'm so tired," he murmured.

  Dev scoffed. "According to Shalonie, the psionic blast you threw at the ship was about ten times more powerful than necessary. She thinks she might have over-calculated when she asked you to throw everything you had into it." If he was honest with himself, Dev found the whole scenario alarming.

  Omen looked horrified. "Did I damage the ship?"

  Dev shook his head. "No, she wasn't kidding when she implied that mark she carved could take it. Apparently all that residual power has pushed us weeks ahead of where we should be. We left the Widow Maker far behind us. We're well beyond its reach — assuming it's still alive. And we're nearly to port. If that whole heir to a throne thing doesn't work out, you have a future hiring yourself out as a means of propulsion. Can't imagine having that kind of power."

  "Why do you say that? You're psionic." Omen's eyes narrowed. "You have a shield, a strong one. Noticed it the moment we met."

  He doesn't get it, doesn't understand. Like a giant baby blundering through the world. Maybe that's why he's not afraid of a Night Dweller. Dev knew that his psionic shield, such as it was, wouldn't be any match for Omen — should he choose to dismantle it. 7 had scanned his mind as if his shield didn't even exist the moment Avarice had informed him he'd be traveling with Omen. Were I not used to such abuse, I might even have feigned offense.

  He wondered how long it would be before Omen did something similar. Wounded betrayal would probably play better with Omen, acting offended would likely make him feel justified, Dev reasoned. Not that he cared of course — he had no secrets to hide.

  Dev's skin began to itch again, and he shook off the sensation caused by his unease, smiling instead. "Not like yours. If I had the power to peel potatoes with my mind, I'd take over the world."

  Omen groaned and rolled his eyes. "Mégeira told you," he groused.

  "Repeatedly," Dev agreed. "No doubt your mother will find the story just as amusing."

  That caught his attention. "You're going to tell my mother?" He looked worried.

  Dev smirked. "What part of reporting back to her in excruciating detail didn't you understand? I take my job very seriously. I have an excellent work ethic. And before you ask me not to tell her, I already told her." He held up the small leather-bound journal.

  The blank look on Omen's face made it plain that he did not recognize the object.

  "It's a magical bonding book," Dev clarified. "Avarice has a matching journal. Anything written in one book instantly shows up in the other."

  Omen's lips twisted with distaste. "You're completely shameless," he muttered, starting to drift away again as there was little heat in his words.

  "Completely," Dev agreed, amused. "It's one of the reasons Avarice likes me so much. You should get some sleep. It's going to take you a while to recover."

  "I'm fine . . ." Omen slurred, as he was already nearly asleep. Then he fell silent.

  Outside the storm was finally beginning to die down, the screaming wind settling into a hushed roar. How does a storm rage over such distance? Dev rolled his head to one side, then the other. Who am I to ask? He stared out the porthole, keeping his mind blank as he watched the endless waves.

  When a wind-tossed Liethan Corsair entered the room a half hour later, accompanied by the silent Kyr, the two of them were delighted to learn that Omen had briefly awoken. Kyr grinned lightheartedly before climbing again onto the pillows and snuggling against the still slumbering Tormy.

  "Kadana wants to see you on deck," Liethan told Dev. "Go on. I'll watch Omen."

  "The storm over?" Dev asked, rising from his perch by the window and shoving the small bonding book into the pouch at his belt. Perhaps I should leave it lying around so Omen can read it — might prove entertaining.

  "The heavy wind and rain have passed." The Corsair boy looked bitterly disappointed, reinforcing Dev's certainty that everyone on board was mentally unbalanced. At least the crew hadn't shared in Liethan's enthusiasm for the rough weather, leading Dev to conclude that Liethan's storm madness was unique to him and not a congenital insanity shared by all Corsairs.

  Dev made his way through the dimly lit corridor toward the upper deck. Though it was day, little sunlight cut through the grim clouds overhead; and while the rain had stopped, the driving wind still sprayed ocean water into the air, making the wood slick.

  Blood's washed away, Dev noted on his way to the navigator's bridge. His gaze moved to where Shalonie had carved the mark — it still glowed with residual power. Considering the girl had carved it during a pitched battle, in the middle of a raging storm, on a ship being literally pulled apart by a leviathan, the work was remarkably well done — the complicated sigils crisp and clear. Wonder what else she can do with those marks.

  "There you are, Machelli," Kadana greeted him as he joined her, Templar, Haptis and Shalonie at the helm.

  Using my last name . . . must be irritated. Dev smiled at her and nodded cordially to the yellow-eyed Night Dweller standing beside her. "Problems?" he asked pleasantly.

  "I thought Avarice sent you to help with my little project with the Machelli Guild," Kadana started without preamble.

  Though this was the first Dev had heard of any project she might have with the Machelli Guild in Kharakhan, he gave no indication of surprise. He smiled as if urging her to go on.

  "Now I'm thinking you're here for a different reason, Ma
chelli."

  "Avarice sent me along to keep an eye on Omen and Kyr." Another half-truth — but Dev tended to avoid the truth whenever possible, on principle alone. Lies generally garnered far more information than the truth ever did. He was well aware that Avarice had sent him along solely because she didn't trust Indee or believe any part of the story the queen had told Omen. He knew as well as anyone that Omen hardly needed his protection. Avarice wanted information, not whatever fanciful tale might have been conjured for her naive son.

  "Avarice sent you along because Indee is up to her usual games, and she wants a heads-up before things spiral into chaos," Kadana said bluntly, gaze sharpening as if daring Dev to deny it.

  How refreshing! Dev thought with delight. He loved people like Kadana — blunt, straightforward, steadfast. He always knew exactly where he stood with people like that.

  "Indee is married to Lord Sylvan," Shalonie began with a protest.

  "Yes, yes." Kadana waved her off. "Fantastic lot, your dragons, but let's not forget I've known Indee for decades. Fought in several wars at her side. I know when something has gone terribly wrong. We take this route to Kharakhan because it's calm and peaceful during the summer. Here it is not even Midsummer's Eve yet, and we just sailed through one of the worst storms I've seen in years. And we've been attacked by a creature that only roams the sea on Haunter's Eve — which is months from now."

  "Wait a minute. The creature. What else do you know about it?" Templar asked as if a thunderbolt had reverberated in his head.

  "I know it should never have been near Melia," Kadana said, a new edge of tension in her voice. "Every sailor knows of that creature. Every sailor knows to avoid it," Kadana said as if instructing an apprentice. "That it should have stalked us in the open sea — something is deadly wrong." Her extraordinarily green eyes bored into Dev and then Templar. "Which brings me to my question. What's this complicated quest of Omen's all about? No lies, boys."

  "There's nothing complicated about it." Templar took a deep breath. "Indee's son King Khylar has been kidnapped by the Autumn Dwellers and taken into the Autumn Lands. We were sent to rescue him."

  Shalonie's face twitched as if she were having a seizure. "Omen only said he wanted to go to the Mountain of Shadow!"

  A curse sprang from Kadana's mouth. "Of course 7 and Avarice didn't mention—" She cut herself off, visibly reconsidering. "The Mountain of Shadow is the best way to get into the Autumn Lands. Especially since the Autumn Gate should be closed during summer."

  "Which begs the question . . . How did the Autumn Dwellers kidnap Khylar?" Shalonie's words spilled out quickly, her thoughts clearly galloping ahead. "Of course . . . that would explain . . ." Her voice trailed off as she seemed to turn her thoughts inward, her gaze growing distant.

  "Explain what?" Kadana snapped her fingers, pulling Shalonie's attention back to the present.

  Shalonie pulled herself together. "Assuming the Autumn Dwellers have somehow managed to open the Autumn Gate out of season, it would likely throw all the seasons off. Migratory creatures would be confused and creatures like Urgolath could be free to wander the mortal realm. The real problem would be if the Gates are actually still open."

  "Meaning what?" Kadana put a hand to her head.

  Shalonie shrugged helplessly. "The Gates aren't supposed to stay open. They're only supposed to open midseason for one night. They're also not supposed to open out of turn. The fact that one has opened means we can't assume it was promptly closed. Any manner of creature could be escaping from that world into ours."

  "Why would they want to?" Templar protested. "We're not talking about the Night Lands. The Autumn Lands are not a prison. Its inhabitants chose to live there, they have no reason to escape. They're free to come and go as they please every equinox. Most choose not to because they have no interest in the mortal world."

  "And they should have no reason to kidnap a king of a mortal kingdom, and yet they have," Shalonie reminded him. "We can't make assumptions. This also puts the Covenant of the Gods at risk — since it governs the workings of the Gates. If someone or something is willing to do that, we can't count on anything."

  "Which means there's more going on here than Indee let on," Kadana agreed with Shalonie's assessment. She turned toward Templar, her face stern. "What exactly did Indee tell you?"

  "Indee didn't tell me anything." Templar seemed more than willing to tell everything he knew. "Fog, her cat did. He came looking for Tormy to rescue Khylar. Omen went to talk to Indee."

  "Alone?" Kadana pressed.

  "Well, with Kyr and the cats." Templar reconsidered. "Yes, basically alone."

  "Which is when Indee hexed Kyr. Didn't you notice the mark on his hand?" Dev threw in. He'd recognized the hex the moment he'd seen it — would have known what it was even if Avarice hadn't already explained the situation to him. He was surprised the Night Dweller hadn't noticed, since it certainly had to be a form of magic he'd studied or practiced. Remarkably trusting, this lot. Blindly following Omen on some quest they know nothing about. He watched Templar closely for a reaction.

  "What hex mark?" Templar demanded, looking gut-punched.

  Dev once again reassessed his opinion of the man. He's actually worried.

  "On the back of his left hand," Dev explained. "She meant to hex Omen, but got Kyr instead. If Omen even hints that he's not going to fulfill the demands of the quest — rescue Khylar and return him to Kharakhan — the mark is triggered. That's why Omen won't explain — he's afraid of hurting Kyr."

  Kadana blinked slowly as if trying to contain her reaction. "Now that sounds more like the Indee I know. She's remarkably efficient at getting her way."

  "Efficient?" Templar protested.

  "I'm sure Lady Kadana meant treacherous," Dev quipped. "She just didn't want to offend Shalonie."

  Shalonie sniffed with annoyance but remained silent.

  Kadana however nodded her head as if making a decision. "Regardless of what word you want to use, I know Indee. Whatever quest she's given Omen, she's determined that he will go through with it, and Omen is likely stuck because of the hex mark on Kyr." She pointed at Dev. "You're stuck because Avarice told you to go, and Omen's going to need you, Shalonie, to get into the Mountain of Shadow and more importantly get back out again, so you're committed as well." She glanced over at Templar. "And you and Liethan are the idiots who thought this would be fun, so you're stuck on principle alone."

  "I would never abandon Omen," Templar objected, as if offended by the very thought. Something stirred in his yellow eyes. "What do you mean idiots?"

  "Actually I think, Liethan is here because his cousin Tara Corsair, Khylar's soon-to-be bride, is also missing," Dev piped up. "Which makes Templar the only idiot."

  "Your opinion is worth less than fleas on a cow's—" Templar started, aggressive and fired up, but Kadana cut him off.

  "Regardless!" she stated conclusively. "We all go forward as planned. Omen and Kyr need us. And I hope Indee isn't getting us into another war."

  "War? What war?" Shalonie said, deeply disturbed. But Kadana was already heading toward the wheel where Haptis was waiting to determine their new course. Shalonie followed after her, fists balled up with frustration.

  Templar leaned heavily against the railing and folded his arms. After a moment, his face contorted with disgruntled mirth.

  Bloody Night Dweller! Dev gave a curt bow and headed back below deck.

  Chapter 19: Aftermath

  OMEN

  Omen leaned against Tormy as he stared out at the tumultuous ocean from the foredeck of the Golden Voyage. The waves writhed like an endless nest of baby vipers, making his stomach roll. He dug the fingers of his left hand into the downy fur behind Tormy's ear for comfort, both the cat's and his own. The giant cat curled around him and continued to doze in the sun.

  Nearly a week had passed since the storm and the leviathan. Omen tried not to think of the gruesome creature, grateful it had sunken to the bottom of the ocean after the b
last. He hoped it had been devoured by scores and scores of tiny fish.

  Omen had missed most of the days and nights in restless sleep, his nightmares filled with the screams of the men they had not been able to save, his body attempting to restore itself after the harsh energy drain and the harrowing backlash of the psionic jolt.

  Shalonie saved the ship and everyone on it. Just glad I could help. He rolled his head from side to side to release the built-up tension from sleeping in a confined space for nearly a week.

  Sleep? More like forced hibernation: in his swaying den on the ocean sleeps Omen, the great dancing bear. His mind spun a theme to the ditty, but his imagination wandered off mid-composition to the traveling carnival he'd seen in the Melia market. "Remember the dancing bears, Tormy?"

  "I 'member 'member. They is being funny," the cat said, groggy and not opening his big amber eyes. "They is sleeping all winter long."

  Omen halted briefly, an unpleasant thought forming in his mind about the seasons and how animals in nature were affected by them.

  If the seasons are in upheaval . . . He stared at the petulant waters darkly. The waves were choppy but not violent. How did Kyr know about the seasons?

  They said the initial storm had raged for three days straight with no break. Kadana and Haptis had fought to adjust the course to make an escape from the downpour.

  When it had been her turn to oversee Omen's recovery, Shalonie had explained the details of their navigational efforts. He had listened, trying to make sense of it all as he lay in his hammock below deck, helpless and weak. Tormy never left his side, purring evenly to keep Omen relaxed and dozy.

  He must have ducked out to eat when I was asleep. Must have, Omen thought but didn't remember ever not seeing the cat curled up within reach.

  Omen had finally roused himself that morning, and he and Tormy had scrambled onto the deck before breakfast, looking for fresh air and conversation. Omen had leaned on the giant cat for balance as he'd put one wobbly foot in front of the other. His knees felt like overcooked noodles.