by CJ Brightley
Dabiel joined her, blinking at the silver orb with the same astonishment Larine felt. “I didn’t realize it was so late.”
Larine went to gather Flutter from his spot next to Buttons. The falcon nestled in her arms, too drowsy to perch on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have stayed so long. I hope Master Idan isn’t cross with you tomorrow.”
“Some things are more important than sleep, no matter what the Law says.” Dabiel embraced her, careful not to crush Flutter. “I’m sorry about your marriage, but I’m so glad to have you back.”
Larine shifted Flutter to the crook of one elbow and hugged Dabiel in return. “I can’t begin to express how happy I am that you’re still willing to be my friend.”
“I’d be harming myself more than you if I held a grudge.” Dabiel pulled away and looked at her seriously. “Just promise me you won’t let anything come between us again. If a man doesn’t want you to have friends, he’s no good for you.”
“Believe me, I’ve learned that lesson.” Larine thought about Hanion, but dragged her mind firmly away. He’d been sitting with Semira at the evening meal, looking at her as devotedly as ever. Larine would stay far away. She’d never participate in subjecting another woman to what Shiar had put her through, no matter how much she disliked her. Hanion had chosen his life’s path, and Larine wasn’t part of it. “Between wizardry and motherhood, I’ll have plenty to keep me busy. I don’t expect I’ll be looking for a man for a long time.”
“That’s probably wise.” Dabiel’s expression softened. “Just don’t write off love completely. That wouldn’t be natural for you. Don’t give up hope that someday the time and the person will be right.”
Larine nodded, her throat tight. Sometimes she envied Dabiel, who was perfectly content to have no interest in sex or romance. But she envied Master Idan and Master Tasha, with their deep and lasting love for each other, even more. “I won’t.”
Dabiel hugged her again, they bid each other good-night, and Larine returned to her room and her warm bed, snuggled between Ozor and Flutter.
9
Firstday, 27 Growing, 976, 8th hour
Larine clung to the port rail as the ship tossed, straining to see ahead. She’d stood in the prow until the waves crashing over the deck had driven her back. Most of the other wizards had gone below to wait until they reached their destination. But Larine couldn’t bear to be confined in the stuffy, cramped spaces, the heaving motion of the ship echoed by the heaving of her stomach. At least up here there was fresh air. Far too much of it, in fact. The wind beat her with cold fists and lashed her with whips of rain.
Daisy stood beside her, head up, mouth open, eyes bright, her four legs giving her much better stability than Larine’s two. Whenever an especially strong gust of wind hit or the ship lurched with particular violence, she barked in excitement. As far as Larine could tell, her familiar was enjoying herself immensely. She seemed to view their mission as a thrilling adventure and she and her wizard as glorious heroes.
Larine felt sick. Vomiting over the side had helped the physical nausea, but it had done nothing for the dread in her gut. She kept hearing Ozor’s voice screaming after her as she fled. Could anything justify hurting her child that way? Maybe it would have been better to let him and all of Elathir die than to stab him through the heart. He might survive, but he’d carry the scars for the rest of his life.
It was too late now to change her mind. The ship drove through the howling wind and turbulent waves, fighting its way to the spot the Mother had identified where a handful of thrown pebbles could change the course of an avalanche.
Larine pulled Dabiel’s terse instructions out of her pocket and squinted to read them again, even though she’d memorized every word. She didn’t see how this could work. The forces raging around her were immense beyond comprehension, and the ship was only skirting the edge of the storm. Even the combined energy of sixty-two poured-out lives would be scarcely a breath in comparison. How could they hope to turn the monster aside?
They weren’t going to try. They were going to push it a tiny bit faster along the course it was already traveling. According to the vision the Mother had given Dabiel, the enormous spinning vortex was approaching the coast of Tevenar at an angle, driving a huge surge of ocean water before it. If they did nothing, the surge would sweep over Elathir, drowning the city.
But the storm was rotating. On the north side of the circle, the wind and waves drove west, toward the shore. That’s where the greatest influx of water would inundate the land. On the south side, the wind blew east, out to sea. The division was so dramatic that the heart of the storm held a single calm spot about which everything else turned.
If they could speed the storm just a little, so it traveled only a short distance farther up the coast before it reached land, the surge would flood the uninhabited marshes north of Elathir. The city would be hit by the less destructive southern side of the storm. The Mother had told Dabiel it would be enough.
They wouldn’t be alone. Dabiel would lead the rest of the Wizards’ Guild to line the shore and send as much air as they could to push the storm out and north. Every one of them would spend themselves to the edge of exhaustion. Their contribution would be vital. But only the combination of their efforts and the sacrifice of the wizards and familiars aboard the ship would be sufficient to move the storm the necessary distance.
Look out! Daisy’s bark reached Larine’s ears at the same instant her warning reached her mind. The ship plunged. A wave loomed. Larine crushed the paper in her fist and clamped her arms around the rail. Cold water drenched her, tearing at her body with terrible strength.
Just as her arms were about to give way, Daisy’s teeth seized her ankle. Hot, bright power dragged Larine back to the deck. The ship tilted the other way and the wave drained through the railing into the sea. Larine peeled her arms loose, shaking, as Daisy sent the Mother’s power to heal the punctures her teeth had made.
“That was too close,” Larine said aloud. “Thank you.” She shivered. “Leave those. We need to save as much of our energy as we can.”
Daisy wrinkled her nose and kept the flow of power going until the wounds closed. You need to be able to walk. She whined and licked the line of red marks. I’m sorry I had to hurt you.
You kept me from being swept overboard. You have nothing to apologize for. It’s my fault for staying up here. Larine peeled the drenched wad of paper apart. Dabiel’s words were still legible, barely. She tucked it back in her pocket, grabbed the fur at the nape of Daisy’s neck, and held on tight as they headed aft.
Shiar was at the ship’s wheel. She could see the effort he was expending to keep it steady, although he didn’t look worried. His navigator was beside him, pointing and shouting. Shiar studied the compass she showed him and followed her gesture to look at the shore just visible through the driving rain. He nodded, and she retreated through the door behind him.
Larine approached him. “We’re still on course?” she yelled.
She had to lean close to hear him over the wind. “Right on schedule. We’ll keep the shore in sight for about two more hours until we’re far enough south, then head out to sea for another hour. We’ll get you to your spot in time.”
“Good. Thank you.”
He waved acknowledgment and turned his attention back to the wheel and the sea ahead.
Larine moved away, but she watched him for a moment before heading below. This was where Shiar belonged. His head was high, his eyes bright, his mouth stretched in something between a grin and a snarl. The muscles in his neck bulged as he wrestled the twisting wheel. She’d never seen him happier. Sailing through a storm fulfilled him the same way the Mother’s healing power flowing through her body and out her hands fulfilled her.
Larine sighed and turned away. Seeing him like this reminded her why she’d married him. Why she’d loved him. It had been real love, no matter how foolish and doomed. It was good to remember that now, at the end of her life.
>
She shuddered, her thoughts shying away from the truth that was too intense to contemplate for more than a moment or two at a time. Renewing her grip on Daisy, she made her way to the hatch, held it open against the tearing wind while the dog slipped through, and ducked inside. Daisy scampered down the ramp that had been built with four-footed creatures in mind, Larine close behind.
Most of the other wizards and familiars were crowded into the captain’s suite that took up the rear of the deck. The cabin wasn’t much bigger than the rest, but the office was a good size. People and animals huddled alone or in small groups. Many were quiet, but some conversed in soft voices. They all looked up when Larine entered, expectant, afraid, or both.
“A few more hours,” she said. They nodded and gave her wan smiles, then turned back to what they’d been doing.
She went to join Tirar, the youngest of the wizards besides her. He’d been named by the Mother the same year as she and Dabiel, twenty-seven years ago. He’d been a good friend and guildmate all that time. Larine had never dreamed they’d die together.
She yanked her unruly thoughts back into submission. “How are you?”
“All right, I guess.” He stroked the cat in his arms. She purred. “I wish I could have said good-bye to my sister. I’m her only family in Elathir; all our relatives live in Thedan. I looked for her at the dock, but she wasn’t there.”
Larine nodded in silent empathy. It would be weeks before her family in Gemgeda got word of what had happened. She couldn’t let herself picture her parents’ grief.
Tirar smiled, his eyes bleak. “I kept telling her to settle down, stand up with someone, start a family. She always laughed and said she had plenty of time. She’s much younger than me; she only made master last year.” He was silent for a moment. “I hope she’ll be all right.”
The cat butted his still fingers with her head. He resumed rubbing. “True. I have to remember that.”
He didn’t tell Larine what his familiar had said, but she could guess. Knowing their loved ones would survive to grieve was the only comfort they had.
Quiet weeping made Larine turn her head. Jesia stood with Helmed, her head on his chest, his arms around her. They’d been married since before Larine came to the Hall. She couldn’t imagine the guild without them.
At least they were doing this together. She ached for Hanion’s arms to hold her the way Helmed was holding Jesia. And yet at the same time she was fiercely glad he wasn’t here.
She didn’t have anything to offer they weren’t already giving each other. She turned back to Tirar.
He dragged his eyes away from them to meet hers. “I’m like my sister. I always thought there was time.”
She couldn’t answer. With a choked mumble of farewell to him and the rest, she retreated from the room. She’d find an empty cabin to hide in with Daisy until it was time.
Dabiel should have asked one of the others to lead. How could she guide and comfort and inspire her fellow wizards, when she was furious and grief-stricken and afraid?
If anyone was going to lose courage, it would be Larine.
10
Thirdday, 22 Greening, 971
Larine looked up, her throat catching, as the door of the dining hall swung open and everyone fell silent. But it was Dabiel, not Idan. Every eye in the room fixed on her as she gave a small shake of her head. With a collective exhale, they turned back to their games or conversation or reading. By the fire, Semira resumed softly strumming her lute.
Dabiel made her way to the round table where Larine and several of their friends were playing cards, Buttons lumbering at her heels. She sat down and he flopped at her feet. “Deal me in next hand.”
As play resumed, Larine asked quietly, “Will it be long?”
“Less than an hour, I think. Idan sent Tasha and me away so they could be alone at the end.” Dabiel reached for Buttons’s head and stroked it compulsively.
Larine swallowed and glanced at the rafters, where Flutter was drowsing in his favorite spot. Her familiar was nearly as old for a falcon as Oak was for a wolf. The Mother’s power kept his muscles and joints supple enough to fly, but these days he spent most of the time they weren’t working asleep. It wouldn’t be long before she faced the same ordeal Master Idan was going through now.
“Has he said what he’s going to do?”
“Not to me. He’s only seventy-five. He might choose to bond again.”
“I doubt it. Not since Master Tasha hasn’t.” Honk had died more than a year before, and Larine’s former master had announced her retirement from bonded service not long after. She’d remained with her husband in the Hall, devoting her time to the organizational tasks traditionally done by unbonded wizards so those with familiars could focus on using the Mother’s power.
Dabiel picked up a spare deck of cards and began shuffling them. “He could still name someone else. Master Kondel would leave Thedan if he asked.”
Larine snorted. “Oh, come on. Everyone knows it’s going to be you. Either now, or in a few years if Master Idan chooses to bond again. We’ve always known.”
Dabiel kept shuffling the cards, over and over without stopping. “I’m not ready. Most Guildmasters aren’t named until they’re in their fifties. If he does plan to name me, he’ll probably accept a new familiar and wait to retire for another dozen years.”
Larine wanted to say something reassuring, but it was her turn to play. She chose a card and discarded another. The player next to her exclaimed in pleasure, picked up her discard, and set down all his cards. Everyone else grumbled and counted up the points they’d lost. By the time Larine could focus on Dabiel again, her friend had overcome her agitation, or at least hidden it.
Dabiel glanced around. “Where’s Ozor?”
“I put him to bed. He was being too loud and rambunctious. He wouldn’t quiet down even after I explained several times why people need to be solemn right now.” Larine grimaced. “I might have yelled a little.”
Dabiel patted her hand. “Don’t worry. All parents yell now and then, especially ones with children as difficult as Ozor. You can apologize tomorrow if you feel like you crossed the line.”
“I’m afraid I did.” Larine rubbed her temples. “He’s just so stubborn, and he refuses to listen to reason, and I was already on edge because of Master Idan and Oak. I thought by this age he’d be starting to mature, at least. It’s less than two years until he has to choose an apprenticeship. I’ll be humiliated if he defies his master the way he defies me.” She picked up her new hand of cards and tried to study them, but her eyes blurred with unshed tears.
Dabiel made a sympathetic noise. “Maybe Shiar should take him on another voyage. He seemed to enjoy the last one, and you could certainly use the break.”
“I don’t know if he will. Ozor obeys his father better than me, but he still breaks the rules whenever he feels like it. It’s like he thinks they don’t apply to him. Shiar won’t tolerate that on his ship, and I don’t blame him. There’s too much that’s dangerous.” She sorted her cards with quick motions, not caring if she made a mistake. “Last time Shiar had to lock him in his cabin to keep him from sneaking out at night to climb the rigging.”
Her friend sucked in her breath. “I didn’t realize it was that bad.”
Larine shook her head. “I haven’t wanted anyone to know.” Confessing her troubles felt good, but she hated burdening Dabiel with her problems when she had so many more important things demanding her attention. It wasn’t as if her friend could do anything to help. “But you’re right. When Shiar gets back I’ll talk him into taking Ozor out with him again. He needs to be with his father, even if that makes life difficult for Shiar.” The Mother knew Larine had dealt with her share of the difficulties Ozor caused.
Dabiel nodded and turned back to her cards. She took her turn, then Larine took hers. After play moved on, Dabiel said, “Do you think he might want to apprentice to the Sailors’ Guild? Maybe with Shiar as his master?”
“Possibly. Shiar says he picked up skills quickly when he wanted to. But I think it would be better if he apprentices outside the family. He needs a strong, patient master. One he can respect, who won’t put up with his nonsense, but who won’t constantly lose his temper, either. That leaves out Shiar.” She grimaced, then sighed. “And there’s certainly no chance the Mother will name him to the Wizards’ Guild.”
Larine half hoped her friend would contradict her, but Dabiel nodded thoughtfully and studied her cards. It must be as obvious to everyone else as it was to Larine that her son lacked the deep empathy and compassion a wizard needed. She couldn’t imagine him agreeing to subordinate his will beneath a familiar’s. If he did, his contempt for rules would surely lead him to violate the Law and have his bond broken within a year. The Mother was far too perceptive to make such a mistake.
Larine played again. Her hand was poor, but maybe she could do something with it if the round went long enough. “He might make a good hunter. I doubt my mother would want to take him, but she probably knows someone who would. Or perhaps a butcher or herder or one of the more specialized branches of the Laborers’ Guild. Something physical and demanding and—”
Her voice echoed in the sudden silence. Larine stiffened and followed Dabiel’s gaze to the door.
Master Idan shouldered the door open and came through, Oak’s shaggy gray body limp in his arms. He trudged toward the front of the room, his head bowed.
Dabiel jumped to her feet. Larine followed her example. All through the room, wizards rose in a show of silent respect. Master Idan gave a small nod of acknowledgement as he passed between the tables. By the time he reached the hearth, two apprentices had already moved the waiting cot into place. Master Tasha spread it with a clean white cloth, and Master Idan eased his familiar’s still form onto it. He stroked the wolf’s head for a moment, then sighed and rose to face the guild. At his gesture, they sank back into their seats.