Flight To Exile

by Chris Reher

  “Sire? The devil tide is in the channels!” Astonishment mixed with grumbled objections until angry shouts rose from the sailors. The Ruane would surely be tossed through the chasms of the islands like an umbrella in a hurricane.

  “Fire!” the lookout suddenly cried. “They’re readying fire slings! Gods, what brought this upon us?” The cutter that followed was close enough for everyone aboard to see the torches lit, ready to ignite missiles to hurl at Ruane’s sails.

  Delann shoved Aletha toward the shelter of the forecastle. “Get down!” he yelled at the twins.

  “Watch out!” Aletha screamed as a fireball tore past his head and exploded in a shower of spark and flame on the deck. Galen whirled about to see more missiles speed toward them, lobbed with astonishing range and accuracy. Another missed the mainsail and landed on forecastle, splashing burning threads of whatever it was made of onto Aletha and the crew that cowered there.

  Chor leaped to the railing and focused on the ship closest to the Ruane. He saw the blue-robed passengers among the crew, mostly standing agape at the railing, perhaps no more familiar with sea battles than he was. He raised his hands and a wall of water rose from the surface of the bay as if a giant had drawn a curtain between the two ships. The wall crashed over the pursuing ship, drenching the incendiary weapons, attacking the sails to throw them askew and tangle their rigging. Galen, beside him, drew a smaller waterspout from the tide, raised it over their heads, and then let it crash onto Ruane’s tarred deck to extinguish the flames.

  The men aboard the Ruane were as astonished as those on the other ship. “Descendant!” someone shouted, pointing at the twins. “Magic!”

  “The very same that will get us through the islands,” Delann snapped. “To your posts! Strike the sails.” He threw a worried look in Aletha’s direction before jogging up the ladder to his bewildered captain. His men scattered, avoiding the twins and Aletha, to follow his orders.

  Slowly, the Ruane came about and tacked toward the island channels. Those whose hands were not busy with easing the ship into the rapidly more powerful current stared in wonder as the looming cliffs approached, seeming impossibly high now, the water at their feet black and ominous.

  “They’re coming after us!” Aletha cried. Two of the coastguard cutters were in pursuit.

  Galen took her hand and pulled her to the front of the ship. “Don’t let go,” he said. Chor took her other hand.

  She nodded, gaping at the cliffs towering over them. She saw trees and buildings up there and clusters of people who gawked in disbelief, waving their arms to warn the ships entering the narrow channels with some of their sails still up. “May the gods find us all,” she whispered.

  Galen also had a few prayers but his dealt mainly with cursing the La’il’s name. He watched the serrated rock faces close in on the ship, fringed with churning foam thrown up against boulders jutting into the channel. The walls loomed so tall now that the sun was blocked out and they hurtled onward in shadow. Aletha rocked on her feet when a wave broke over the side of the ship and drenched her to the skin. Galen moved his hand to grip her wrist and felt her do the same before half-turning to shout over his shoulder. “Release the rudder!” The helmsman stared at him in disbelief, no more able to release the wheel than he would have been able to leap voluntarily overboard at this moment. Cursing, Galen waved his free hand toward the man to throw him onto a stack of coiled rope. He remained there, resigned to his fate. None of the crew were moving now, able to do nothing more than watch the craggy cliffs rush past or stare at the demons in wonder.

  Galen and Chor, with Aletha between them, raised their free hands toward the walls of the chasm. Ruane bucked under their feet, her keel unable to handle currents like these and all of them felt her thrash angrily in the rushing water. The twins struggled to create a cushion of chi’ro between the foundering ship and the rock. Not a difficult task as he had planned it, but repelling the enemy ship had badly drained the twins’ resources. “Can you feel it,” he gasped. “Can you touch that?”

  “Touch what? Galen, I can’t…”

  “The riser. Feel it, Aletha. Like you did yesterday!”

  “I feel it!” she shouted. “From over there somewhere!”

  He did not hear. Using her talents to augment their own, the twins drew upon the riser to keep the ship in mid-channel, careening dangerously through the narrows. “Delann!” Galen shouted. “Where the hell are we going?”

  Delann scrambled across the pitching deck to where the three Descendants stood. “Starboard!” he yelled, no longer doubting the twins’ ability to steer this vessel. “See those flags at the top of the cliffs? Follow the yellow ones. That way leads to the Great Strait.” He raced to the railing to look back the way they had come. One of the cutters, smaller and more agile than the Ruane, followed closely, too closely, the second one farther behind. Blue-robed men could be seen aboard those ships, clinging to the rigging in terror. Delann nearly toppled overboard when the Ruane lurched sharply to turn into another channel. Barnacle-encrusted rock whipped past his face within reach of his hand. Frozen, he watched the emissary ship miss the turn and smash heavily into the rocks, crumpling like a child’s paper boat.

  The adepts at the bow were oblivious to anything but the rocks rushing past. They seemed nailed to the deck, swaying with the pitch of the ship as though part of it, looking for the markers that would lead them out of the labyrinthine channels. The next turn was a tight one and a wave towered up beside the Ruane to crash onto the deck. Chor stumbled against Aletha and lost his grip on her hand when she slipped. Quickly, the twins scooped her up and fumbled for some ropes swinging loose from the yardarm. All three of them now huddled there, arms tightly linked, the twins’ attention once more on the walls of the gorge. Wedged between them and trembling, Aletha buried her face against someone’s chest, not wanting to see, waiting for the ugly sound of splintering timber.

  Again and again, Ruane switched channels, somehow remaining upright, somehow keeping her distance from the walls of the chasm and the boulders strewn about the bottom. The crew, having conquered the worst of their fears, dared to breathe again and looked around in amazement, pointing at the rocks jutting into the channel and even whooping victoriously when they passed without crashing into them. The second of the emissary ships no longer pursued them; no one here assumed it to be still in one piece.

  Finally, after uncounted turns, the Ruane passed through a narrow portal and abruptly found herself in open water, still tugged along by the ebb, but out of danger. Bright daylight greeted their entrance into the Great Strait and everyone aboard except for the Descendants turned in wonder to watch the islands loom behind them. A raucous cheer rose into the air as the men yelled themselves hoarse, free of the terror that had possessed them during the headlong rush through the chasms.

  Galen, Chor and Aletha drew apart, slowly, dazed, fighting to remain on their feet. But none of them had the strength to stand and, one by one, collapsed slowly onto the deck, clutching one another for support.

  * * *

  Aletha came around first, finding herself still on the deck, sprawled across one of the twins. Or parts of both of them. The ship was once again under full sail and a makeshift canopy had been erected over the unconscious Descendants to shade them from the sun as they recovered. A warm breeze tugged at this shelter, drying their clothes and cheerily snapping the canvas as if to wake them. Seabirds cawed relentlessly overhead and she felt someone’s heartbeat through the quilted vest under her cheek. She felt drowsy and insubstantial but also strangely comfortable - remaining like this seemed a pleasant way to spend an afternoon. She blinked tiredly at the banners flying above the ship, aware of Delann anxiously waiting nearby. The twins began to stir and one of them reached around her waist to rearrange her gently as he sat up, as if finding her draped over himself was a daily occurrence. It took some time before all of them were sitting upright, owlishly blinking about themselves. Delann passed around cups of water.
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br />   One of the twins, Galen perhaps, rose to his feet like a man in the grip of a massive hangover. “Where are we?”

  “Halfway across the strait.” Delann glanced at Aletha but then had to look away.

  She ran her fingers through her tangled curls, feeling tired and disheveled. “I’m sorry we got you into this, Delann.”

  He shrugged. “Into what? Pirates approached us and we got sucked into the current when we tried to flee. It happens. We’ll reach the South Islands in a few hours. I’ll send Ruane from there on a trade mission while I get a passage on another ship home. No one will know I was gone. We’ll be all right. I doubt any of these men will want to say much about what they’ve seen here today. Not while there are dead emissaries washing up in the islands.”

  “Those aren’t your fault, Delann!”

  He shrugged again. Fault in this matter was irrelevant. While defying the emissary in anything was an unpardonable crime, injuring one meant the forfeit of his life and also the forfeit of his eventual place on Chenoweth. He was stunned to not only find himself in these troubles but to have dragged his men into his damnation, as well. For a dizzying instant he considered rallying his crew to rise up against the Descendants and deliver them to the emissaries who surely still followed and so redeem himself in the eyes of the law and his gods. He looked into Aletha’s worried face and remained silent.

  “Is anyone hurt?” Galen asked.

  “Some burns. They’re being seen to below.”

  He nodded. “I can help with that.” But when he turned to the hatch leading to the crew quarters, one of the silent sailors that loitered nearby moved to bar his way.

  “Don’t,” Aletha said quietly. She glanced at the other twin. “Leave them alone.”

  He frowned but then shrugged in resignation.

  Aletha embraced Delann awkwardly, distressed when he flinched at her touch. “Please don’t be angry, Delann. I didn’t know they’d be so persistent in coming after us.”

  “You must be worth the trouble. And them,” he added, meaning the twins. “What kind of dem… Descendants are you? How did you do this? What magic is this? I don’t understand this at all.”

  She was saddened by the resentment coloring his tone. He’d always known that she was a Descendant and accepted it like some eccentricity politely kept private. But now, aided by the demons that accompanied her, she had displayed her cursed origins in a way that left no doubt that she was the reason that emissaries existed on this moon. They were no longer peers; she had now truly left Phrar behind and stepped into the world belonging to Galen and Chor.

  Troubled by this, she turned to the twins who were watching them in silence. She wanted to talk to them about the strange sensation she had felt while the magic, this chi’ro, cursed through her during their flight through the islands. They had been joined, somehow, as if they had become one being, its only ambition to shape the chi’ro into a tangible force to hold their ship on course. And why had their efforts exhausted them so? Once clear of the deadly currents, she had felt as if every bit of strength had been sapped from her body. She started to say something, but one of the twins shook his head in a minute gesture and moved to pull Delann to his feet.

  “Drop us off as soon as you can, as planned,” he said to Delann. “If what happened back there is an example of what’s to come we’ll be pursued as soon as they can get through the islands. Besides, I think your crew is ready to throw us overboard.”

  Delann nodded. “They’ll not want magic users aboard. We will reach the edge of the outer islands by midafternoon. Aletha knows the way from there.”

  The Ruane completed her journey across the open water without encountering other battleships. Once hidden from view in one of the numerous inlets, the nervous crew moved quickly to lower the dinghy to the water, glad to be rid of their dangerous cargo. The new craft was a small one, without much room to move about but large enough for their gear, Aletha, and the long-limbed twins. They would have to make camp on dry land rather than sleep in the boat. The twins applied their powerful bodies to rowing their vessel away from the tall ship into the open water where Aletha was able to set the sail. The breeze carried them into the shallow straits between the islands and it was not long before even the tips of Ruane’s sails had vanished.

  “Gods, I miss him already,” Aletha said. Her and Delann’s good-byes had been tearful and prolonged but Galen suspected that it wasn’t just this one friend to whom she referred. Although there had been many of her acquaintances at Delann’s home last night, some of her dearest friends were not the sort that frequented the mansions above the harbor and she had not said farewell to any of them.

  “You’ll see them again,” Galen said automatically.

  “Will I?” she replied flatly. She sat on a small bench, her hand on the rudder, curls whipping about her face as she looked forlornly back across the strait.

  “I’m sorry, Aletha. You could have used a little more time to get ready to leave.”

  She turned to look at him but her eyes were filled with tears and he doubted that she saw anything at all. When he leaned forward to touch her cheek the tears spilled over his fingers but she remained composed, silent. Slowly, she put her hand over his, holding it for a moment before pulling it away. “I’ll never be like them again, will I?”

  He hesitated before shaking his head.

  “Will I be like you?”

  This time he held his pause longer. “That is up to you,” he said finally, thinking of the La’il. “You can be whatever you want.”

  “A goddess?” she said, without any intonation he was able to interpret.

  “Aletha, I—”

  She lifted her hand to wave away his reply. “Perhaps you are gods; perhaps I am one, too. Those are just words now, aren’t they? Last night, after we went back to the house, I stayed up for a while. I cried. I grieved, I guess, for the gods I knew. The ones that are gone now. For me, anyway. I can’t go with you unless I believe what you say. I choose to believe.” She looked at her hands. “I’ve already changed, somehow. Believing changed me. Touching the magic changed me. I suspect I’ll keep changing.” She looked up and bent from the waist to lean closer to Galen. “But I won’t change who I am. I saw what your… La’il did to you. I will be an adept but I will not be a goddess. Not like that.”

  He drew back from the intensity of her expression. How much of the La’il had she seen last night? “I know you’re nothing like that,” he said.

  She turned to scan the shoreline and adjusted the tiller. He saw her take a deep breath and let it out again. “Of course,” she said, her voice steady. “We needn’t worry about this now. Here we are, mighty gods of Thali, floating about in a little tub in the middle of nowhere, running away from the emissaries. Hardly dignified. Are you sure we shouldn’t be rushing to meet the La’il on thunderous clouds or on the back of a saber whale or something?”

  Galen chuckled. “Appropriate but unfortunately impossible. How about you teach me how to sail this tub, Captain?”

  She cocked her head. “You don’t seem the sailor types.”

  Over the next few hours Aletha’s usual high spirits returned. She was a skillful mariner and seemed to enjoy their trip as she showed them how to direct the boat by moving the sails to take advantage of the light breeze. She chatted about her past seafaring experiences and they talked about many things of little importance.

  Galen noticed that she avoided further talk of gods and magic and what might be in store for her. He, too, steered clear of the subject; perhaps it was for the best. They would soon be away from here and then the La’il would initiate Aletha into her rightful place on the Homeworld. She would learn the ways of the adept and discover the extent of her abilities using safe, tightly controlled techniques. Everyone whose latent talent surfaced during adolescence had to endure years of adjustment and rigorous training before mastering their abilities, fitting into his or her place within the society of adepts that steered the Homeworld. Aleth
a was already well past the age where training began and, he was certain now, had a gift surpassed only by that of the La’il, making La’il her only possible choice for mentor. The thought of La’il taking anyone under her wing filled Galen with a strange sort of unease.

  By late afternoon they were completely surrounded by hundreds of islands. It seemed impossible to determine where one ended and another began or how one could find a course through the ever-present sandbanks, weed-choked narrows and keel-scraping submerged rocks. Yet Aletha never faltered in choosing their direction, apparently steering by sense of smell or some internal compass possessed only by the island dwellers. As Delann had promised, the waters out here were busy with traffic from across the strait, mostly fishing boats dragging for crustaceans and spear fishers stalking the shallows. They discovered that in their haste to leave Phrar no food and water had yet been put on board although the rest of their gear had already been stowed. They would have to find a trading post or seafaring merchant before long.

  “Now I suppose I’ll have to teach you how to fish, too, Homeworlder,” she teased him. Not particularly worried about their shortages and confident that the twins were able to manage the boat across the stretch of open water ahead of them, Aletha curled up among their packs and parcels and promptly fell asleep. Galen watched her for a while, not for the first time affected by the frailty so deceptively harboring a powerful mind. How had she survived so far? He imagined her at the mercy of the emissaries, teetering helplessly at the edge of the sacrificial bowl, and shuddered. Maybe it was possible to begin teaching her to use her gifts to protect herself. To hell with La’il’s cautions!

  They sailed past ever more remote island groups where fewer and fewer boats and ships crossed their wake until there was only the occasional trade junket in the distance, journeying in floating caravans to foil pirates. A blue-plumed bird rose from a shoreline tree and swooped toward their boat to caw noisily at the intruders. It was not any sort of bird they had seen before. Although it had the stilt-like legs of a wading bird, its feet ended in fierce talons more appropriate for a raptor. Feeling somewhat surreal, Galen shooed it away when it tried to perch on the bow of the boat. He checked the fishing line, needing to keep his mind on undemanding tasks and find a way to turn this strange trip to Thali into some sort of vacation, where at the end he and Chor could simply return home and pick up where they left off. But like that annoying bird, unbidden thoughts continued to swoop into his mind, distracting him and vying for his attention. The ugly scene in Phrar’s temple continued to haunt him.