Seaborn 02 - Seaborn

by Chris Howard

  Aldrich replaced his I'm-babysitting-an-alien scowl. Or mermaid, or whatever-monster-from-Berkeley-in-human-form.

  He gestured to the bow. “We will enter the Caribbean shortly. A day and a half out from S?o Lu?s.” He swung his hand to the stern. “I think you should get some rest. The captain is expecting us for dinner."

  Dinner was quiet and later than normal, nearly nine o'clock in the evening. The only people in the dining room were Captain Teixeira, Corina, and Aldrich. They ate in silence and when the captain departed for the bridge, Aldrich told Corina to return to McHutcheon's quarters.

  Aleximor fell asleep quickly and Corina spent another few hours playing her inner cello, some Shostakovich, parts of a Beethoven sonata with the accompanying piano supplied by her own imagination—although she also imagined the possibility of a whole network of people locked inside their heads with some kind of link between them all, and apparently there was at least one pianist among them.

  Aleximor woke suddenly in the middle of the night. Corina surfaced with him, taking in everything he sensed. He jumped off McHutcheon's bed, pulling the sweat pants higher so as not to appear the least bit “skanked."

  Someone was trying to get into the room.

  Corina heard them outside the door, but Aldrich hadn't. The second officer leaned against the wall on a stool, dozing, his eyes fluttering every couple minutes at small shifts in the sea.

  Is my hearing this good?

  There were four of them in the hallway. She heard their breathing, the mingled thumping of their troubled heartbeats. One of them wore flip-flops—and he was pacing. Another kept running his fingers through his hair nervously.

  What time is it?

  Aleximor looked over at the clock. Four-twenty in the morning. He swung his gaze back to the cabin's door.

  There was a raw scraping metallic sound, but not of keys. They were sliding something into the lock, trying to pick it, but it was clear there wasn't consensus on the next step.

  "What'll we do?"

  "What if she's awake?"

  "She's a vampire. We must take her—"

  Someone shushed him.

  Aleximor, who had no idea what a vampire was, distinctly heard, “We must take her” while Corina, who did, heard, “We must stake her.” Aleximor was curious enough to open his thoughts to her directly.

  Where would they want to take me, Corina?

  Stake me. They want to put a thick piece of wood—a stake—through my heart.

  Why in the sea would they want to do that? That is folly. Besides he did not say, stake, but take. Why else would the other one make the shhh noise to quiet him? Your argument rests on the false assumption that the speaker had finished speaking, when he obviously had not. “We must stake her” is a complete statement, while, without the mention of a location, “We must take her” is incomplete, hence the shhh to stop the speaker from continuing.

  Jackass. How about “We must stake her through the heart?” My statement is incomplete as well.

  You knew, simply in the context of four words, that the target for this assumed stake would be the heart. Why would you presume that these men would require elaboration? Where else would they put the stake?

  Corina thought of several places she'd like to put the stake—once Aleximor was out of her body. Shut up. We're missing their conversation.

  A new voice from the welcome committee in the hall whispered, “You saw Pinnet's face after she was through. Eyes ripped out. Skin blue, blood drained. I'm not saying he didn't deserve it, but she did that to him."

  "You could be next."

  "Also, Pinnet's corpse is gone."

  "The doctor's missing. And now Phari, too."

  Corina broke into Aleximor's planning for combat against four armed assailants with, I think you should wake Aldrich.

  "Why would I want to wake him? I have no fear of these four."

  Corina sighed. Because you do not want to reveal your power in front of Aldrich. Not yet.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Futility

  One of the first activities that take up a new Seaborn ruler's time, shortly after crowning, is to tear down the former king's or queen's “Protection,” a clear, permeable shield wider than the walls of the Nine-cities, and higher than the highest of its floating cities. The Protection typically allows inanimate objects of a certain size through, as well as fish and other sea creatures who do not pose a threat to the Seaborn. The original purpose of the Protection was to shield the city from the dead army, the Olethren.

  —Michael Henderson on Seaborn tradition

  * * * *

  "There is something in the sea that wants me, Nereus.” Kassandra stared out from the battlements of the Rexenor fortress, arms folded across her chest, her fingers gripping the smooth material along the sleeves of her shirt. “I can feel it ... looking for me."

  Nereus, standing behind her, slid his hands across her shoulders, down her arms, and pulled her into a protective hug. “You are shaking?” It came out more of a question than he'd intended, running rough over his effort to keep the surprise out of his voice.

  She nodded, leaning back against him, her toes hooking the edge of the south-facing wall. She stared into the deep, and let her braids coil in the water, sending one to circle Nereus, winding loosely around his neck, binding him to her.

  "It wants something from me."

  He looked doubtful. “It?"

  "In the same way there is an it about me. I am she—mostly. But there is a part deep inside me, a controlling part that is an it, the part that has plans for this world."

  Nereus closed his eyes, his breathing slowing as he focused his thought on her explanation. “You are the Wreath-wearer.” He pretended to know what that really meant, while relying entirely on the legends and rumors of Alkimides power. A long moment of silence, then he whispered, “Perhaps it is you?"

  "No. What I feel is outside, something else in the ocean."

  He bent down and kissed her behind the ear. “I will protect you from it, my love."

  Kassandra kept her first reaction to herself—she wanted to laugh—then his statement unwound, a thick rope unraveling into separate threads, becoming a hundred paths winding through the internal ocean of her soul, touching many places she didn't want touched. His words stabbed into shadowy feelings, unlocking them, letting them loose in her head to displace other thoughts. There was a roar of chaos that made her wince and close her eyes. She wanted to weep over his sentiment, cry with joy, slip helplessly into his arms. Another part of her wanted to hide inside his soul, where no one would ever find her. She rolled in the water to face him, a quick look up at his serious face, his eyes searching for some hint of her feelings in her expression.

  She glanced away, giving him a smile instead. Her voice came out hoarse. “Why?"

  He finished her question. “Why do I love you?"

  She reached up and buried her face in his throat, kissed him there, her fingers working through his hair. “And do not tell me it is because Lady Kallixene wishes it."

  A little jump ran through his body, the start of a laugh. “The Lady has told me to stay away from you."

  He felt Kassandra's smile against the skin under his jaw, felt it sharpen mischievously. “And you, my dear Nereus, do not heed her command? You defy your Lady?"

  "No Rexenor lord or lady may demand such a thing. It is her wish not her command."

  Kassandra let a few moments pass to think about this. “Did Lady Kallixene give you her reasons?"

  "One only: If I am too close to you, I will perish. You will not hesitate to lead me to my death. She grew angry when I compared our love to her great love with Lord Nausikrates—he gave his life in order to save hers when the Olethren stormed our fortress."

  Startled, Kassandra pulled out of his arms. “Just angry?"

  He nodded sadly. “Angry at herself for allowing us to meet, for playing her part in bringing us together. The
n at me ... well, us ... saying I was cursed to fall in love with you and I would get in return what I deserved for my stupidity and blindness."

  Horrified, Kassandra let her focus dart to Nereus’ face, then away, sensing the turmoil in his soul, but not catching enough to understand it. “And you do not fear that this is true?"

  "Fear?” His fingers slid under her chin and tilted her face up to his. “I hope it is, my lady."

  She kept her eyes closed tight, squeezed them tighter when his lips touched hers. She kissed him harder when she felt the approach of an orca team, some pressing business she would—no doubt—have to immediately attend to. She didn't open her eyes and look away until Nicole had called her a third time.

  "Yes?” She felt Nereus drift from her, but grabbed him back to her, unashamed of their embrace on the battlements overlooking the great Rexenor fortress and the distant practicing teams of hoplites, orcariders charging targets with lances down.

  Nicole stood up in the fore saddle of her own orca, gave Kassandra a quick nod, then pointed behind her at an older man in blue scaled armor and long gray braids, dozens of them hanging down his chest, over his shoulders.

  "Milady, we have discovered the trace of intruders from the south in our nets along the mountains."

  "King's spies?"

  "Yes, milady."

  "We brought Nereus’ orca, his armor, and lances,” put in Nicole, swinging around to motion another team up with a ready mount. “We're doing a sweep of the outlying seas."

  Kassandra closed her eyes a moment, her body going still, while her armor slipped up her legs, along her arms, encasing the rest of her. She kicked off the stones, twirling over Nereus in a cartwheel, to land in the archer's stirrups behind the long sleek mammal's dorsal fin.

  Nereus kicked to his orca, planting his feet in the saddle. He pulled his hauberk over his head, jamming the long line of snaps closed with the heel of his palm. He jumped into blue scaled leggings, drawing the straps tight, snapping on his sword and the extra armor orcariders required.

  Kassandra turned to the commander of the team as she loaded the pair of crossbows cabled to the archer rack. “Lead on, Lord Meidimos. Let us hunt spies from my grandfather."

  Meidimos smiled, and she returned it, grabbing the rail as Nereus darted with a deep roll into the formation of outsea riders.

  The team shot to the floor, some of the Rexenors singing up lights to seek ahead, smoldering pinpoints the orcas could follow in the pure darkness.

  They rode for hours, then Meidimos called the lights back and snuffed them out as they drew near the spellnets guarding the edge of Rexenor's province. He waved some of his team off on the flanks. They'd come back in at the right time to circle the enemy.

  Kassandra used hand signals to talk to Nereus, pointing off to their right. The message went out, and Meidimos swung his team in for the attack. It was over in seconds, the flanking orcas swept in, riders with strong bleeds launching binding spells,

  There were two of them; one—a thin wiry man with his hair cropped like a criminal's—wore the green scale armor of House Dosianax, rows of sheathed knives strapped to his legs and arms. He couldn't move with the wrapping job the Rexenors had performed on him. He floated, struggling in a bluish cocoon of woven threads. Everything above his shoulders was uncovered, and he twisted his neck this way and that, trying to get a better look at his captors.

  Meidimos stood in his saddle dealing with the other spy, who looked to be in far better condition. He had long light brown hair in braids and bright blue eyes, some kind of vision enhancement he'd made permanent. Meidimos sang something about opening, prying the seams in the man's mental shielding. The spy had been hit with a stun attack that left his arms and legs dangling heavy and useless from his body, but his mental faculties were intact.

  He laughed at Meidimos, curling his fingers, the paralysis in his limbs already wearing off. One of the Rexenor scouts, holding the spy's weapons, a sword and a pair of knives, sang a few sharp notes, intending to shut the spy up. It had the opposite effect, making him laugh harder.

  Meidimos turned to Lady Kassandra with a questioning gesture.

  She had been standing in the archer's stirrups on Nereus’ orca, arms folded, making little huffing noises, a labored display of her crumbling patience.

  The captured scout turned with everyone else to Kassandra, and gave her a defiant sneer. “Rexenor witch, you can't find my thoughts. You can't—"

  She caught his eyes, felt him struggle against her will, and then she sang a short string of notes that lit up her crown, pale green bands of the Wreath of Poseidon.

  "I'm afraid I fail to follow you,” she said with deliberate formality. “What can't I do to you?” She made a spiral flexing of her fingers, curling them into a fist, opening them again like a flower. A burst of pale blue light floated above her, casting sharp shadows across her face. Only her eyes glowed through, fixed on the scout of King Tharsaleos.

  All the blood drained from his face. He made gasping noises, jumping in short violent spasms, trying to break away, while Kassandra calmly folded her arms, her toes sliding down the orca's smooth flank, pushing off. She drifted closer to him, one side of her mouth sharpening as she felt his will give way, broken, dribbling like sand through her fingers.

  "What is it I can't do?” Then she pulled everything she wanted to know out of his head, including his name. “Tell me, my good Bistharos, how many veterans in the king's train? How many on orcas, how many long spears, how many heavy armored, how many light? Which Houses does my old grandfather marshal against Rexenor? Does he or does he not bring my dear Alkimides sisters and brothers into the fight?"

  Bistharos opened his mouth, his tongue thrashing behind his teeth. Kassandra lifted one finger and his body went rigid, his throat contracting and expanding, his voice working. The figures spilled out of the spy's mouth, his eyes going wide at the sound of his own voice telling the Rexenors everything he knew. She watched his face tighten with the struggle—enjoying it. He couldn't stop the words: the story of the muster of Dosianax and Aktaios and Demonax, how many archery barges, one of the king's trusted Eight to lead the campaign. He talked for half an hour, giving Rexenor everything he was privy to—not the king's detailed battle plans, but enough to be useful.

  Kassandra nodded to the Rexenor soldier holding the spy's weapons, and took them from his shaking hands. The Rexenors feared her powers as much as the king's. She just happened to be on their side, the daughter of the Rexenor lord.

  Kassandra let the spy go—lifted her focus and released her hold on him. He brought his hands up to his face, to cover his shame. The paralysis had worn off entirely, and the Rexenor outsea guards brought their spears and crossbows up, ready for anything—anything but what Lady Kassandra did next.

  She turned the sword point down, and handed the spy his weapons, the sword and two knives that he mechanically slid into sheathes along his legs. He immediately turned his sword around, point driving at her throat.

  He froze in the water, the tip an inch from her skin.

  Kassandra smiled cruelly. “Now, now, Bistharos. That is not nice at all."

  He struggled against her control, a blur of sweat coming off his body in a shivery halo. His eyes filled with tears at a silent command she'd passed to him—tears that shimmered in the water around his face.

  He shook his head. “Please,” he begged. “Do not make me.” His voice came out thin, words grinding through his teeth.

  Hands shaking, he spun to his companion, the scout in Dosianax green, bound and floating on his right, and without hesitating, drove his sword through the man's chest high on the right side. The blade punched through the chest plates, slid out of the back of his armor with a burst of blood and a confetti spray of scales. The Dosianax scout shrieked, wriggling pathetically. He cursed Bistharos, Rexenor, Kassandra.

  Bistharos kicked reflexively, pulled his sword free, and brought it back for a sweep through the man's throat. His whisper came cr
awling from his lips. “I beg you, milady, do not do this to me."

  "Kass!” Nicole shouted at her, a command that hit her sister like a slap.

  Kassandra blinked, throwing her arms out for balance as if waking from a dream worlds away.

  Nereus kicked in and grabbed the weapons from the spy. Other guards closed on Bistharos, binding his arms and legs, taking back his knives. He sagged in their grip, his head lolling to one side, trying to focus on the Wreath-wearer. His eyes still held a dim hatred he was now too weary to pursue.

  Kassandra raised her hand, pointed one shaking finger at him. “Do not tell me what I cannot do, Bistharos. I will have every thought in your soul spilled out before me if that is my wish.” Her voice rose, and the ocean around her glowed a brighter green with the Wreath. “I can cut everything out of your soul and leave you empty, slave of a doomed king. Do not tempt me."

  When she turned to Nereus, she found him staring at her, the spy's pair of knives forgotten in his hands. He was playing with them absently, one of his fingers bleeding. She looked away, startled at how close she had come to pushing right through his gaze and into his soul. “I'm sorry, my love.” She looked into open ocean, but leaned in close to Nereus to speak to him. “Who will protect you from me?"

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The Crew of the Maria Draughn

  Out of Erebos and Chaos she called Nox and the Di Nocti and poured a prayer with long-drawn wailing cries to Hecate ... A groan came from the ground, the bushes blanched, the spattered sward was soaked with gouts of blood, stones brayed and bellowed, dogs began to bark, black snakes swarmed on the soil and ghostly shapes of silent spirits floated through the air.

  —Ovid, Metamorphoses 10.403

  * * * *

  Aldrich shot awake in an instant and stood up, smoothing his uniform. He rubbed his knuckles over his eyes, blinked, and it was as if he'd never fallen asleep.