The Corsairs of Aethalia: A Thalassia novel

by Patrick McClafferty

  The Temple door opened before he was halfway there and three women stepped out and onto the arched entry. All wore white hooded robes, and all seemed to radiate the same serenity he had come to associate with the Goddess. Was one of them...? He had taken three more steps when a young woman appeared through the open door, this one wearing a long simple dress of sky blue, embroidered with tiny red roses at the modest bodice. Her glossy black hair hung straight to her waist and was held in place with a plain blue ribbon. The steps she took were fluid and graceful, and her face was calm and composed. Two spots of color in her fair cheeks gave her away. Could this young beauty flowing toward him be the same dirty little girl he had seen years before in Boktor? As she approached closer he noticed that her bottom lip was trembling. Her lips were red, and as they parted, Jorse leaned forward, anticipating her first words.

  “Damn! Damn, damn, damn!” He blinked. “I told myself that I wouldn’t cry when I met you.” Dala rubbed at the tears in her eyes with the back of her hand and flung them to the ground, looking as if she wanted to stamp it out of existence for betraying her. “Oh, hells...” With that she began to turn away, but Jorse reached out, caught her hand.

  “Dala, wait. I came a long way to see you. I missed you, Dala, more than I can possibly say. Don’t turn away from me.”

  “Damn!” She angrily wiped at another tear, and then threw her arms around him and hugged tightly enough to bend ribs. He gasped and, after a few long moments of pure pleasure, pulled her arms away, holding her at his own arm’s length. Who was this beauty he held? She was taller now, and willowy, seeming to have skipped right over the knobby kneed girl stage that many young women went through. Her cheeks were flushed and rosy, and her skin was the peaches and cream complexion that girls dream about but seldom attain. Freckles dotted her small, upturned nose. Like the Priestesses, she smelled of lilacs.

  “Why have you come, Jorse?” Dala was always sparse with words, Jorse thought to himself, and this time was no different.

  “I’ve come to take you away from here.” He took a deep breath. This wasn’t turning out as he had planned. “I have a family now, Dala, and I would like you to live with them in their home on the Island of Prangli. Study with my aunt. When you grow up I will need your help.”

  Her eyes were intent on his face, and he had to look away to keep from falling under their spell. Dala gently pulled away from him and stood, arms crossed under her breasts, studying him. “You’ve changed. You’re more grown up - more serious. Her finger went gently to the scar he wore on his face. “You’ve been hurt, and not just in the body.” Her hand dropped and her face fell. “I dreamt that you would come for me, Jorse, and take me away. It was a silly dream, a little girl’s dream. You’re so handsome in your fine clothes. What would you want with a knobby kneed street waif?”

  He chuckled. “Talk to my Aunt Elsbeth and Uncle Mirek. You might be surprised what your future has to offer.”

  It was some time later. Jorse and Dala had retired, hand in hand, to a small, private garden on the far side of the Temple, to a shaded place where lush trees grew and hardy winter flowers, set in sweeping terraces, bloomed in a rainbow of iridescent colors. Low stone benches were scattered about, and below them in the distance, the harbor stretched into the bowl of the dirty port. The Priestesses had, like spiders startled in their web, all disappeared.

  In the quiet and the shade Dala told him of her life in the Temple. Her training had begun, she said with a small grimace, as soon as Jorse had departed. Writing lessons followed, then mathematics class, which followed history class, which followed dress which followed the class on decorum—both private and in court. It had made her head spin. Math she adored; history class put her to sleep.

  “Was that ancient history or modern history you studied?” Jorse asked quietly.

  “Both. Why do you ask?” Her eyes were innocent and Jorse, in a way, hated himself for drawing her into the web of intrigue. There was no choice, really.

  “What do you know of the name Schwendau?”

  That one sentence snared her.

  She thought for a moment, and her free hand made unconscious swirls in the small hairs on the back of his hand, the hand that held his tightly. Shivers ran up his spine. “The name Schwendau goes back to our earliest history. Captain Nels Schwendau, it is said, commanded the first great ship to arrive in what we now call the known lands. It must have been a great vessel indeed, to cross the limitless ocean to our land and no one knows where they came from. Once the ruling family of this land, all that changed about fifteen or sixteen years ago when there was a fierce rebellion, and the entire Schwendau line was put to the knife. Battles continued for some time, with different parties trying to wrest power from the others. Finally Baron Frigyes proved to be the most vicious, murdering his co-conspirator and fellow Baron, Radnow Karci, to assume total control. His son is said to be more vicious still. Rumors circulate to this day that the lost heir to the Schwendau line will come forward someday to claim his throne.” She laughed lightly, and it sounded like tiny bells ringing gently in the wind. “Can you imagine a fifteen or sixteen-year-old boy trying to do that? They say that the son of Hedric and Silla was named Jorse and...” Eyes widening, her voice trailed off, shrinking to a bare whisper. “They say he had green eyes and auburn hair.” Her blue eyes were fixed on his face. “Oh, my Goddess...”

  They sat like that for some time, in a frozen moment, and the wind blew cold through the surrounding trees.

  “I don’t know what to say.” Dala’s voice was trembling. “I always thought that you were more than you let on—maybe the runaway son of a wealthy landowner, but this. You’re a Prince, no...” She stopped and her voice got even smaller. “You’re a King!” She went to pull her hand away, and this time Jorse held on.

  “And you are my sister, Dala, and part of my family and my life - if you want it.” He reached around his neck and slowly removed the silver locket on its silver chain, and placed it over her head. It took a moment or two for him to work it under her thick black hair until it finally rested on her bodice amidst the embroidered roses, between her still budding breasts. He looked away, his cheeks reddening.

  “This belonged to my mother, and it is almost all I have from them. I think she would want my sister to have it.”

  Her sapphire eyes grew very wide, and the girl shivered... but not because of the wind. “The Uncle and Aunt you want me to stay with are who??” She let it hang, biting her lip.

  “Count Mirek Gorthenal, and his wife Elsbeth. My only surviving relatives.”

  “I should have known.” She whispered.

  I will be back in the morning and I hope I will see you then.” He kissed her lightly on the cheek, stood and turned away. He knew that he should have explained things better, but he was like that sometimes.

  The next day, when the nag and the brown carriage turned the last corner toward the Temple, Jorse saw Dala sitting on a small stone bench alongside the dusty road. She was wearing black men’s breeches with sturdy low boots and a fitted green weskit over a lacy white shirt. At her feet sat a small, obviously packed, traveling bag topped by a warm looking forest green cloak. She stood gracefully as he approached, slung the cloak casually about her shoulders and picked up the bag.

  But the sharp punch she delivered to his arm was anything but graceful. “Yeowww!” Jorse exclaimed, rubbing his injured arm and almost losing the reins.

  Dala threw the bag into the back of the carriage and climbed up beside him. “Damn you, Jorse Schwendau! I cried almost all night after I talked to the Priestesses. You have no right to give me a thing like this!” She plucked, gently, at the locket. “It’s not fair, not fair at all.” She sounded as if she were fuming.

  “So, Dala, why are you here?” He asked her simply.

  She looked at him directly and her young face was serious. “I think it has something to do with love, brother.”

  He clucked at the nag and flipped the reins. The old sway-backed m
are cast a reproachful looked over her shoulder, and started off at an even slower pace than before. Thin gray clouds were scudding in from the horizon, and foretold foul weather in the near future.

  Count Gorthenal on the island of Prangli is a good man, and is the only supporter of my family that survived the violence. He lost an arm trying to find me.” Jorse said gently, and a bit sadly. A warm hand touched his shoulder. She said nothing, but then, she didn’t have to. “His wife the Countess, Elsbeth is her first name, said that she would train you in the fine art of spying.”

  “Spying!” Dala’s voice squeaked in surprise.

  “Funny, isn’t it?” Jorse chuckled. “Elsbeth is almost the perfect spy. She looks like anyone’s mother, but she has a mind that is quick and agile and misses very little. She runs the spy network for the Count and knows almost everything that is going on. She probably has someone spying on us right now.” Dala looked around, and then laughed nervously.

  “So, when do we leave?” Her question was simple, and her quiet acceptance of her new future left him humbled.

  He thought quickly. “Tomorrow or the next day, as soon as I can arrange transportation for you on the packet to Prangli.”

  “For me? You’re not going?”

  “There is a trip I must make first, and it will probably take a couple of years.”

  “Where do you have to go?” Her voice was small. “Can I go with you?”

  “To the Mother Temple in Elandia, where else? Any further and I’d fall off the edge of the world.” He reached out a gentle hand, touched her soft cheek. “I wouldn’t endanger you, Dala. I live in a violent world. Two weeks ago my only friend was killed in an ocean battle. I... I miss her.” Before Dala could comment he continued. “She was like a mother to me, if you want to know.”

  Dala’s eyes were wide. “Were you attacked by the Corsairs?” She sounded breathless.

  Jorse chuckled. “Dala, I was with the Corsairs.”

  She was quiet for some time, and the carriage pulled up slowly in front of the questionable inn. The sign swinging disconsolately in front was so weathered Jorse couldn’t make out the name. It had, he thought, something to do with grapes.

  “This is your last chance, Dala.” He said, stepping down out of the carriage. “Say the word and I will drive you back to the Temple. Go through the door to that inn, and there will be no turning back. Your fate and mine will be intertwined.” She sat silently on the hard wooden seat and stared straight ahead, lost in thought. For a moment... Jorse was afraid. Then she sighed and stepped out of the small carriage, joining him on the hard packed dirt road. She picked up her bag.

  “And what do you do on this pirate ship, Jorse Schwendau?”

  “Why, I’m the captain.”

  “It almost had to be.” She mumbled in a resigned voice.

  Jorse sat beside her on the lumpy, overstuffed bed. The dingy room was small, indifferently cleaned and the dust in the air made his nose twitch.

  “One more thing.” He said to the girl, taking her hand in his. “And it’s very important. Do you remember why all the Schwendaus were killed?”

  Dala frowned. “Just that they were the royalty in power, wasn’t that it ...no...wait a minute. It was something about being possessed by demons, or something like that. You’re not saying that it’s true, are you?” Her face registered shock.

  “No... not exactly.” Jorse took a deep breath and put a hand, palm up, on the bed beside them. He explained everything as best he could, even pointing out the fact that Count Gorthenal had his own “advisor,” and that by the time Dala arrived in Prangli, The Countess would probably have one too.

  Everything was going along just fine until Anya’s twin pushed its way up through Jorse’s palm. Dala’s face went deathly white, and she bit her hand to keep from screaming. Jorse touched her softly with his other hand and she jerked back, eyes wide.

  “I would never ever do anything to hurt you, Dala.” He soothed. “You will have a sting in the palm of your hand for a few seconds, then it will pass. After a minute or two you will begin to hear a voice. That will be your advisor talking to you, reassuring you. Anya has told me that advisors generally take the person’s opposite sex. Yours should be male. Get to know him. He will be your friend when you are lonely. He will be even more, if you let him.”

  “What do you mean?” She sniffed.

  “Well,” Jorse really hadn’t planned on bringing this up but... “Anya had a traumatic shock one time. She was ah, dying I guess you would say. I had to do something to save her so I hugged her.”

  “That doesn’t sound too bad to me.” Dala’s smile was tentative.

  “When you hug your advisor you can sometimes go too far; you begin to merge with the other personality. You start to share memories. If you don’t break off you share everything—forever. Anya and I began to share memories and I got scared and pulled out. Luckily for Anya, I had already pulled her back from the brink, and she was safe. We are a lot closer now. Sometimes I can hear her thoughts, and she can hear mine—without even trying. On occasion I don’t know who thought a certain thing, and that’s scary, but most of the time it’s really nice. Anya was there when I didn’t have a friend in the world.

  “You had me...” Dala’s voice was soft.

  “I know, Dala, but Anya was right there to tell me things were going to be all right. She encouraged me when I was ready to give up. She’s a good friend.

  A warm hand seemed to touch his face, and he smiled.

  “Is there anything else you want to tell me?” There was a definite edge to Dala’s voice now.

  “No, I think that’s about all of the really important stuff. Anya and I are still learning, though. There was no one to teach us, so we’ve made a few mistakes. But...” Jorse flushed a little. “Well... we’re friends, and friends forgive each other when they make mistakes.” He looked up into her haunting blue eyes, as dark and mysterious as wells. “This too is all about love.”

  “What would you do if I walked out right now, Jorse?” Dala’s eyes were intent, and he felt a chill run up his back.

  “Nothing. I couldn’t make you do this thing against your will. I guess I would have to hope that what you know wouldn’t get me, or the few that remain of my family killed.”

  The girl nodded, as if this were the answer she had been looking for, and held out her hand. It was rock steady. Jorse wanted to kiss her. The young woman shuddered when the slug landed on her palm, and then gasped as it burrowed into her flesh. Jorse reached out, wiping the blood off her hand with a small clean cloth he had brought with him. He watched her carefully for a few minutes, and then Dala’s eyes went big; she clutched at Jorse’s arm.

  “It... it wants to know if I would be more comfortable with a male or female presence in my mind. I... I think I’d like a female, Jorse. She could be like my older sister who...” Dala sniffed, and then started to cry as long held barriers came down. “The men came and took her away, and she died. Oh, Jorse, she died. I was little and I couldn’t do anything to help. She told me to hide and then the men came...” After a while Dala stopped crying, and she looked up with something like wonder. “She says her name is Tessa, and she brings me greetings from both you and Anya. She says that she wants to be my friend. Oh, Jorse, this is so wonderful, why didn’t you tell me sooner? Tessa says that you are a good man who would never ever hurt me, and I don’t have to be afraid of you... ever.”

  Dala remained distracted for a while as she and Tessa became better acquainted. Jorse put his own things in his room and came back, slipping quietly into the room to check on the girl. The smell of burned wood was noticeable in the air. Through the dirty windows could be seen the remains of the waterfront tenements. No effort had been made to clean up the mess and fingers of scorched timbers rose into the sky like a strange burned-over forest. It made Jorse sad to look at it. He felt her move beside him.

  “I was watching the night it happened.” Dala’s cheerless voice
somehow seemed to blend with his melancholy thoughts. “The soldiers in purple and gold surrounded the quarter and fired the buildings. They let no one out. I would have died here. The soldiers just stood and watched and pushed people back into the fire when they tried to escape — pushed them back in with those long spears.” Her small warm hand took his and there was a tingle... no, it was more than a tingle. To Jorse it was if he were hearing the echo of someone talking down a long, long hallway.

  “Jorse?” He turned to look at the girl. “Is it normal for me to hear...things when I touch you? I could almost, almost make out what you were saying, thinking. You were talking to Anya a moment ago, weren’t you?” He nodded, his eyes widening in surprise. “I could almost hear you.” She removed her hand from his, and for a second he wished with all his heart that she would put it back. “The connection is gone.”

  “No, it’s not normal, Dala. Anya thinks that you and I have a connection - something put into us by Selene or her Priestesses.”

  She took his hand, and the connection was back. “I’m not afraid, Jorse.”

  He took her hand in both of his. “You should be.”

  Jorse stood on the short wooden pier and watched the low slung packet boat for Prangli pull slowly out into the harbor. Dala was standing at the stern, holding herself rigidly erect. He thought he could see the glitter of tears on her cheeks. Maybe it had been a mistake for him to ask Anya to twin, giving Dala almost unrestricted access to his memories. Anya had, after all, kept some of the more personal things back from Count Gorthenal. Jorse turned away after the small packet boat disappeared into the ocean haze. It was a little late to worry about it now.

  Three piers over, the Dagfred had finished loading the last of her new sails, and seamen bustled about the decks preparing for a long voyage. Hudak was standing on deck with his arms folded as Jorse stepped aboard.