Into the Wind

by Anthony, Shira

  He bristled at her tone but wondered why he’d reacted that way. She was an old woman and deserved his respect. And yet the familiarity in his reaction made him wonder all the more. But if she was a vision or a memory, how could she speak to him like this?

  She offered him a toothless smile as he studied her cautiously. “You’re a mage,” he said.

  “I was a priestess once,” she replied. “Many centuries ago. I studied with Treande and Owyn at the great temple. My daughter, Zea, was the last of the Ea priestesses. She died when you were still quite young.”

  “But if you studied with Treande and Owyn—” He stopped speaking as the realization came to him. There was no other explanation. Ea lived two hundred years at best.

  “Ah, now you begin to understand, don’t you, Taren? Not all visions are memories.” She smiled and something in his memory stirred. She had been quite beautiful once. He was sure of it.

  “You’re… a ghost?”

  She laughed. “Call me what you will. A ghost. A spirit. A promise made long ago.”

  “A promise? To Treande?”

  “Now you understand, don’t you?” She turned and looked out over the water as if remembering something, then cackled again. “You always called me a pest.”

  “I… I didn’t—”

  “I called him far worse.” She grinned and her eyes sparkled with pleasure.

  Taren stared at her in surprise, then laughed in spite of himself.

  “You’re younger than he was when we first met,” she continued.

  “Tell me about him,” Taren said.

  She smiled and shook her head. “You needn’t hear about your own past from me. You can see the truth far more clearly with your own gift of sight.”

  “Then why are you here? What promise did you make him?”

  Her smile disappeared quickly as her expression grew serious. “What are you waiting for, Taren?” she asked, ignoring his question. “You must find the keeper.”

  “Keeper of the rune stone?”

  “Odhrán.”

  “Odhrán? But where—?” he began, his words failing him as he saw her body dissolve in a spray of salt.

  TAREN WALKED the bluffs by Ian’s side a few hours later. “Would you like to swim?” Ian asked as they reached the path that led to the water.

  “Not tonight. Thank you.” They swam nearly every night together, often making love under the waves. Tonight, though, Taren felt compelled to remain on land.

  Ian chuckled. “So formal. You’d think I was a stranger and not your mate.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  “Tell me how to help you.” Ian clasped Taren’s hand tighter.

  “I wish I knew.”

  “I can sometimes be patient.” Ian smiled, but Taren could see the concern in his eyes.

  Taren led them back down the hill toward the village. “I spent the afternoon with Vurin,” he said as they walked.

  “So I heard.”

  “He told you?” Taren asked.

  “He didn’t need to.” Ian stopped walking for a moment and turned to face Taren. “The entire village knows how much time you spend at the temple.”

  “I’m sorry.” He knew it was selfish of him to spend so much time there.

  “You mustn’t apologize to me for something the goddess calls you to do.” Ian squeezed Taren’s hand reassuringly.

  “I once heard you say you didn’t believe the goddess existed,” Taren pointed out. He brushed his fingers over Ian’s cheek.

  “I’ve said many things.” Ian chuckled. “Including some about how exasperating you can be. But I no longer doubt she exists. You’re proof enough of that for me.”

  “You’ve been dreaming as well, haven’t you?” Taren studied Ian’s face carefully. He’d heard Ian mumble in his sleep, heard him speak Treande’s name.

  “I’m no seer,” Ian replied. Taren could sense Ian’s reticence to say more.

  “You’re avoiding my question, Captain.” Taren knew Ian feared the dreams, just as Taren feared his gift. “You cannot hide things from me either,” he added. “It goes both ways.”

  “Indeed.” Ian stopped and kissed Taren. “I should know better.”

  “You should.” Taren clasped Ian’s face in his hands and smiled back at him.

  Ian frowned, then shook his head. “Some of the dreams seem almost real.”

  “Not dreams. Memories. Why should I be the only one to have them?” Taren asked.

  “Could be.” Ian appeared momentarily uncomfortable.

  “Tell me, then. What did you dream of?”

  “I dreamed we sailed to the Gateway Islands.” Ian slipped from Taren’s grasp and stepped off the path, pausing at the edge of the high cliff to gaze out at the ocean.

  “The Gateways?” Taren knew they were so called because of their location as a waypoint between the Kingdom of Derryth and the Eastern Lands. “The last outpost of humanity,” Rider had called them. There had been talk aboard the Sea Witch of sailing to the Eastern Lands, but Rider had always refused when the men had asked. Taren knew now that Rider had continued to sail the Luathan Sea to assist Ian in spying for the mainland Ea.

  “Aye.”

  “Were we headed to the Eastern Lands?” Taren asked. He couldn’t explain why hearing this left him feeling strangely wistful and ill at ease.

  “I don’t know. I only remember that you were with me but that we were not sailing aboard the Phantom. The ship was foreign to me. Peculiar rigging.”

  “What did it look like?”

  Ian frowned, then said, “The sails were like the wings of a bird, colorful, hanging from double masts. Like a noblewoman’s fan.”

  “When I was very young, Borstan once described ships like that. Said they sail nowhere but in Astenya, the Kingdom of the East. He called them ‘dragon wings.’” Taren smiled at the memory. “I recall imagining the ships taking flight, borne on the wind.” He didn’t tell Ian he’d dreamed of the same ships—he hadn’t remembered until that moment. The coincidence seemed ominous. Taren shivered as the wind shifted direction without warning and blew Ian’s hair about his face.

  Ian turned and gave Taren a strange look.

  “Something wrong?” Taren asked.

  “No. Nothing.” Ian shrugged. “It feels like rain.”

  THE NEXT day Taren returned once again to the temple ruins. The storm of the night before had left him feeling pensive and more restless than usual.

  “I sense something has changed in you,” Vurin said as he joined him a few hours later.

  “Something Ian said made me think that perhaps the goddess has spoken to me.” He still wasn’t sure he believed she had.

  “The goddess cannot tell you what you desire,” Vurin said, as if he’d sensed Taren’s unspoken questions. “She can only lead you to your heart. But if you choose not to listen to what your heart tells you, she cannot help you.” Vurin pressed his lips together and leaned back on his hands. “Your heart has spoken, hasn’t it?”

  “I don’t know.” He knew Vurin would sense the lie, but he knew just as well he would not press him further.

  “Let me help you, then.” Vurin got to his feet and gazed out at the ship floating in the cove. The Phantom looked a bit forlorn, like a woman awaiting her lover’s return. The crew had taken the sails down and some of the villagers were working to repair them. “I have asked Ian to sail to the Gateway Islands in search of the rune stone.”

  “You… what?”

  “We cannot let the rune stone fall into the hands of those who might use it against us.” Vurin’s eyes remained fixed on the ship. “You of all people understand this.”

  Taren’s jaw tensed, and the helplessness and fear that always possessed him when he thought of the stone spread through his body like icy water. He shivered. “No one has seen the stone for hundreds of years. Perhaps it’s better to leave it be.”

  “You and Ian are meant to find it, Taren. The goddess has shown me this.”
r />   “What did Ian say when you asked him to find it?” Taren was pretty sure he knew the answer.

  “That the choice must be yours.”

  Four

  The present

  IAN WATCHED from the foredeck as the Phantom limped toward land. The scouts had transformed and circled Cera, the largest and closest of the Gateway Islands, in search of an isolated cove where they could anchor the ship away from prying eyes. Ian had been tempted to swim with them in hopes of locating Taren, but he knew his place was with his crew, who were licking their wounds and mourning the loss of their comrade. Already, Renda prepared for the ceremony to send Crian to his final rest in the goddess’s arms, gathering long strands of the frilly derat plant from the ocean floor as well as flowers from the island forest.

  “Captain,” Barra said, bringing Ian back to himself. “Permission to take two men into town and search for news of Taren once we anchor.”

  “I…,” Ian began, taken aback by Barra’s concern. “Do you think you’re well enough?” Barra had been thrown overboard during the battle and injured while in his Ea form. Renda had healed him, but he still looked a bit under the weather. True, Barra had looked tired even before they’d left Callaecia. He had relatives still on Ea’nu, and Ian guessed Barra feared for their safety now that he’d sworn allegiance to Vurin and the mainland Ea. Barra wasn’t the only member of the Phantom’s crew who worried their loved ones might be at risk.

  “Renda’s given me his permission. And I… well, I know Taren and I got off to a bit of a rough start, but….”

  “Permission granted. But be careful. We don’t know who the enemy is. They may be on the island as well.”

  Barra nodded. “Aye, sir.” He began to walk away, then stopped and said, “I’m sorry, sir. If I’d known he was in the water, I would have—”

  “You have nothing to apologize for.” Ian squeezed Barra’s shoulder. “We’ll find him soon enough.”

  “Aye. That we will.”

  EARLY THE next morning, after Renda had completed his work on the enchantments meant to hide the Phantom from being discovered, Ian transformed as he dove into the warm water from the port side. He’d barely made it out of the cove where they’d dropped anchor when he sensed someone following him.

  “And where do you think you’re going without me?” Renda drawled as he caught up with Ian.

  If you’re here to lecture me about leaving my command, Ian said, you might as well just turn around.

  “If you think I’m going to lecture you about following your heart, then you’re sorely mistaken.”

  Ian turned and eyed Renda with suspicion.

  “What? Am I such a rotten friend that you’d think so poorly of me?”

  What do you want? Ian knew Renda too well to believe friendship his only motivation. Renda laughed and shook his head, then swam around Ian in circles. Enough! Say your piece, then be gone!

  “Tell me more about what happened during the battle. When you told me Taren had been injured.” Renda swam beneath Ian now, looking up at him and matching his speed so Ian had no choice but look directly at him.

  What more do you need to know? I sensed his pain. I knew he’d been injured. Ian clenched, then unclenched his jaw. Why do you think I’m so anxious to find him?

  Renda nodded but did not move away. “How did you know he’d been injured?”

  Ian shook his head. I’m not sure. I felt it. The pain of the blow. But I knew it wasn’t my own pain.

  Renda moved to Ian’s side as they continued to swim farther out. “You won’t find him here.”

  I know. Ian wouldn’t fool himself. If Taren were this close, he’d have sensed it. I’m only hoping to find some clue as to where he’s ended up.

  When Renda said nothing more, Ian asked, So will you tell me the truth about why you came with me?

  “Am I so obvious?” Renda grinned.

  You forget how well I know you. Ian laughed and swam a bit faster. The water grew deeper and cooler as they headed farther from land. For Ian, who’d been pacing the decks since Taren’s disappearance, swimming in this form felt as though he’d been released from a prison cell.

  “All right.” Renda pursed his lips, then asked, “What else did you notice about Taren during the battle?”

  Other than his lack of concern for his own safety? Ian shook his head. Nothing that I can recall. Why do you ask?

  “The wind,” Renda began, as if trying to put into words what he’d been thinking. “When it shifted during the battle… I felt magic at work. Powerful magic.”

  Taren? I… I sensed something familiar, but I thought I’d imagined it. He frowned, then stopped swimming and turned to face Renda. You think that was Taren?

  “What do you think?”

  Ian ignored the urge to wipe the knowing look off Renda’s face and instead answered, We both grew up hearing stories of priests who could control the elements. Treande was one of them, but—

  “But Owyn wielded the rune stone. I know what you’re thinking. If Treande was the one with the power, then why would Owyn have been the wielder?”

  Aye.

  “If Owyn had been able to use the stone, why was he unable to save his people?”

  Ian shook his head. Why do you insist on answering your own questions with questions?

  “Because it pleases me.”

  Why would the goddess have given Owyn the stone if he couldn’t protect his people? Ian countered, enjoying the verbal parry.

  “The goddess rarely reveals her plans for us.”

  Platitudes.

  “Truths.” Renda met Ian’s gaze and held it. “You simply don’t wish to accept the truth, Ian. You’re afraid of losing him.”

  Damn right I’m afraid of losing him! Ian shouted. I love him. More than my life. I’ve already let him down once. I have to live with that every day, knowing how he suffered because I did nothing to intervene. I won’t do it again.

  “You can’t hold him hostage to your fear, old friend,” Renda said softly. “You can’t stop this. None of us can. If you try to rein him in, you will only end up losing him.”

  I know. Ian sighed. But he’s so young, so inexperienced. He knows so little about his people.

  “He’s younger than you, to be sure.” Renda smiled and clasped Ian’s shoulder. “And although he knows little about us, he’s hardly naïve. He survived a difficult life amongst the humans. Even Seria and the Council failed to break his spirit. He’s far stronger than you give him credit.”

  Aye. He is. Perhaps I’m the one who isn’t strong enough to bear this.

  “You may both survive this yet,” Renda replied with a chuckle. “Now let’s see if we can find a clue as to where he may have gone. I’m afraid I may not survive your damnable pacing if we don’t.”

  Five

  TAREN SPAT the sand from his mouth, rolled onto his back, and looked up to see a boy of twelve or thirteen staring down at him. He was blond, with eyes the color of the ocean. As he met Taren’s gaze, the corners of his mouth turned upward in something resembling a smirk.

  “Go away,” Taren said as he struggled to remember where he was and how he’d come here. Maybe if he just closed his eyes….

  Taren’s head pounded and the muscles at the back of his neck ached. He reached up to discover a sizeable knot on his skull just behind his right ear. “I said, go away.” His mind seemed blurred, his thoughts scattered. He remembered diving into the water and nearly being hit by a volley of cannon fire. He remembered the wind shifting and then a sharp pain from behind.

  The memory of the battle returned, jarring him back to his senses.

  Ian! He remembered he’d been unable to do anything but watch the mizzenmast as it snapped. He remembered feeling Ian’s pain as keenly as if it were his own as Ian was injured by a falling beam. His gut clenched, his head spun, and he fought back a wave of nausea. His body seemed to float, carried away on his fear like driftwood battered by the waves. Goddess, please don’t take him from me ag
ain! He struggled to clear his mind; he knew he’d accomplish nothing if he panicked. He drew several long breaths as Vurin had taught him, and felt the sand beneath his body once again, familiar and reassuring. Grounded once more, he reached out for Ian’s presence.

  Thank the goddess Ian was alive! On another island or at sea, but alive. No, more than alive. Ian was whole, powerful. If he’d been injured when the mast fell, he was now healed. Taren gazed out at the water, knowing Ian and the Phantom were too far away, but hoping nonetheless that he might see them.

  “Where are your clothes?” the boy asked.

  Taren had nearly forgotten about him. His mind felt mired in fog, although he no longer felt the fear stab at his gut. The hot midday sun was beginning to burn his skin. Of course. If he was naked, he must have transformed after he’d been separated from the Phantom. Again he struggled to remember. If he’d been injured before he’d transformed, why hadn’t his body healed?

  Ian is safe, he told himself once again, clinging to that truth as if by thinking it he might rein in his meandering thoughts. He needed to find Ian and his crew. But first he needed something. He rubbed his eyes. What was it he needed? Something that the boy had said…. Why did he keep forgetting? Instinctively, he reached for his waist. There was something he’d had in his belt? A weapon. Sharp.

  The dagger! He was naked. If he’d transformed, he’d probably broken the belt he’d worn. “Did you see it?” he asked. “The silver dagger.” He needed that dagger, although he wasn’t sure why. It was special. Sacred. The word came to him as if someone else had spoken it in his ear to remind him.

  “No.” The boy looked at him with obvious suspicion. “Perhaps it’s in the same place where you lost your clothes. Do you know where they are?”

  Taren looked around to get his bearings. In the far distance, a few dozen shacks hugged the rocky coastline. A village, perhaps? He remembered the sweet scent of flowers mingling with the tang of the surf, and the crumbling, centuries-old foundation of a house on the bluffs overlooking the ocean. The house he and Ian had begun to rebuild.