Into the Wind

by Anthony, Shira

  Ian. Where was Ian?

  “Did you hear me?” the boy asked. He appeared irritated, his hands firmly planted on his hips, his face set in a scowl.

  “What?” Taren frowned and tried to remember what the boy had said before.

  “I asked where your clothes were.”

  “I don’t know.” Taren honestly couldn’t remember. I must have transformed. This thought was quickly followed by the realization that he’d had that particular thought before. “I… I don’t remember.” Whatever had hit him in the water had hit him hard enough to jumble his thoughts. He’d seen that happen once before, when he’d been aboard another ship. Someone—a boy?—had hit his head on one of the masts. He struggled to remember the name of the ship but could not. And he needed to find the dagger.

  “We should find you some, then.”

  “Some what?” Taren asked, losing his train of thought once more.

  “Clothes.” The boy offered Taren his hand. “I can help you.”

  Taren considered the offer. Even as strange as he felt, he figured the boy could do him no real harm. He was smaller even than Aine, built far more like a girl. He was thin—thinner than a boy of his age should be—his ribs prominently visible since he wore no shirt. Taren wondered when he’d eaten last. He reminded Taren of himself a scant few years before, when he’d begged Cook to let him lick the pot before washing it.

  Taren wondered vaguely how he could remember his time at the inn so clearly, when he could recall only some of the events that had brought him here. “I… yes. Thank you.”

  The boy laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” Taren asked.

  “It’s rare I meet someone as polite. Usually it’s ‘get ye gone, boy!’ and nothing more.” The boy smiled to reveal a set of white teeth with a small gap between the two largest. An endearing smile. This too reminded Taren of something. Someone. Red-haired. Freckled. Someone Taren cared for. Taren struggled to remember his name but came up empty. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. His head still ached.

  Best get some clothing. Until his head cleared, he doubted he’d be able to find his way back to the Phantom. Eat, rest, then…. His thoughts clouded once again, and he rubbed his face with his hand in a vain attempt to think clearly.

  “Clothing?” the boy prompted. He scrunched up his face, then added, “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “I’m fine.” Taren managed to get to his knees before the pain in his limbs asserted itself with a vengeance. He cried out as his muscles seized, protesting the movement, so he rested on his hands until the worst of it had passed. It struck him as odd that his body was so battered, yet he had no broken bones, or at least none that he immediately recognized as being broken.

  “You don’t seem well.” The boy eyed him with concern.

  “Fine.” Taren spoke the word between clenched teeth. The last thing he needed was a mother hen half his age.

  “Stay here. I’ll get you some clothing.” The boy waited until Taren nodded his assent, then took off at a trot down the beach.

  Taren closed his eyes and breathed in the crisp air. He remembered a walk along the beach and how Ian had pulled him into the surf. He remembered making love beneath the waves, and how Ian had felt….

  Ian. Taren reminded himself that Ian was safe and his racing heart calmed once again. Why did he keep forgetting things? I need to get back to the ship.

  “Here you go.”

  Taren looked up, surprised to see the boy standing there holding a bundle of fabric. Clothing. Yes. He was going to find me clothing. “Thank you,” he said.

  “Do you need any help?”

  “No. I can do it.” Taren took the clothes from the boy’s arms and tried to stand up. He swayed, then promptly sat back down again as the world seemed to tilt on its axis. The boy huffed and extended one arm. Taren ignored the offer of assistance and managed to get to his feet on the third try. He hadn’t felt this out of sorts since he’d been pulled from the water by Ian’s crew nearly six months before.

  “You must have hit your head,” the boy said. “If you need some help, I can—”

  “I’m fine,” Taren snapped.

  “Suit yourself.” He watched in silence as Taren dressed in the gray linen trousers and slipped the simple tunic over his head.

  “What’s your name?” Taren studied the boy a bit more carefully as he pulled his long hair from his face and knotted it at the base of his neck.

  “Brynn.”

  “I’m Taren.” He no longer used the name he’d taken from his former master. Borstan Laxley had never owned him, never loved him as a son even though Taren had wished he had. He’d once asked Vurin his parents’ family name, but Vurin had explained they had none: only Ea who lived amongst humans took a second name. Perhaps if he and Ian handfasted, he might take Ian’s family name, but for now “Taren” was good enough for him.

  Ian. Why was it he remembered Ian and the Phantom so clearly but nearly everything else seemed to blur in his memory?

  “Taren. What kind of name is that?”

  Taren shrugged. “The name my parents gave me.”

  “You’re not from here. Do you come from the Eastern Lands?”

  “Raice Harbor.” Taren chuckled. The thought that the boy might think him exotic amused him.

  “You sailed here, then.” Brynn seemed pleased to have come to this conclusion.

  “Aye.”

  “Where’s your ship?”

  A fair question. “I don’t know.” Taren wondered if Brynn might have news of the Phantom, but he decided to wait until he was sure of the boy’s intentions to ask.

  Brynn raised a pale eyebrow. “Why are you here?”

  “You ask a lot of questions.”

  “Does that bother you?” Brynn’s eyes shone with a silent challenge.

  Taren couldn’t help but smile. The boy had twice the gall of Fiall and none of his self-control. “No. It’s refreshing.”

  “But you haven’t answered my question,” Brynn pointed out.

  “I’m looking for someone.” He’d remembered this and saw no reason to withhold the truth. He might learn something to help them find the rune stone. And if Vurin was correct….

  “A woman?” Brynn’s smirk was charmingly naïve.

  “A man.”

  “Oh. I see. You prefer men.”

  Perhaps not so naïve. Taren laughed at the boy’s audacity. “I’m interested in speaking with him, not bedding him. Perhaps you’ve heard of him? The pirate Odhrán?”

  “Him?” Brynn raised his chin and smiled outright. “Of course I’ve heard of him. I know him well.”

  Taren chuckled. “Indeed. And you must be one of his trusted crew.”

  Brynn’s expression was one of obvious indignation. “He prefers to remain hidden, so I run errands for him from time to time. There are plenty of men around these islands who would like to see him dead.”

  “Another reason to be skeptical of your claim,” Taren said as he sat down on a large rock and crossed his arms over his chest. “How do you know I’m not here to kill him?”

  The boy shrugged. “You have no weapon.” He pulled a knife from the waist of his pants and pointed the blade at Taren. “For a man who is here to kill a dangerous pirate, you’re far too trusting. I could have killed you ages ago.”

  “You watched me when I was asleep?”

  Brynn ignored Taren’s question. “I can take you to him.” He stood up and brushed a few strands of hair from his eyes.

  “Take me?” Taren hadn’t considered that the boy might actually know the location of Odhrán’s hideaway. He’d intended to return to Ian and the Phantom as quickly as possible, but now he hesitated.

  “You worried about your shipmates?” Brynn asked.

  Taren jumped up, excited by the thought that Brynn might know of his crewmates’ fate. “What do you know of them?” he demanded, knowing he sounded desperate but too worried to care.

  Brynn swung his arms at his sides an
d pressed his lips together. “I know there was a battle not far from Cera. One of the ships sank. The other, the Phantom, is in port near Gate Town, on the main island.”

  “And her crew?” Taren’s heart pounded against his ribs and he swallowed hard.

  “Safe, I hear tell. Her mizzen was destroyed, but the crew survived.”

  Taren released a long, slow breath, then sat back down heavily. He’d never been so relieved. “Thank the goddess,” he muttered. No doubt Ian would have undertaken repairs as soon as possible, but with damage such as that, the Phantom wouldn’t be able to sail for several months. Time enough to look for Odhrán.

  “You will take me to him, then,” Taren said. If he knew Ian was safe, perhaps Ian knew the same was true for him. Delaying his return to the Phantom by a few days would change nothing. Ian might be angry with him, but he’d also forgive him.

  “But you will have to pay me.”

  “Pay you?” Taren would have gladly shared any coins he had if only the boy could eat. As it was, however, he had nothing of value to offer. “If I could pay you, would I have borrowed these clothes?”

  “You can pay me with something other than coins. Your necklace would do nicely.”

  Taren put his hand to his neck and felt the familiar rugged stones and colorful bits of shell strung there. He’d forgotten he still wore his mother’s necklace. Of course he’d never willingly part with it. Then again, he was pretty sure Brynn had no idea where Odhrán was. And if by some chance the boy wasn’t full of bluster and led him to Odhrán, Taren would figure out some other form of payment once he met up with the Phantom and her crew.

  “All right.” Ian would have called him a fool for following the boy, but Taren reckoned it was a risk worth taking. Brynn certainly had been capable of injuring him, even if he doubted the boy would have killed him. And if there was a chance he was telling Taren the truth….

  Brynn’s eyes lit up with pleasure as he held out his hand.

  “You’ll not get paid until you deliver on your part of the bargain.”

  Brynn frowned but did not protest. The boy was a quick study. “He lives on an island to the west of here. We will need a boat.”

  “And where did you expect I might find a boat?” Taren asked.

  “Borrow one?” One corner of Brynn’s mouth curved upward and his eyes sparkled with humor.

  Six

  TAREN AND Brynn slept under the stars not far from the thicket of trees where they’d hidden the small fishing boat. It had taken them several hours to carry the boat through the thick forest to a secluded cove where they wouldn’t be spotted by the villagers, and by then, it had been too dark to sail.

  Taren hadn’t wanted to risk making a fire for fear they might be spotted, so they ate the fish they’d caught in the small net left in the boat without cooking it. Brynn didn’t seem to mind. Taren watched as Brynn thoroughly licked each of his fingers after tossing what was left of a fish—little more than bones—into the nearby bushes. Taren knew few humans who would eat raw fish without complaint. He guessed the boy often went hungry.

  “Where do you live?” Taren asked as he drank the water from one of the coconuts he’d harvested from a nearby tree.

  “Here and there,” Brynn answered with a shrug.

  “Parents?”

  Another shrug.

  Taren passed the half-empty coconut to the boy, who drank the remaining liquid and set the shell down beside him. “What do you know about Odhrán?”

  “Not much. He pays me enough that I can eat.” Brynn pointed to Taren’s half-eaten fish and asked, “Are you going to finish that?”

  “You’re welcome to it.”

  Brynn took the fish and devoured it in the blink of an eye.

  “Haven’t been paid recently?” Taren sat back on his hands and watched Brynn wipe his face with the back of his hand.

  Brynn scowled and scratched his head. His hair was long, even longer than Taren’s, and so light that it appeared almost white in the fading light. Some of the strands near the front of his face were woven into tiny braids, knotted at the ends. Taren had seen few boys as beautiful. His delicate features called to mind a girl, but his forward manner was anything but feminine.

  “What do you do aboard the Phantom?” Brynn asked after he’d settled back comfortably on the sand.

  “Rigger,” Taren answered.

  “Really? I’d’ve taken you for the sailing master.”

  Taren laughed. “Hardly.” Ian often spoke to him about taking a more powerful position aboard the Phantom, but Taren always refused. He’d happily served as a deckhand on the Sea Witch before he’d met Ian.

  The Sea Witch! How had he forgotten the name before? Taren felt profound relief to have remembered this. Fiall. The boy from the ship. He’d hit his head on a mast and the ship’s surgeon had tended to him. With this memory came several others: Rider, the Witch’s captain, offering him his freedom in exchange for three years of servitude, and the first night he’d shared his body with Rider and Bastian.

  Brynn shook his head. “Don’t get many large ships around here. Mostly they stay away because of the pirates, but the town’s harbor is shallow, so most of the ships put into port on Cera.” He stared up at the sky, where a few stars were now visible in the deepening darkness. “Why did you leave your ship?”

  “I wanted a drink at the town tavern.”

  “You lie.” Brynn didn’t seem particularly concerned about this. “Did you fall overboard during the battle?”

  “You really do ask too many questions, boy.” Taren repressed a laugh. Brynn was charming. Irritating, but charming.

  “What do you want with Odhrán?”

  “Nothing you need be concerned with.” Taren was tempted to point out that this was yet another question, but he found himself enjoying the banter.

  Brynn smiled. “I hear he has a mountain of gold hidden in a cavern on one of these islands and a dragon who stands watch over it.”

  Taren knew Brynn was casting for answers. “I’m not interested in gold,” he replied. He watched for the boy’s reaction.

  “They all say that.”

  Clever boy. Taren was beginning to believe Brynn did know the pirate. Odhrán had a reputation for being wily—no doubt a sharp boy like Brynn would be the perfect set of eyes and ears for the reclusive pirate to keep abreast of happenings around the islands. “Believe what you wish. Our bargain did not include sharing my secrets.”

  Brynn kicked the sand with a slender foot. “Our bargain could include more than just information, you know.” The way he stroked his neck with the backs of his fingers was openly flirtatious.

  “You’re far too young,” Taren said with a chuckle. “Besides, my heart is already spoken for.”

  “Pity. I can see by the way you look at me that you think I’m pretty.” Brynn ran the tip of his tongue over his pink lips. “Who is he?”

  Whelp. “You’re far too clever for your own good, you know.” Taren yawned and lay down in the sand.

  “You admit it, then,” Brynn pressed. “You think I’m pretty?”

  “You’re pretty. Now can we get some sleep?” Taren had no intention of sleeping—even if he believed the boy would do him no harm, he didn’t fully trust him either.

  “Good night, Taren. If you should change your mind….”

  “Good night, Brynn.”

  Seven

  “IS HE awake yet?” said a man’s voice, unfamiliar yet strangely comforting. Taren looked around to see where the voice had come from, but saw only the thatching of a roof. He inhaled the sweet scent of pine and incense and wondered if perhaps he was Treande once more, asleep beside his beloved Owyn.

  “He’s still tired after the consecration. Aren’t you, little one?”

  Taren gazed up into a pair of green eyes, then blinked and yawned in quick succession. He stretched his arms and marveled to see how smooth and pale they were. His hands were tiny, with chubby fingers he couldn’t quite control. When he tried to
speak, the soft cooing sound that issued from his lips took him by surprise.

  I’m a baby?

  The man came into view. Brown-eyed, with dark hair, pale skin, and a hint of freckles on his high cheekbones, he wore an expression of genuine happiness. Pride. Pleasure. Love, perhaps?

  “Taren,” the man said, as if he were speaking the name for the first time, letting it settle upon his lips. “What a strange name.”

  “A human name,” the woman said. “The goddess’s choice for him. I think it’s quite beautiful.”

  “Little Taren,” the man said in a gentle voice. “Vurin says you will grow to be strong.” He tickled Taren’s chin with a long finger, and Taren murmured happily.

  Vurin?

  “Larin,” the woman said, “he looks so much like you. Will you be a sailor like your father, my brave Taren?” she asked. “Or will you tend the fields like your mother?”

  My parents!

  She smiled once more, then gathered him into her arms. Taren reached for her cheek and inhaled the scent of freesia and sweetgrass. She was as beautiful as he’d imagined, with skin the color of the moon and black hair like the finest silk. She smiled down at him and tiny creases formed in the corners of her eyes.

  “He says he prefers to look like you, beloved,” Larin said with a chuckle. “You are far prettier than I.” He wrapped his arms around them both and kissed her neck.

  “Did you see the old priestess fawn over him?” Taren’s mother asked. “She held him for so long, Vurin had to take him from her to begin the ceremony.”

  “How could she not admire his beauty?”

  His mother laughed, a musical sound that filled Taren’s heart as much as his ears. “Zea’s been blind for ten years! Sometimes I wonder if it isn’t only her sight that’s left her.”

  “Duri! You mustn’t joke about her. The goddess will—”

  “Laugh,” his mother finished. “Even the goddess has a sense of humor. Zea laughs at herself more than you know. And she loves to say her mother was even stranger. Some say she speaks to her mother, Aerin, through the veil of death.” She kissed Larin, then kissed her finger and pressed it to Taren’s lips.