TAREN BEAT back yet another attack and thanked the goddess for his increased strength. Had it been six months before, he doubted he’d have been able to hold off a man so large for more than a few minutes.
It had taken him longer than he’d expected to fight his way to the foredeck, but he’d made it without further injury. To his right, Ian and Barra were fighting off Seria and two Ea men. He caught only a glimpse of Rider farther forward as he tangled with three humans a dozen feet from the bowsprit.
Seria’s expression hinted at the pleasure Taren knew he must feel to be so close to capturing two of the sharpest thorns in the Council’s side. He pushed aside the memory of his time in the Ea prison. He was stronger than a memory. He would fight without fear, and if need be, he’d die before he allowed them to take him again. All around them, Rider’s men fought the brigantine’s crew, but Taren could hear none of the melee, so focused was he on the fate of those close to him and on his wish to protect them.
Bastian managed to stabilize the Witch’s course as a half dozen of her crew guarded his position while he barked commands to the men manning the aft sails. That the Witch was no longer dead in the water was a testament to Bastian’s skill, but the Witch still wouldn’t be able to outsail her attacker. Now that the Witch was no longer in irons, the brigantine’s captain was forced to maneuver his ship so she wouldn’t strike the Witch’s side, but she had no difficulty maintaining her proximity.
Taren watched in horror as a second brigantine joined the first a few minutes later, forcing Bastian closer and closer to the first ship. At last, too far upwind to use the sails to steer, the Witch slowed and drifted.
Even as he fought, Taren imagined the wind snaking tendrils around him, caressing his body. As if heeding his thoughts, he felt the wind at his neck tickle the hairs there. Another strong gust buffeted the deck of the ship, strong enough that his attacker was forced to brush his hair from his eyes in order to better see Taren. Taren took the opportunity to thrust his weapon at his attacker’s chest. His aim was true. The man fell to the deck, mortally wounded.
Goddess rest his soul, Taren prayed once more for the man whose life he’d taken. He took no time to join another fight, however, as he tried to make his way to Ian and Barra. Another man now fought by Seria’s side, and to their right, Rider fought several men. Seeing this, Taren barely avoided a swing from his opponent. As his fear for Ian, Rider, and the others grew, the wind whipped about them. Taren smelled rain on the air, but hadn’t it been clear before the attack? The distant rumble of thunder caused the wood beneath his feet to vibrate.
Taren couldn’t deny it any longer. He had caused the storm. And though it frightened him to realize that he had little idea how to control this power, it also pleased him that the weather might make the fight more challenging for the enemy. With this thought, the sky grew darker and heavy droplets began to fall.
He wiped the water from his eyes and tried to focus on blowing the enemy’s ship off her course, but his opponent swung again and he barely moved in time to block the strike. Movement off the starboard side caught his eye. Another ship? This vessel was far larger than the brigantines. The crew of the Sea Witch might be numerous enough to defeat the smaller cadres the brigantines carried, but another square rigger?
Behind Seria, Rider had managed to subdue one of his opponents but was still struggling to overcome the other two. Taren had no time to waste. He needed to help Rider and Ian. He used the distraction of the new ship to his advantage and kicked his opponent, then swung his sword and sliced through the muscles of his sword arm. The man’s weapon fell, and before he could react, Taren punched him hard enough to send him sprawling on the ground.
Taren ran to where Ian had been fighting and found him immobilized by two Ea, a third with his weapon touching Ian’s chest, over his heart. Seria, clearly pleased, watched a dumbfounded Barra, who stood, weapon at the ready, pointed at Seria. Taren didn’t notice the two men behind him until they knocked the sword from his hand and pinned his arms behind his back.
“Kill him,” Ian spat.
Seria laughed. “He won’t kill me. Will you, Barra?” Barra’s hand trembled and, with it, his blade. “No. You won’t.” Seria pressed Barra’s blade downward.
A muscle in Barra’s cheek jumped as he looked directly at Ian and said, “I’m sorry, Captain.” He dropped his sword, which landed with a thud on the wooden deck.
Taren met Barra’s gaze for a moment. Barra’s face reddened and he looked even more forlorn. “I’m sorry, Taren,” he mumbled. “I never wanted to hurt you. But I….”
Upon hearing these words, Taren parted his lips in shock. “You? It was you, in the water? In the battle with the humans?” He’d seen what he thought was a tail, and then—
“I couldn’t find you on deck,” Ian’s face contorted with rage as he fought to free himself from the men holding him. “It wasn’t the mizzen that hit Taren. You went after him. You bastard! You tried to kill him! Did you ask to search for him in town so you could finish the job?”
Barra stared down at the deck, clearly terrified to meet Ian’s eyes.
“You see, Dunaidh,” Seria said, his expression serious once more, “there are some of our people who are still loyal to the Council. Unlike you.”
Taren didn’t need to see Ian’s face to feel Ian’s anger and grief; he felt them as well. The wind blew harder and the rain stung his face. No. Not Barra. Barra had tried to kill him. Barra had helped the Witch’s navigator plot their course. He’d probably given their heading to Seria and the humans. Barra had betrayed them all. Barra wanted to kill me?
“Ian Dunaidh,” Seria said in a voice both self-important and self-satisfied, “you have been tried in absentia and convicted of the crime of high treason against Ea’nu. By the Council’s authority, you will die for your crimes against our people.”
Did Seria mean to execute Ian here while all his men watched? No doubt the gesture would go far to instill fear in Ian’s men as well as Seria’s—human and Ea.
“No!” Taren shouted as he struggled against the men who held him.
Seria laughed, then withdrew his pistol and aimed it at Ian. “What will you do about it, boy?” he asked. “If you lay a hand on me, my men will run him through.”
Taren heard the sounds of a scuffle from the aft deck. Several of Seria’s men ran toward them. “There’s another ship, sir!” one of them shouted.
A cannon blast shook the Sea Witch, and shouts and screams carried on the wind. Taren guessed one of the attacking ships had been hit, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off Ian and Seria.
In the midst of all the chaos, Seria smiled calmly and pulled the trigger. Taren saw the spark and smelled the pungent odor of gunpowder as he lunged for Seria, but the weapon discharged before he could knock it out of Seria’s hand. Someone fell to the deck, shirt stained with blood.
“Ian!” Taren ran to the injured man. But it was not Ian on the deck, his chest covered in blood. It was Rider.
Out of the corner of his eye, Taren saw Seria and his men jump into the water as a dozen men from the just-arrived ship—the Chimera, Taren realized—charged forward. Barra hesitated, then ran after Seria and the others.
IAN KNEELED and pressed his shaking hands to the wound on Rider’s chest as he struggled to calm his racing heart. Goddess! No. Human as Rider was, even a ship’s surgeon could do nothing. Ian felt Rider’s heart slow beneath his palm, saw the color flee from his cheeks, saw the light begin to fade from his eyes.
Ian had been ready to die when Seria aimed his pistol. From such a close distance, Ian knew there’d be no transformation to save him. He’d regretted only that he’d been unable to protect Taren, that he’d failed the goddess and his people. He’d given up too easily. Rider had won their freedom. But at what cost?
Taren was at his side a moment later, taking his place, his hands glowing as he struggled to heal Rider’s wound. The look of horror that twisted Taren’s face as he fought to concentrat
e told Ian that Taren, too, knew there was little to be done. In spite of this, Ian’s heart swelled to see Taren’s calm resolve as he worked to save Rider.
“Damn fool,” Ian muttered under his breath. “Taking the bullet in my stead.” How will I ever repay my debt to you, old friend?
Ian studied Taren’s youthful face, then looked at Rider’s and remembered when they, too, had been as young. Together, he and Rider had shared so many dreams. In Rider’s arms, Ian had felt happy. Accepted. After living so long without being able to share his true nature with anyone but his parents, Ian thrilled to know that a human knew his secret. Even now, Ian remembered how they’d swam together in a secluded cove not far from Raice Harbor—Ian in his Ea form, Rider holding on to his waist as Ian sped through the water and dove while Rider held his breath. Later, they’d made love in the shade of the trees and talked about their future together aboard a great sailing ship. They’d had so many dreams… dreams of sailing to the Eastern Lands, of exploring the islands farther beyond, where few humans or Ea had ever traveled.
Beautiful dreams I will cherish always, Jonat.
Ian clenched his jaw and struggled to master his emotions. The danger was ever present. Seria and the others would regroup and return to finish what they’d started. He would need to be strong and rally Rider’s crew. They would need his help to survive another battle with the Council’s ships.
“Let me through!” Bastian pushed the men surrounding Rider aside and dropped to his knees. “No,” he whispered. “Gods, no!”
Rider’s eyes fluttered open. “Leave it be, boy,” he told Taren. “No magic will heal this wound.”
Taren hesitated, but Ian nodded and Taren withdrew. Ian wrapped his arms around Taren’s body not because he knew Taren needed to feel his presence, but because he needed to feel Taren.
“No. You must heal him.” Bastian’s face was tear-streaked, his eyes wide.
“Time to let go, love,” Rider said in a low voice. “We’ve had our run of good luck.”
“No.” Bastian’s shoulders shook and his voice quavered. He laid his head on Rider’s chest, heedless of the blood.
“Take care of them both for me,” Rider told Ian.
“Aye.” Ian’s tears fell as the last of his resolve crumbled beneath the weight of his grief. He’d had few friends in his life. The price of command, no doubt. But Rider had been there for him time and again. Infuriating, frustrating, kind, and caring, Rider had become someone Ian depended upon and loved like a brother.
“Kiss me, love,” Rider said as his gaze flickered back to Bastian’s. “And take good care of my ship.”
Bastian leaned over Rider as Rider’s eyes closed once more. The wind had died, replaced now by a steady rain. Taren’s tears mingled with droplets of water as Bastian wept on Rider’s now still chest.
Taren leaned against Ian, who wrapped an arm around his shoulders from behind.
Goddess, protect his soul.
Twenty-Nine
BUT FOR the sound of the rain as it hit the deck, the Sea Witch was eerily silent. Taren looked down at his hands. The water had begun to wash them clean, but Taren could still smell the bite of gunpowder and the tang of Rider’s blood there. He rubbed his face with his arm and struggled not to lose control of his emotions.
“The ship’s secure, sir,” Fiall said as he made his way through the crowd that had gathered. He gasped and covered his mouth when he saw Rider’s body, then shook his head. “No. He’s not….”
Taren wiped his hands on his britches, stood up, and put a hand on Fiall’s tense shoulder. At the edge of the crowd stood Odhrán, flanked by James and another human crewmember. Odhrán inclined his head as he removed his hat and set it over his heart in a gesture of respect.
Bastian’s sobs grew softer, though his body still shook with anguish. After a few more minutes, he stood silently and looked around him. His eyes were glassy and unfocused, as if he couldn’t see all the people who surrounded him. The men parted to allow him to pass. Taren followed, unsure what to do.
When he reached the bowsprit, Bastian raised his hands skyward as if to beseech the heavens for understanding. Taren made to comfort Bastian, but Ian, who had followed as well, held him back. “Let him grieve in his own way.”
Taren nodded. He could hardly bear the thought that it could have been Ian who died. Shot from such a close distance, Ian wouldn’t have survived long enough to transform. Taren closed his eyes and willed away the memory of Owyn’s death, a memory that seemed to entwine with Taren’s deep pain over the loss of Rider, the man who had rescued Taren from a life of slavery and guided him to manhood.
Bastian cried out, causing Taren to open his eyes again. The rain fell in thick droplets onto Bastian’s outstretched arms. The droplets hissed as they touched Bastian’s body, causing white steam to rise from his skin and clothing. Confused and fascinated, Taren continued to stare. Bastian’s figure was outlined in a haze of reddish light. Taren blinked to clear his vision, but the image did not change.
“What…?” Taren whispered as he wiped his face.
The first of the flames leapt from Bastian’s arms as Taren moved to comfort him. In spite of this—for Taren was sure he was imagining what he saw—Taren reached out to touch Bastian. In response, Ian pulled Taren back with such force that he nearly fell. Taren was just about to protest when he saw he’d not imagined it: Bastian was on fire.
“Bastian!” Taren shouted.
“Taren?” Bastian’s voice sounded strange, gravelly. He stared at his arms in obvious shock, moving them as though he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “What…?”
“Bastian!” Taren struggled against Ian’s iron grip. “Ian, let me g—”
“Look again,” Ian said, his voice calm in Taren’s ear.
Taren stopped fighting and did as Ian bid him. But what he saw, he struggled to understand. Flames licked Bastian’s body, but he was unmarred. Even his clothes, though bloodstained and ragged, were intact.
“I don’t understand,” Bastian said. “What is this magic? What is happening to me?” Bastian’s eyes, usually a bright green, were now a swirling mix of yellow, orange, and red, like a sunset, with black irises that appeared more like a reptile’s than a human’s. But it wasn’t just his eyes that had changed. The freckles on his cheeks seemed to vanish and reform in a pattern that reminded Taren of stepping stones, each fitted tightly together. “Taren?” he said again, as if hoping that Taren might be able to explain what had happened to him. “I can’t stop it. I don’t understand. Please, Taren. It hurts! Gods, it hurts!”
The flames now rose nearly as high as the topsails, and unlike Bastian or his clothing, the canvas began to burn. Bastian’s body, too, had begun to change. From his back, small appendages appeared and grew into wings with thick feathers that matched the brilliance of Bastian’s red hair. His arms and legs grew thicker and his torso lengthened until he stood tall enough to reach the top of the foremast. His face had lengthened, his nose becoming a snout. Nearly five times the size of a man, Bastian no longer appeared human. One of the railings cracked beneath the weight of his tail, and the ship shook as he spread his long wings and took to the air.
Throughout all this, Taren barely heard the shouts and cries of the men aboard the Witch who scurried about, clearly terrified of the creature Bastian had become. “Ian, he needs my help,” Taren moaned as he fought Ian once more. The smoke burned his eyes and nose. His gut clenched and he tightened his grip on Ian’s forearms.
“You cannot help him. You see what the flames have done to the ship.” Ian pressed his cheek to Taren’s. Behind Ian, Odhrán shouted commands to the crew to lower the remaining sails and protect them from the spreading flames.
The dragon let out a howling roar that made Taren shiver. Could everyone hear the pain in that sound as well as he? Bastian rose higher above the ships and roared again, this time shooting flames at one of the enemy ships as he screamed. The ship’s upper sails caught fire. A moment late
r, the second enemy ship was fully ablaze. The rain, which still continued to fall, did nothing to dampen the flames. Men and Ea jumped into the water, their shouts barely audible over the dragon’s shrieks.
Bastian turned back to the Sea Witch and began to descend.
“What’s the status of the rudder?” Ian shouted over the din.
“It’s gone, sir,” Fiall said without emotion. “And with the foresails gone….” Taren knew they were dead in the water without the sails or the rudder.
Why? Why would you harm the ship you love so much, Bastian? Taren knew the answer: the thoughts and memories that had been Bastian’s were gone. The dragon knew nothing of the Sea Witch or the men aboard it, nothing of the acceptance and friendship he’d found aboard her or of the grief those men now felt. The dragon only knew that Rider was dead. Perhaps he even believed the crew had brought about his beloved Rider’s death. Taren sensed nothing of Bastian in the dragon now; he only sensed rage.
“Get the crew into the launches,” Ian ordered.
“Aye, sir!” Fiall ran toward the wheel, shouting commands as he went.
“James,” Odhrán said, “get the men back to the Chimera. The enchantments should protect her for a short time. Pick up as many of the men as you can. Tell the Ea to find any men who may have ended up in the water.”
“And you, sir?” James asked, his concern apparent.
“I’ll be fine here. We’ll rejoin the ship once we’ve managed to….” Odhrán caught Taren’s eye and clenched his jaw.
“Once you’ve managed to what?” Taren demanded. “Kill him?”
“Taren,” Odhrán replied, “he’s not in his right mind. You yourself can sense this. He believes we are his enemy, that we killed his lover.”
“But there must be something we can do to help him.” Even as he spoke these words, Taren knew it was hopeless.
“We can’t help him now. We must save ourselves. Water does nothing against the magic of his flames. Even with its enchantments, my ship will not last long against it. Even if the Ea can swim away, I won’t allow the humans in my crew to perish.”
Into the Wind Page 22