She was flying out of her room in a trice, heading above decks. "Jerome! Tha boat!" she shouted for the oarsman as she burst onto the deck. He was running to the boat already, sailors following him to lower it into the water. Her shout had caused a bit of chaos on deck.
Seeing her chance, Mara ran across the deck and flew over the railing, landing in the boat as they lowered it to the sea below.
"Mara! Git yer butt on deck, girl!" came Uncle Merry's voice from above.
"Nae!" she shouted back, although terrified at the risk she was taking. The men lowering the boat paused for a moment, unsure if they should listen to Anala's sister or their captain. She gestured impatiently. "We'd be losing time! Uncle Merry, I'd know where they'd be ashore! I can help!" she shouted up at the captain desperately. The boat moved again.
Uncle Merry's craggy face appeared at the edge of the boat as he looked down at her. "What're ye talking about? How can ye know?"
She could only shrug at him, for the boat was in the water and Jerome was rowing already.
She'd tell him when she returned. She hoped.
Lares
He'd been treated worse. Much, much worse, and with less provocation.
It still vexed him. First the girl in the rowboat had held a dirk to his throat the whole way to the ship, asking him what he'd done to her sister, and now he'd been pushed to his knees on the deck of a ship and a cutlass was held to his still sore neck.
A frisson of anger ran his spine. He'd saved Anala's life, by Vulcanus, and this was how they thanked him? It was a good thing he was not a more defiant individual. He would have spit at the captain's feet, and that would have landed him in even deeper trouble.
They'd taken his weapons away. Which he could understand, he supposed, but he had used two of them to save Anala and that sailor. I hope these provincial bastards don't get the powder wet in my musket, or we'll really be up a creek. He'd brought it because it would be the only weapon on the ship that might have the range to fight off whatever pursuit they had. His pistols would work in closer quarters, and he wanted those intact as well. But the musket was the important part.
At least they were making all haste in escaping, and not wasting time asking stupid questions. He gave them a little credit for that. Nevertheless, the cutlass was still against his throat and he was still held fast, and he found it hard to keep up the pretence of a good mood.
The ship began to move then, using the lucky wind that had sprung up. Out of the corner of his eye he saw they were taking the horses to the hold, and being gentle with his mare Dike and with the stallion Endymion, for which he was grateful. He was glad he'd insisted the horses come on board -- he'd need a mount if he lived to make a life in Athering, and it was a definite pleasure to deprive Maurice of his favourite animal. He wished he'd thought of it himself.
Presently the captain came to stand before Lares. His hands were on his hips, and his gaze was neither friendly nor hateful; so Lares took some small comfort in that.
"So," he said, his voice booming and deep. "Ye'd be that bad-tempered man what escorted Anala ta Clifton, am I right?" Lares nodded, inasmuch as the cutlass against his skin would allow. The captain absorbed this, then asked abruptly: "What'd be yer name, boy?"
What does that matter? "Stout-Heart. Lares Stout-Heart," he said hastily, not seeing what it could hurt for this man to know his name. What could it help to hold the information?
The captain nodded. "Let 'im go," he barked to the men holding Lares, and a moment later he was on all fours on the deck, catching his breath in bewilderment.
He swayed to his feet, sea-legs being something he'd never owned, and walked after the giant bear of a captain.
"Begging pardon, Sir," he began, easily falling into a submissive role with who was obviously the alpha dog on board, "but why did my name make a difference, when naught else had?" He'd protested, of course, of his loyalty to Anala's safety. It hadn't mattered -- that sailor who'd witnessed it didn't trust him at all, and would not vouch for Lares' actions.
The captain turned and regarded Lares, fingers playing with his long beard. At length he shrugged. "Ye'd be Hope's man, aye?"
Lares rocked back on his feet. How did this man know Hope? How did he know Lares' was Hope's agent? No one knew that. No one save Hope and himself.
Stunned, he nodded. The captain shrugged again. "Then I'd no reason not ta trust ye," and he walked away, heading to the bridge.
Lares shook his head bemusedly and headed below decks in search of the bellica. He wanted to make sure she still lived. Otherwise, what would this journey be good for?
Mara
There was blood everywhere. It soaked Anala's shirt, her hands, the bed she lay on in the sick room. It soaked Mara's shirt from yesterday, which she desperately pressed to the wound on her sister's side. It soaked Mara's hands, breeches, and dripped off the bed to her feet. She reached up to brush some hair out of her face and grimaced, for she knew she'd smeared blood on her forehead.
Anala was getting paler by the minute. Mara tried to staunch the flow, but the bellica had lost so much blood she was beginning to fear it was hopeless.
Anala might die.
"No," she whimpered, pressing harder. "No...." she closed her eyes as salty tears pooled in them, and a drop squeezed past her lid to slide down her dirty cheek. It rolled down her chin and landed on the floor, and Mara could have sworn she heard the "plop" it no doubt made.
"Allow me."
Her eyes flew open at the sound of a deep, cultured voice behind her. She turned to see the man who'd been with Dagon and Anala on the shore.
"Ye! Uncle Merry let ye go?" she asked, incredulous. How could they trust one of Exsil Vis' men?
"Your...uncle is a very wise man." he said tightly. "He saw the truth of my words. Now, are you going to let me save your sister's life or are you going to threaten me again?"
She blushed, shamed by his words, for she had not believed his protestations in the boat, and she could still see a red line on his throat where her dirk had been. Anala lay dying and all she could think to do was to lay blame elsewhere!
She moved aside to let the man attend to the bellica. He nodded at her. "Thank you," he said, no mocking in his voice, and she felt shamed again.
In a trice he was out of his coat and had his shirt sleeves rolled up past his elbows. He tied his hair more tightly in its queue, for strands had come undone, and turned to face her. "What's your name?"
"Mara Tanner," she answered, dazedly thinking this a strange time for introductions.
"Mara, I'm Lares. Could you do me a favour and go get a kettle of hot water -- boiling, preferably -- two bowls, and a load of cloth bandages and rags? Clean ones," he added, his voice kind and sympathy in his eyes when he looked at her. She felt like a "stupid teenager", and wondered if maybe her parents were right.
With a quick nod, she was flying down the hall to the galley, where she gave the steward a brief explanation. No questions asked, the man started boiling water and directed her to the rags and bandages. As she rummaged in the store-closet she reflected on how stupid it was to keep bandages so far from the sick room. But then agin, Uncle Merry hasnae healer aboard -- so I shouldnae be surprised. Within the time it took for the water to boil, she had her bandages and rags together, and the steward had brought out two bowls for her. In another minute, she was racing back down the hall to the sick room, shouting out a quick thanks to the steward.
Maybe she'd apprentice to a healer in town, and then sign onto Uncle Merry's ship. He could certainly use someone with healing skill on board, and as much as she hated fighting, she couldn't deny that the dirk and lessons accompanied with it would be useful. Had been useful, really, if she counted what she'd done to Lares. On a merc ship, she'd be sure to learn more useful things. But then I may have ta serve wit' Morgan, and her stomach clenched at the thought.
She'd have to think about it later. She was back at the sick room. Lares had cut away most of Anala's shirt, though Mara
noticed with gratitude that he had preserved the bellica's modesty. Not that she thought Anala would care, but she did. A younger sister had to watch out for her elder sibling. The fabric still on the bellica's torso was glued to the wound area with blood and pus; with great care he was cutting away what he could. Hastily she brought the supplies to him, careful not to burn anyone with the kettle, and he bid her pour hot water into one bowl and leave the other beside him, on the floor. He soaked a rag in the hot water and began to clean away the blood from the wound, gently easing the cloth of Anala's ruined shirt away while he did. For all his carefulness the fabric still brought away flesh with it.
Mara forced herself to watch the process, though it made her sick enough to retch. Making conversation to keep her mind off the bloody spectacle before her, she spoke: "Are ye a healer, then?"
His eyes flickered to her briefly before he answered. "No. Not by trade, at any rate," he added, an afterthought as he pulled away the last of the fabric, tossing it in the empty bowl. "Is there darkshade paste on board?" She shrugged helplessly. What was darkshade paste? "Well, then, whatever antiseptic there is will do."
She opened the cupboard and found a bottle of brandy. With a grimace of distaste, she brought it to him. "This'd be all I found," she said, thinking it must be in the sick room cupboard for some reason.
His lip curved as he tried not to smile. "That'll do," he said, taking the bottle from her and uncorking it with his teeth. Deftly he poured a generous dollop over the now-clean wound.
"Raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarggggghhhh!" shouted Anala in an animal scream as she sat up in the bed, hand poised to strike her attacker. Without flinching Lares grabbed her wrist right before she smacked him in the head and eased her back down.
"Shhh....it stings but it's helping. Here," he whispered soothingly, giving her some brandy to drink. She swallowed and choked a bit, coughing at the burning that no doubt coated her throat. Mara had tried brandy once and had had much the same reaction. Then the bellica's eyes rolled back in her head and she was unconscious again.
"She'd be okay?" Mara asked tentatively, removing her hands from her mouth, where she'd clapped them in surprise.
A short nod. "As okay as she can be. Feeling pain is a good sign. Come and press this bandage here, will you?" When her small hands had covered the white cloth and pressed it to the wound, Lares got behind Anala and levered her up. Mara then passed him the rest of the bandages, already knowing what he planned to do.
As he wrapped the bandages around the unconscious bellica's torso, tightly covering where Mara was pressing, she was unable to stop her next question. "Will she live, then?"
He paused for a moment in his bandaging before briskly finishing and tying the bandage off. It was tight, Mara could see, and no blood leaked through. He lowered Anala back down and sighed. "I can promise nothing," was all he said. Then he had picked Anala up and moved her to a less bloody bed in the room.
After she had helped him clean up the blood and put away everything, Lares had gone topside. "I need fresh air," he'd said, but Mara thought he was lying. Mara pulled up a chair and sat by her sister's side, grasping Anala's cold, bigger hand in her small, warm one.
Please live, she thought, sending a prayer to whatever Goddess would listen. Please.
Lares
The night air was chill against his bare, sweat-soaked arms, and Lares wished he'd not forgotten his coat below decks. Well, the chill would keep him awake. He did not want to sleep just yet.
He reached for his smokebox and pulled out a small brown cigarette. Putting it in his mouth, he searched his vest pockets for his box of matches, and realised he'd forgotten it in Voco. Can this day get any better?
It meant he'd have to save his smokes till Athering, he reflected as he put the cigarette back in its box. As they were an expensive South Island import, he doubted he'd get any more -- even on Voco he'd only been able to claim such perks through his closeness to Lord Exsil Vis.
Supposed closeness. In Athering, he'd be...nothing. Worse than nothing.
He felt like punching something. He hadn't wanted to leave home! Still didn't want to be gone from Voco, bleak though it was, for home held Hope, and he wished to be back by his lady's side. But my actions tonight pleased her. To do otherwise...well, it would have been selfish. Maybe he had been selfish, with regard to Hope, in choosing to be by her side always. Torment me with what I can never have, she'd said. Did that mean she loved him, too?
He shook his head. No. She'd meant something else with those words. If she did love him, obviously it paled in comparison to her feelings for Maurice. Otherwise she would have fled with me.
It's complicated. Mayhap it was. She was incredibly old -- near a century! That sort of lifespan surely gave much time for things to tangle up. Become complicated.
God, his life was complicated, and he was only thirty. What would it be like when he was Hope's age? Would he reach Hope's age?
He doubted it. His line was not terribly long-lived.
It was unbelievable how old Hope was and yet she could look so young. He doubted Maurice knew. And if he did, how long would it take him to drop her? Not long, he supposed, and made a sound of disgust in his throat. He would never stop loving Hope, regardless her age or looks. Never.
He would show that love by protecting Anala, with his own life if need be. At the moment, she hovered between the two opposing states. He hoped his rudimentary healing skills would keep her alive until they got her to a real healer. He doubted it, but all he had to hold onto was hope. Just as in the past twelve years.
Maybe prayers? He'd never been particularly religious, but nothing could hurt at this point. His God was not a particularly cruel or capricious one. He took a deep breath and decided to give it a shot. Vulcanus, Lord of Fire Almighty, You may not recognise me, for I've not gone to many services, but I am one of Yours -- Vocan to the core -- and I have never committed great blasphemy against You. I've never asked for anything before, but now I pray to You -- please let Anala Exsil Vis live. Please do not take her to the afterlife too soon.
He didn't expect an answer, but low rolling laughter sounded in his head, and a woman's voice -- no, more than woman, female with the depth of the oceans and the expanse of the sky -- spoke: Silly boy...you think your God has any power beyond His own jurisdiction? You've entered Our domain -- and We decide when Our daughter will join Us, not Vulcanus with His little light show! There was disdain in the voice.
Lares felt his heart skip a beat, paralysed in terror. Please, Great Ladies, have mercy!
A snort of laughter boomed like thunder in his head. He trembled, but then a kinder -- but no less powerful -- voice broke into the conversation: Fear not, little one. My appointment with Anala is not soon.
He heard no more, though he got the sense of Goddesses bickering in the aether.
Lares' head snapped up from where it rested on his arms. Had he fallen asleep? Should be more careful...could fall into the water....
He stared into the sea, thinking about his strange dream, and for a moment he thought he saw a woman's face in the moonslight on the waves. She winked at him and was gone, and Lares stumbled backwards in fright.
"What..." he heard his voice say, but he could think of nothing to finish the sentence. What indeed.
"So. The Lady spoke ta ye." Lares spun to face Captain Merry, who was leaning against the mainmast with a knowing look on his face.
Lares looked helplessly between the sea and the captain. He was wide awake now. "What Lady?" he heard himself ask. No! Stop! This is crazy!
"Why, the Lady Muerta, o' course," said the captain. "Daughter o' the One Goddess, Lady Ocean, an' savior ta humankind. At least," he added, coming to stand at the railing, "a least tha's what a Paixemortienne would tell ye. Ask the 'igh Priestess and ye'd get a different answer."
Letting his curiosity get the better of him, Lares went to stand beside the captain. "What would the High Priestess tell me?" And High Priestess of what?
Me
rry shrugged. "O, that Muerta'd be Lady Death in a larger pantheon o' Goddesses. Dinnae matter which ye subscribe to fer it'd be Muerta who'd take ye in tha end, regardless. But those who She'd speak ta...they 'ave a look about em." He glanced at Lares, and Lares knew exactly what the bigger man was thinking.
He shook his head. "It was just a dream. Just a crazy dream. What would your Goddess want with me? I don't even go to services for my own God -- I doubt any deity, especially one of Athering, could take an interest in me."
Merry shrugged and looked back out to the sea. Having nothing else to say, Lares joined him, and they stood in a not un-companionable silence.
After a while Merry spoke, voice low. "So. 'ow long till we'd be expectin' company?"
Lares felt his respect for the captain go up a notch. "A day, at most."
Merry nodded, taking in that information. "And what o' tha weapons they'd be carryin'?"
Ah, this was the real test. Merry may have said he had no reason not to trust Lares, but he had no reason to trust him either. He was seeing how loyal Lares was to them. Or rather, how un-loyal he was to Lord Exsil Vis. "Depends on what kind of ships he chooses, but I'd expect cannons, muskets, pistols, and your general hacking and slashing tools." He had no reason to lie, and every reason to tell the truth, to prepare the captain for what was coming. There was a brief pause, and then Lares added: "You're in luck, however, for the Vocan navy does not use deathtree for its ships. We ran out of deathtree years ago." It was every Vocan child's history lesson -- a warning against using too much of the earth's bounty too fast, for they lived in a place that struggled to replenish itself. "They're made out of blackwood -- which is lighter, and does not have deathtree's useful attributes. They'll be able to catch up with us because of their speed, but one spark...." he trailed off.
Merry nodded slowly, and Lares was glad to see he hadn't needed to finish his sentence. "Tha' is a piece o' luck, then. Do ye know how ta work a mounted crossbow?" he asked abruptly, and, surprised, Lares nodded. "Good. I havenae had a chance ta train tha boys, and the thing's been sittin in the hold fer some time now. I'll 'ave them wheel it out and set it up fer ye."
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