Spirit of the Sea

by Keith Walter

  Grace led the him to the rail and relaxed slightly when he held the top in both hands. “Are you sure you can stand?” she asked, still tentatively holding on.

  “Call me stubborn,” he replied, “but I’ll stand even if it kills me.” He hid his eyes at that statement.

  “I can stay,” she reminded him. “There’s no rush.”

  Charles turned himself around, glad to find she had relaxed her grip enough for him to escape. He shifted his hands around so he could lean his hips against the rail. “I’m fine, really.” He waited for the young woman to take a couple of cautious steps back before addressing her again. “I want you to know that I really appreciate what you’ve done.” That wasn’t entirely truthful, but he couldn’t help trying to soften the blow that was coming. Besides, he could recognize true kindness and didn’t want to see that tarnished. “Healing me, everyone you help from here on. It takes a special kind of fey to do that.”

  Grace watched the bandaged man quizzically, but smiled. “Thank you. I trust you to know about being special.”

  “Yeah,” Charles agreed with a sigh. Straightening himself, he caught Grace’s eyes with his own. “I just…I need you to believe that, to continue living it.” He paused, gripping and releasing the rail behind him. “I need you to know it’s not your fault.”

  “What isn’t my fault?” Grace asked.

  “Any of this,” Charles answered. “I mean…” he hesitated, gripping the railing tighter and bouncing to his toes once for practice. “If something bad happens, it’s not your fault.”

  Grace stared, brow furrowed in confusion. “You mean, with your heart? I…I don’t know if it can be healed completely, but Barclay believes you’ve done enough to remain stable. I don’t think it should pose a danger.”

  He smiled, glad she’d found something to latch on to. She’d stop him, he knew, if he didn’t make it on the first try. He couldn’t give himself away. But she had been so kind, and he was almost glad he’d get to spend his last moments with someone like this, someone who reminded him there was still good out there. “You’re probably right,” he agreed. “But there’s more going on that all that. There’s still plenty of danger on its way.” He loosened his grip slightly. “You and everyone on this boat has a real chance of getting away, but only if the Union gets what they want.” He crouched slightly, enough to build momentum but not so much Grace would move forward to help.

  “I don’t understand,” Grace admitted. “What do they want?”

  Charles offered one last sad smile. “Me.” He kicked as hard as his body would allow and pushed up with his arms. The motion lifted his body just enough for his rear to clear the top rail. The kick pushed him backward in the air and he felt relief as gravity overtook his descent. He caught Grace’s horrified look, and she seemed paralyzed by emotion. Perfect. She couldn’t reach him, and he welcomed the blue waves below.

  ◆◆◆

  Barclay had just figured out how the damn computer worked when the engines died again. “What’d I do?” he asked the screen, bewildered. He tapped the screen and grabbed the throttle, but nothing changed. As his panic began to rise, he heard a commotion coming from outside. He folded the closest map with a notable X along the coast before heading out of the bridge. Just as he reached the door, a loud warning blared on one of the screens. He looked up to see the Entregon make a sudden turn and take a direct line toward their location. Full-on panic filled him as he raced to the deck below.

  Barclay made it to the first deck and immediately followed the murmuring to the aft railing. A mob of converts were crowded around the railing, and he felt the muffled energy of Grace in the center. He pushed through the crowd, catching snippets of conversations: “Did she push him?” “Who is that?” “I don’t remember anyone like that from the trucks.” He grabbed Grace’s shoulder the moment he saw her, spinning her around to face him. “What the hell happened?”

  “Charles,” she sobbed. “He jumped!”

  “What?” Barclay could barely wrap his head around Charles surviving his wounds, much less having the strength to jump ship. “How did this happen?”

  Grace was already in tears. “I found him awake downstairs, and he wanted to get some air. I…I helped him. And then…and then—”

  “I get it,” Barclay cut in. “Did he say anything?”

  “He said it wasn’t my fault,” she admitted, clinging to those words. “He said we might escape if the Union could have him.”

  Barclay slapped his palm to his head. “That damned idiot!” He shook the frustration from his thoughts and addressed Grace. “You said you know this ship, right?”

  “Y-yes,” she answered, confused.

  “The engines died on us. I don’t know why. But I need them fixed. The Entregon seems to have sniffed Charles the moment he left the concealment of the runes on this ship.” He sighed before fixing Grace with a stern gaze. “I’ll get the suicidal idiot, but do you know how to get the engines running?”

  Grace squirmed, looking away. “Yes, I can get them running.”

  “Good,” he replied, eying Charles’s body floating lazily on the lake.

  “What’s going on?” a new voice shouted from below the heads of the crowd.

  “Serin,” Barclay announced, reaching through bodies and pulling the short woman forward. “Good timing.”

  “Hey,” she replied, catching her footing from the sudden pull. “What’s going on?”

  “Man overboard,” Barclay replied. “Not important right now. I need you to get to the bridge.”

  “What? Why?” Serin asked.

  Barclay closed his eyes briefly and clenched his fist, “Shut up and just listen.” He waited a beat for her eyes to narrow dangerously, but she held her tongue. “We’re dead in the water right now. Grace says she can get us moving, but I need you on the bridge. There’s a map on the dashboard. Once the engines are back, I need you to punch the gas and point us toward the X on that map.”

  “Um…are you sure?” Serin asked tentatively.

  “Damnit, kid, can you do it or not?” he barked back.

  Serin’s lips curled up, showing the tips of her canines, but she nodded. “Yeah, I got it.”

  Without a word, Barclay leapt over the back railing and touched down on the waves. His feet hit the water but didn’t sink. Much as he loved the feel of a swim, indulging could be risky. Instead, he condensed magic under his feet, allowing him to skate over the waves as if they were ice. He could see Charles less than fifty yards ahead. He pressed his senses outward and could feel frustration pouring off the younger man. Given Charles’s condition, Barclay wasn’t worried about a fight, but he approached tentatively. “Ahoy,” he yelled as he got close. “I believe the sign said no swimming or diving while the boat is in motion. I hate to do this but I am going to have to ask you to go back to your room.”

  Charles smiled darkly. “Sorry, sir, I hate to have you come out here for nothing, but I have a few friends that are on their way to pick me up as we speak. It’s really in everyone’s best interest if you leave me.”

  “I suppose that’s a matter of opinion,” Barclay replied harshly. “Your little stunt here doesn’t help anyone now that it’s got the Entregon on our scent.”

  “The Entregon?” Charles whispered.

  “I hope that’s the sound of you realizing how stupid this was.”

  Charles blanched. “I didn’t know.” He tried to turn away, but couldn’t turn far without getting a mouthful of water. “Still, you are better off leaving me. They won’t look as hard for the rest of you if they have me.”

  “And I suppose it doesn’t matter what they will do to you?”

  “It will be no less than I deserve,” Charles replied softly.

  “You’re trying to make a liar out of me.” Barclay leaned down so the other man had no choice but to look him in the eye. “Last night, when you went all out against those officers, I was sure I saw the heart of a fighter. But now look at you.”

  C
harles hadn’t expected that, for this man to hit the nail on the head so perfectly. There was a flare of emotion in his chest. Something trying to climb up through the darkness. “When does the fighting end?” he asked seriously.

  “When you die,” Barclay replied. “But that ship has sailed. You could have died in that battle. You could have died from your wounds. Your dying now doesn’t do anyone a lick of good. You’re sitting here like a damn beacon for everyone who wants to find us. That kid back on the boat has gone through a lot of trouble to keep you alive, and it would be damn stupid of me to break the heart of my most valuable crew member. Not to mention—” he reached out and grabbed Charles’s arm “—we need all the help we can get. You seem to have just enough surprises that you might be useful.”

  “You don’t need me,” Charles insisted.

  “Maybe not,” Barclay admitted, “but I can’t leave you here.” Squeezing Charles’s arm painfully, Barclay continued, “I tell you what, though. If you still want to be a coward later, I’ll kill you myself.”

  Barclay hoisted Charles up roughly by one hand, grabbing him around a single bandaged bicep and throwing him over one shoulder like a sack. Barclay’s arm then wrapped around him tightly, too tightly given the wince he felt running throughout Charles’s body. He’d almost certainly reopened a particularly nasty cut on his stomach. Charles coughed out, “What happened to killing me later?”

  Barclay didn’t lessen the pressure in the slightest. “Don’t confuse any of this effort for me liking you. Time isn’t on our side.” He proceeded to make an about-face toward the boat and noticed, to his great amazement, it was already pulling away. Grace was proving herself scarily useful. He adjusted Charles’s limp form and shot across the water, catching up quickly. He did feel a small pang about the rough treatment, but it was squashed immediately by the growing dread just outside his perception. The Entregon was a monster, plain and simple, and it was drawing closer every moment.

  The two men reached the side of the ship in seconds. Barclay called to the waves with his heart, and a sudden bulge in the sea propelled him upward to match the height of the outer railing. With practiced ease, he leapt from the wave to the deck. Grace was waiting for him, another curiosity, and he unceremoniously dumped the now barely conscious Charles into her arms. Grace caught Charles like he was a delicate young bird with an injured wing, and Barclay mentally noted the weight of a full grown man hadn’t troubled her in the slightest. He knew she was a pureblood just from the scent of her magic, but he still couldn’t feel much of any magic coming from her.

  “Thank you, Mr. Barclay,” Grace said, taking in the condition of her wayward charge. “I couldn’t… I didn’t…” She paused, brows furrowing for several seconds. “I can’t swim,” she whispered finally.

  Barclay reached out automatically, patting her head. A surge of nostalgia threatened to bubble up, and he jerked his hand away as if burned. “Just don’t, uh, go falling overboard yourself then, eh?”

  A small but mischievous smile crept across Grace’s face. “You don’t have to worry about that.” Her mouth hardened as she noticed blood dripping onto the deck. “Oh, my! I need to get him back to bed. His wounds must have opened when he jumped.”

  Barclay pointedly ignored correcting her. “Good, get him out of sight. Our pursuer seems to have a keen sense for him, and I can’t be sure whatever has been keeping us hidden will hold up when he’s out in the open.”

  Grace turned away and began each step gingerly until she found a rhythm that minimized disturbing the man in her arms. As if as an aside to herself, she spoke firmly to no one in particular. “They’ll hold.” She disappeared down the stairs to the lower quarters.

  CHAPTER FIVE:

  Spirit of the Sea

  A nagging feeling, like opening a refrigerator only to forget what you wanted, told Barclay something odd was going on. There was just no time to ponder. He practically flew toward the bow, leaping straight up the ladder that led to the bridge. He was mildly relieved to find Serin holding the wheel, unmoving like a statue, with her eyes locked on the GPS monitor. She clearly didn’t even see him through the windows as he walked around to the bridge door. Barclay peeked at the GPS monitor, noting direction and speed automatically. He grinned as he walked up behind Serin, pausing momentarily before clapping her shoulder hard and loudly, asking, “So are we on course, then?”

  As hoped, Serin’s eyes widened comically, and her entire body flinched so hard her feet briefly left the ground. A rather unladylike Ah! escaped her lips before she steadied herself with her white-knuckled grip on the wheel. Her head whipped around to glare daggers at her attacker. “What. The. Hell!” When she noticed Barclay failing to hold back an ever-widening smile, she turned away and huffed, “You ever try that again, and I’m gonna sock the smile off your face, old man.”

  It was an empty threat, and they both knew it. He couldn’t help but catch the reddening of her pupils before she turned away. A fire elemental, he mused. Had to figure she was wound up tight just being on the water like this. “Sorry,” he said, as sincerely as he could. “Couldn’t help it.” He waited for her grip on the wheel to relax slightly before trying again. “So…are we on course or not?”

  “You’ll have to tell me,” she replied, and for the first time there was a noticeable lack of bluster or confrontation in her voice. “I have no idea how to read a map or coordinates. I don’t know how to steer a ship.” Her left hand relinquished the wheel and she fought a cramp as she pointed at the GPS monitor. “I’ve managed to make the arrow there, which I think is us, point to the blinking thing that looks like it might be land.” She then pointed to the right monitor. “And that big blob doesn’t seem to be getting closer as fast anymore, so we must be moving away from it, right?”

  Barclay stared at the GPS monitor. Serin was in no position to have made any of that up, and sure as the sun was coming through the windows, there was a handy blinking dot at exactly the coordinates he had figured for the inconspicuous port. He had scarcely worked out the coordinates himself before all the commotion on deck, so there was no way he could have typed them into the system. That nagging feeling was back, and was getting really pushy now.

  Barclay noticed Serin was still waiting for him to respond, her face beginning to twist in worry. “You did good, kid,” he assured her. “We’re right on course.” She sagged slightly with relief, and Barclay clapped her on the shoulder once more, gently as he could, “Now why don’t you let me take over for a bit.”

  “Thanks,” she breathed, and immediately moved to sit in the closest seat. She hadn’t told Barclay, but she was already on day three without sleep. When the Union soldiers had raided the housing complex she shared with her group, it had been the middle of the night. She awoke before they broke in, but it was obvious they couldn’t escape. She’d tried to calm everyone as best she could, telling them not to fight back while they were loaded into trucks. She’d wanted the soldiers to think as little of everyone as possible, to lull them into making some kind of mistake that she could use to escape.

  She’d wracked her brain for two straight days in those windowless vehicles, but the soldiers were far more disciplined than she’d ever seen. When the little prison on the docks started burning, she’d figured it was over. But then this old fey comes sauntering in to save the day. She respected the hell out of him, but he was also a controlling asshole, and so she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that. When the getaway actually seemed to work, everyone else was so exhausted they passed out within an hour. She alone stayed awake—even though she didn’t know anything about ships—because those people were still her responsibility. It must have been the work of Great Behemoth that Grace was already onboard. Gods only knew how everyone would have survived without the girl’s unfailing optimism, not to mention her potent abilities in fixing and running the ship.

  Serin was broken out of her reverie by the man she, begrudgingly, realized was captain here. “So you cam
e right here from the aft, is that right? You didn’t go anywhere, first?”

  She detected a hint of suspicion in his voice, and her frustration flared. “I didn’t go fix my make-up before getting up here, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Barclay focused on his companion, confusion playing across his face. He felt her energy and realized it was unusually low, perhaps why she was so quick to snap at him. “And was anyone else up here already?” Barclay was quick to notice the red begin to rise in her pupils once again.

  “Look, I don’t know what the hell you want. You told me we needed to move, so I came here and did it. Nobody helped me, nobody was even here. In fact, besides you and me right now, Grace is probably the only one who’s even seen the bridge today. So if you think I did a crappy job, just come out and say it.” Serin was getting livid. Whatever good they might have built toward each other was quickly fading.

  Barclay just held up a hand, piercing her with his blue eyes. He tried to remember anyone else as pointlessly obstinate as this child, and was flooded with the images of dozens of young soldiers high on ambition but short on manners. The more things change, the more they stay the same. “You’ve done a fine job, better than I could have expected,” he began, “so don’t go getting yourself worked up.” He held her gaze without blinking. “I can respect someone who follows orders and gets things done. But you’re no good to anyone when you can barely stand and can’t answer simple questions.”

  Serin looked like she wanted to yell, or at least say something snide, but his blue eyes held her fast and conveyed a sense of deep calm until she seemed to cool inside. She still couldn’t help but add, “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not.” The words were bland, lacking any note of judgment or suspicion. “And it’s going to get worse if you don’t recharge. Get out of here, find yourself a bunk, and get some sleep.”