Spirit of the Sea

by Keith Walter

  “No, Charles called. They’re in trouble,” Grace added quickly, concern lacing every word.

  Talmer opened the door to his own cabin, annoyed by the commotion outside. Barclay nodded in acknowledgement before addressing Grace. “Where are they?”

  “Wait,” Talmer interjected. “I thought we agreed the others would handle their own obstacles.”

  “We also agreed they’d have another fey helping them, didn’t we?” Barclay asked sharply. “So hold your tongue.” Turning to Grace, he asked again, “Where are they?”

  Grace held her hands together tightly, knuckles nearly white. She unconsciously rubbed her thumb over her index finger as she spoke. “He said they are thirty miles east of the city, just a few miles inland. But the Union is less than half an hour away, surrounding them from all sides.”

  Barclay closed his eyes, trying to think of every possibility. “That’s not enough time,” he breathed out. The ship had been running nonstop since they left Erie, leaving no way they could make it back that quickly. Barclay laid a hand on Grace’s shoulder. “Even at your best, we couldn’t cover that much water in time.”

  “Um, actually,” Grace started, her concern seeming to fade as red suffused her face, “I think I can make it.”

  Barclay eyed the younger woman suspiciously. “Exactly how far out are we? We should nearly be at Welland by now.”

  “I, uh, may have fibbed a bit,” Grace admitted, red faced and looking at the floor. She suddenly looked up, catching the captain’s gaze. “I was just worried, and I wanted to make sure they were okay.”

  The captain fought the urge to roll his eyes. He had expected something like this, despite trying to impress upon Grace the importance of getting out of there. “Exactly how far away from them are we?” Barclay repeated, sighing softly.

  “About ten miles.” Grace smiled apologetically. Barclay slapped an open palm on his forehead. The younger fey spilled out, “I, um, have been following the coast at a respectable distance.”

  “You mean just far enough away that I wouldn’t see it and know we were off course, right?” Barclay demanded, his face muscles clenching and eyes narrowing.

  Grace paled. “Um… maybe?”

  “When I give you an order, I expect it to be followed,” Barclay replied seriously. His face relaxed quickly, the serious expression replaced with begrudging acceptance. “Well, let’s go get ’em, then.”

  Blond tresses bounced when Grace leapt into the air, the tension replaced with happiness. She smiled so wide her cheeks nearly scrunched over her eyes. “Okay!” she shouted. Barclay and Talmer suddenly found themselves grasping the doorways to steady themselves as Grace made a hard turn toward the coast. Grace herself seemed immune to the change in momentum, standing happily as if her feet were attached to the floor.

  When the turning sensation ceased, Talmer cried out to the captain, “That’s it?”

  Barclay turned to the dark-haired fey. “What else do you want?”

  “She—she disobeyed a direct order,” Talmer started, flabbergasted. “We are going to put everyone onboard now at risk once again. Surely once the Union catches up to the others, they will know we are on the water.”

  Holding a hand up in front of Grace’s shocked face, Barclay walked up to Talmer slowly. He leaned his face into the younger man’s personal space as he spoke. “What would you have me do? Force her to keep going? Let everybody die when we could help?”

  Talmer’s eyes seemed to darken, and he held the captain’s stare. “I am suggesting we stick to the plan. They knew the risk, just as we did. If we were under threat of capture instead, they would not be running to our rescue.”

  “Easy to say since we’re the ones riding with a noble-class advantage, don’t you think?” Barclay narrowed his eyes. “I’ll deal with insubordination how I feel is best, but at least Grace here follows the Soldier’s Creed. We don’t leave anybody behind. Now, I just gave an order that we’re gonna go back and get everybody. Do you have a problem with that order?”

  Talmer couldn’t stop an ugly sneer from forming, but Barclay watched as he fought it back down quickly. He obviously didn’t like this plan, and saw no reason to participate. But he wouldn’t stop it, either. The captain wasn’t just asking if there was a problem, he was insinuating a mutiny. Talmer broke eye contact and bowed his head as little as socially acceptable. “No, Captain, I do not have a problem.”

  “Good,” Barclay snapped. He whirled around and began taking long steps toward the stairs to the upper decks. “Grace,” he demanded, never slowing down, “let’s go. Do we still have a way to contact them?”

  “Yes!” she replied. She took one final disappointed glance at Talmer before scurrying to catch up with the captain. “There is a small device on the chair,” she began. “It made a ringing noise when Charles wanted to speak. He told me to remove the battery until I found you, but I don’t know what that means.”

  “It’s called a phone.” Barclay strode up the steps, perusing the seats of the lower bridge before spotting the small, gray burner phone. How Charles had managed to grab one and leave it here unnoticed was beyond him. He smiled. Charles was proving just as clever as he might expect the Glorious General to be. Barclay snatched the phone off the seat and hit a button for contacts. Unsurprisingly, there was a single contact listed under ICE. Yeah, this was an emergency, all right. He hit the button to call and waited for a voice on the other end.

  “Grace?” Charles’s voice jumped from the speaker.

  “Not quite,” Barclay replied. “Where are you?”

  “We’re heading for the beach. We’ll be there in five minutes.” Barclay heard the thumping sound of a body likely being slammed into the door as the limo took a particularly sharp turn, then the clattering of what he guessed was the phone dropping. Then Charles was back. “How close are you?”

  “Ten miles offshore. Grace thinks we’re close to even on the coast,” Barclay answered. “But there’s a lot of coast. One of you is going to have to make yourself big enough for Grace to see.”

  “Got it.” Barclay heard the muffled sound of the phone’s speaker being covered as Charles called out, “Leslie, I need you to let loose as much as you can. Grace needs a beacon.”

  “Won’t that give us away to the Union?” Barclay could hear Leslie yell back.

  “They’ve already got us surrounded, it doesn’t matter!” After a moment, Charles spoke to the captain once again. “You getting that signal?”

  Barclay looked to Grace, who had been listening in on the conversation. She closed her eyes and her hair seemed to sway with power. Her eyes opened suddenly and she smiled, nodding vigorously at the captain. “We’ve got it,” he said into the phone. “I’ll call you when we’re close.”

  “Okay,” Charles replied, hanging up immediately after.

  Barclay thumbed a nail around the edge of the phone until the back plate popped off. He slammed the phone into his palm and caught the battery as it fell out. Replacing the back plate, he shoved the battery in one pocket of his pants and the phone in the other. Computers might be over his head, but he had plenty of experience with phones. He didn’t really have a choice in the matter. Paper records were one thing, but human traffic demanded he answer their calls. Keeping up appearances with the human workers forced him to sport some shiny cell phone on his belt.

  “How long until we reach them?” Barclay asked the woman staring out over the water.

  Grace squinted, as if seeing something beyond the water’s edge. “A little over ten minutes.”

  Barclay dropped into the seat where he had previously found the cell phone. He ran his hands through his hair, trying to soothe away the mounting tension. “Can you tell if the Union is far behind?”

  Grace squinted harder, but shook her head in defeat. “My senses cannot penetrate far inland. Even now, I cannot feel our friends when they aren’t broadcasting their location.”

  Charles said they were ahead of the Union. Barclay had litt
le reason to doubt him, but he couldn’t shake the concern that Charles might have been mistaken. Barclay wasn’t a sensor by nature, and he was sure even with Grace’s supposed limitations, she’d know where the Union was before he did. They were running into this at least partially blind, and that was always a recipe for disaster. If the Union was right behind them, Grace could be shelled before everybody got aboard. If the Union was a lot closer than expected, there may be no one left to rescue in ten short minutes.

  Barclay leaned forward and kicked off the chair, striding purposefully toward the staircase to the upper bridge. “Grace, I need to know when we’re three minutes out.” He caught her vigorous nod out of the corner of his eye and ascended to the upper bridge. The Union knew where the others were, which meant they would certainly be sending something to block a sea escape. Barclay stood before the radar-esque monitor now built into the dashboard next to the steering wheel. He saw the outline of the coast getting ever closer, and cringed as his fear was validated.

  The large red beacon indicating the Entregon was moving again at high speeds. They had begun to open some breathing room when that demon ship had diverted to searching the coast. Now, it was bearing down on the exact same point they were. Grace still had a head start, but it was more of a race than ever. Barclay watched the red beacon move closer and closer for a full minute, trying to judge the speed. Best he could tell, it was over twice as fast as they were. For a moment, he marveled, considering the sight of a several hundred foot ship hitting over one hundred knots. But quick math told him the Entregon would be within thirty miles of them when they hit shore. Add a couple minutes to get everyone onboard, and that distance shrunk even more. Even if Grace hauled the opposite direction right away, the Entregon would be within fifteen miles of them by the time it reached its destination.

  Grace was a hell of ship, Barclay reminded himself. He had felt the power of those camouflage runes. He wanted to believe she could keep them all hidden. He had to. Still, in the back of his mind he remembered how quickly the war on the seas had turned once the Entregon joined. He remembered opposing fey ships of fearfully great renown falling before that might. None escaped the Ship Of The Damned. Barclay wished briefly he could be like Serin and Leslie, and ask Behemoth for help. He didn’t really think it would help, but it might make him feel better. He couldn’t help but mutter under his breath, “Damn,” as he continued to stare at the monitor.

  ◆◆◆

  “Are you sure you know where you’re going?” Leslie asked over the sound of wind rushing in her passenger window.

  Serin kept her eyes glued to the road as she answered. “Charles said the water is north. Sun sets in the west.” She took one hand off the steering wheel momentarily to point at the reddening sun to her left. “I don’t need a map.”

  “This isn’t an off-road vehicle,” Leslie added. She had taken to holding the window in one hand and propping herself off the dash with the other. At the moment, their overladen limousine was tearing through the grass of what appeared to be a children’s park, thankfully unattended. Whenever the road they were on diverged from north, Serin had taken extreme liberties to ensure they stayed true. Luckily, they had managed to find more acceptable roads each time. “If we hit even one good divot, we’re sunk.”

  “We won’t,” Serin replied sharply, nearly tipping the limousine on two wheels as she swerved around a sandbox. She held out her right hand without looking at Leslie.

  Leslie gritted her teeth and clenched her hands, denting the plastic dashboard. She trusted Serin, wholeheartedly, but that didn’t mean she never questioned her bond’s methods. That bravado and devil-may-care attitude was exciting and certainly a part of what attracted her to Serin. Despite her own more imposing physical appearance, she knew Serin was far more fearless, the one to take a leap even if it was dangerous. She remembered the day Serin had walked up to her after just a handful of stolen glances and what she thought was hidden longing. She remembered the way Serin had smiled and boldly told her, “I like you, and I think you like me, too. What do you say we see where this takes us?” Serin had held out her hand then, so warm and open. Leslie remembered the deep shame she’d felt when she had spurned that offer, crying out something incoherent and running away.

  Serin was the stronger of the two, in Leslie’s opinion. And like she had a dozen times before, she was holding out her hand, offering the chance of something wonderful if Leslie would just take it. Leslie shifted her hands, moving her right to the dashboard and grasping Serin’s outstretched arm. For a moment, she lost herself in the warmth that always came from contact with her bond. She let it wash away the memories of her shame. “What do you say,” she started, “we see where this takes us?”

  Serin’s eyes widened and flickered to the taller woman’s face quickly. She smiled then, so wide it threatened to split her face. She squeezed her bond’s hand in reply, willing her own strength into her partner. A large bump shook her nearly off her seat as the limo jumped the curb from their off-road excursion and crashed back onto a proper street. But their hands never loosened or let go. They were in this together, no matter the outcome.

  The street began to crest into a long downhill slope. From their vantage point, Serin and Leslie saw a seemingly endless expanse of blue ahead. They were nearly there. Serin slammed down the gas pedal and let the engine do the rest.

  Startled cries poured from the rear cabin, but Serin paid no mind. In seconds, they were down the hill and quickly approaching a chain link fence. Serin had only a moment to notice the No Motor Vehicles Beyond This Point sign before smashing through. She tried to hit the brakes too late, however, and their vehicle bounced straight over a concrete walking path to the sandy beach.

  The brakes managed to stop the wheels, but their speed and weight was too much for the sand. The vehicle became little more than a toboggan as it slid across the beach. Serin and Leslie closed their eyes as particles filtered in through the open passenger window. They squeezed each other’s hand tightly and waited what felt like minutes for the limousine to come to a grinding halt. They stayed there, unmoving for several moments as they adjusted to the fact they had survived.

  Serin broke the silence first, turning her head around to the group in back. “Is everybody okay?” A chorus of moans and yeses answered back. She caught Charles out of the corner of her eye struggling to get off the floor while his legs were pinned under two other converts.

  Leslie shook the cobwebs from her head and stared out over the water. “I don’t see Grace. What do we do now?”

  Serin feathered the gas briefly, not surprised to hear the wheels spinning fruitlessly. “We get out, I guess,” she answered.

  The two women finally released each other’s hands and opened the doors to exit. They made their way to the rear doors and tried in vain to pull the handles. Thanks to all the bouncing and the general structural weakness of such a long vehicle, the frame had actually bent, crimping the rear doors closed. Serin and Leslie nodded over the roof of the car before reinforcing their fingers with energy, digging them into the rear edge and tearing the doors completely off . Once the exit was clear, converts began climbing and sliding out to freedom, each sporting noticeable cuts and bruises from the ride.

  Charles waited for everyone to exit and huddle together in the sand before moving farther toward the water’s edge. He squinted toward the horizon, but caught no sight of Grace. Leslie watched as he closed his eyes and reached out with his senses. Quietly, Leslie broke off from the group, letting Serin organize the converts and offer what little healing she had left. She approached Charles from behind, careful not to disturb his scan. When he opened his eyes and nodded in acknowledgement, she asked, “What can you feel?”

  “Nothing good,” Charles answered. “They know where we are and will be on us in minutes.”

  “Grace?” Leslie asked pensively.

  Charles shook his head. “No, but I wouldn’t be able to sense her even if she was right next to us. And with
the sun in our eyes like this, it’s hard to see much of anything farther out.”

  “True,” Leslie mused. “Will she make it in time?”

  “I wouldn’t bet against her,” Charles replied. He fished the cell phone out of his pocket, inspecting it briefly to ensure it wasn’t damaged. He clicked buttons quickly and held it up to his ear. He waited shortly for an operator to assure him the number he dialed could not be reached. Ending the call, he turned to look at the converts. “We don’t have much choice but to act as if she will.”

  Leslie followed his gaze, her own softening at the sight of Serin animatedly trying to convince the converts of what a great story they now had. “So we wait,” she added.

  “Yeah,” Charles agreed. “We wait.”

  A few miles off shore, Grace watched the captain as he stared intently at the monitor. Though she couldn’t see it from her vantage point, she already knew what it showed. It was a rather simple manifestation of her natural awareness, after all. The Entregon was fast approaching and she didn’t have great news to make up for it. “Captain?” she asked quietly, afraid to startle to older fey.

  “Is it time?” Barclay replied. His eyes never left the monitor, but his thumbs began to rub the phone and battery in each hand.

  “Ah, yes, um…” Grace trailed off.

  Barclay tore his gaze from the monitor to eye Grace suspiciously. “What else?”

  Grace wrung her hands together. “I, um, won’t be able to get to shore.”

  “Whaddaya mean?” Barclay demanded. “Now’s not the time for second guessing.”

  “No, I don’t mean it like that!” Grace cried. “It’s just, they’ve stopped on a beach next to a sizable sand bar. I can’t get all the way to shore without running aground.”