Spirit of the Sea

by Keith Walter

  As he walked, they tried to discuss what was happening, but each reply echoed until it became a bell in their minds. It didn’t take long to realize they needed a little space. Grace pulled back, though she still had a foothold in his mind. She told him she would use her old form, and he could use his body. Things finally started to click. Her shields improved, keeping the Entregon off this body. The soldier’s attacks fizzled before they could touch him, he was able to ask his magic to heal him. The response wasn’t immediate, but the effect was tremendous. His injuries washed away under that old power. He smiled when the soldiers slowed their attacks and stepped back.

  “Excuse us,” he asked politely. When the soldiers stood still in shock, he called on one of his favorite spells. A burst of wind spun around his body once before expanding rapidly. The soldiers were lifted off their feet and thrown well into the surrounding woods. “That was a little more than intended,” he whispered to the anchor over his shoulder.

  If looks could kill, Grand General Kenewath would have already ended this little engagement. He stood his ground, unaffected by a little wind. But still, what did he have to do? Turning to the water, he addressed the destroyer offshore. “You told me he was dead.”

  Charles chuckled, drawing the general’s attention. “Far as I can tell, she was right.”

  “And yet it did not seem to stick,” Kenewath replied through clenched teeth.

  “Ah, yeah,” Charles agreed. He lifted the anchor on his shoulder for emphasis. “You can probably blame her for that.”

  As he finished speaking, the golden anchor on his shoulder glowed bright and seemed to melt into a malleable consistency. The pointed fluke over his shoulder widened slightly and relaxed. The mirrored opposite hook twisted up and wrapped itself over Charles’s other shoulder. The pointed tips separated each into five delicate fingers. The long spine inflated into the shapely curves of a woman. A golden Grace rode piggyback on Charles now. She smiled, and the gold of the anchor faded into pale skin and a white dress. Only her hair retained the shimmering glow.

  “Preposterous,” Kenewath spat incredulously.

  “Yeah, I don’t disagree,” Charles added with a smirk. He felt the attack long before it sprung, leaping backward softly as spikes of wood erupted from where he had been standing. Grace casually hung around his neck, completely unperturbed by the action.

  Kenewath ran straight through the spears, closing the distance to Charles and striking at him. Charles slipped one foot back and caught Kenewath’s outstretched fist. A second hand came from the opposite side but it was intercepted, as well. It was a struggle, but he held fast to the general. “Kene,” he began before correction himself. “Grand General Kenewath.” Charles was relieved when he felt his old friend’s strength waver. “We have seen so much death and sadness in our time. Let us end today without any more.”

  Kenewath pulled his fists from Charles’s grasp and jumped backward, giving himself time enough to build another spell. “There is no such option,” he declared before sending another onslaught of spears from the sand. Kene frowned when Charles remained standing, opening his arms as if in welcome. The woman on his back lifted a hand, and the spears shattered before they could reach their target. She stared into his eyes emotionlessly, daring him to try again.

  “I’m offering you a truce,” Charles replied. “Just wait,” he requested as Kene built up another spell. “You were ordered to kill me. I get that.” He caught the eyes of a man he once truly thought of as a friend. “But you have already. You won.”

  Kenewath stopped, considering Charles’s words. He eyes flickered to the sand before boring into Charles. “The Union cannot continue so long as you are able to walk its lands.”

  “Then I won’t,” Charles added. “You’ve won. You’ve accomplished what you set out to do. I will walk away now, and neither you nor the Union will ever see or hear from me again.” He held out a hand. “Tell them I’m still dead. Tell them whatever you want. But let’s not make this worse than it needs to be, old friend”

  The general took a deep breath as if contemplating the offer. “Charles, I have told you before we were never friends.” He raised an eyebrow. “You are telling me not just that I should let you go, but that you will never seek the revenge I know you so desperately desire. You would really walk away from Alastair’s killer?”

  Charles knew Kene was just taunting him, but he couldn’t deny the fury in his heart. Rage surged through Charles’s mind as he remembered Alistair’s sacrifice all those years ago. In the past, he would have dwelled on the minutia of the event until he was overcome with anger. Now, he couldn’t help but sigh, knowing that Alastair had always hoped for greater things from him than a punching match. Alastair was never preoccupied with being a hero like Charles or with accumulating power like Kene. Alastair did everything on his own terms, even dying.

  “Yes,” Charles said softly. “I no longer desire to kill you.” He considered for a moment whether that was true, but the thought diminished as he felt Grace’s confidence in the back of his mind. He was a different person, down to his core. There was no more rushing into things expecting a death, his own or his enemies, to make things right. Now he saw it all from a different perspective.

  For years he had weighed all the options, choosing the best path and making compromises along the way. When he met Barclay, he found a kindred spirit, someone who had made the tough decisions and come through changed because of it. He had thought Grace, Serin, and Leslie naive when they told him of their unwavering commitment to life. But now, he realized his mistake. Those women didn’t choose to not kill because they were afraid of it. They did so because to them, the action was their cause.

  “Pathetic,” Kenewath replied in disgust. “You think me a fool? I know you, Charleton. I know what you did before you ever met this—” he gestured to Grace “—woman. Revenge drove you, even then. Revenge against the Ancients, revenge for your people.” He stuck a thumb out toward the caged converts. “The only reason you would forego your revenge is if you lacked the strength to see it through.”

  “I’m not that person anymore,” Charles pleaded, but it fell on deaf ears.

  The general looked past Charles to the lake. “Your contract is forfeit so long as he lives.”

  Guns erupted from the lake and Grace touched a new hand-shaped tattoo over Charles’s heart. “Honestly, Mother,” she chided. Her finger went up and a wall of water rose from the depths. Light, rain, and thunder crashed at the impact. When it was all over, steam and waves lapped the shore but no damage was done.

  “I’m sorry, old friend,” Charles said, his voice calm and steady, “but we have reached our limit on sadness today. No one else needs to die.”

  Kenewath’s frustration was palpable as he released the full brunt of his magic. Being so close to the immense power of a noble could easily overwhelm the lesser fey, and the converts fell to the ground unconscious. Serin and Leslie were released from their bonds, but fell to the sand panting. Barclay faired only slightly better, managing to stay on his feet but otherwise unable to move.

  “This conversation seems to be winding down,” Grace commented as she climbed off Charles’s back. She kissed his cheek but didn’t force him to turn away from Kene. “I will deal with my mother while you finish up. Try to be nice.” Her tone was so carefree Charles could only grin in return. Casually, she strode down the beach, raising a wall of water whenever a shot rang out.

  Charles turned to Kene and tried to speak, but the general wouldn’t allow it. Energy burst forth as a flurry of punches rocketed from the general. The speed was too fast for Barclay to follow, but Charles bobbed and weaved with little effort. After the first volley, Charles took a breath to calm his nerves. His body remembered the reactions, but it had been so long since he fought someone at this level. With the tenuous bond he shared with Grace, he knew it would be foolish to rush the battle like he’d done in the past.

  Kene was still testing him. That much was obvious f
rom how slowly the attacks came. Weaving around a jab from the left, Charles struck his leg out. It connected solidly with Kene’s chest. The general barely flinched, but it interrupted his momentum. “Was this always how you saw it going?” Charles asked as he put space between himself and his attacker. “What happened to the days and nights we spent guarding each other’s backs on the battlefield?”

  “You never saw the bigger picture,” Kene replied. Lashing out, he sent a wave of barbed branches toward Barclay, Serin, and Leslie. Charles vanished before appearing in front of his friends. The wave of branches broke over him like a seawall, splinters and barbs thrown into the air from the impact. “So predictable,” Kene admonished. “Without Alastair to hold your leash, you were naught but a wild animal. He trained you into a guard dog, someone worth keeping around, but you were still just a pet. Look at you, even now chained to your ideals, easily manipulated by basic tactics.”

  “You may be right,” Charles admitted. “The longer I look at who I was, I can’t help but see how little I really knew, and how much I relied on Alastair. But you’re wrong if you think my ideals hold me back.” Charles doubted he would actually convince Kene, but giving himself a little extra time to mold his magic wasn’t a bad idea. “You have spent all this time looking up at where you think you should be. You never considered whether you should really want it.”

  Kene laughed at the thought. “Big picture, Charleton. Power is everything. Whatever I should desire, power is the key to achieving it. You thought belief was enough. Alastair thought strategy would see him through.” He smirked. “I would have thought you, of all fey, would have realized by now that true victory only comes through power. And power requires a few sacrifices.”

  Energy surged through Charles’s chest as the tattoo glowed blue under his shirt. He was vaguely aware of the device in his chest, so much like his old heart, and yet every bit Grace. He had no idea how the link worked between the two yet, so he played it safe—no fancy spells. Pouring energy into his muscles, Charles increased his speed instantly. Kene had no time to react as Charles’s fist broke the sound barrier and was buried in his chest. A deafening boom echoed through the lake as the general was shot backward into the sand. Charles angled himself between the general and his friends, “No more sacrifices,” he announced somberly.

  Kene launched out of the hole, chanting an incantation as he flew. The beach shook as Charles’s reflexes took over and he leapt forward, dodging sand claws swiping at him from behind. Before his feet could touch the ground, black spikes shot from the sand. He kicked off the side of the first spike, noting it didn’t break from the force. He knew this spell well and realized the general was no longer testing his abilities. Running down the beach, the spikes followed and anticipated his moves. Even as he dodged them, he quickly found himself surrounded. A forest of spikes encompassed at least twenty yards in all directions. He heard the whisper as Kene activated the spell, and the ground beneath the forest lifted in two halves. Like a giant mouth, the sides snapped together. Now or never, Charles realized.

  The trap slammed shut, forcing the black spears out each end. Sand twisted and rolled into the shape of a tree trunk. Kene jumped up, perching himself in the air with his right hand extended. A smile crept on his face and he clenched his fist. The giant coffin of wood and sand began collapsing on itself. Like a deflating balloon it shrank and the energy it stored condensed. A chain reaction started and the whole spell exploded, sending sand and branches hundreds of feet into the air.

  “And you called me predictable.” The sound of Charles’s voice caused the general to spin in the air and swing wildly. Charles caught the fist and threw Kene to the ground. “All these years, and you still like that stupid spell. I would have thought you had grown out of such inelegant tactics,” Charles taunted from ten feet up.

  “Elegance is diminished in the face of effectiveness,” Kene replied dryly. He brought his left arm up, a new rune shining in his palm. He closed his hand and the explosion of spikes and sand froze momentarily before homing in on Charles.

  Charles hadn’t expected that, and he cursed his lack of foresight. Where he had been spending the last forty years perfecting an ability to hide and not die, Kene surely had been developing dozens of spells to use on greater enemies. With the widespread volley of the spikes, and having given up better footing on the ground, Charles knew he wouldn’t be able to avoid this attack. Bringing his arms in front of his chest and hiding his face, Charles tried to pool the magic at his skin. His whole body took on the blue glow from earlier, and he released it just as the spikes attempted to skewer him. It was more magic than he had used and not quite enough.

  Kenewath watched the initial burst and then the ball of spikes cover Charles. He noted the lower spikes, watching red drops meander their way down. He laughed a little as he spoke. “Come now, Charlton, it is plain to see you survived.” He released the spell and the ball of spikes dropped to the ground. Most fell away in a pile, but half a dozen remained standing from the center. “Can we be done with this game? The Charleton of old would have laughed at such a weak attack.”

  One by one, the standing spears lifted before being tossed aside. Charles pulled each from his body slowly. Nothing vital had been hit, but each leg, arm, and his side has been pierced. The spikes were excruciating to remove, barbed as they were like a porcupine’s quills. Chunks came with them as their barbs held firm. “I did tell you,” he coughed as his body healed once again, “that I’m not that guy anymore.”

  “I am beginning to believe you,” Kene replied with a smile, “which makes this dance pointless. Without the strength of old, you are no match for me.”

  He was right, of course. Charles would have no chance against any noble without vast power of his own. But then, this thing he was feeling, his power infused with the taste of Grace, it was nothing to scoff at. Grace was holding off her mother’s attacks without problem. At the same time, he could feel so much more below the surface. He was losing because he was afraid still of just what immersing himself in that power would mean. Grace whispered in his mind. Trust me, she pleaded, I’ll take care of you. “It’s a good thing, then,” Charles began, “that I’m not fighting you alone.”

  The general sneered and flew toward Charles. His speed increased, no longer holding back, and pulled back his fist like a bow. Charles was slowed, and Kene connected solidly with his gut. The brown-haired man folded over Kene’s fist before being thrown backward, kicking up sand in his wake. Like a meteorite, Charles gouged a ditch in the beach.

  Staggering, Charles spat blood from his ruby lips. He had hoped that Kene would understand, take the offered olive branch and go pick up his reward. Charles realized that while his own mind had been changed recently, Kene had not lived through the same events, nor the same relationships. “Kene,” he offered, “You and I both know how these battles end. I don’t want to kill you.”

  “Kill me?” Kene asked incredulously. “You must be joking. The only one dying today is you.” He smirked as he eyed the unconscious converts still surrounded by branches. “And your kin, of course. I suppose I should get the smaller task out of the way.” He lifted a hand and branches rose up around the prone forms. The tips sharpened and spread like claws.

  Charles disappeared again, and a sound like a wood chipper echoed from the wooden cage. Before the claws began to seek their prey, Charles had snatched and snapped every branch in the circle. He took a moment to ensure the converts were unharmed, only to hear a grunt from the captain. His head whipped around to find Barclay speared to the sand. The old fey had seen the ruse coming and a shattered wall of ice lay in pieces in front. It hadn’t been enough to stop Kene’s attack, but it had deflected the sharp tendrils from their targets.

  Serin and Leslie were still seated, trying to catch their breaths. Two thick spears of wood were driven deep into the sand between them. Charles smirked, it was just like the captain to protect his crew above himself. He dashed to Barclay, tearing the three
branches out of the old fey’s shoulder and arms. He rounded the three survivors up in his arms and tossed them toward the sleeping converts. It would be easier to protect them all in one place. Finally, he turned to Kene, anger building like a forest fire behind his eyes. “Coward!” he accused.

  Kene stood with closed eyes and arms held straight out to either side. “Alastair would call it strategy,” the general replied blankly. “You would not have been fool enough to let me complete this otherwise.” As he spoke, tendrils of vines and branches grew out of the sand. They snaked around his legs, torso, and arms. As they wrapped around fully, they changed from green and brown to a matte black. Bark grew over the top in thick plates. In seconds, Kene was fully armored. He let out a breath as bark grew over his head from the back, forming a helmet that reached around his cheeks.

  “Old tricks again,” Charles spat.

  “Oh, no,” Kene replied, “new ones.” He tilted his head and runes sprang to life across the armor. Charles scarcely had time to process those words before Kene was on top of him. The general struck out a fist and Charles dodged on pure instinct. A kick to the chest followed, sending Charles back into the sand.

  Charles was ready enough this time to roll when his back touched down. He let the momentum carry him in a reverse somersault before springing off his hands. A moment later, he watched Kene stab the sand with a blade attached to his left arm. Charles skidded backward and pulled his fists up. Unexpectedly, he felt liquid drip down his chin. He looked down quickly to see a clean slice in his cheek. Hadn’t he dodged? He narrowed his eyes, focusing on the black armor of his opponent. He grunted as he realized the black mass was still writhing, no doubt capable of striking out at its master’s bidding.