by Kirby Crow
Liall placed his palm against Scarlet's face. “You're freezing,” he commented, and tugged the heavy blanket up around them both.
"I fell asleep. The brazier burned out."
"We will light it again in the morning. This will do for now.” He rubbed Scarlet's arms through the blankets.
Their hands brushed, and Scarlet felt's Liall's fingers lacing with his. Liall's hands trembled a bit, and Scarlet realized suddenly that he was not the only one in this cabin who was worried and afraid. Liall carries his own set of fears, he thought, wondering. They may be different from mine, but not lesser.
He felt Liall press a quick, chaste kiss to his temple. “I am sorry for my behavior earlier. It will not happen again."
Scarlet wondered what he meant by that exactly. Wouldn't try to touch him again, or wouldn't get mad when he was refused?
"Go back to sleep,” Liall whispered, lulling like the sea.
* * * *
The next day was brief and bright, windy but without the fierce gales that had harried the ship northward for a solid week. Wind still caught in the huge white sails and filled them, driving the ship ever northwards, but the dim sun, a small, fuzzy ball of yellow light veiled in white mist, gave the illusion of warmth. With his red pedlar's coat buttoned tight, Scarlet found a spot on the deck to soak in it. Liall had told him they would soon be entering the Great North Sea, and once they were there, the sun would vanish entirely and shroud them in blue twilight that would not fade, but endure for months. Although Scarlet could not imagine a world without a sun, the ever-shortening days seemed to bear out the truth of Liall's words.
Liall was restless, working with the mariners when they would allow and helping with various chores. When he joined Scarlet on the deck at last, his mood was bored and out of sorts.
"Byzans are sun lizards,” Liall said as he stood beside Scarlet. “Enjoy it while you can, for soon the sun will be a memory to us."
"If you say so,” Scarlet muttered. “I still don't see how the world goes on without a sun. How do you know when to sleep?"
"You get used to it.” Liall held out his hand. “Come, you need exercise. You learned knives from your travels in the caravan, you said? I saw some of that in the alley at Volkovoi, but you must show me what you can really do."
"The man who taught me was a not a master,” Scarlet said as Liall grasped his hand and hauled him to his feet. “Rannon was a good fighter, but I've never had any real training."
Liall nodded thoughtfully. “We will mend that lack in Rshan.” He looked out over the sea. “Perhaps twenty days more and you will see the land of my birth. Rshan na Ostre, the Land of Night.” He seemed depressed at the prospect.
Scarlet tugged his red woolen cap down around his ears as a gust of wind battered them. He was very aware of the mariners working nearby, many of whom had stopped to stare at him as he chatted with Liall.
Liall followed the direction of Scarlet's gaze and scowled at the staring crewmen. “There is a spot on the half deck that has been scraped clean of ice,” he said. “We will practice there.” He strode away, plainly expecting Scarlet to follow him at once.
Scarlet tagged after Liall uneasily, simply because there was nothing else to do and it seemed they would quarrel if he did not. An argument in front of the gawking crew did not appeal to him at the moment. Though Liall's high-handed attitude irritated him, he obeyed without complaint.
Liall borrowed four sparring long-knives—heavy but blunted—from Captain Qixa. The dour captain looked at Scarlet as if he doubted his ability to lift even one of the blades. Qixa exchanged several sentences with Liall in their incomprehensible language, ending with Qixa staring at Scarlet in surprise and disbelief.
Liall shot Scarlet a look. “He says you are too small, and I will cut you in half with this.” Liall hefted the sparring knife and spun it a little in his hand. “I told him you saved my life in Volkovoi with a pair of Morturii knives."
"Does he believe you?"
Liall shrugged. “No."
They left the captain and moved to the half deck between the mast and the captain's cabin. The wind was still for the moment and a parade of clouds chased across the sky. Liall chose a spot and spun the blade in his hand again, testing their weight, before taking up a fighting stance. Scarlet stripped off his coat and laid it on the deck.
Liall began first, lunging in with his right to distract while holding the left blade in reserve, ready to slip past Scarlet's knives. Scarlet guarded warily, turning to protect his vulnerable left side. After a rough beginning, Rannon's fighting lessons came back to Scarlet, and he returned each of Liall's moves with fluid counterstrikes.
"You have talent!” Liall called out. He seemed pleased and was not at all winded.
"Not so poor as you expected?"
Liall attacked with his left knife, not as swift as Scarlet knew he could, and Scarlet battered him back. He liked watching Liall, who moved with startling grace for such a large man, and who was careful to test him without endangering either of them. Scarlet danced away from the edge of Liall's knife and they traded blows, circling each other, for several minutes.
At last, Liall called a halt, raising his hand. “Are you tired?"
Scarlet shook his head impatiently and feinted with his right-hand blade, causing Liall's mouth to twitch into a grim smile. They began again, swifter this time, Liall less worried about Scarlet's skill and more eager to push him to his limits, testing him. They sparred for more than an hour, until the breath heaved in Scarlet's lungs and the muscles of his right arm began to tremble.
He knew it was unwise to keep going, but he was unwilling to say he'd had enough. When a counterstrike came dangerously close to Scarlet's throat, he thought Liall would stop immediately, but Liall was lost in the pleasure of movement and did not see Scarlet's weariness. Liall pressed forward as Scarlet dropped his guard.
The sun was setting, and the reddish haze was reflected off the edge of Liall's knife into Scarlet's eyes. For one instant, the sight threw Scarlet back to a time before Lysia was burned, when a bandit Kasiri had held him pinned and helpless in the snow with the point of a dagger at his throat: a dagger that caught the red light and flashed it into his eyes.
Scarlet flinched and backed up too quickly. His boot heel caught a ridge in the deck and he tripped, his rump hit the deck, and the knife fell from his right hand and landed with a muted clang.
Liall froze. “Scarlet?"
Scarlet blinked to clear his vision of phantoms. “I'm sorry, my arm—"
Liall's face changed. “You are tired. I did not see it.” He took a step forward and bent to pick up the fallen knife as Scarlet got to his feet.
Once on his feet, Scarlet looked away from Liall in embarrassment, ashamed of his weakness. Liall's brief good mood had evaporated.
"I frightened you,” Liall said.
Scarlet nodded. He felt like he should apologize, but knew it would be unwelcome. He could only gaze at Liall's hard, set face in distress.
"Do not ... what is it you say? Don't vex yourself,” Liall said. “It happens to the best of soldiers. You were only remembering. It is nothing."
Scarlet realized Liall believed he was flashing back to the pirate battle. “I'm sorry."
"For what? You have done nothing. Shall we return these blades to the captain? The sun will be down soon, and all our warmth gone if we stand here."
Scarlet gathered up his coat and handed his blunted knives to Liall. “Will I improve, you think?"
"You will,” Liall said with certainty.
"Can we spar again sometime?"
"I think not,” Liall answered curtly, avoiding his eyes.
"Why?"
"Stop chattering,” Liall ordered. “Come."
Liall lead them back to the captain's cabin in silence, and Scarlet snuck a look at the hard lines of Liall's profile. I've offended him somehow, he thought, but he could not recall a single thing he had done.
Qixa was not in his c
abin. Liall pointed to the aft. “You will return to the cabin. I need to speak with Qixa on another matter."
Scarlet nodded. “All right."
"And do not speak to the crew,” Liall warned.
"Wasn't planning on it,” Scarlet said sourly before turning away, and he had the brief satisfaction of seeing Liall's composure crack a little before turning away.
5.
Malice
Liall negotiated his way up the slippery wooden steps to the quarterdeck where Qixa was stationed. The captain was grimly staring at the gray horizon as if he could intimidate it, a brass spyglass clenched in his beefy hands.
Liall's thoughts were as shaky as his feet were steady. Scarlet had tired easily, but he fought well and his mind had been on target, watching Liall's body and anticipating each move and turn. For Liall's part, the match had been vastly different. He sparred with Scarlet out of habit, his limbs moving almost automatically. Other thoughts occupied the dark spaces in his brain, the corners he seldom touched, and they all whispered to him of the same fear, the same prayer: Do not let me love this boy.
The argument had been ridiculous. It was the sort of thing one might read in love stories, wherein two tortured lovers clawed and tore at each other's addled sensibilities on their fumbling parade toward the mating-bed.
I am, Liall supposed, the bridegroom in all this, though I feel more like the fool. What will they make of such an innocent in Rshan? I have told him that the mariners are dangerous, but I have said nothing of what we will face once we make landfall. Is that wisdom on my part, or merely cowardice?
Then Scarlet had tripped and fallen backwards and the point of Liall's blade had been suddenly close to Scarlet's throat, and for one instant, madness ruled Liall's soul. He thought it would be wise to kill the Hilurin now, before they came to Rshan, and before any more damage could be done to either of them.
They will tear him apart, Liall had thought in a kind of near-panic as Scarlet looked up at him from the deck. And through him, you. Save yourself. Save him.
Liall's focus had narrowed down to the sight of his hand clenched around the hilt of the sparring blade. Move, hand, he commanded it. It would not, and he comprehended with dull resignation that it was already far too late.
He had dropped his stance, helped Scarlet to stand and apologized to him, and then sent him off to the cabin with a muttered excuse about finding Qixa.
As Liall approached, Qixa fitted a long spyglass to his eye and stared south, his lips peeled back from his teeth as if snarling at the waves.
"Something amiss?"
Qixa lowered the glass and handed it to Liall. “See for yourself."
Liall gazed through the lens for several moments. There was little to see. A misty fog hovered over the wave caps and limited their visibility to about three hundred feet. It had been the same yesterday. “Nothing,” Liall said, offering the instrument back. He watched Qixa wrap his hands around the smooth brass barrel of the spyglass. “Your nose tells you otherwise?"
Qixa nodded shortly. “Aye."
Qixa said nothing more, and Liall knew without needing to be told that Qixa had offered a mariner's instinct: there was danger ahead that Qixa could not see, but only sensed. Liall had been warned.
He bowed respectfully to Qixa, equal to equal, and left the quarterdeck, the sparring blades still in his hands. He had forgotten about returning them.
* * * *
Once Liall was out of sight, Scarlet slowed and moved more carefully across the deck, which was still patchy with ice. He crossed a short expanse with delicate steps, mindful of losing his balance, then continued with more confidence. The main deck had gathered more ice while he was away, and just before he reached the cabin, he slipped and his back hit the deck, hard. All the breath was driven out of his lungs, and he barely felt the wind tear his coat from his fingers. The coat rose up briefly and twisted before his eyes like a red bird before fluttering away toward the bow. Above him, the gray sky whirled like a pinwheel and a few brilliant spots of light danced before his eyes. I will not pass out, he told himself sternly, and forced his lungs to work, to inhale.
He heard a man's laughter nearby, but could not summon the dignity to care. Resigned to being mocked, Scarlet rolled over and tried to clamber upright, his boots sliding on ice. Suddenly, two big hands pulled him to his feet and drove his arms against his middle.
Scarlet craned his neck to see who held him and glimpsed that it was Oleksei, who had often cast lustful glances at Liall.
It surprised him very much that this one should help him, but only for a moment, until Oleksei clamped a hand over his mouth and another arm over his chest. Even then, Scarlet did not begin to truly fight until Oleksei began to haul him away from the cabin. It was shock that held him back, and then fear slipped into his veins and gave him strength. Later, he would pride himself that he blackened both the mariner's eyes by slamming his head back hard enough to feel the man's nose crunch against the back of his skull.
Oleksei's fist hit him on the back of his neck and Scarlet went down, the world graying out around him. Dimly, he watched as Oleksei kicked open a nearby lower hatchway, then everything was spinning air and darkness as he was hauled over and dropped into the hold. He landed hard and only managed to scramble to his knees before his arms were seized. Someone grabbed him again from behind, clamped a hard, filthy hand over his mouth and bent him face first over one of the wide barrels that the mariners used to carry fresh water in.
Though biting is not honorable, Scarlet turned his head and bit hard into the thumb pressed against his mouth. Warm blood broke over his teeth and flowed over his tongue, and the mariner roared and jerked his hand away. A hammer-like blow to the back of his head made his ears ring and his vision turn dark and smoky, and he slumped over the barrel in a daze.
Too stunned to shout for help or even to move, he moaned as blows rained down on his back and shoulders, and it began to dawn on him that this was more than simple lust. This was spite.
Fear roused him enough to stir, for he sensed murder in the air, and then there were two bodies holding him while someone's hands fought to tear his breeches down. Panic gave him a last burst of strength and he broke free once and kicked backward, hearing a man grunt in pain. A hand pressed down on the back of Scarlet's neck, fingers hard as stone, and ground his face against the rough, splintered wood. Heavy boots kicked at his calves, pushing his legs wider apart, and a mariner's hands—probably Oleksei's—worked the laces of his breeches loose, jerking and tearing. Cold air rushed over his bare skin, and there was a rough whisper in his ear, the silken brush of long golden strands against his cheek.
"Lenilyn whore,” Oleksei hissed. His fingers pressed between the cheeks of Scarlet's rump, probing crudely.
Pinned down, Scarlet whimpered and considered begging, as he had once considered begging Cadan for his life. Then, as now, he knew that it would be useless.
Then Oleksei's weight was suddenly lifted off him. There was a loud crash and a rising chorus of shouts. Scarlet did not hesitate, but tore his wrists out of the mariner's grasp and fell to the floor on the other side of the barrel.
Liall stood under the hatchway, the dying sunlight turning his white hair to red gold. He held the sparring blade and he was raging at mariners in his native tongue. The point of his blade, sharp enough to puncture though all the edges were blunted, was pressed to Oleksei's throat.
Scarlet groped to his feet, shaking and holding his breeches up with one hand. Liall's pale blue eyes snapped to him. “Move."
Scarlet braced himself against the crate and limped over to stand behind Liall.
Liall's voice was cold with rage. “What say you, Scarlet? Does he die?"
"No,” he croaked, and licked his lips. He tasted blood and touched his lower lip to find it swollen and split.
Another figure dropped into the hold. Scarlet tensed when he saw it was the quartermaster, but the man took up stance beside Liall, holding a short dueling knife out
toward the mariners. The quartermaster regarded his men with displeasure and barked orders in Sinha.
Liall glanced at Scarlet briefly. “No?"
"No,” he repeated, conscious of the quartermaster's eyes on him. “I'm alive. I don't want any more deaths on my conscience."
That got him a curious look from the quartermaster, and Scarlet realized that the man did indeed speak Bizye.
"I think it a mistake,” Liall said, his eyes on Oleksei, “to let this man live. If he crosses me again, I will surely kill him.” He looked at the quartermaster. “You will deal with this,” he commanded.
The quartermaster nodded shortly and beckoned to Scarlet to follow him. When Scarlet did not move, Liall grabbed his arm and pulled him aside to let another mariner jump down into the hold. Liall handed the second mariner his blade and knelt to give Scarlet a lift up.
"I can do it myself—” Scarlet began.
"You cannot,” Liall snapped. “Do as I say."
He put his boot in Liall's hand and Liall boosted him high enough to grip the edge of the hatch. To his surprise, Qixa himself was there. The captain reached down to haul him up to the deck.
Scarlet peered down into the hatch, waiting for Liall to follow, but Qixa shook his head.
"He will come soon,” the captain said gruffly in passable Bizye, taking Scarlet's arm.
"My thanks,” Scarlet said, trying to step back from him. Qixa's iron grip held him fast. “I can walk on my own.” He felt warmth sliding down his neck and realized his face was bleeding heavily.
Qixa eyed him for a moment before letting go, but walked behind him until they reached the cabin. The wind had turned bitterly cold and the red light of the sunset seemed to mock Scarlet's every halting step. He wanted to rage at someone or something, to lash out and strike, but there was no target for his fury. The only person Scarlet wanted to attack was Oleksei, and he was no match for the mariner. That had already been proven.