The golden god had led her to her natural element. Here, she was free from the burdens and limitations of home, and her heart sang with the melody that emerged from her lips. She swung gently in the cool night air, enjoying the salt scent and the rocking of the ship as it cut through the waves. She had never traveled so far in all her life. Even the stars above looked different.
There was so much she could do, so much she could learn, if only she could spend her time beneath the waves instead of tending her duties at home. Her soul longed for the freedom to frolic beneath the moonlit sky, to explore the mysteries of the sea bottom, to find a heart to match her own…
But she was the only creature like herself that existed.
***
“The tow rope has been thrown over the bow. Already the Sirens sing sweetly as they tug us home,” Nevan said, entering the captain’s cabin.
At his friends words, Trystan’s thoughts drifted to the lass on the beach, calling her siren song, urging him to return in the opposite direction.
Foolishness.
Waylan, who acted the part of captain on this diplomatic voyage, jotted a note into his log. “’Tis just the song of night and wind and sail. It’s a silly superstition that our women will tow us home if we hang the rope over the side, but it convinces the crew we sail faster.”
Despite his scarred visage, Waylan charmed the ladies with his enigmatic silences. In private, he was a no-nonsense man who kept informative notes for the next generation of sailors. His mother had been from England, and he’d spent the better part of his youth compensating for his lowly breeding—until the full extent of his weather-making ability had become known. It had been an honor for him to be trusted with their mission.
Trystan preferred the distraction of a solid political topic to the strange notions engendered by the call of a black-haired maiden running along the shore.
“I know you are content in discovering Murdoch has employed his dangerous skills in the army of a king.” Trystan continued a conversation interrupted by Nevan’s entrance. “But I’m afraid punishing him for a malicious prank that went awry has merely removed any restraint we had over him.”
“He killed a man with that prank!” Nevan argued. “Perhaps he only meant to celebrate Luther’s birthday, as he claimed, but his use of explosives to do so was ill-advised.”
Luther had been Council Leader, spouse of the Oracle—the island’s highest authority—and Lissandra’s father. Trystan still couldn’t believe the powerful old man was dead.
“Especially when he let Lissandra anger him,” Waylan agreed with a grunt. “He was never able to control his firepower when in a temper. He knew better.”
“The Oracle could have done nothing less than banish him,” Nevan said. “Luther’s death had to have seemed like an assassination to her. Even had the explosives not collapsed the platform, the noise and flame alone would have given him a failure of the heart even Lissandra could not heal.”
“The Oracle fears Murdoch for sound reason, I grant that, but banishing him, even after taking away his powers…” Trystan shook his head. “I am relieved he’s merely taken up soldiering and not decided to appoint himself dictator of France.”
Nevan laughed. “France is full of petty dictators. He’ll make himself king.”
Given the weakness of France’s Louis the Sixteenth, Trystan couldn’t argue with that goal, although using their abilities to interfere in the events of other countries was forbidden for their kind. Since his banishment, Murdoch no longer needed to heed the island’s legal restraints. A definite mistake, in Trystan’s opinion. Even though the Oracle had suppressed Murdoch’s troublesome talents, he was still an Aelynner with speed beyond that of mortal men and training in weaponry that could be put to good or evil.
Trystan prayed to Aelynn that Murdoch chose the path of good, but with an intellect far exceeding that of most humans, Murdoch was an unstable powder keg. Thank the gods that the ring of silence prevented his ever speaking of his home, or all would be lost of a certainty.
Rather than fret over issues he could not control, Trystan leaned back in his seat at the table, crossed his boots on a chair, and listened to the seductive song of the wind. A vision teased the back of his mind, one of a slim figure racing toward him, her voice joining with the song of the sea. Loneliness and hunger for something he could not name seeped under his skin.
Trystan inhaled sharply at the treachery of his scrambled wits, and slammed his boots back to the floor. “Even though we’ve been gone little more than a fortnight, we’ve been too long at sea when we hear a woman’s voice in the breeze,” he growled. “It’s the reason seafarers speak of mermaids and Sirens.”
With a grunt, Waylan scooped a scrawny animal from under his desk and shoved the creature across the polished floor with his foot, displaying a ragged hole chewed into his sailor’s trousers. “You are fortunate we did not need to eat your scrawny beastie while we were away. I’m particularly fond of goat meat.”
Unperturbed by the threat, Trystan rescued the kid from Waylan’s ire, scooping it into his lap and scratching behind a silky ear to be rewarded with a butt on his chin from a bony head. Sprawling his long legs, he relaxed at this reminder that he was going home. “This beastie is a rare breed,” he replied, stroking the fine thick hair of his pet. “Her hair will spin like silk.”
Nevan laughed. “It will take more than silk to win Lissandra’s favor. You do not fear some other has wooed and won her while you were gone?”
“Lissandra will do what is best for all. She and I agree that a man experienced in the Outside World is needed to guide us into the future. Her mother is too entrenched in the old ways to see that the world is changing, and we must change with it.”
Waylan snorted. “The island never changes. The world has no effect on it. Lissy is simply feeding you what you want to hear so she can beat her brother to the Oracle’s chair.”
“That’s unfair,” Trystan corrected. “They both know their mother grows weaker without Luther’s aid. They wish to take the heavy burden of power off her shoulders so she may rest and enjoy the remainder of her years.”
“I, for one, believe it’s superstition to think the Oracle must have a spouse in order to keep the island safe. Dylys acted swiftly enough to banish Murdoch when his power went to his head.” Nevan refilled their glasses.
“I, for one,” Waylan mocked, “believe the Oracle should not have the power of a dictator. She acted arbitrarily, without giving Murdoch a chance to argue his case. She could have killed the man by stripping him of his powers. I’m relieved to discover he survived the ordeal.”
Trystan had occasionally questioned the authority of the Oracle and her spouse to rule with only the guidance of the Council, but if the gods chose the Oracle, then surely the gods chose the best person for the island. “Only time will tell if Dylys was right, so let us enjoy the good wine and not waste our last day aboard with unanswerable questions.”
He swallowed his wine and wished he could follow his own advice, but the lady on the cliff had unsettled him. Perhaps Murdoch’s banishment had shaken the island—and him—in some elemental way he did not fathom. He would have to ask Lissandra if she felt the disturbance, too.
Outside the candlelit cabin, the Siren’s voice harmonized with the wind in a melancholy verse that echoed Trystan’s unease.
Two
“There she is,” Trystan said quietly, respectfully, as the Destiny approached a fog bank rising over rocky shoals. No sign of land could be seen through the murk, but he sensed the isle’s solid presence. Black boulders the size of brigantines loomed over them, casting the slim schooner in shadow, but Nevan’s unerring senses would steer them safely through the narrow, winding passages.
In the centuries of Aelynn’s history, no Outsider had ever navigated the island’s formidable straits—no Outsider could and live to tell about it. The coral reefs below the surface were even more dangerous than the rocks that could be seen above it, and
the defensive force field the Guardian maintained around her would allow none but an Aelynner to pass.
“The fog is a beautiful sight with dawn’s light above her. Even the tow line is taut with eagerness,” Waylan commented, speaking Trystan’s thoughts.
Standing in the darkened bow, Trystan lifted his arms to the threatening fog, spreading his fingertips to catch the mist, then curling them into fists. His schooner had been empowered to pass the shield that he enforced, but he took pleasure in feeling Aelynn’s energy surge through his body. He knew that once they passed through the barrier and emerged from the cloud, he would glow with the strength of the sun, but for now, he was content to feel the power that weeks away had depleted.
Satisfied that all in his world was well and thriving, Trystan returned his hands to the rail and rolled his shoulders to relax them as the ship entered the final shrouded channel.
“The first time I saw you do that when we were but lads, I thought you were a sorcerer, and you terrified me,” Waylan said, leaning against the rail, happy to let Nevan take the wheel at this stage of their journey.
“I was only practicing then. I could do nothing but feel the energy my father created. At the time, I thought you little better than a feral wolf who would drown us in your tears.”
Waylan snorted. “It is hard to remember my days as a Crossbreed who never knew Aelynn’s ways, and I’d prefer to keep it that way. The island is a paradise in comparison.”
Even though the ship had yet to breech the barrier, a scent of citrus and gardenia permeated the moist air, and through the fog, the sun shone golden beams. Even the water was of a crystalline clarity not found anywhere else on this earth. Although it could not be seen past the high walls of the channel, Trystan knew the peak of the island’s volcano loomed protectively over them, ever watchful.
“I would have no child of mine grow up alone and misunderstood, far from these shores, as you were,” Trystan said, remembering clearly the wild creature Waylan had been when he’d first arrived. The previous Finder had rescued him from a flood in England that the untrained weathermaker had brought on at the death of his parents. “It is another reason I prefer to remain on Aelynn, where my children will know only safety.”
Waylan laughed. “Children are as tough as your little beasties.” He shoved away the goat nibbling at his trousers. “They adapt. You grow soft with moonlove.”
For a moment, Trystan let down his inner shield to consider the gifted orphans his fellow sailors often left behind, and an appalling thought occurred. Could Murdoch pass on his erratic traits to his children, even if he’d been stripped of his power? Waylan could joke about sorcerers, but Murdoch came as close to one as any mortal could imagine.
Trystan shook off his unease, and closed his mind again on what he could not change, choosing to revel in the future awaiting him. Both he and Waylan had discarded their Other World clothes for more comfortable island ones, and the breeze blew with tropical warmth against their loose linen. Had they been seen by Outsiders now, they’d be labeled pirates of a certainty. It wouldn’t have been the first time. Long hair, jeweled scabbards, and uncivilized clothing suited island life better than that of the Outside World.
Trystan rested his hand on the hilt of his sword and embraced the roll of waves beneath his feet. “Not soft. Just eager for the next phase of my life.”
“Tupping Lissandra?” Waylan grinned as they passed a barnacle-covered boulder. “You may as well tup a fish. The two of you may be just cold enough to make good leaders. Your ambition hardens you.”
Sensing that they were about to enter the force field, Trystan braced himself with feet wide apart, and wrapped his fingers on the rail on either side of the prow. The barrier didn’t part so much as yield as the ship sliced through the first layer of energy. The power crackled up his arms and legs through the rail and deck, strong and thick as he’d designed it. The shield was still resilient. It wasn’t time for him to renew it.
“I’m practical, not hard. Consider all the men suited for Lissandra’s hand. Is there one besides me who could be her equal?” Since he had begun to glow, Trystan was aware of his consequence. The gods touched few. He was fortunate. Trystan hooked his fists in his trouser band and let the energy flow around him.
“Ambitious and arrogant.” Waylan nodded in wry agreement. “Lissandra would eat her offspring alive without a strong spouse to temper her natural inclinations. There is still Iason to consider. Should he find a wife, the Oracle might more readily pass on her seat to him. His nature is more agreeable than his sister’s.”
“Iason cannot take his mother’s place without a political spouse to balance him, and there is no other woman on the island strong enough to lead the Council,” Trystan said without hostility, still concentrating on the island’s invisible protection. Was that a ripple that had not been there before? Or had his earlier unease simply caused a refraction of energy? “He has the nature of a monk and will never marry.”
Waylan laughed aloud—until a crack of thunder boomed.
That was more than a ripple in the force field.
Both men tensed. The schooner sailed through the midst of the drenching fog. Water dripped from the ship’s masts. Boulders mere feet from their faces were no more than dark shadows. Even the birds ceased to call in this thick porridge. The single unfurled sail caught the breeze that Waylan had set in motion.
No lightning flashed. Silence reigned between the rocks as the boat glided through the passage.
The boom had shaken the shield—which meant it had disturbed Trystan to his core. His foreboding rose as the fog lifted. Except for ring-bearing Aelynners, anything or anyone attempting to sail this passage would hit the force field and sink—without sound.
Unable to discover any disturbance beyond that one slight shiver, Trystan asked cautiously, “You would know if a storm had moved in, wouldn’t you?”
“That was no storm,” Waylan said curtly. He stalked off to examine the ship for damage, as a good captain should.
With his inner senses, Trystan searched the gray cloud that closed behind them, and still found no gap in his shield. As always, he glowed with the dawn lighting the other side of the fog, as if nothing singular had happened.
Aside from his gift for translation, he had no skill for weather or navigation or any of those things useful to his fellow sailors. His main contribution toward the island was defense—a unique transmission between him and the island gods that ensured the safety of the precious chalice and sword the islanders had held since the beginnings of known time. He could claim many admirable—and a few not so admirable—traits, but he had no explanation for the thunderous boom. It had almost sounded like a warning.
Trystan glanced down past the ship’s bow at the sparkling blue waters of the island’s natural harbor.
The tow line dangled loosely, no longer taut, as if last night’s Siren had, indeed, tugged them home, only to be tumbled into the dangerous surf by the force of his shield.
***
While the others unloaded the ship, Trystan strode down the gangplank to the dock. Bitsy the goat scampered down the plank after him, her hooves clattering against the wood, her black nose sniffing for edibles.
The unnatural boom that, even now, had Waylan scanning the masts needed to be investigated before he could call the voyage officially ended.
It wasn’t as if Lissandra was on the beach—or anywhere else—waiting for him, even though she would know of his arrival. He would resent her aloofness, except he knew neither of them had time for sentiment. The safety and wellbeing of Aelynn always came first.
His short linen trousers and sleeveless tunic suited the warmth of this tropical dawn. His strapped leather sandals sank in the black sand as he scanned the port side from stem to stern. He saw no gaping holes, no bubbling beneath the water. The crew had already tied the tow rope to a pier. Trystan strode to the starboard, examining the hull for damage.
Nothing. The schooner bobbed in the wat
er as it should. Leaving his pet to nibble her way through the jungle foliage, he held still, searching his mental awareness of the island’s thick gray barrier. As before, he still sensed no weakening.
Trystan breathed in the lemon-scented air and tried to relax the knot of worry between his shoulders. He discarded his disquiet as a necessary adjustment from the Spartan confinement of a ship of men to the lush green jungle that was his home. Few Aelynners would have noticed the sails cutting through the fog at this hour, so they had no crowd to greet them.
An odd bit of flotsam bobbing on the incoming tide caught his eye, and he strode toward it. He would have investigated even if he wasn’t already uneasy. Little of the ocean’s waste ever survived the shoals.
A bundle of white rags in a decidedly human form washed up at his feet.
No living being could survive the barrier he’d erected around his home.
Appalled that he’d actually killed an intruder, Trystan dropped to his knees beside the gossamer-clad female on the black sand. Her seaweed-entwined curls were a dark smudge against the sparkling crystals, and with grief, he tangled his fingers in their silken beauty. His purpose was to save lives, not take them. How could she conceivably have passed the reef to run afoul of his shield?
Waves lapped, tugging bits of cloth to reveal a glimpse of breasts as beautiful as the pearls from which Aelynn gained its wealth. To take such a life…
Gut clenching in denial, he leaned down to listen for her breathing. Nothing. He knew it was impossible to survive the barrier. With despair stinging his eyes, he caressed her cold, unresponsive skin, then tested the pulse in her neck.
Her blood beat weakly beneath his fingers. She lived! For whatever reason, the shield had rendered her unconscious instead of killing her.
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