WINDWEEPER

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  Once, he had thought of Gezelle for the warrior, but the two had never hit it off. If truth were told, it was Prince Chand Wynth who held Gezelle's attention. It was too bad such alliances were forbidden.

  Liza trembled.

  "Are you cold?" Conar asked, holding her closer.

  "Not really. I just…" She looked around, something nudging her sixth sense. "I don't know. I guess it's just that I'm still a little tired. Where's Brownie?"

  "Sleeping on the captain's bunk." Conar chuckled. "I think she has a crush on the man."

  Liza nodded absently. As her husband had the day before, she had been having sensations since early morn and the hairs along her neck were stirring. She looked at the horizon, but the sky was clear.

  Conar carefully eyed her. He had felt the tremor along with something else, something he couldn't quite name. He turned his scrutiny to the sky, a puzzled frown wrinkling his forehead.

  "Do you feel that?" he asked. "The vibrations?" He looked at her as she stiffened.

  She glanced up at him. "Then you feel something, too? The same as yesterday?"

  "No, this is different. I've been feeling this ever since we cleared your coastline last eve and tacked toward Serenia." A grim expression settled on his face. "Something in the wind." He eased his arms from her and walked to the ship's rail, bracing his hand on the rolled teak edge. He looked out to sea. "I've felt it all morning."

  "And that's why you've been standing here."

  She put her hand on his forearm and felt his tension. "I feel as though someone is watching our every move."

  "Aye. Me, too."

  All morning he had been at the rail, searching, listening, probing with his newfound energy. During the time he had spent on the island, he had worked hard to learn about the powers bestowed on him at birth. With Liza's help, he had tested his magik and had learned to control it.

  Though it still frightened him, he had come to grips with it. Loath to use it, he knew that, should he need to, the power would be there at his command. But with giving in to accepting the magik within him, he had also given in to the premonitions and feelings inherent with such a supernatural ability.

  And today's feelings had only underscored the power he knew he could wield. The unease that had settled on his shoulders made it impossible for him not to sense the danger he knew lay ahead.

  Something wasn't right, but he couldn't tell what. He simply kept vigil, his senses attuned to air that was slightly charged with unusual vibration; the sensation played along his nerve-endings.

  Although everything seemed normal, his power told him otherwise. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. Nothing caught his attention. The sun beamed down to warm the cool day. Gulls flew by the ship, following at a discreet distance, and dolphins surfaced occasionally to call their greetings. All seemed oblivious to the undercurrents he felt.

  He glanced toward the western horizon and saw only the bright wash of blue and orange, but he felt a shiver go through him; at that exact moment Liza tightened her hand around his arm. She had felt it, too.

  "Do you know what it is?" she asked.

  Another quiver went through him and he tensed even more. "Go below, Elizabeth," he said, his gaze on the far horizon.

  "Why?" she asked, her eyes mirroring the worry she saw reflected in his.

  "I want you to go below."

  She touched his face. "You are my mate. I stand with you before whatever this is."

  "Did you feel that?" he asked as a sudden tremor of pure unease settled over him. "This is not some minor rift in the Veil, Liza. This is something evil heading our way."

  She looked to the far horizon, squinting. She trembled at his words. "You should be able to turn away whatever it is that lurks out there. I knew long ago your strength was much sharper, your power more refined than my own, although I believe mine is the more lethal."

  He looked away from her probing green inquiry. "It wasn't something I wanted, Liza." He shook his head in denial, frowning.

  "Once the gods give a gift such as ours, Conar, it can never be revoked, only lessened. It can be chained, be made dormant, but it will never entirely disappear. Those of us who are blessed—"

  "Or cursed."

  "It's not a curse. You just can't let it rule you, that's all." She saw his frown deepen. "Your power doesn't come just from the Red Path, Milord. It also comes from the White. From the Ancients who walked the Right Hand Way. Mine comes strictly from the Blue Path, from the Multitude. Since good and evil are mated, and then mixed with the Old Ways, our combined strengths are so powerful there is little we cannot either hinder or stop altogether when we are side by side."

  "The power Kaileel invested in me is purely evil, Liza. It corrupts. It destroys. It tried to destroy me! One day it just might."

  "Only if you will allow it to do so. Or let it use you for evil." She touched his cheek. "There is not much chance of that happening. There is still a great amount of good in you."

  His head turned toward her. "So Tohre once told me. I hope that is true, for I will die before I let it corrupt me again." He took her arm and walked toward the hatchway. "Go below. Let's see how well the bastards taught me."

  She eased her arm out of his grip. "Let me stay until we know what is out there."

  "Elizabeth!" he warned, his voice brooking no argument. "Don't try me, woman! I have given you an order, Madame, and I expect you to obey me!"

  He watched her face redden, her nose tilt into the air, and knew he had said the very worst thing he possibly could have said. He had not meant to be so overbearing, to sound like a chauvinist, but the intense tremors shooting constantly through his body—his every nerve tingling as though he stood in a lightning storm—made him fear for her safety.

  His only thought had been to get her below before whatever calamity was headed their way could strike. Seeing the mulish look on his wife's face caused him to groan and look to the heavens. "Shit," he said under his breath.

  "I stay, Sir!"

  "Storm coming, Your Grace!" the lookout shouted from the crow's nest. The man was pointing to the southern sky.

  Heads turned.

  Dark, swooping clouds were boiling from both the southern and eastern stretches of the sky; blending, swirling, clashing together beneath the brilliant red globe of the sun, they filled the entire vista with an ominous sweep of foreboding.

  Lightning zagged from the heavens, demarcating the place where the black clouds overtook the bright blue sky. The clouds rolled, folded in upon themselves and a loud boom shot across the water toward the ship as another crack of lightning flared, hissing as it hit the water. A horrible stench wafted toward them.

  "Raphian," Conar said, grimly.

  He had known all along. They were coming at him with Their fiercest warrior, Their greatest killer. He had won their last encounter. Would he, could he, win this one? He looked at his wife with concern, but her face was calm, untroubled, and she met his gaze with purpose, a tiny smile on her mouth, a definitive glow on her lovely face.

  "I've often wondered what He smelled like." She wrinkled her nose as the brimstone stench and aroma of burning flesh came toward them. "It's as bad as I thought!"

  She raised her hand and make a lazy figure eight in the air. The faint smell of lavender filled the air, cleansing it of the noxious fumes of Raphian's coming.

  "I don't care for the odor, Milord," she said.

  He grinned. "Neither do I, Milady."

  Liza held out her hand. "Then, let's fight the bastard together!"

  He took her hand in his, feeling an immense surge in the power coursing through him.

  "It magnifies the strength when we touch, Milord. The Purple Pathway is opening, linking your power with mine. You will know what to do. The words are there, waiting for you to say them. You can close the Doorway into the Abyss without me, but with our combined strength, we can do it quicker and easier. You can send Him back."

  Looking out over the ocean, Conar felt his body tin
gling with the rush of adrenaline. His breath came in deep heaves. His head felt as though every hair stood on end.

  A pulling, drawing sensation filled him with concern. A feeling in the pit of his stomach brought bile to his throat. He could sense the Calling from the storm and tried to blot out the insidious, beckoning voice. Images of violent death and blood flashed before him and he strove harder to stop the images from coming.

  "They call to you, Conar," his wife warned. "You can resist Them."

  "They'll not give me up so easily this time. Not with you beside me."

  His head began to ache with blinding fury, throbbing as though a million drums pounded inside. His mouth tasted of blood, hot and metallic, gagging him, turning his face a white plain of misery.

  "They are coming for you, beloved." She closely watched his face. "Fight Them, Conar. Don't answer Their Call. Don't give in to It." Her eyes were worried, for his had taken on a feral glare that put pinpoints of silver in the azure depths. Her entire being depended on this confrontation; her life, and the life of their child, might well depend on how well her husband could wield his magic.

  The smell of lavender intensified until the air seemed to bloom with the heady fragrance. The sea had taken on a murky green color, glistening with sparkles of light in its heaving, cresting depths. A sharp trill of high-pitched voices rose over the waves, echoing across the ship until the men put their hands over their ears to blot out its painful shrillness.

  "The Daughters of the Sea have come to fight alongside us, Conar!" Liza called. She saw him shiver, felt his hand jerk in hers. "They will aid you. You belong to Them, Conar. The Lady Warriors of the Deep, the Mighty Protectoresses of the Multitude will aid you."

  The siren call grew in volume. It filled the heavens, absorbing the boom of thunder and hiss of lightning that now fell only a few yards from the ship's bow. It drove men to run below decks to try to silence the eerily beautiful song wafting over the Seachance. Only the sailor in the crow's nest was left and he was nearly unconscious from the piercing sound.

  Conar felt the song flowing over him, strengthening him, calming him, drowning out the Calling of the other. The shrill cry did not bother him. He found the music pleasant, encouraging. He sucked it deep into his soul, held it, and took courage from the words in the melody.

  "No!" a terrible voice boomed from the heavens, setting the timbers of the deck trembling. "I will not allow this interference!"

  With a violent lurch, Conar felt as though his body was being torn apart. His stomach began to cramp much as it had during his initiation. He doubled over, going to his knees with the pain. He felt pulled from two directions at once and realized with a suddenness that left his head reeling that this had happened to him before. Two separate forces were tearing him, each wanting his very soul.

  "You belong to Us," a voice spoke inside his head and he wasn't sure if the voice was male or female. He reached out to grasp the rail before him, his nails digging into the soft, varnished wood. One moment he could smell the sweet, tender aroma of lavender, the next, his nostrils were assaulted with the stench of sulfur.

  "Come to Us, Conar!"

  That voice had been identifiable. It was the drooling hiss of the Storm God, Raphian.

  Conar shook his head, felt nausea gallop up his throat, and leaned over the rail to vomit into the heaving sea. He frowned at the sight of the water speeding away below him. It glowed a sickly green just beneath the sea's surface and the color was so intense, it hurt his eyes, made his head hurt even worse. He could have sworn he had seen his mother's face, Medea's, Raphaella's, and Meggie Ruck's—whose presence there made no sense to him—in the glowing water before another wave of sickness claimed him and he relieved himself of the burning bile.

  Liza felt the ship surge upward once, twice, and she grabbed at the railing. They were now in the outer reaches of the storm spiraling toward them. A sudden, quiet, deadly calm entered her body and she felt the throbbing presence of her familiar stoking the fires of their combined power—hers and Conar's.

  "So there you are, Vanion," she crooned. She had not felt its presence since Kaileel Tohre abducted her. She knew the familiar—a spry little old woman whose age was centuries full—had been sent back to her by the Multitude. "Teach me the spell to invoke the familiar the Sisterhood has given him. Let me hear it."

  Her body was buffeted by a sudden hard wind and she could hear a voice inside her head, warning her not to interfere. She raised her head and glared at the black clouds whirling by overhead. Again the voice spoke and said vulgar, horrible things to her. Its insidious utterance draped over her like the slide of slime in a privy. It smelled of offal and clung to her psyche, made her feel unclean, turning her thoughts evil and vicious and vulgar.

  "I am not one of Yours!" she shouted in the face of the now-howling wind. "I am of the Daughterhood. You have no power over me! Be gone, demon! Leave this man alone!"

  Conar screamed in pain at his wife's words. His entire body felt hot and his belly cramped with an agony that made him grab his gut as he fell onto his side on the lurching deck. He was unaware of the few men climbing the shrouds to furl the sails, their ears plugged with scraps of fabric. He didn't hear their loud, frightened voices, their running feet on the decks. He didn't see his wife as she knelt down beside him, unable to touch him for fear she would contaminate the process of his changing.

  That he was changing, his body shedding what vestiges of evil had been instilled within it, was evident, in the way he trembled and shook, in the way his eyes glazed with ungodly pain, in the way his hands clutched at his own flesh.

  "Fight, beloved," Liza told him. "You can win!"

  He looked into Liza's face. He heard someone whispering softly to him, in his ear, but Liza's lips were still. He strained hard to hear. It was not one voice, but two, that spoke.

  "Fight, Conar," the first one crooned and he thought the warm, sultry voice sounded familiar. The image of a beautiful, desirable woman flashed across his mind. A woman he had kissed long ago and had feared greatly.

  "Fight," another voice urged him. "You can win, my son."

  He knew that voice!

  He swung his aching, throbbing head in the direction of the heaving waters. "Mama?" he managed to croak before another violent pain stabbed him, making him groan and sink to his knees.

  "You have no mother, fool!" a sharp, gruff voice shattered over the Prince. "You have only me!"

  "Fight, Conar!" Liza screamed over the keening wind and siren song.

  Conar looked at Liza and wished with all his being she would take him in her arms. He thought the pain might stop then. Looking at her, he was shocked. Her body was surrounded with a pale blue glow that seemed to be spreading outward, straining to reach him. Glancing at his body, he was amazed to see his flesh haloed with a dark scarlet aura pulled back from the encroaching blue glow heading his way. His flesh was white, he realized with horror; his skin glittering stark white as freshly driven snow and he knew Liza spoke true. The Ancients were a part of him, as well.

  "We are your Voice," a blend of male and female spoke to him. "We are called Seawind, and We are yours! Hear us, Prince of the Wind! Never shall the demons hold you to Them ever again!"

  "He is my chosen!" Raphian brayed, shouting down the others. "I own him!"

  Conar shook as the cacophony of voices came and he looked on with fascination as the colors from his body and Liza's merged, the White flooding out to take the Blue, to overrun the Red. As the three colors blended, he had only a glimpse of a deep lavender aura surrounding him before he felt an agonizing jolt swirling through him.

  He almost passed out as it shot through his body, winding into every passage, every organ, every pore. With a snap of fire running all along and throughout his body, he felt, rather than saw, the colored glow turn a deeper shade until his body took on a purple tint so deep it was almost black. His body tensed, grew rigid, his eyes rolling back in his head from the furnace-like blast of heat pulsing t
hrough him.

  "No, Conar McGregor!" the gruff, booming thunder shook the decks. "Come to us!" But the dark, forbidding voice was weaker, unsure. "Let us show you what can be yours!"

  "Protect him, Daughter!" Conar heard his mother urgently order.

  Conar saw his wife kneel beside him, felt her gathering him into her arms, taking his body against hers as the ship bumped them together in the swelling of the sea. Her aura darkened as their bodies touched.

  Conar turned his head away from her, away from the pale lavender haze of her aura that shifted with his every movement. He longed to go to the voice hissing in his ear, promising the unseen, unfelt delights of countless female bodies. He ached to give himself up to the lure that shook his body with sexual arousal.

  Liza went rigid with fury. Her arms tightened around him. "Go back to Your hell, you venomous spawn of the Abyss. He is mine! You will never have him!" She turned her face from the sudden blast of noxious air that washed over her. "I am the only woman he needs!"

  "You'll not keep him, slut!" the voice told her. "He is ours! His flesh is our flesh!"

  She felt Conar trying to pull away and a sharp chill began along the edges of their combined contact. She pressed her body closer to his.

  "Feel me, Conar!" she commanded. "Feel the warm flesh of your woman! I am all the sexual pleasure you need. Feel my passion, Beloved. Feel my love surrounding you."

  Conar jerked in her arms. The look of pleading on her face hurt his heart. He could feel the softness of his wife's flesh, could smell the sweet fragrance of lavender.

  "No!" Raphian screamed over booming thunder. The Storm God's attention was on the dark purple aura surrounding Conar as the glow altered, grew dimmer until it would at last become the soft lavender that now formed over the woman. He shot out his evil and touched Conar McGregor with the one punishment designed to bring the man back to Him.

  Conar yelped as the cold, hard shaft of Raphian's demand impaled his soul. A quiver of loathing went through him as Liza kissed his lips. He tried to pull away from her.

  "I love you, Conar!" she cried, tears streaming down her ashen cheeks. "Stay with me! Stay with me, Beloved!"