A Question of Power (The Fire Chronicles Book 2)

by Susi Wright

  At the sight of Sumar standing over him, Skrim’s expression was confused; his ale-befuddled brain registered no recognition at all. Behind Sumar, the cloak-and-scarf shrouded form of another person added to the hazy picture. Squinting around the room, it seemed he was surrounded by men; he blinked his eye and shook his head, not quite awake, wanting to shake off a recurrent nightmare that had always dogged him. Mutiny.

  As his fuzzy thoughts began to clear and he realised he was awake, that his cabin was indeed full of people, though he did not recognise any of his crew. Had his ship been boarded by pirates? He was surprised he didn’t feel more afraid.

  Of course, Sumar’s influence had provided benefit, but the friends were not about to let Skrim off lightly for being so unreliable. Besides, Skrim still had no idea who they were.

  Xandor stepped fully into Skrim’s view, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him head and shoulders off the mattress to pin him with a steely glare. Sumar ceased his focus, allowing the man to absorb the full discomfort of Xandor’s attention. Skrim’s one good eye widened even more as he recognised the powerful warrior looming over him was the one with whom he’d made the bargain a few hours ago; a quick second glance at Sumar confirmed him as the companion.

  Realising he had not sent the dinghy to meet them as agreed, he cursed under his breath. “How did ye get on board? Did ye find a boat on the beach?” That was certainly what he would like to believe, since looking at Xandor’s strange eyes which were returning to their otherworldly glow, Skrim couldn’t rule out sorcery and it scared him to think what that could mean.

  He had made a serious mistake getting drunk yet again, cursing, for the umpteenth time in his life, the demon spirits who never stopped tempting him. Apparently, he’d just double-crossed these men. He knew how it looked. The bile of fear rose in his gullet – he was within an inch of vomiting anyway – as he wondered if and how they would exact revenge. For a start, Xandor, whose stare presently terrified him, had hold of his collar and certainly looked angry enough to do some physical damage. Cringing as if he expected a blow, Skrim was never too proud to beg. “Don’t hurt me. . .p-please! I n-never meant to c-cross ye. It was a mistake – honest!” When the punch did not come, he cautiously chanced opening his eye. “I can make it up to you!” The hopeful grin was more of a grimace in Skrim’s gnarly face.

  “You took our silver. . . no questions, remember? We want two cabins!” demanded Xandor in a harsh whisper, maintaining his threatening attitude. “Now!” He enjoyed leaving Skrim to guess how they got on board. It would keep him scared.

  “Done! No problem!” Skrim’s easy promise belied the difficulty he knew lay ahead, when he turfed the first mate out of his cabin to provide additional quarters for the girl. But he feared his ship’s mate far less than these two warriors, particularly the one who now held him by the throat. Besides he hadn’t intentionally swindled them, just forgotten. . .

  “There’s a room across the hall for ye. I just need a few minutes to organise another for the girl. . .” Skrim was more than willing to comply. He looked over at Serafina, who was doing an admirable job of posing as one near death. “She can stay here until then.”

  Releasing his hold on the man’s shirtfront, Xandor stepped back, motioning for Skrim to get to his feet and carry out that promise; the befuddled man obliged but with a great deal of difficulty. The friends’ patience was sorely tested as he made several unsuccessful attempts to get himself upright and on the fourth to remain so, while the grinding of the anchor chain could be heard as the crew finally cast off and the hull lurched as the sails took up the wind. The skipper’s slow weaving steps towards the door gave Xandor time to pick up Serafina and lay her in Skrim’s cot; he pulled the covers over so she was barely visible, before coming up behind the other two.

  As Skrim raised his hand to open the door, they heard someone approach, then a loud knock, followed by a long-suffering tone of voice as if the speaker did not really expect an answer. “Hey, Skipper! We’re under way. Shall I give the order for the first shift to eat?” They did not miss the words, muttered more quietly under his breath. “Bloody drunken fool. . .doesn’t know what way is up most of the time! Why bother? I’ll end up sailing the ship me-self until midday anyway!”

  Xandor and Sumar hid behind the door. Skrim handed Xandor one key, pointing through the closed door directly across the hall and gave Sumar another, to lock this cabin when they left. The skipper pulled the door open, poking his head out to take the first mate to task. “Call me a drunken fool. . .eh?”

  The mate’s jaw dropped in complete surprise at seeing Skrim conscious, let alone up and about. Skrim squeezed around the half-open door, closing it behind him and ushered the mate out on deck, threatening to throw him in the brig, while he made use of the opportunity to divest the man of his cabin as punishment for his recent derogatory comments.

  As soon as the seamen had left the quarters, Xandor and Sumar exited Skrim’s cabin, locking it behind them; they ducked across the landing to a small room, using the key to gain entry. It was some kind of storeroom, half-full of wooden chests and gear, including a small pile of hammocks. Having no porthole, it was airless and oppressive, but at least it would only be for a couple of days. Little effort was needed to move everything to one side and set up two hammocks for sleeping; the two largest storage chests, shoved against one wall could be used as seats. Curious as to the contents, Sumar opened the one without a padlock. It was half-full of maps with the ship’s journal and official cargo inventory on top. The second box, which they had noticed was much heavier when they dragged it across the space, had a large brass padlock; by the strong fumes of rye spirits coming from it, one could guess this was Skrim’s personal cache of grog for long voyages. Xandor and Sumar exchanged a look of mutual disgust, before sitting on the chests to wait for Skrim to return.

  A few minutes later, they heard footsteps stomping along the hall to the cabin next door; banging and scuffling accompanied a continuous stream of muttered curses, most of which neither of the Gaian warriors had ever heard, though it was obvious by the first mate’s angry tone that the words were profane. He was most put out by the loss of his cabin to Skrim’s passengers; it stripped him of comfort and status. They would not find a friend in the first-mate.

  Having gathered his gear, the mate left his cabin in the focsle quarters to stow his things on deck where he would be sleeping with the crew in much less comfortable conditions. He complained under his breath all the way, only pausing his muttered litany for a moment of false deference as he passed Skrim, who was returning as promised with some breakfast for his guests.

  At Skrim’s knock, Xandor let him in and accepted the tray of simple fare, hastily gathered from the galley after Skrim had explained the presence of passengers aboard the Porpoise. Although one or two of the crew were puzzled as to why they hadn’t seen anyone come aboard, they could easily have blamed their own drunkenness or the fog, while all the others could not have cared less.

  Apologising for the simple meal, Skrim promised Xandor that he had organised a much better offering. That repast was to be specially prepared by the cook for his paying guests and brought to them by the ship’s boy in an hour’s time. The Gaians, used to a spartan diet, considered the trencher of fresh bread and warm honeyed mead appetising enough, far more than a snack; Xandor put it aside to be shared shortly. The food sat untouched while they attended to a more important matter – moving Serafina safely to the first mate’s cabin.

  Still under-the-weather from his overindulgence and premature awakening, Skrim was eager to get the woman out of his bed so he could get back to sleeping it off for a few hours. He accompanied Xandor back to the cabin, regained possession of the key and gratefully crawled into his cot, as soon as Xandor scooped Serafina up to remove her to the new quarters.

  After depositing his ‘sickly’ friend on the straw mattress of the firstmate’s cabin, Xandor left to fetch Sumar and the food. He came upon his friend, pois
ed tray in hand, about to exit the room. He smiled, letting him past and locked the storeroom to safeguard their hidden weapons. They had decided to walk about the ship unarmed, so as not to arouse undue suspicion. Despite the application of drops to dull their eyes and hoods to hide most of their hair, their native dress might be foreign to these seamen, even well-travelled as they were.

  Turning on his heels, Xandor preceded his friend to the cabin; he knocked quietly, unlocking the door with an odd feeling of anticipation in his gut, puzzled since he had left only moments ago. Once through the door he stopped abruptly. Serafina sat on the mattress with an expectant smile on her face. She had abandoned her disguise, discarding the heavy cloak in the oppressive air of the cabin – an absolute vision of loveliness to Xandor as he stared from the doorway, drinking in her natural beauty like a parched man at an oasis.

  With a luminosity at odds with the drab appointments of the cabin, she sat, head bowed shyly; her small graceful hands rested on her lap. Her slender form was sheathed in the sensual, satin gown which was only remotely suitable for travelling; now unbound, her silver locks flowed around her shoulders, radiant with a life of their own. Xandor thought how everything about this young woman was at odds with everything he so far knew about life; contrary to his earlier personal oath, he found himself willing her to look up, meet his searching gaze and gift him with that unique and forbidden warmth.

  As if she read his thoughts, she looked up, her eyes regaining their bright golden fire, and he revelled in the magnetic warmth which suffused not only his body but tantalised his mind with promise of ethereal flight. He was surprised by this new aspect of mutual attraction, wishing he had paid more attention to his mother and his tutors when they had mentioned the elusive Link. Making a brief mental note to ask Sumar or Churian about it, he intended enjoy whatever it was. Her expression was uncertain, questioning. This time there was no dubious intent. Nevertheless, it was an inescapable truth that even without trying, she affected him on a deep level. A level that could be either wonderful. . . or dangerous.

  But then, he’d always enjoyed danger.. . . .

  Startled from his trance, as Sumar deliberately bumped him with the tray, Xandor shook off a frisson of guilt for leaving the other man standing in the hall holding the food while he ogled. Chagrined, he jumped aside to allow Sumar past, not missing his friend’s knowing smirk as their eyes met, and quietly took a seat, studiously examining the food in front of him.

  Kindly diffusing the awkward moment, Sumar gestured to the food. “Come, let’s eat!” He pushed the tray towards Serafina first. She picked up the small loaf and tore off a chunk, passing it back to Sumar who did likewise, giving the rest to Xandor with an encouraging smile. The three companions ate their panna quickly, washing it down with lukewarm mead, feeling ready for the new day at sea.

  Immediately after breakfast and more herbal drops to their eyes, the men left Serafina safe in the cabin, locking it from the outside to take a brief look around on deck. Xandor had promised Serafina that before the day was over, she could assume her disguise and he would carry her outside for some fresh air.

  Hooded and cloaked, the Gaians, grateful to be out of the stuffy cabin, took a turn of the main deck, passing several crew members who paid them no heed and kept their heads down. The sailors knew it was not their place to have an opinion, much less interact with paying passengers. This was not the case when the friends encountered the first-mate at the helm; he glared at them, openly hostile. They came to silent agreement – this one was surly and definitely not to be trusted. Apart from the mate’s earlier annoyance, Sumar sensed a darker mood from the man, concerning the skipper, even before he had clapped eyes on him at the wheel this morning. They would have to watch him closely.

  The voyage started out very well. The ship was at full sail and the fog had cleared to spring sunshine. The two friends took a few breaths of sea air at the rail as they surveyed the crystal blue expanse stretching out before them. Behind them, the Isle of Angels and its villains had disappeared from sight. Nothing followed them, except the white foamy wake of the vessel. It appeared no one had yet missed Serafina and taken up pursuit. The fresh southerly bore the vessel on its course to Siva. But with this new development, knowing they had an enemy in the first mate, Sumar had a feeling it would be far from plain sailing for the next few days.

  CHAPTER 17

  New Wisdom

  Zenth woke with a start as a long hairy thing crawled across his face. Instantly, the fine hairs tickled his nose, threatening to make him sneeze. His first reaction as a warrior was to roll to one side and draw sword. He was on his feet in a heartbeat, but looking down from his defensive position at the ‘assailant’, he quickly recognised the small form of one of the Morvian children who had perhaps become restless and disoriented in the night and snuggled up to him by mistake, instead of its mother.

  Sheathing his sword with a sigh of relief, he felt grateful for the swift ability to assess the situation before reacting violently. It had saved him from running the child through. He crouched down and gently scooped up the still-sleeping youngster, quickly crossing the several paces to where the rest of the family lay huddled together, fast asleep.

  With utmost care, he deposited the child next to its mother; he was easing his arm out from under the small thin body so as not to disturb anyone, when the female’s big black eyes flew wide open and stared directly at him. At first apprehensive, then deeply grateful, the starkly expressive and hypnotic gaze held him motionless in its thrall. Her hand grasped his arm.

  For a brief moment, Zenth’s mind felt open as never before, given a glimpse of the absolute and beautiful oneness of everything, stretching beyond the Known World – all bound by Existence. The female blinked and the vision was gone, but the feeling resonated deep within him, inhabiting his consciousness like a welcome friend. For the first time, he experienced a degree of clarity never before achieved in his many attempts at meditation and he realised that the female creature had been responsible for it; possessed of a high degree of projective skill, she was wise and kind enough to gift him with just a glimpse, careful not to overwhelm him. He marvelled at the memory picture, so eloquently imprinted in his mind, and with it came another revelation. Gaians are not the only ones with percipient powers.

  Smiling his gratitude for the lofty insight which had previously hovered just out of his meditative reach, he was answered by an obsidian blink of acknowledgement. He returned to his position by the dying campfire, leaving the Morvian mother and the others to sleep for a while longer. He felt mightily inspired to spend the next valuable hour until dawn, in contemplation, absorbing that moment of pure communication which he had just experienced with a strange and unique individual.

  Zenth sat down cross-legged, staring into the low flames, as he reflected on his new knowledge. It was obvious that their quest had taken an interesting turn. He and his fellow warriors had already unanimously decided to help the Morvian refugees, come what may. Compassion could not be limited to their own race. That had never been the case anyway.

  In due course, great benefit could come from association with these people. He wasn’t sure how many of them had the percipient gift, or indeed if they possessed other forms of magic, but he could see how individuals such as the female could make wonderful mentors to struggling students like himself. Given the chance, they may even be able to ease their own acceptance into Baram society by influencing the understanding of the backward human population. Communicators like this would be invaluable to help the spread of the true ideals of the Alliance, in any land. Even he could see that!

  Zenth’s dawning enlightenment was accompanied by the first rays of the sun on his face, as they angled sharply up along the gorge from the east. His fellow Gaians had begun moving about the camp, dousing the fire and rousing the sleeping family. Churian was busy changing the bandage on Melu’s stump. Zenth hurried off into the rocks to answer the call of nature, returning to find everyone sitting in
a loose circle in prayerful silence. He quietly took his place, catching Churian’s eyes with a questioning glance. Churian nodded, having noted the transfer of energy in the earlier exchange.

  The elder cleared his throat to explain. “Most Morvians have the gift of Perception.” He glanced at Melu and his family and smiled. “Yesterday the channel was blocked by fear, so I had to use spoken Morvian to console our injured friend until he trusted me. Now we can communicate perfectly. We do not need language any more – we are friends. When they aren’t afraid, though they cannot speak it, they can understand any spoken language – translated by thought. It is quite wonderful!”

  Zenth thought how true that was as he regarded their new friends; at the same time he noticed how the children sat strangely subdued and silent, not fidgety and boisterous as most children. Their long thin hairy arms were wrapped tight around their small bodies and their huge black eyes darted backwards and forwards as they watched first one then the other of the Gaian warriors. They had been through much hardship and trauma, had seen and experienced far more horrible things than any child should. Was it any wonder that they were so insecure? He had a feeling that it might be a long time until these particular children felt at home . . anywhere. But he and his comrades were going to give them a chance, by finding them a home in Baram under Lord Luminor’s protection, challenging as that might be.

  They all knew it would be a slow trip across the uninhabited southern desert to the isolated beach where they were to meet the others. Short spells of flight carrying passengers could be achieved without too much fuss. When it came to dealing with people of many kinds after that. . . it could be a different matter entirely.

  CHAPTER 18

  Angels and Angry Men