by Susi Wright
A second tray full of exotic delicacies graced the table in Serafina’s cabin. When the friends entered, Sumar’s eyes widened in wonder at an array of foods he had never even seen before, let alone tasted. Glancing at Xandor, he noted his friend was nowhere near as impressed. Having spent recent months in the Capital as a hero-come-celebrity, he had no doubt experienced something of the excesses of the human culture. Xandor might have eaten even better fare, if that could be imagined. Anyway, he certainly showed no interest in the tray of food. He gaped at the girl.
Xandor was once again entranced by Serafina’s all-too-eager gaze. Sumar decided to ignore it and allow himself a small indulgence, putting aside his usual altruistic nature to give his taste buds a novel treat by sampling every one of the foods on offer. Why not enjoy a few moments of this relatively comfortable experience, sailing across the Southern Sea aboard a ship for the first time in his life? The last time he had made this journey, he had been tossed around in the throes of a terrifying hurricane, far too powerful to be controlled. He liked this human invention to cross the open sea, the ship; he imagined, even in a storm, it would be preferable to cloak-flying.
Xandor felt the brief sting of his friend’s silent censure, dropping his eyes guiltily to help himself to some pekunis berries. Yet again, he had found himself struggling with a powerful attraction to this young woman, despite knowing he was betrothed to another. He was bound by his promise to his father to find and marry Saria – his honour demanded it. So conflicted, he avoided uncomfortable eye contact with either of his companions for the time being. Looking at Sumar made him painfully aware of his precarious self-control and locking eyes with Serafina. . .well, that just made him want to lose control completely. Eating was a welcome distraction.
Serafina paid little attention to the food, though she nibbled distractedly on something sweet, still absorbing the fact that she was finally free of ‘Mister’ and Madame Cerise. An angel had actually flown her away from a life she hated and sat before her in the flesh. Though she had only met him yesterday, she felt as if she had known him all her life. Filled with awe and gratitude, she studied Xandor from under her lashes. Her saviour sat with his eyes downcast, apparently focussing on his food. Those eyes, she already knew, were the same vivid silver-gold mix she had so often seen in her dreams. The eyes of her angel. In fact he was, down to the last detail, one and the same being. His silver-blonde hair was another feature, so like hers; according to Xandor, their physical appearance, along with their unusual talents, proved they were of the same race. They were Gaian and she was no longer alone! Her dream really had come true. Everything for her now seemed to revolve around him. He was honourable, even resisting his baser urges to rescue her. Her shame resurfaced abruptly and she wondered if one such as he, an angel, would consider her ‘fallen’. She had no religion, knew of no deities. Is it allowed to worship an angel? She was prepared to follow him to the ends of the Known World and beyond – if there was a ‘beyond’ – to seek his forgiveness. And what did all this mean for her future?
These few minutes of companionable silence gave each of them time to reflect in their own way. Serafina needed to gain some equilibrium after the life-changing rescue; Xandor was aware he must regain his focus to be able to begin Serafina’s education and Sumar desired a few moments of distraction from an insidious sense of danger which had begun to dog him. It was something he had so far kept to himself, but it would soon need attention.
Xandor began the conversation, careful to avoid meeting Serafina’s eyes which he had felt on him the entire time. He knew she had many questions and it was his responsibility to answer them.
“Ask,” he said kindly, pushing his chair slightly back from the table.
Surprised and deeply moved at how, coming from Xandor, one simple word could embody so much encouragement, Serafina held back sudden tears, blurting thoughts that had haunted her even more so in these last few hours. “I feel. . . fallen. I know now that I have magic. . .but it’s evil! I never wanted it, I hate it! And I fear I will go mad. . . if you do not take it from me. . . right now!” She had complete faith that he, as an angel, could do such a thing.
Xandor shook his head slowly, braving an apologetic glance in her direction. He decided to create some distance by using a platonic Gaian address. “Dear Sister. . .even if it were allowed, I do not have that power. Neither does Sumar.”
At her heavy sigh, he pressed on. “Never think you are fallen! Your talent is very strong and unique, but it’s not evil, just. . misused. All Gaian powers can be used for good or bad. Control over the Elements and emotions can be dangerous magic. That is why we must have education. For most of us – ” he gave a self-deprecating smile, “That is a lifelong struggle. For others – ” he glanced with a friendly grin at Sumar, “It is much easier! You must simply learn how to use yours with wisdom. When we arrive in Siva, you will be placed in the care of Sumar’s aunt, Nerisse, who will begin your instruction.” He paused giving Serafina time to process his advice. And to order his own thoughts.
All she could think of, despite being grateful, was the confronting idea of going into the care of someone unknown, when she was certain she belonged with him. Does that mean he will be leaving me behind? The thought horrified her.
Another dozen heartbeats of contemplation brought Xandor to some enlightenment which amazed even himself. He had personally felt a mere touch of this woman’s fiery power and was well aware it went far beyond the norm. Serafina would need an exceptional tutor, an Elite. He glanced at Sumar, who had sensed his friend’s new clarity and gave an admiring nod of assent. Xandor felt quite proud of himself. “I believe that you, dear Sister, were meant to be. . .a healer of the highest order!”
Silence followed, given the weight of Xandor’s announcement. A gifted healer was rare. It required sensitive training by one even more capable; possession of that talent carried great responsibility. Sumar had an inkling of it, but again, wisely deferred the full enlightenment and the delivery of it to Xandor. He was proud how far the younger warrior had come in such a short time, but the depth of his friend’s attraction to Serafina was a real concern. He himself hadn’t been able to resist young love. He wasn’t sure if he had the wisdom to deal with it.
Xandor beamed with his perceptive accomplishment. Yet again, he couldn’t help wondering if his increased ability had come from her. Every new development in this quest seemed not to answer, but provoke, even more questions.
Serafina reeled with elation at this news. It fit like the last piece of a puzzle, lost for many years, but now found. The responsibility it might represent paled in comparison to finally knowing her true and noble purpose. She couldn’t wait to start her training!
Their reflections came to an abrupt end when Sumar stood. His facial expression was carefully neutral but his eyes summoned Xandor to follow. They went without hurrying so as not to alarm Serafina, leaving her with a promise to return soon and the instruction to be ready, dressed in her disguise for a turn on deck.
With Serafina locked safely in her cabin, the two made haste to the storeroom. Once inside, Sumar strapped on his sword belt and Xandor followed suit, even as he whispered urgently, “I know there is something amiss, but what – ” There was a sudden outburst of shouting and commotion on deck.
“I think something has happened to Skrim – we’re in danger!” Sumar turned, heading for the door; Xandor grabbed his bow and arrows, coming up immediately behind him. Someone ran into the quarterdeck and stopped outside their room. Sumar had his hand on the door, about to unlock it, but was half a second too late. There was a thump as it was heavily barred from the outside.
Stunned that he had not reacted more quickly, Sumar stared at his comrade in disbelief for a moment, then raised his fist and struck the ironwood door in powerless frustration. It hardly made an impression. When he turned back to Xandor, gritting his teeth at the pain in his hand, his eyes held an apology. I am supposed to be the sentient one. I should have seen
it sooner!
Xandor shook his head in denial, resting a sympathetic hand on Sumar’s shoulder. He had personally suffered that same frustration more times than he cared to remember.
Ironwood was the hardest timber in the Known World, surpassing even the best Semite steel of a Gaian warrior’s sword. The blades used to mill it had to be dipped in molten agronite, a very rare and expensive element. Slabs of the timber, which rarely splintered and never burned, were used in fortress gates and prisons. Pirates often invested in an impenetrable storeroom such as this aboard ship to keep stolen gold and gems. The Blue Porpoise had previously been a reiving vessel and this was one such strongroom. With no porthole, there was no other way to escape.
There was mutiny and they were prisoners.
CHAPTER 19
The Storm
The two captives stood tense and motionless weighing up their options. Neither had the power to break the door. Even Xandor, with his talent for moving earth, relied on loose dust between granite boulders to cause a landslide. However, Wind and Water had been useful allies many times before and were available now in abundance. Both warriors were adept at control of these elements; these prison walls, even an ironwood door, presented no barrier to the use of such magic.
They had little time. At this moment, the ship heaved as it was brought about, changing course to sail due east. Skrim had probably been murdered in his sleep. Since no sound had come from his cabin only metres away, they assumed someone had slit his throat. Now, scuffling and loud voices outside in the gangway told of the removal of poor Skrim’s lifeless body, shortly followed by a splash as the mutineers heaved it overboard and a loud cheer by those glad to see him gone. Sumar made the sign of the Ancestors, customary for any departed soul, before turning his focus to the matter at hand – helping Xandor whip up a southerly gale to force the ship back on its course to Siva.
It was dangerous for everyone. They would have to be careful to be well tuned in to intuition, because the experienced crew would be fighting to stay on the chosen course east. At least, it would keep all hands busy on deck for a while. They hoped the crew were good enough seamen to keep the vessel upright. It would be a disaster if the ship went down. The Wind, no less than the other elements of Nature, could be friend or foe, as well Sumar knew. A high degree of focus was needed to maintain control. Both men had learned, from painful experience in their training, that one must be very careful how much magic to throw at something. Without a doubt, the next few hours would be very uncomfortable for all aboard.
From the minute they had been trapped, Xandor had been worrying about Serafina, alone in the other cabin. She was safely locked inside for the time being and he had the key, but it wouldn’t be long before some lustful low-life broke in, because that door wasn’t ironwood and ailing or not, she was a woman.
Pausing in his focus on the wind, Sumar sensed his friend’s anxiety. He too was concerned but when he reached out mentally to check on Serafina, he detected no fear. She seemed aware, but calm and resolute. Determined. He was impressed. “I am surprised. I had thought she would be more afraid. She should be sensing the danger by now. She must be stronger than we thought!” It was good to know. At least she was safe in the cabin for now, and between the two of them they intended to keep the crew mighty busy – for the remainder of the voyage if necessary!
“Well I hope she is brave enough for what comes next!” exclaimed Xandor as he turned his full attention to join Sumar in generating a storm of grave proportions.
As the southerly crosswind struck up with a vengeance, straining the sails, the ship rolled and bucked; the crew were hurled into action as they fought to keep control of the rigging and stay their easterly course. The shouted orders of the mutinous first mate could barely be heard above the whistling wind and flapping sails. The hull creaked and groaned as the old vessel, which had definitely seen better days, rode the building waves.
There was rising panic among the crew who had weathered many a storm but hadn’t seen this one coming, nor the like of it; with wildly unpredictable gusts, it behaved like no normal gale. It seemed to counter every single tack they attempted. The superstitious ones feared sea-demons, of which they had heard countless tales. Despite every effort to sail east, the relentless thrust of the wind forced them north. Even to these seasoned sailors, it was proving impossible to control the course. The Southern Sea was notorious for sudden violent hurricanes. It took all their skill just to keep the Porpoise upright, as she listed heavily to port and lea and back again. There was no choice but to give in to the dictates of the storm. Several times, freak waves lashed the deck, washing at least three of the mutineers overboard in quick succession and they were lost in the swirling sea. That was Xandor’s touch.
Orchestrating the mayhem from the confines of the storeroom, Sumar and Xandor were determined for their plan to succeed. By silent agreement, they had abandoned all moral obligation to preserve the life of anyone associated with Skrim’s murder. Desperate times needed desperate measures. The first priority was to keep the direction due north, and the lusty seamen away from Serafina. Despite being tossed around bodily from wall to wall in the small space, the friends were not deterred, throwing just enough magic into the wind and water to keep the crew guessing. . . and afraid.
The two exchanged a conspiratorial grin; at this point they still retained control over the apt-to-be-volatile Wind, despite the fact that Sumar had only just regained his feet from a backward somersault and Xandor was sitting up, after being thrown flat on his back with the last roll of the ship. Luckily, their warrior reflexes and balance had already saved them from injury several times and their focus remained uninterrupted.
Sumar, adept at using more than one faculty at a time, also had the presence of mind to spare a thought for Serafina. He hoped she had enough sense to use the storage closet in her cabin as a refuge. Another brief scan for her state of mind detected nothing past the jumble of terrified emotions that prevailed among the crew, so all he could do was hope that the Ancestors would assist in keeping her safe.
At Gaian bidding, the storm raged on, bearing the vessel precariously northwards; two more crew were plucked from the deck by errant waves, leaving barely enough hands on deck to keep the ship afloat. Sumar had to draw Xandor’s attention to this fact, aware his friend had become a little heady with his own power. There was a tempting abundance of seething water. “My friend, you need to exercise some restraint in order for the ship to reach the mainland in one piece! The smaller of the two masts has already broken in the last few minutes. We are left with very little sail.”
It turned out to be a lucky accident to lose a mast, given the strength of the gale. All remaining hands, most of whom had been forced to lash themselves to the mainmast or ship’s wheel, hadn’t yet had the chance to shorten sail. The crew were hard-pressed to control the remaining rigging and steer the ship at a dangerous speed before the storm. The two perpetrators of this inclement weather had to focus intently to keep the wind under control, as would a rider of an unruly samblar. This particular element, like Fire, often tended to feed off its own energy.
Xandor felt glad for the reminder. He agreed, one should avoid throwing caution to the Wind. He was almost past caring if the entire crew were lost, or if they missed the port of Siva altogether. It was a good idea to come aground on the isolated beach further along the coast, but they needed some crew to keep them afloat as neither he nor Sumar knew how to sail a ship properly. Chagrined, he ceased his tinkering with the waves and returned his sole concentration to the wind.
Estimating they were over halfway to the mainland, the two were in accord. By now, they would be within Churian’s perceptive range. He should have sensed their predicament and be on his way to intercept the vessel. It would be child’s play for their talented Gaian brothers to overpower the mutineers and release them from this cursed ironwood strongroom, though it was something of an embarrassment to have to be rescued. But then. . . even Gaians were not
perfect.
In all the prevailing physical and emotional chaos, they missed the fact that Serafina was at present clinging for her very life to the boarding ladder on the outside of the hull. The storm which they had summoned, and now controlled, threatened to be her undoing.
She had known there was trouble, shortly before the commotion had started. She had clearly heard the orders of the first mate as he took control of the crew and realised it did not bode well for her. Minutes later, she became aware of two opportunistic men with very dubious intent approaching her cabin door and then heard them fumbling with the latch. At that moment, she made a decision in her customarily detached way. She would die first, rather than be here when they broke in. She had no idea whether her magic could be used to actually hurt someone and there was no time to experiment. A prisoner for far too long already, the recent taste of freedom had boosted her courage. She would never again suffer the unwanted attention of any man!
The scoundrels had even tried to force the lock with a crowbar just before the storm broke, but they were harshly summoned to their duties by the new skipper. Soon, she was halfway out of the small porthole and not about to go back. It had been a struggle to get that far, even with her slender frame. Forcing her hips past the rough brass frame caused grazes on both sides and a rip in her gown, all of which which she chose to ignore.
By luck, or by mystical design (since she now was a firm believer in magic), there had been a rope ladder running up the port side of the hull, from waterline to deck, perfectly within reach and by which she hauled herself out of the porthole. She was fine-boned and not particularly strong, but what she lacked in muscle she made up for in determination to hang on as long as possible. At this point she was still unafraid, coolly calculating her next move, which was to get herself on deck and hide.
She soon regretted the decision to leave her thick woollen cloak on the dresser. It had been oppressively warm in the cabin so she had discarded it before she exited the porthole; wearing it, she would not have squeezed through. With the wind whipping up, bringing with it a fine drizzle, she soon began to feel cold. Her first tentative steps of progress up the rope rungs of the ladder to the ship’s rail, many metres above, had abruptly ended when the ship had started to heave and roll violently. She was flung from side to side, losing first one handhold on the rough twine, regaining it, only to lose the other and back again.