Vale of Tears
By PD McClafferty
Copyright © 2014 PD McClafferty
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Acknowledgements:
Many people helped me reach this point with Vale of Tears. Of course, my first thanks goes to my wife Rosemarie, who put up with an absentee husband, ensconced in front of his computer for months on end. As my first Beta Reader, she also gets another vote of thanks for her careful editing. I’ve almost gotten used to her exclaiming, ‘How did you ever think of THAT?’ How the hell do I know? I’m only the writer. Next I’d like to thank Shirley LeBoeuf, my second Beta Reader. Shirley has stood by my books, no matter how far afield they have traveled and given me sound, level-headed advice. Thank you Shirley. Since this book is a YA story, it is only fitting that I have a Beta Reader from that particular age group. I’d like to thank Kayla Carew for the time and effort she put in, and the valuable insight she has given me on the story. Way to go Kayla! Last and certainly not least, I’d like to thank my Editor, Alice Osborn. Alice has been a steadfast supporter and superlative editor, even when things looked bleakest. It’s amazing how that one little phrase, “I have faith in you.” can brighten your entire day. In my case it brightened the whole month.
The last big question I have is: can I get these same people together to help me with the next book? Of course there’ll be a next book...
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 1
It was the smell that woke her; the sour smell of her own vomit. Jerking her head away in revulsion, she was rewarded with a stab of pain, sharp and demanding, encompassing what felt like her entire head. This time, however, she held on and managed to slowly claw her way back to full awareness. Blinking like some newly awakened owl, she cautiously raised her head, ignoring the wave of nausea that wracked her stomach.
Flickering light came from infrequent torches set in sconces high on the dark stone walls. Occasionally one would hiss as a drop of moisture from the ceiling fell on the guttering flame. In a far recess of the opposite wall, high up and near the ceiling, stood a small, heavily barred window, but the shadowed light it dropped into the dismal room below did little to brighten the harsh surroundings. She pushed herself slowly against the nearest wall of the small barred cell and into a slumped sitting position. The room swam, and her stomach lurched again. Swallowing, she tasted the sharp copper tang of her own blood.
A thin burbling wheeze from the adjacent cell drew her attention away from her own misery. In a similar position, the old man sat half-slumped against the stone wall, each gurgling breath sounding as if it might be his last. His sunken eyes were shut, mere dark depressions on the gaunt face and his thin bony arm, all sallow skin and yellowed cracked nails lay between the bars, almost touching her leg. He looked—she thought with a shudder that made her head hurt—and smelled like a breathing corpse.
“Will ye look at that, Raik. The little fishie they caught is all awake now.” Her emerald eyes swung slowly to center on a burly unshaven guard, wearing chipped and mismatched armor. His dark eyes, set in an olive-skinned face were devoid of any warmth. “I like em young an squirmin’ a bit when I takes em. C’mere, boy.” He reached a dirty arm between the bars and made a grab for her arm. She jerked away violently, slumping unconscious as the stabbing pain in her head wiped everything else away.
~~~
Jineva had been standing at the stern of the massive trireme, just behind the long tiller, luxuriating in the feel of the cool wind blowing through her long dark hair. The rhythmic surge from the three banks of oars gave the journey a rocking, hypnotic feel while a deep booming drum set the pace of the strokes. Somewhere overhead a gull screeched and the wind smelled of salt spray. A line of dark clouds sitting over a hazy patch of fog was the mar on a horizon graced by the splendor of the sparkling rings of the planet Thalassia. Waves caught the reflected light from the rings, sometimes turning the entire surface of the vast ocean into a coruscating sea of light. Bringing up a small hand, she shaded her eyes from the fierce sun as she looked astern, toward the three other galleys escorting them.
“Keep yer eyes on yer line, Jineva.” Uncle Diego’s gruff voice sounded like a bear, but he was really the gentlest man in the world—to her at least. She brought her hand down and turned, smiling.
“You’re always pestering me.” Her fourteen-year-old voice was deep for a girl of her young years, hinting at a polished contralto when she was older. The weathered seaman at her side just gave her a knowing grin.
“Yer got a fish on yer line, an yell loose him fer sure if’n yer not careful.” He pointed a weathered hand at her jerking line.
“What!” Jineva’s eyes went wide as she jumped for her line and began reeling frantically. “I never saw it. I never...”
“Ye weren’t lookin’.” Diego Giani shook a head covered with shoulder length gray hair, tied off at the nape of the neck as sailors did and smiled, showing flat yellowed teeth. His nose, slightly askew, had been broken at one time.
A heavyset man in his mid-fifties, “Uncle” Diego had worked for her father for years as a guard, military instructor and finally as a bodyguard and tutor to young Prince Michan and Princess Jineva. More often than not, Michan would wander off, interested in other things while Jineva stayed and absorbed all that the burly, gruff voiced man could teach her. When she beat not only her brother, but her father also, at hand-to-hand combat, Michan began to pay closer attention. Of course by then it was much too late. The princess found learning to read and write, along with the scanty history of the Aztlán Archipelago much less interesting than combat or survival skill, but she persevered through sheer stubbornness. She was a natural at mathematics.
“Reel it in slowly, girl.” Diego was watching her critically. The silver head of the fish had just broken the surface and Diego was reaching for the long fish gaff when the lookout shouted.
“Deck! Ships astern engaging our escorts!”
Diego looked up at the girl, his hard face devoid of expression. “No time fer fishing now. Cut that there line and get below. Quick now.”
“But...” She looked down on the fat fish struggling at the side of the boat, and regretfully cut the line. On the horizon astern a thin column of dark smoke was rising from one of the escorts.
“What is it, Jini?” Michan looked up from the pillowed nest he’d made on his wide lavish bed. At his side sat an adventure book, open to garishly drawn pictures that often made Jineva laugh. She wasn’t laughing now, however.
“Somebody is attacking our escort, Michan.” Up on the long deck they could hear orders being shouted, the crack of sails being unfurled and the increased tempo of the drum. Under their feet the deck surged forward. “I think that Father is trying to run away.”
“Run away?” Warring emotions of relief and disappointment fought on her brother’s face. Although two years
her elder, he often acted two years her junior, most often deferring to her judgment. “Why?” His brown eyes were bright and his dark blond hair disheveled.
Jineva looked out of their small porthole, trying in vain to see astern. “Probably because of us, dummy. Father wants to keep you and me and mother safe.”
“Oh...” The boy’s face looked disappointed and a blush crept up his smooth olive skinned cheeks. “I...” The deck lurched suddenly, canting to the right and throwing Michan out of bed. He landed on the hard deck with a little squeak of surprise. Jineva held on to the porthole as the ship swayed under her. There were shouts on deck now, and the clash of weapons being readied.
“Get dressed you two, in pants and heavy shirts.” Standing in the doorway, the thick-shouldered form of Diego clutched a massive crystalline sword in his big hand. His face was grim. Jineva knew that the fantastically expensive crystal sword, a gift from her father to Diego, would never chip or break, and would always remain razor sharp. She had never known her uncle to draw the blade that now stood naked in his hand, glinting blue with a seemingly internal fire.
“What’s happening?” Jineva asked slowly, as she reached for her dresser of clothes. “Uncle” Diego had seen her unclothed since she was a baby, so changing in front of him was of no more concern than changing in front of her mother or father. She unbuttoned her blue shift, dropping it to the floor.
“They were real smart, whoever is attacking us. Smaller boats attacked our escort, drawing them away from us, and then their larger quadrireme slid from a fog bank and pounced on us. They ain’t flying any flag I could see. Could be pirates, or somebody else.”
“Quadrireme?” Jineva frowned.
“Four rows of oars on each side compared to our three rows. Bigger. Faster and better armed.” Diego said curtly. He looked at Jineva and sighed. “Come here, girl.” His voice became gentle, almost regretful. “Your hair will have to go. Too many people know that the daughter of Vitor Barillo has long black hair.”
“My hair?” Her hands clutched at the cascade of shining black hair that hung to the small of her back, but now lay draped across her left shoulder. It was her sole vanity, and she spent hours brushing it every night. Tears welled up in her eyes. “Don’t cut my hair, Uncle Diego. Please...”
The glinting steel knife was already in his hand. “Be strong, girl. I’d rather see you bald and alive, then with a full head of hair and floating face down in the ocean with an arrow in your hide. Your hair will grow back.” She flinched when he took her hair in his hand, and the knife-stroke was swift and sure. Diego dropped the hair on the floor, where it lay like a pool of soft black shadow, and slid his knife back in its sheath. Although not as expensive as crystal, the metal in the knife, all metal for that matter, was incredibly rare and Jineva doubted that anyone else on the boat, save her father, had one its equal. “Grab a few coins and let’s go. We don’t have long.” Jineva turned to her dresser and winced as she saw her reflection in the small mirror sitting there. The dark hair that had hung to her waist now stopped raggedly just above her collar. She thought that she could be easily mistaken for a boy now, as skinny as she was, and dressed in men’s clothes.
The main deck was in chaos. Half-clad sailors ran every which way, clutching swords and axes, and the air was filled with the sour reek of sweat and fear. Dark arrows stood out of deck and masts. Pools of sticky blood attested to the accuracy of the enemy archers. Brother and sister turned to the stern, and the scene struck Jineva speechless: the grim faced seaman at the tiller, jaw set, face ashen. Her father bending over a figure lying on the deck, the red of her mother’s blood staining her white dress and pooling next to her body, black arrow standing erect in her chest. The ship’s doctor, kneeling next to the fallen woman, looking up at her father and slowly shaking his head. Her father’s stricken look. The sight pierced Jineva’s heart, and she felt her lip quiver. Livia Barillo, the Queen, had always been coldly formal to her daughter Jineva, doting instead on Michan, the male heir to the throne. Now she lay dying on the bloody deck, and Jineva stood, frozen.
“Here are the children, Your Majesty.” Diego’s voice was neutral, and he carefully avoided looking at the woman on the deck. But his eyes, however, Jineva noticed through her own tears, were full and a single tear ran down his weathered cheek. Michan’s cold hand, holding hers in a fierce grip, was shaking.
Vitor Barillo took a deep breath and looked up. “Good.” His gaze fixed Michan. “This is very important, Michan. I am going to put you and Jineva into a lifeboat.” He glanced pointedly at the distant black strip that meant land was near. “You will take care of your sister and you will both row for shore. That’s Isla del Diablo over there.” He took a small leather pouch and put it into his son’s hands. “Take this. This is the most dangerous of the seven islands, so when you arrive on shore don’t reveal who you are. Just buy passage to Isla Rivero and get to Castle Barillo. You should be safe there. Uncle Carlos and Aunt Amanda will take care of you.”
“But what will you do, Father?” Michan’s eyes were wide, uncomprehending.
“As soon as you are clear I will turn and engage the quadrireme. We should be able to sink her, or cause enough damage for you both to get away.” He hugged the two fiercely. “Go with the gods, my children.”
“Uncle Diego?” Jineva asked hesitantly, she couldn’t look at her father.
“Niña Chiquita.” Diego said gently, touching her cheek. “My place is at your father’s side. Remember what I taught you.”
The sky was gray, heavy with clouds when Michan and Jineva stopped to watch the smaller trireme engage the larger ship. Her father’s plan was simple; he rammed the quadrireme amidships with the long ramming prow of the trireme. Flames were licking at both ships when the children finally began rowing again. Michan was crying softly, but Jineva was biting her lower lip, studying a sky that was quickly turning black with storm clouds. The sea was rising in uncomfortably large swells, and the smell of burned wood was strong in the air.
“I think we’d better row faster, Michan.” Lightning flashed in the distance, and thunder grumbled a moment later. The shore was a little closer, but not much. “As fast as you can, Michan.” The oars slashed the water and the boat crawled a bit faster. Jineva found that when she rowed she didn’t have to think, didn’t have to remember her mother lying on the deck, or her father’s face as he watched them row away. If she just could keep rowing forever...
They had covered half the distance to the shore when a monstrous wave capsized their small boat. More lightning flashed and the wind tore the tops off wave-mountains as the children clung to the overturned bottom of the pitching boat. The crashing surf was a mile distant when Michan fixed on Jineva, with clear and strangely untroubled eyes.
“Jinni, I...” She tried to grab for her brother, but his hand slid down the side of the boat and he was gone under the cold dark water. A short time later the crashing waves pounded her onto the shore, and she fell into darkness.
~~~
Jineva thrashed. The waters were so very cold, and a hand seemed to be pulling her down, to join the dead. It might have been Michan, or her father. The faces kept changing. Her leg jerked and she awoke at the same time, head pounding so badly she wanted to scream. Frowning, she glanced down. The old man from the next cell had his hand wrapped around her ankle. She jerked her leg again but still the hand remained attached to her ankle, holding on with impossible strength. There was a biting pain where the old man gripped her, and Jineva took a deep breath in preparation for a final tremendous pull. The hand fell away on its own. Where the palm of the old man’s hand had rested was a small puncture in her skin, still oozing a thin trickle of blood. The old man’s hand lay where it had fallen, limp and half curled like a yellowed claw. She wiped the blood on her leg with a hesitant finger and discovered that she was shaking uncontrollably.
“Well now.” The hard-eyed guard was leering at her. “Still alive, are ye?” His hands began to unbutton his pant
s. “That’s real good.”
The sound began as a high pitched scream, slowly dropping in tone and intensity. Her vision blurred, cleared and blurred again. The skin on her entire body burned for a moment, and then felt frozen. Breath caught in her throat as her limbs twitched uncontrollably and more oddly, she tasted lemon. As soon as the strange sensations began they ended.
Swallowing her fear for the moment, Jineva frowned.
Jineva struggled to her feet, shaking and twitching. The pain in her head was excruciating, but she ignored it. She gurgled and coughed, and the guard stopped unbuttoning his pants.
“You sick in there?”
Jineva coughed, letting bloody spittle run down her chin. “Not sick.” She mumbled between gasps, holding out her arms to the guard. “Kiss me, Mommy.” She coughed again, and spat a bloody wad onto the floor of the cell. The guard backed up, scared.
Vale of Tears: A Thalassia novel Page 1