Solomon Stone- Survival

by Diana K Potter

  These men were not slavers, but they still knew how to fight. Ships carrying valuable cargo were often set upon by desperate men, whether on shore or at sea. She’d been pleased to find that they had practice staves aboard, which meant that she and Stone could hack at each other to their heart’s content without much risk of real injury.

  He turned to face her as she approached. “Ready?” he asked, already wielding his own wooden blade. The smile he wore was blinding. Briefly, Alexis allowed herself to be dragged into the warmth of it; it felt similar to being pulled out to sea by a great wave. The risk of drowning seemed heightened.

  In answer, she picked up her own wooden sword.

  They began without fanfare. Perhaps most men would have felt strange, having a woman critique their swordplay in front of others, but if she had learned anything about Stone in these past weeks, it was that he was not like most men.

  He was a quick learner, for the most part. He managed to block a good deal of her attacks now and even, very occasionally, landed a hit to her in return.

  “Good,” she said, as he blocked a violent, overhanded strike and twisted away from her follow-through. Her breathing was harder than normal, her muscles tiring quickly. Alexis pushed through, as she always did.

  Stone left himself open on his right side. No matter how many times she hit him with the flat of her blade, he did not correct the mistake. Still it was impressive that after only a few weeks of practice, his list of things to fix was so short.

  They went on until the sun was a bit higher, beating down on the deck of the ship. Her final strike had sent him to the ground, and she pulled him up, wincing only a bit at the strain on her shoulder. Both their heads were wet with sweat and Stone was breathing a touch harder than she was. “You’re improving,” she told him. “I think next time we’ll have to throw a shield into the mix. If you’re to fight with a short sword, it’s a good thing to know.”

  Several of sailors had taken to sparring at the same time, and the sound of wood striking wood still sung around them, bouncing off the water and creating strange echoes.

  “You wouldn’t be up for a bit more, would you?”

  Alexis turned, unsure if the question was aimed toward herself or Stone, and found the quartermaster peering at her. She’d seen little of him in days past and had to search for his name. Luckily, Stone saw the loss on her face and spoke up to save her.

  “You should think twice before challenging her, Ambrus,” Stone said. “My wife is quite the expert.” He seemed to enjoy saying that. It had begun as something of a joke between them, but each time he’d spoken it lately, his voice was warm and full.

  As she turned toward him, Ambrus looked at her assessingly. She considered her options for only a moment; to look too indecisive was to look weak. There were only two reasons she could think of for him to make such a request. The first was that he’d been watching her for some time and held some measure of respect for her. The other option—the much more likely one—was that he wished to teach her a lesson, to show her that women were not meant to fight. Either way, she felt compelled to accept.

  “I think I can handle a second round,” she said. “But don’t expect to be too impressed. My arms are aching for a break.”

  Ambrus waved a hand dismissively. He did not open his mouth clarify as to whether this meant he understood or that he wasn’t expecting much sport to begin with.

  She took a swig from the water-skin that Stone offered her and took a stance across from Ambrus. He did not insist on real swords, for which she was grateful. Her arm had begun to ache fiercely, and she did not think she could handle the weight. She knew as soon as they faced each other that she was likely in far over her head. He held the practice blade like someone familiar with its balance, and his stance was near perfect. Despite this, she felt a rush of excitement as she waited for him to attack.

  Ambrus swung first, telegraphing the move just slightly with the position of his feet. Even with the warning, she barely managed to block the swing. Several more followed in quick succession. She dodged the last one so smoothly that she was able to retaliate, aiming a kick at the man’s thigh that knocked him off balance and surging forward with a swing of her own. Ambrus blocked it smoothly, but only barely moved his weapon to do so in time.

  He wore a grin that she recognized; it mirrored the one on her own face, born from the joy of a challenge, however slight. She must have been exceeding whatever slim expectations he’d had. The fight picked up momentum, the two exchanging a flurry of blows. Blocking him made her shoulder scream. Alexis collected bruises like badges each time she made a small mistake; he pulled most of the blows she did not manage to block at the last second, and Alexis could see now that it was not out of pity. It was merely a precaution to make sure the sturdy wood did not crack bone. She did the same when sparring with Stone.

  The sailors called out insults and encouragements from the sidelines, apparently forgetting that she was a woman in the heat of the contest. She looked for Stone’s face often, as she danced her way through the exchange of swings and kicks. Alexis had no illusions about her abilities. She had been trained by her father, but most of the lessons had been taught long ago, and she’d had little chance to practice them since. Her fight with the quartermaster of the slave ship reminded her of that. Her goal in sparring with Ambrus had merely been to prove herself, and as she sent him sprawling to the deck with a well-timed swipe at his legs, she knew that she had done so. Alexis made the mistake—a novice mistake truly—of relaxing before the fight was finished. As she stepped toward him, the hook of his right foot around her ankle was immediate.

  She landed hard on her sore shoulder, the pain of it stealing her breath and making her eyes water fiercely. She spent a few precious seconds cursing as she tried to regain her composure, which gave Ambrus the window he needed to press his practice blade against the hollow of her throat.

  The men who’d been watching laughed raucously, but it did not sound cruel and Alexis was able to keep the scowl from her face. She released the wooden sword and let it clatter to the deck, hoping it was a satisfactory way to yield. She was afraid that if she spoke, the pain in her voice would be evident.

  Ambrus nodded and dropped his own stave before holding out a hand. She may not have been terribly familiar with the etiquette of sparring, but she knew that to refuse the offer would seem rude. She allowed herself to be pulled upright. Once there, Ambrus steadied her with a hand on her arm.

  “That was excellent,” he said. He turned to the sailors who’d been watching the contest of skill. “We should have such sport more often.” He quickly schooled his face into something more stern and befitting of a leader before tacking on an order for the men to get back to work. “Surely there’s something to be done on this boat.”

  Stone approached her before Ambrus took his leave, his face torn between concern and admiration. “Okay?” he asked. It appeared that concern had won for the moment.

  Ambrus followed suit. “You are not injured?”

  Quickly, she shook her head. “Just bruises,” she said. “My trick shoulder’s sore. You’re very good.”

  “I was a soldier,” Ambrus said. “Many years ago. Where did you learn?”

  “My father taught me,” Alexis said. “He had no boys to school, and I was willing to learn. Before my husband and I became stranded in Persia, I’d had little cause to use it.”

  “You’re good,” he went on. “But it’s plain that you’re inexperienced. The problem is, you can’t plan more than two moves ahead.”

  Part of her rankled at the criticism, but she as she heard the words, she knew them to be true. Alexis managed a tight nod. “We’ve days left before we dock,” he added. “If your shoulder’s up to it, I could go another round on the morrow.”

  When Ambrus took his leave and she placed her attention fully on Stone once more, she was almost expecting him to look disgruntled. Whatever they had was still new and growing; this was the first time anoth
er man had spent time with her in his presence. To her shock and growing delight, he looked pleased. More than pleased. His eyes were warm and wanting. His desire was plain to see for anyone who bothered to look, and she felt her own stirring in response.

  They didn’t have a chance to break away to the privacy of their cabin until the dinner bell rang, at which point they both seemed to decide that they prized sating one sort of hunger over the other. This was not communicated between them with a passed scrap of paper or a few whispered words. She simply knew that he would be waiting for her. They nearly collided in the darkened hallway that led to their cabin. When they had recovered from the shock of all but reading each other’s minds, she gripped him by the hand and led him through the doorway of the room that was their own.

  It surprised her, the way that he claimed her mouth with his own. Of the two of them, Stone was nearly always the most gentle. His lips sought her skin in a frenzy, devouring her eagerly. Teeth scraped against her collarbone; a hand reached beneath her skirt and left her gasping. She was fighting for breath when he pulled away long enough to guide her backwards, toward their bed.

  “I’m guessing,” she said, “that you enjoyed the sparring match?” Her words were halting with his hands still upon her; she had to pause between them to collect her thoughts.

  In answer, he clutched her closer, and the world quickly fell away.

  When they were settled, with a few new bruises between them, joining the ones she’d earned that morning in her fight with Ambrus, she took a moment to marvel how at ease she felt. Stone was behind her, pressed close, his breath almost too warm against the back of her neck. She could feel her hair stir slightly with each exhale. With anyone else, the closeness would have been overwhelming. It occurred to her suddenly, that despite the hours upon hours of conversation between them, they’d never once discussed what the two of them would do when he delivered her safely home.

  That was her destination: home. Alexis felt unprepared to head to such a place. Much as she longed for it, the concept was daunting. She was the not the same woman she’d been when she left. She turned her worries outward.

  “What will you do?” she asked. “Once we reach Greece, once we reach my family.” She tried her best to sound more curious than hopeful.

  He was uncharacteristically quiet and remained so for quite some time. At last she rolled to face him, biting down hard on her lip when her shoulder protested the movement. “Stone?” she said. “It’s alright if you don’t know. It’s not as though we’re truly married.”

  He reached forward, slowly, and carded a finger through her hair. The braid she wore while working on the ship had already come loose in the midst of their lovemaking, and his fingers trailed all the way to the end of her locks.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “But it’s not the usual sort of not-knowing. It’s a bit more complicated.”

  Complicated was never good. Her heartbeat felt too prominent. Perhaps Stone could see it jumping beneath her skin, fighting its hardest to escape the cage of her ribs.

  “Explain,” she said, reaching upward to thread her fingers through his. “I will listen.” And so she did.

  The tale Stone spun was nonsense. He was from a land called America—that much she knew for certain. She had not thought it strange that the name was unfamiliar. Explorers found all sorts of unknown islands when they sailed the seas. She’d seen scores of men pass through her small village marketplace who wore unusual clothing and spoke languages that she had never heard. But then he went on.

  “I’m not just from another land,” he told her. “I’m from another time, a long, long time from now. In my time, we vote for our Kings and instead of sailing, people fly across the sky in great metal machines. There are cars and phones and televisions. There are laws against slavery.”

  He went on for long enough that Alexis would likely have believed him based on the number of examples he had ready to give, even if he hadn’t pulled the strange, flat box from his pack and pressed it into it her hand. It was made from no metal she had ever seen before; she could see herself reflected in its surface. It felt like touching something forbidden, and she swiftly handed it back.

  “I believe you,” she said at last, knowing that he needed to hear the words. “Will you go back to this place—your future. Your America?”

  Stone was sitting on the side of the bed by this point, his head in his hands. He would not look at her. It made her stomach twist.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve told you from the beginning that I’m not even sure if it’s possible for me to travel back, or rather forward. I think it’s the sword that caused it. The sword of Leonidas. But I have no idea how it works. If I can’t, then obviously, I’ll remain here.” His forced smile made something in her chest feel as though it might start bleeding. “If I can figure it out, then I feel obligated to try, at least. I don’t fit here. Not like you do. You’re so brave and strong and righteous. Sometimes I feel useless standing next to you. I love you, but I’m not sure I can make myself stay where I do not belong.”

  Love.

  It was that word that flummoxed her so.

  She thought about doing something—touching him, kissing him, slapping him maybe—but she did not linger long, leaving the room as soon as she was dressed once more. He did not call after her, either thinking it useless or simply, respectfully recognizing her need for a bit of space to think. It was too hot in their cabin. Her brain felt as though it might be boiling, and the pounding of her heart had not calmed down.

  Alexis climbed halfway to the crow’s nest, sitting in the rigging with her legs looped through the ropes. The air was cooler this high up, and though she had passed a few sailors on her way, they had the good grace not to bother her when they glimpsed the look on her face.

  Her thoughts rushed and whirled like leaves caught in a strong wind. She loved a man from faraway, so faraway that she could just barely comprehend it. And he loved her back. He had said so in a voice that shone with honesty. This did not mean he would not leave her.

  Part of her was angry. He’d had so many chances to tell her, so many quiet nights lying in the sand with the stars above them and no one to hear his confessions but herself and the gods. The rest of her was merely lost. He loved her, but he cared about his world, his home, his friends. There were things in her own world that she loved with all her heart and others that she felt bound to by blood and by duty. She was not sure that, given the choice, these would be easy things to leave behind. Yet, if she asked him to stay, that was exactly what she would be asking—for him to choose one precious thing over another.

  She had come to no decision when the alarm bell rang, a jarring, clanking sound that roused her from the near peace she had achieved with her head resting against the ropes. Alexis shook off her pity and headed downward. Her feet touched the deck just as the first order was called.

  “Arm yourselves! Another ship approaches.”

  Stone

  His confession had not gone about as badly as he’d imagined. Perhaps less so. There’d been no screaming or crying—not that either of those were the way in which Alexis usually reacted to unsettling news—and she’d believed him. That was a start. Still, the raw hurt on her face as she left their cabin was something he’d never had to contend with.

  She’d been gone only a few minutes when the bells began to ring. Stone, having no experience aboard a ship of any sort, had no idea what he was supposed to be alarmed about. His first thought was another storm, another ship-killer, but surely their luck wasn’t so terrible as to attract two of the things within as many months. He was no expert, but the ship felt calm.

  The sound of rushing feet began to pound against the deck as he hurriedly stepped into his boots, his by now very threadbare jeans, and threw on a tunic. Above, men were yelling. The words were still distant and indistinct, but he didn’t like the sound of it all the same. Stone grabbed his sword and, after a moment of hesitation, Alexis’s as well bef
ore he rushed up the stairs and onto the madness of the deck.

  “Ship approaching,” a nameless sailor told him, reading the confusion on his face. “They didn’t signal us, so they’re likely not friendly.”

  Captain Kyrios stood at the prow of the ship, not steering but standing alongside the man who was. Stone looked for Ambrus, the man who’d sparred with Alexis so enthusiastically but saw no sign of him in the chaos. It was the same with Alexis, despite how easy it should have been to find the only woman on the ship.

  “They’re coming up on us fast,” Kyrios shouted. “This is our ship and our cargo. Defend it, or you won’t be alive to get paid.”

  It wasn’t quite the rousing speech of battle generals, but it did the job. Most of the men gave roars of approval.

  “Have you seen Alexis?” he asked, the nearest sailor, a skinny fellow who often kept watch from the crows-nest. “My wife,” he added.

  “Near the bow,” the man said. “She’ll be first in line.”

  His stomach dropped at the casual way it was said. Stone pushed his way through the crush of men. He was uncertain from which way the threat would come until he felt the thud of gangplanks being lowered and saw the shining of grappling hooks as they were tossed onto the ship from what seemed to be the black of the sea. It was only as he pushed closer, his eyes adjusting, that he realized the men on the attacking ship had extinguished their lanterns, remaining nearly hidden against the black of the ocean at night.

  The fighting erupted quickly, just as it had on the slave ship. Stone drew his sword, gripped it so tightly that it would likely leave an imprint in his hand, and pushed his way forward. The attackers crossing the gangplanks were being beaten back from what he could see, but there were many of them; as minutes passed, they began to slip through the cracks. They all advanced from the same side, but Captain Kyrios’s trading vessel was not a large ship and not heavily crewed. There was too much ground to cover and not enough men to head them off.