“Then heed my guidance, Keelchief Ulster. Send the warning, and lead our fleet to a safe harbor—before it’s too late.”
Shaman and keelchief stood now only a handspan apart, neither ready to back down. Pinorr smelled a hint of spryweed on the other’s breath. So Ulster partook of the potent herb that heightened a man’s pleasure while bedding a woman. Here was further proof of the man’s foolish nature. Not only did the weed dull one’s wit and judgment, but with continued use, the lust for spryweed could eventually outgrow even the desire for the bed of a woman. Only a fool would dabble with such a foul herb.
Suddenly a bell clanged from deep within the ship, announcing the midday meal. Ulster’s ear bent to its clangor. “I will flag the other boats with your warning,” he conceded finally, his voice cold with the promise of revenge, “but only after I sample the cook’s grilled potfish.”
Pinorr knew the delay was Ulster’s attempt to soothe his wounded pride, some way to snub Pinorr’s nose without directly disregarding a shaman’s vision. Pinorr allowed Ulster to have his little show. Why should he care as long as the keelchief spread the warning? He would not put his own honor above the safety of the fleet.
Bowing his head, Pinorr took a step back. “So be it,” he said, the fire gone from his voice and manner. “ ‘May the gods grant you stiff winds.’ ”
Ulster nodded his approval and turned away, flipping his warrior’s braid for all to note his victory.
Pinorr shook his head as the man left. The dolt had missed the clear insult in Pinorr’s final words. The quoted passage—“May the gods grant you stiff winds”—came from an ancient shaman prayer, a request to the gods to help a man who could no longer keep hard for a woman.
With tight lips, Pinorr turned away. For now, he let his anger fade from his blood and spent a long time staring across the expanse of blue sky.
As he studied the far horizon, Pinorr again sensed the brewing storm clouds, but closer now. He scented rain, lightning, and a whisper of something else, something that he could not name. He raised his fingers to the seahawk tattoo on his neck. Whatever the source of the foreign smell, even just a whisper of its scent made the dyes of his tattoo burn like a torch.
As he traced the wings of the hawk with a finger, Pinorr remembered little Sheeshon’s seadragon carving and the small rider who rode the whalebone. “They’re coming,” she had claimed.
But who? Were her fancies of dragons more than just the dreams of an addled mind? Had the child inherited the gift of the rajor maga? Was there some truth to her words?
Suddenly an urgent voice arose behind him, coarse and rasping. “Shaman Pinorr, you must come.”
Pinorr snapped from his reverie, surprised to find the sun lower in the sky. How long had be been standing in this trance? Turning from the sea, Pinorr found the crooked form of Mader Geel standing behind him. Her silver hair was tied in a severe braid, marking her prior years as a mistress of the sword. “What is it?” he asked with irritation.
“It is Sheeshon,” the old woman hissed, then beckoned him to follow.
“What happened?”
“Keelchief Ulster tired of her mumbling in the kitchens and—”
Pinorr’s heart clenched in his chest. “What did he do?”
Mader Geel continued to urge him across the deck. “The child’s unharmed. The keelchief only threw her little carving against the wall and smashed it to bits. But the child . . . She screamed, flying into a frothing rage, and attacked the keelchief. Even cut his hand deep with her little knife. I bustled her out of there before any worse could arise, but I can’t calm her. And I fear Ulster’s response.”
Pinorr was now racing ahead of the bent-backed woman, toward his cabins, his vision narrowed with hate. Ulster had finally gone too far. Sheeshon was the last of Pinorr’s family, and he would not see her harmed by the keelchief’s petty vindictiveness. Pinorr ripped open the hatch to the lower deck. If Ulster wanted this war, so be it!
As he dashed below, he made a promise to all the gods of the sea: Before the sun rose again, either he or Ulster would be dead.
14
KAST PUSHED AWAY the platter of steamed clams. He had no appetite. His mind still reeled from all he had heard this morning. Across from him, Sy-wen rolled some type of boiled sea tuber across her plate, clearly just as uninterested in her own meal. They eyed each other over their respective plates. Neither was ready to speak.
After the meeting with the elders and the unveiling of the ancient painting, the council had disbanded for a midday repast before any further debate was allowed. Sy-wen and Kast had been bustled off by the guard, Bridlyn, to this private dining room.
The chamber was comfortably outfitted with a small table of polished coral and chairs cushioned with pillows of soft sea moss, while the walls were adorned with woven reed tapestries depicting various sea views. As handsomely as the chamber was appointed, it still felt cramped to Kast. It seemed more a cell than a room, especially after the morning spent in the council chamber, with its expansive views of the wide ocean. And it did not help that Bridlyn made it clear he would stay posted at the door.
Kast rubbed the stubble on his chin. He needed to break the growing silence before it drowned them both. Nodding toward the tapestry-covered wall, he asked a question that had nagged at him since arriving. “So just how did the mer’ai ever train these leviathans to house your clans?”
Sy-wen shrugged. “The dragons can communicate with the great beasts. Leviathans supply the seadragons with sources of fresh air, and in turn, the dragons help protect and feed the larger creatures. The mer’ai were just incorporated into this mutual relationship. The Leviathans house us, and as payment, we help keep them healthy and clean.” A small smile played on Sy-wen’s lips. “But then again, who knows for sure? For all I know, maybe we mer’ai were mates with these beasts, too. Who knows what your great grandfather fancied back then?”
Kast blushed at Sy-wen’s frank talk. “The Dragonkin was not my ancestor,” he insisted.
“Maybe not directly, but still, the resemblance . . .”
“As Master Talon said, it’s probably just a coincidence. Most Dre’rendi have similar features.”
“Even the dragon tattoo?”
Kast had no way to dismiss this last statement. The males of his people were always marked with a seahawk tattoo, not a dragon. Under A’loa Glen, Kast’s hawk tattoo had been transformed by the magick of Ragnar’k into a coiled black dragon, a twin to the design found on the painting of the Dragonkin. It made no sense.
Sy-wen seemed to sense his discomfort on this topic and switched to new matters—or old matters, rather: to the very reason they had sought the council this morning. “Whatever history is true, maybe we should put aside such talk for now and consider again our idea about leaving here to search for your people. We’re due to rendezvous with the others in only six days. Even if we left now, it would still take two days just to return to the point in the Doldrums where we were expected to meet. With time against us, I don’t see any way of accomplishing our task successfully unless we commit to searching on our own.” She glanced to the sealed door. “With or without the council’s approval.”
“You would defy your elders? Even go against your mother’s wishes?”
Sy-wen stared at Kast. “How do you think I met you? Do you think I had permission to travel to the islands with Conch, or to pursue the ships that caught him? Besides, over time, my mother and I have developed an arrangement: She gives me orders, and I follow only those I agree with.”
“I see.” Kast had a hard time not matching the ghost of a smile that wavered about the mer’ai girl’s lips. Her silver eyes seemed to light up with mischief. “So you’re saying, one way or another, we make a run for the surface.”
Her eyebrows rose. “And why not? Have you not grown tired of breathing the stale air of the leviathan?”
“I guess I could use a bit of fresh air,” he conceded, his smile growing wider. He would love to
feel the draw of a breeze through his hair, the touch of ocean spray upon his face. He had been cramped for too long within the belly of this seabeast. He straightened in his seat. “When you’re ready, I’ll be more than happy to fly away from here.”
Sy-wen matched his expression, showing true joy at the thought of escape. “I imagine Ragnar’k will be glad to stretch his wings, too.”
At the mention of the dragon’s name, Kast’s growing smile froze. He had forgotten that it was not he who would escape with Sy-wen, but Ragnar’k. Even if the two of them fled the belly of the leviathan, Kast would still be trapped—this time under the scales of a monstrous black dragon.
Sy-wen seemed to recognize his change of mood. She reached a hand to him and touched his arm. He could not meet her eye.
“I am not like my ancient ancestor,” she said softly to him.
“What do you mean?” he grumbled.
“I mean that I don’t share my forefather’s passion for dragons.” She squeezed his wrist. “When I choose a husband, he won’t be covered in scales and bear wings.”
Kast glanced up to Sy-wen. “But you’re bonded to Ragnar’k?”
“So? Bonded to a dragon does not mean the beast consumes your whole heart. In truth, I have stronger feelings for my mother’s dragon, Conch, than for Ragnar’k. In many ways, the dragon inside you frightens me. There is a wildness in him that can never be tamed, touched, nor drawn near to—not even by me.”
“But Ragnar’k will always be a part of me, even his wildness.”
She smiled sadly at his words. “I have studied you, Bloodrider. You may bear a dragon inside you, but your heart is your own. That I know.”
“How?” he asked, his voice cracking.
She reached and touched his cheek, the one without the dragon emblazoned on it. “I know your heart, Bloodrider.”
Kast wished he could say the same of her. Was Sy-wen just consoling him, or was there more meaning behind her words? He dared to lean into her touch, just a little, letting her palm warm his skin. But she pulled away as murmuring voices arose from beyond the room’s door.
The portal puckered open, and Master Edyll stepped through the entry. “I hope I’m not disturbing your meal,” he said and waved Bridlyn away.
“N-no, Uncle,” Sy-wen stuttered.
Kast glanced at her, but again he could not read the woman. Was that relief or embarrassment that rattled her?
Master Edyll signaled the door closed, then crossed to join them. Kast stood and pulled another chair to the table, only sitting after the old elder had settled into his own seat.
“Thank you, Master Kast,” he said, patting the Bloodrider’s wrist as Kast resumed his place. Master Edyll eyed them both silently for a moment, then spoke. “So what’s this about you two leaving?”
Kast glanced nervously at Sy-wen, whose expression remained placid. “What do you mean, Uncle?” Sy-wen asked.
“I thought we’d discuss in private the reason the two of you approached the council this morning.”
Kast slowly let out his breath. He had been sure the elder had been privy to their secret plans. “Should we not broach this before the full council?”
Master Edyll scrunched up his old features and shook his head sourly. “They’ll still be bickering for the next three days about me spouting mer’ai secrets. For a group so adamant that my words were false, they get quite heated when the subject is spoken aloud.”
“But why were these histories kept hidden anyway?” Sy-wen asked.
Master Edyll sighed. “It is what the Dragonkin wanted. It was our forefather’s first dictate. After fleeing under the sea and starting the mer’ai clans, he immediately banned any ties with surface dwellers. He thought to create a peaceful, idyllic society under the waves and wanted his people to believe the seas had always been their home.” Master Edyll finished with a derisive snort.
“So what went wrong?” Kast asked.
“Ah, so you happened to notice that his grand plans failed?” he said with a chortle, but then grew more pensive. Kast saw the true pain in the elder’s eyes. “In some ways, our forefather was a fool.”
Sy-wen gasped a bit at such open disparagement of their ancestor.
Master Edyll sat quietly for a moment, then continued. “He had thought to escape our heritage by fleeing under the sea. But it is never that easy. He just ended up dragging our violent heritage along behind him. Whether he hid the fact or not, our blood still rose from a people with a fiery temperament, and future generations were cursed with this same inner fire, a mixture of willfulness and an intense suspicion of others. To make matters worse, the merging of dragon blood in our bloodlines only added logs to this blaze, inflaming a fierce pride in our ancestors’ veins. We grew to consider ourselves superior to the foul lan’dwellers. Why else should we hide from them? We came to think ourselves rulers of the sea.”
Master Edyll shook his head and gave a slight shudder. “Even among our own people, before we fled the coasts, we used to cast out those who broke our rules. It was a cruel act. Away from the dragons, the sea magic would wear off those poor souls, and they would walk again like ordinary men, their mer’ai features fading away forever, damning them from ever returning to the sea. It was our greatest punishment—eternal banishment.”
Kast saw the horror on Sy-wen’s face and caught an inkling of what such a punishment would mean to such a close-knit, insular people.
Master Edyll let them absorb his words in silence before he finished. When next he spoke, his voice was granite. “I tell you all this as a warning. You must be careful what you plot. Since fleeing the Gul’gotha, the ‘banishments’ were stopped in order to keep ourselves hidden from the Dark Lord, but that does not mean we have grown less strict. For those who won’t abide by our rules—” He glanced first at Sy-wen, then at Kast. “—our punishments are still severe.”
“You now slay them,” Sy-wen said heatedly.
Her words startled Master Edyll, his pale face reddening. “So you know already?”
“While among the people of the coast, I learned that I was the first mer’ai to step from the sea in over five hundred years. It seems the stories of banishment were meant to hide an uglier truth.”
“Lies are often less painful than the truth.”
“Like our people’s true histories,” Sy-wen said sullenly.
“As I said before, we could not escape our heritage so easily. The past has a way of strangling you when you ignore it.”
Silence settled over the room.
Finally, Master Edyll stood up with a slight groan, rubbing his old knees. “Enough talk. It’s time we were under way.”
Kast stood up reflexively, respecting the old man. Sy-wen remained seated, her face closed. But her anger could not be completely hidden. “I have had enough of council meetings.”
Master Edyll nodded. “So have I, some days . . . Luckily that is not where we’re going.”
His words drew Sy-wen’s eyes. “Then where?” she asked warily.
“It’s time I helped you escape.”
Kast stumbled as he stepped toward the door. “What?”
“The council has already met again and has banned you from leaving. I didn’t agree.” He shrugged. “We must hurry and get you both out of here.”
Sy-wen was on her feet and following. “But, Uncle, you’re one of the elders!”
“No, I’m just an old man—some would say a foolish old man. But in this matter, the council is clouded by a fear of the unknown. They would rather hide under the sea than risk change.”
Kast spoke as Master Edyll turned toward the door. “What are we to do?”
The old man turned tired eyes toward him. “Find your people. Finish the dream our forefather started.”
“What do you mean? How?”
“A time of bloodshed and slaughter has come upon us again, as during the reign of King Raff.” Master Edyll placed a hand on Kast’s chest. “But in your warrior’s body beats the heart of a
man of peace. Free our people, both our peoples, from our heritage of hate and war. Show us the path to a lasting peace.” With those words, Master Edyll turned and waved the doorway open.
As they followed, Sy-wen stepped beside Kast, and for the first time, she took his hand in her own. “It seems I’m not the only one who knows your true heart,” she mumbled.
Kast stared at her hand as it rested like a soft peach in his granite grip. He was shocked and amazed—and for a brief moment, he imagined even the improbable was possible.
Even love.
PINORR FOUND SHEESHON rolled up in a ball upon her bed, arms locked around her legs, rocking back and forth. He crossed to her, sat on the bed, and held her. Words tumbled from her lips in chaotic fashion: bursts of lucid words as if she were having a conversation with an unseen partner, then bouts of unintelligible phrases, even moments when her voice would suddenly change, going deep, sounding nothing like a young girl. Pinorr knew from past events that it was best to just let these ramblings run their course.
Nearby, Mader Geel’s granddaughter, little Ami, stood transfixed, eyes wide, fear clear in her unblinking gaze. Finally, Mader Geel shuffled in behind him and scooped her granddaughter under an arm.
Pinorr glowered at the old woman, his eyes indicating Ami. The frightened child should not have been left as sole attendant to Sheeshon when Mader Geel had gone to fetch him. Sheeshon’s bouts could be frightening to behold, even for an adult.
Mader Geel made no apology, her face solid. “I do not hide Ami from life’s harshness . . . nor madness.”
Combing his fingers through Sheeshon’s hair, Pinorr’s eyes narrowed. “Sheeshon is not mad. She is only a little weak in the head.” His voice lowered as he stroked the child. “I have even begun to suspect her bouts worsen lately because . . .” He raised his eyes toward Mader Geel. “Because she approaches a quickening.”
These last words broke the woman’s usual stony expression. “Her madness must be catching,” she stated dismissively. “Why would the gods quicken such a broken child to the rajor maga?”