The Bar at the Edge of the Sea

by Tom Abrahams

  Pedro stepped next to her and kept pace with her as they moved back toward the bar. Li was self-conscious now, feeling the eyes of others on her. Nobody spoke to her. Nobody greeted her. They were ambivalent to her, it seemed. But that didn’t stop her from narrowing her shoulders and shortening her steps.

  They reached the bar and found Barach sitting on one stool. His boots rested on the brass foot-railing. He drank a beer from a pewter mug. A thin line of foam framed his upper lip.

  Pedro rounded the bar and offered for Li to sit next to Barach. The scruffy soldier ran one hand through his mop of straw-colored hair. He offered her his right hand as she eased onto the stool next to him.

  “I’m Barach,” he said.

  Li took his hand. His grip was strong but not overpowering. “I know.”

  Her face flushed. She felt the heat in her cheeks. Pedro stepped in to rescue her.

  “I told her about you,” said the barkeep. “You were over there at the jukebox. I was introducing her to the place. You came up.”

  She let go of his hand. “I’m Adaliah. My friends call me Li.”

  He smiled. The dimples on his cheeks deepened. “I know.”

  He was more attractive up close, if that was possible. There was something unique about his aura, his energy.

  He angled his head toward the room upstairs where she’d stayed since her arrival. “You’re the new girl. Zeke’s friend, right?”

  “Woman,” she corrected with a sly grin. “I’m the new woman. And yes, Zeke is responsible for me being here.”

  That drew a genuine laugh from Barach. His teeth were impossibly white and almost glowed against the burnt olive hew of his rugged skin.

  Li stiffened. “Are you laughing because I don’t want to be called a girl?”

  Barach shot a look at Pedro. Pedro raised his eyebrows as if giving Barach permission for something. Then the soldier shook his head.

  “No,” he said. “Apologies for that though.”

  “Then what?” Li asked.

  Barach narrowed his eyes at her, making sure she was looking at him. The connection sent heat into her chest. A tingle radiated to her fingers and toes. He laid his hand over hers. She twitched, but didn’t pull away.

  “We’re all here of our own doing, Adaliah, and the only way we get to leave is atoning for what we’ve done,” he explained. Like everything else the people in this place told her, what he said only generated more questions.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  It felt good to put her feet in the wet sand as the incoming tide washed over them. Anaxi found comfort in standing on solid ground, even if it shifted between her toes and under her heels.

  She had her back to the surf and sun. The warm breeze that came with the rising tide blew her hair across her shoulders. Something was different about the salt air here. It wasn’t as oppressive as it was aboard the Saladin.

  Water washed at her ankles, and her heels sank deeper into the black sand. She leaned forward at her hips to keep her balance. The water receded, rushing between her toes, tickling the tops of her feet. In front of her, a clam dug itself beneath the surface. Bubbles popped at a colony of holes that freckled the beach. Flecks of light danced on the obsidian grains of sand. It made the beach sparkle.

  She picked up her feet and turned to face the ocean. The sky was deep blue and reflected in the rich color of the water. There was almost no horizon, making it appear to merge into the ocean. Only the distant movement of the current made the thin, distant line visible on the edge of the world.

  The Saladin floated several hundred meters from shore. The last of the rowboats carried crew members from the ship to the island, with about half of Branch’s men staying behind to watch the ship. It was halfway between the Saladin and the beachhead. It towed an even smaller boat filled with cargo they’d need to spend two days on the deserted spot of land. Unlike so many of the islands post-melt, this one wasn’t part of a chain. It sat alone, the only visible land in all directions.

  The beach sloped up to a rocky plateau, and further into a pair of peaks rising high above sea level. One peak narrowed to a jagged point. The other was smaller and carved along one side as if a God had reached down and scooped out part of it.

  Anaxi knew what it was. This was a volcano, which had erupted in the months and years surrounding the melt. Somehow, its twin survived, maintaining its original shape. Or maybe the volcano was the mother that bore its neighboring offspring.

  Anaxi walked up the beach toward the edges of the rocky plateau forged from lava flow. She stared at the volcano. The airy pumice shifted under her feet as she moved. It was rougher than the black sand and harder to navigate in bare feet. She kept her balance and inched higher, sometimes needing to use her hands to steady herself.

  As she climbed, Anaxi imagined what it must have been like to feel the rumble in the earth before the mountain exploded, spewing red-hot magma into the sky along with ash and smoke.

  Might this spot have been underwater at the time? The island forming only after the release? Countless tons of ocean-cooled lava building upon itself? A new stretch of land emerging from the steam after days, or weeks, or months of flow?

  These questions raced through her mind. This was as free as she’d been in days or weeks. She was unchained. At least for this moment.

  She considered what it would be like to witness the birth of an island; to see it morph from something bubbling and lifeless to a beautiful, rich place with sparkling beaches and birds nesting in its peaks.

  It would be as miraculous, she thought, as the revelation that the legend of the Kalevanmiekka was real and not a fairy tale.

  That somehow there were things in this world that were fantastic beyond the imagination. Instant storms, colonies of giant eels, flaming ghost ships. What would be next?

  Had her father told her what the poems really meant, that they weren’t rhymes made up as frightening bedtime stories, she wouldn’t have believed him. Lucius Mander was a practical man. He eschewed folly for work. His sense of humor was nonexistent. There was no possible way he believed the mysticism that dusted the poems in magic otherworldliness.

  Or was there?

  Was the knowledge that these poems were true guides to a hidden weapon what drove the humor from him? Was it that knowledge that made him always focus on the daily grind of work and self-preservation?

  She watched a large bird circle the top of the intact peak. It flapped its wings and then glided, tilting its body to find the current and ride it closer to the solid ground atop the mountain.

  The questions swirled around in her mind, searching for purchase. Instead, they generated only more questions. Each query was a flap of a wing, displacing the air around it.

  Which of the questions held the answer?

  The bird disappeared behind the damaged peak, diving into the gaping, dark hole that formed its zenith. Anaxi held her gaze there, hoping to see it reemerge. It didn’t.

  A gust of wind, cooler than before, tossed her hair across her face. She swiped it from her eyes, from between her parted lips, and spun around toward the water. The rowboat was close now. She could hear the paddles chop at the surface.

  Did her father die because he refused to give Desmond Branch what he wanted? Did he refuse to tell the pirate what he knew because he wanted to keep the man from finding the Kalevanmiekka? Or did he think the poems irrelevant and not worth sharing?

  The latter was unlikely, she decided. If her father, Lucius Mander, believed the poems irrelevant or untrue, why force her to learn them, to memorize them, to make them a part of her? He believed them. He knew their promise and their danger. Anaxi was sure of this as her gaze settled on the water beyond the Saladin where the sunlight cast shafts of bright light, turning the ocean a gleaming, hot white.

  Her father knew. That meant he’d refused to help Desmond Branch despite knowing that he could. And he knew the only other person who could guide Branch to the fabled sword was his daughter.

&nb
sp; Anaxi’s chest tightened as she considered this. A knot swelled in her throat. Her hands balled into fists at her sides, and she dug her fingernails into the soft flesh of her palms as she considered the only two possibilities. Either her father had died to protect her, or he’d died because he was a coward. Both considerations were difficult to reconcile. One meant he was selfless. The other the opposite. And only Lucius Mander knew which path he’d chosen.

  She wanted to believe he’d protected her and that he did not know his life was over. That her father believed there was a way to escape Branch’s cruelty without giving him what he desired.

  But in the back of her mind, where she held her fears and her insecurities, the other possibility gnawed at her. That in the moment, the instant, of the greatest challenge to her father’s character, he died hoping to escape greater torment, all the while knowing that his daughter might be forced into a decision he’d been unwilling to make.

  The brave thing to do was the hard thing to do. Dying was easy. Surviving was tough.

  It meant pain. It meant facing the monsters in the poems. It meant leading an evil man like Desmond Branch to the brink of omnipotence.

  Anaxi drew a deep, ragged breath and tried to calm herself. There was nothing she could do about her father now. His decision, regardless of its reason, had brought her here. That was all that mattered now. Today mattered. Tomorrow mattered. The third feat mattered.

  Desmond Branch approached her. The calf-deep water sloshed as he plowed through it and onto the black sand beach. His eyes were locked onto hers as he marched onto the volcanic rock. Despite the sun at his back and his face in relative shadow, she could see his stare. He was anxious, but he was ready. She knew this about him.

  “I figured we could stand a few days on shore,” he said. “After the past few days, might be nice to wake in the same place where we fall asleep.”

  “How generous of you,” Anaxi replied.

  The sarcasm was lost on him. Or he chose to ignore it.

  “I do what I can,” he said.

  He stumbled on a loose rock but kept his balance. Anaxi noticed he was breathing audibly. The short uphill hike taxed him.

  “The men need a break,” he said. “So do I. This quest, while rewarding, is taking its toll.”

  Anaxi agreed. “You’ve lost more than half your crew.”

  He shrugged. “We’ll find more. There are always plenty of volunteers.”

  She laughed humorlessly. “There are.”

  Anaxi had allowed the pirate to think stopping on the island was his idea, yet she was the one who’d suggested it to Le Grand. It was she who set the break into motion.

  Two men dragged the rowboat up the beach past a wavy line of tidal debris. They turned the boat parallel to the shoreline and dumped the oars into the hull. One of them pointed at the trailing supply boat, and a group of men descended upon it like ants.

  One by one they took an armful of whatever they could grab and walked it up to a clearing where others were assembling the kindling for a fire. Anaxi thought they’d have been smarter and lined up shoulder to shoulder and passed supplies one at a time to and from one another.

  They weren’t that smart. They were brutes. Or they were slaves. Or they were brutish slaves. Another breeze blew in with the tide. It made Anaxi’s eyes water. She blinked and wiped the tears from beside her nose.

  “Tell me about my father,” she said.

  “What about him?” Branch said. “I didn’t know the man.”

  “How did he die?”

  Branch adjusted his sword at his hip with his palm. He dug his boot heel into the space between the rocks. The rocks squeaked underneath the weight.

  “I ran him through with my sword,” he said. “It was quick. He didn’t see it coming.”

  “Then you pushed him overboard?”

  Branch swallowed hard. He nodded. His eyes fell to his boots and then out to sea toward the Saladin.

  His admission surprised her. Not because of the dispassionate way in which he described the moment he took her father from her, but that he offered a modicum of solace.

  Anaxi pressed him. “Why did you kill him?”

  Branch rolled his shoulders. “He didn’t give me what I wanted. He was useless. I don’t have a need for useless people.”

  “When you don’t need me anymore, you’ll kill me then? When I don’t see it coming?”

  He rubbed the soft part of his chin with his thumb and forefinger. Anaxi figured he was deciding whether to tell her the truth rather than deciding whether he would kill her quickly.

  Branch dropped his hand from his face. He rested it again atop his sword.

  “Let’s focus on the truth of the moment,” he said, dodging the question.

  Anaxi didn’t back down. “What is the truth?”

  “I need you now.”

  She laughed. He wasn’t funny, but his words came across as ludicrous. Yes, he did need her. He wouldn’t find the Kalevanmiekka without her. But hearing him say aloud that he needed her sounded so incongruous with who the pirate had proved himself to be.

  Branch frowned. “You think I’m funny?”

  It was her turn to avoid the question. “How many people have you killed in search of the Kalevanmiekka?”

  His frown deepened. Branch considered her for a moment and turned back toward the water. Lifting his chin, he took in a deep breath through his nose.

  “As many as needed killing,” he said. His voice was flat, absent inflection.

  The answer didn’t surprise her. The way he said it sent a chill along her spine.

  The smell of burning wood drifted past her, and Anaxi checked over her shoulder. The men had the fire lit. Orange and yellow flame flickered from beneath the pile of driftwood and palm fronds.

  The fire popped, crackling as it grew in size. Smoke curled into the air. Le Grand sat on a large outcropping of porous rock in the glow. He stared into the flames, mesmerized.

  Anaxi shifted her weight on the rocks. The island, which minutes before had been a welcome respite from the rigors of seafaring, seemed unwelcoming now. The idea that the monster standing next to her controlled her fate was untenable. Even if she ultimately stopped him from wielding the powerful sword, he’d taken her free will from her. None of this was her choice. Whatever power she might think she held was imaginary. No doubt. Even coming to this island hadn’t really been her decision.

  Anaxi wanted to run from the rocks, pad through the sand, and dive headfirst into the water. She imagined swimming beneath the waves, hair pressed flat against her face and head as she propelled herself deeper and deeper. The water would cool as she descended. The light would fade. Her chest would burn. The edges of her vision would darken and blur.

  “What’s the next poem?” Branch asked, surfacing her from the reverie.

  She lifted her eyes to his. “Are you sure you want it now? You don’t want a night’s sleep before—”

  “No time like the present. Please?”

  It wasn’t a request. Both of them knew it.

  Anaxi nodded. She licked the salt from her lips and ran a hand through her hair, raking her fingers along her scalp.

  Across the sea, through sun and shower

  There is a sword of heavenly power

  Its blade honed sharp, its grip is true,

  in the hand of the righteous, its strength glows blue

  Many shall seek, one shall find

  This gift and curse, this fruit and rind.

  Hunt with a warning, all who dare

  The course is rough, the challenge unfair.

  Rising from the roiling water are two strong hands,

  Beyond the rocks, beyond the sand.

  One a fist, the other an open palm,

  From them the third feat is drawn.

  You must climb at first and then descend,

  From the light to the dark, you’re near the end.

  Branch stood silently, eyes closed. “Repeat it.”

  Sh
e did. In the distance the fire popped again. A breeze drew a wave of smoke across them.

  Saying nothing, Branch opened his eyes and pivoted. The rocks shifted under his boots. Anaxi didn’t need to look at him to know he’d turned his attention to the peaks behind them.

  “Beyond the rocks and the sand,” he said above a whisper, “one is a fist, the other an open palm.”

  He understood. They were here because this was the final challenge. This place. His lips parted then closed. The man was speechless for maybe the first time in his life.

  Anaxi put an end to the suspense. “Yes. We have to climb the island to the peaks. Then we have to enter the one on the left.”

  “The open palm,” Branch said.

  “Yes.”

  “How many of us?”

  She shrugged. “That’s up to you.”

  His expression carried with it a childlike optimism. Or was it worry?

  “And inside I’ll find the Kalevanmiekka?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” Anaxi lied.

  He craned his neck to study the peaks. That bird reemerged from the one with a hole at the top, flapping its wings furiously as it ascended into the darkening sky above.

  Branch gripped her shoulder tightly. Then his hand slid to the back of her neck as he said, “You’re coming with me.”

  She stiffened against his touch. “When?”

  “First thing in the morning. Might be smart to get a good night’s sleep, little one. You’ll need it.”

  She stepped free of his hold and faced him. “You’re the one who will need all the help you can get. You think you’ve seen challenges? You haven’t seen anything yet.”

  Anaxi brushed past him, balancing herself on the rocks as she walked away without acknowledging him. She was hungry, and something was cooking on the fire. But, mostly, she was tired.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Zeke didn’t understand what he was seeing. They looked like shooting stars streaking across the sky in wide arcs, their light flickering before fading. But they weren’t shooting stars.