by Jaxon Reed
The healer opened a latched cupboard and selected a bottle. He repositioned the leather straps holding other bottles securely in place, relatched the cupboard, and returned to the table.
“Ground willow leaves,” he said by way of explanation.
“Oh! For pain,” Bellasondra said.
He nodded, handing her the bottle. “Hold this for a moment.”
Quarl retrieved a candle from a drawer, and carefully lit it from the room’s lantern, then walked back to the table shielding it with his hand so the flame wouldn’t blow out. He traded Bellasondra the candle for the bottle, uncorked it and sprinkled ground willow leaves into Stin’s exposed belly button.
Then he swapped with Bellasondra again, taking the candle in one hand and reaching down to Stin’s stomach with his other.
“This will hurt a bit.”
The healer squeezed Stin’s belly button shut using his thumb and forefinger, then tilted the candle and dripped several drops of wax.
Stin yelled.
“What the . . .”
“Don’t move. Let it harden. We want a good seal in place.”
Stin glanced up at Quarl with a look of incredulity. He said, “How does sealing ground willow leaves in my belly button help with seasickness?”
The healer cracked a smile and gave a modest shrug.
“Truthfully, I don’t know. I only know it works. I learned it from the old man whose place I took. I apprenticed under him for three voyages, and this was his time-honored cure for chronic seasickness.”
Stin looked down at the quickly drying blob of wax over his navel and furrowed his eyebrows.
Bellasondra reached out and gently touched his shoulder. She said, “How are you feeling?”
He looked up at her and his eyes grew wider. The green drained from his face.
“Honestly, that’s a crazy cure . . . but it seems to be working. I do feel better.”
“Sail ho!”
All three looked at each other, eyebrows raising at the shout. A burst of activity out on the deck followed as sailors raced to catch a look.
Stin said, “That sounded like Kirt.”
Bellasondra nodded. “He’s joined the other boys. They spend time up in the rigging as lookouts.”
The healer blew out the candle, and replaced his bottle in the cabinet. He said, “You’ll lose him to the sea, Stin. Some boys take to life on a ship like . . . like a duck to water.”
He smiled and shrugged apologetically for the platitude.
Bartimo, Bellasondra’s twin, popped his head in the door. His high cheek bones and striking features matched his sister’s. Light brown hair and olive skin marked them as natives of the Ageless Isles.
“The captain says it might be pirates. ‘All hands on deck,’ he said.”
Stin, Bellasondra, and Quarl followed Bartimo out and crowded along the rail with everybody else. In the distance, a speck on the water drew steadily closer.
Quarl said, to no one in particular, “What flag is she flying?”
“If it be pirates,” a grizzled old sailor muttered, “They won’t show the black flag of Corsairs Cove until they be right upon us.”
Several others nodded. A few mumbled, “Aye.”
“The new boy has sharp eyes,” the old timer continued. “Reckon he’ll spy the flag soon enough.”
Stin and Bellasondra exchanged glances. He furrowed his brows and said, “The new boy?”
Bellasondra smiled. She said, “He’s fitting in well.”
“Well, I hope he doesn’t get used to it. As soon as we get to Refugio he’ll go back on land with the rest of us.”
Kirt’s voice floated down from above. “Flying the colors of Coral!”
Several men glanced up to the top of the sails where Kirt and four other boys clung precariously to ropes, shading their eyes, looking out over the water.
Bellasondra and Stin exchanged glances again. She smiled. He frowned.
“Eyes like a hawk on that one,” the old sailor said. Several around him murmured agreement.
An hour passed before everyone else could make out the orange-red flag on the ship. The captain came out and stared at it a while, short white hair and long white beard fluttering in the breeze. He turned to the first mate, a tall and thin man with a deep tan.
“What do you think, Mattero?”
The first mate shrugged and said, “Flying the colors of Coral under false pretenses is punishable by death, Captain Frond. I doubt they’re insincere.”
“I don’t like it, Cap’n,” someone said.
Both men looked toward the older sailor, the one who’d sung Kirt’s praises earlier. Frond smiled at the man. Stin suspected he was used to the cantankerous old sea salt speaking his mind.
“Why not, Denn?”
“It don’t feel right. A ship this far out? And we be two days from port. It’s pirate waters, this direct route. Nothing but five days of sea between Coral City and Refugio. Nothing but water and pirates. Corsairs Cove is nay but a few hunnert miles from here, as the gull flies.”
The first mate shrugged. Defending his earlier assertion, he said, “The Ageless Isles belong to Coral. They have as much right to these waters as we do. If we’re going to find another ship out here, it would make sense she sailed under a Coral flag.”
Several men nodded, although some more reluctantly than others. The war in which Coral defeated the archipelago had been fought decades ago, before any of them were born. But it still rankled many natives of the islands, despite the passing of time.
Denn pressed his point. “Aye, but they ne’er do wander these waters unless they’re grabbing more taxes or making an official visit. And why is this ship headed straight toward us? I tell ye, Cap’n, somethin’ don’t feel right about it.”
The men glanced back at Frond, clearly spooked now thanks to the old sailor’s ominous pronouncements. The captain tugged his beard, gazing at the deck for a moment. Then he raised his head, a decision made.
“I can’t fault your wisdom, Denn. Perhaps you’re right. We’ll expect the worst. Mattero, prepare the men. I want everybody to have a sword or an ax strapped to their belts. Distribute our bows to anyone who says they can draw a string. These may be pirates or the Royal Coral Navy. Either way, we’re just a merchant ship. Let’s be prepared to meet force with force.”
The men sprang into action as Mattero shouted out orders. Frond smiled apologetically to the twins and Stin. He said, “It wouldn’t hurt for you to be armed as well. If Old Denn is right, you’ll be wanting a blade on you.”
“I’ll get our weapons,” Bartimo said. He hurried off toward the passenger cabins, disappearing in the hustle and bustle of the crew.
“I’m afraid,” Frond continued, more to himself than the others, “if they indeed are pirates, we have precious few options to fend them off. Most of my crew are not used to fighting.”
Quarl stepped up and said, “I have an idea, Captain.”
The two men headed down to the hold as Frond listened intently to his healer.
Stin shaded his eyes and squinted up at the sails. He made out Kirt at the top of the canvas. Kirt saw him looking up and gave a jaunty salute.
Stin scowled and said, “I think he’s enjoying this.”
“Of course he is,” Bellasondra said. “He’s got a chance to fight pirates. What boy doesn’t dream of such adventure?”
“The problem is,” Stin muttered softly, “adventures have a way of getting you killed.”
-+-
The sun slid halfway down the sky before the two vessels came within hailing distance. The captains bellowed at one another across the water. The other ship appeared considerably larger than Dream of the Isles, complete with two decks instead of just one, and several more sails. The captain of the larger vessel made clear his intentions to come within distance.
The sailors of the large ship were dressed in the orange-red linen uniforms of Coral, and appeared authentic from a distance. But Old Denn spat in the
water and said to anyone who’d listen, “Too few men for a ship that size! Likely they be hidin’ the ruffians.”
The captain felt he had little choice, though, thanks to the other ship’s advantage in size and speed.
At the last moment, just as the larger ship pulled alongside them, the orange-red flag of Coral went down, and a solid black one went up. As the waves shifted the side of their ship toward the merchant, hundreds of men sprang from hiding and screamed.
Frond yelled, “Brace yourselves! They’re coming in!”
Several threw ropes with grappling hooks, catching them on the rails of the smaller ship. Men on Dream of the Isles responded by chopping the lines with axes. Some of the more daring pirates jumped for the ship early. Some missed, falling in the water. But some landed on her deck. Each one making it onboard was met with a flurry of blades and axes.
The ships drew closer, the final few paces separating the vessels narrowing, narrowing. More ropes sailed across the gap, and not all of them were cut. More and more pirates made the leap to the smaller ship, their numbers on deck increasing rapidly.
Swords and axes flew as pirates attacked the merchant sailors. Blades clanged and thunked into flesh. Men screamed in horror and rage. Archers from both ships loosed arrows, many finding their mark despite the wind and motions of the waves. Blood pooled around fallen bodies, mostly on the merchant ship.
Two pirates ganged up on Denn. The old sailor gamely fought them off with his battle ax, his blows carefully chopping at exposed arms and legs. Stin ran to his aid, thrusting his blade through the side of one. When his partner looked over, distracted, Denn swung his ax into the man’s neck, bringing him down.
Old Denn mumbled his thanks. Stin waved it off.
Stin looked at the fighting all around him. The tide of battle seemed to favor the pirates. Dream of the Isles had only minutes before capture, soon to be overrun by the pirates’ superior numbers.
He looked over at the captain, who stabbed a shirtless man wearing a bandana on his head. Pulling his shortsword out of the man’s belly, Frond looked back over his shoulder toward the hold and shouted, “Now, Quarl!”
Quarl ran out of the hold with half a dozen men, all carrying oil lamps. As they rushed past Stin, he noticed the lamps were all lit, the men covering the front of their glass flues as they ran, protecting the flame. Reaching the rails, the men threw them at the decks of the larger ship. Each lamp burst and broke into flames, six fires spreading quickly.
The tide of battle changed. The attention of the pirates onboard the merchant shifted back to their own ship. The sailors took advantage, stabbing and cutting and chopping the pirates in their distraction. Most of those left on the pirate ship quickly formed a bucket brigade to try and quench the fires before they spread, their interest in the battle disappearing.
But a few kept their eyes on the prize. One extraordinarily large pirate spied Bellasondra and leapt over to the smaller ship, his feet thumping to the deck as he landed.
He grinned at her, flashing two missing front teeth. Bald, white shirt, black pants, and red sash around his middle in lieu of a belt, Stin thought he must have leapt straight from a bard’s pirate tale.
Bellasondra shifted her sword and assumed a fighting stance. Bartimo ran up beside her and faced the giant, too.
Stin joined them and said, “You’re not getting her. Begone.”
The pirate smiled even wider at the three swords facing him and said, “Ha! The odds are about even!”
He swung his longer sword in an arc, clanging it loud against all three blades. He swung again, pressing his advantage and forcing them back.
Sparks flew as their blades connected, the larger man easily fending off their thrusts in a whirl of motion and footwork. Stin tried to sneak around behind him, but the pirate would have none of that, repeatedly thrusting and parrying, holding Stin in place while he fought the twins.
They moved about the deck in a deadly dance, stepping over bodies, taking care not to slip on the blood. The twins and Stin pressed and prodded and swung, but could gain no upper hand on the giant.
In the corner of his mind, Stin heard Mattero and the captain shouting orders. Canvas snapped and lines creaked. Somewhere, someone swung the ship’s wheel hard to port. Dream of the Isles began moving, pulling away from the burning pirate ship. Sailors rushed over with axes and cut the last of the lines connecting them.
Swords blurring, they neared the railing now, and the giant cast a quick glance over his shoulder to gauge the rapidly expanding distance between the two vessels.
Thoop!
The pirate screamed in pain and surprise at the arrow suddenly sticking out of his shoulder. Stin looked up, following its path. Kirt waved at him up in the sails before drawing another arrow from his quiver.
“How did the boy make that shot? He could have hit one of us,” Stin said.
Bellasondra said, “Fuss at him later.”
They pressed their advantage against the wounded pirate, closing in on him. But even injured, the man fought well. Stin lunged in for a decisive blow. The giant riposted, and caught Stin’s blade, pushing it to one side as Stin followed through with his weight. Their faces drew close. Stin felt the big man’s breath on his face, and smelled the blood flowing from his shoulder.
The giant smiled at him, wrapped an arm around Stin’s shoulders and jumped backward over the railing, pulling Stin along with him. They hit the water together. Stin gasped and gulped as the shock hit him, and he blacked out as the giant pulled him under.
Chapter 2
Mita drifted high in the air under a starless night sky, her dreamscape sifting through fragments of reality, memory, and imagination. Her conscious-self barely registered the journey. Her dream-self floated gently, carried along by soft air currents.
Details below and around her faded in and out as she drifted. Lights from a village far below flickered, then disappeared. Wisps of cloud strayed by. An owl somewhere below made a darker shadow on the landscape as it flew looking for prey.
Dawn threatened, a distant brightening on the horizon. Just as suddenly it swept away, leaving the landscape darker than before.
The face of Atta, Mita’s sister, hovered to her right. Atta appeared to be deep in conversation with somebody unseen, nodding her head eagerly and enthusiastically mouthing unheard words.
Mita’s dream body twisted in the air, gently floating on her back now. Far above her a star twinkled, then fell swiftly toward the ground before winking out.
Mita’s conscious-self receded further, gradually succumbing to a deeper level of sleep.
Something grabbed her leg, pulling her down.
Startled, her conscious presence filled her dream-self, the nightmare suddenly becoming sharp and vivid, more real, imprinting itself on her upper memory.
A giant claw gripped her. She felt it squeezing her entire lower leg, compressing her calf muscle. It pulled Mita down through the dark, gaining speed as the unseen ground raced up to meet them. Instinctively, her black leather armor grew from a narrow band around her wrist to cover her entire body.
Her dream-self hit the ground hard, and her physical body bounced on the bed with the impact.
In the dreamscape, she came to her feet quickly, assuming a fighting stance. But she could see nothing in the surrounding gloom.
Powerful claws ripped across her belly, penetrating her armor and cutting deep into her flesh. She flew back from the force of the blow, landing on her butt.
She scrambled back up and cast a spell of light, sending a bright glowing globe up in the air. The gloom dissipated, the globe illuminating a stretch of monochromatic landscape. Strands of grass. Dirt. Some rocks. A distant thicket of trees and brush.
Mita jerked her head. She felt something approach, racing fast. She cast a protective blue globe around herself.
Whatever it was rushed through the globe as if it weren’t there and tackled her to the ground.
The part of Mita’s conscious-se
lf in the dream detached from her ethereal body and watched the fight from a few steps away. From this angle she seemed to be fighting herself, throwing blows and kicks in the air and grunting from unseen impacts.
Mita rushed back into her dream body with growing alarm. She raised her hand and cast a powerful Spell of Expulsion. With a thunder crack, blinding white light burst out from her hand in a rapidly expanding globe of pure force.
The creature, or whatever it was, roared and jumped on her face and shoulders, bringing her crashing to the ground on her back . . .
-+-
Mita woke up with a start, sitting straight up in bed. She took several deep breaths and forced herself to stop shaking. She looked at her hands to make sure they no longer trembled, then wiped clammy palms on the sheet. Her entire nightgown felt wet. She was covered in sweat from head to toe.
She moved her legs to the floor and the pain hit her. She doubled over, gingerly holding her middle where the powerful claw had ripped her open with such force. Other pains cropped up, from her swollen calf muscle to her aching arms.
With a quick downward motion of her hand, the nightgown disappeared. She looked down and inspected the wounds on her waist. Blood oozed from four sharp parallel cuts, making an ugly contrast with her light brown skin. They were deep, too. She could feel the damage inside her.
She shuddered, fought to control the shaking again, and cast a healing spell.
Nothing happened.
She cast it again, mentally exerting more than enough energy to staunch the bleeding and heal the wounds.
Nothing.
Perplexed, she conjured up a roll of cloth for bandages and wrapped it tightly around her middle. By the time she finished, the first rays of dawn peeked through the little window of her room in Oldstone’s flying castle.
She willed the black leather of her armor back over most of her body, leaving her hands and head uncovered. Gingerly she felt around her middle, physically inspecting the armor for cuts, but she couldn’t find any.
