The Pain of Compassion

by Roland Boykin

  “Watch and learn, my old friend. If they be using wooden practice swords, you would hear much contact, but that’s solid steel in their hands and one mistake could kill or maim. It takes a might more skill not to touch than to hit. You are about to witness a thing few have ever seen; a sword dance between masters.”

  Sofia and Ronald faced each other once again and began. Soon the movements of their blades were too fast to follow, and became a blur with only an occasional glint of steel. Every sailor quit what they were doing and gathered in a circle to watch. The two fighters never stopped moving, circling each other and constantly changing positions. The deadly grace of the dance held the crew spellbound. The hiss of the ship slicing through the water and the sighing of the wind could not hide the unmistakable ring of sword against sword. The two froze, stepped back, and raised their swords in salute. The dance was over.

  Smiling, Gerrad turned to his first mate. “Well, Bernard. Any question about her skill with a blade now?” Slapping him on the back, the Captain walked away, leaving his first mate speechless.

  Floanne surprised them when she accepted the Captain’s invitation to dinner that evening. She answered the question on Ronald’s face. “Sharing stories of Grandmother reminded me how strong and fearless she was. I want to be like her.”

  Holding tightly to the lieutenant’s arm, she gazed about the ship with a new determination. Sailors stood and nodded when they passed on their way aft. Once inside the cabin, Bernard was uncommonly quiet while passing out portions of the food brought up from the galley. With a final apprehensive glance at the Princess, he excused himself saying he would return later for the dishes. The meal was simple yet surprisingly tasty. The three companions dug in with gusto.

  “I know this isn’t what you’re used to, but I try to feed my crew a decent meal.”

  “You’d be surprised at what I’m used to, Miles, and Ronald spent much of his youth eating in taverns. My compliments to your cook, however. The venison is tender, the potatoes are just the way I like them, and the mixed vegetables are crisp. I have no complaints.”

  Captain Gerrad pushed away his plate, sat back and studied them again over steepled fingers. “So, tell me. Will I have to take up permanent residence in Marlinor for helping the three of you escape?”

  Sofia and Ronald shared a look. They proceeded to tell the Captain what they felt he should know, and left it up to him to decide. Some things, like Sofia’s new found power, were best left untold. Wanting an early start in the morning, they excused themselves soon after and left.

  Later that evening, as the three of them prepared for sleep, Ronald unhooked one end of his hammock and stretched it out to attach to the opposite wall. He stood staring and then fiddled with the folds in the canvas.

  “Did you ask directions from one of the crew on how to use that?” the Princess asked.

  “Well no, but I’ve read about them. How hard can it be?”

  Sofia turned to Floanne and mouthed the word ‘men’, eliciting a giggle that she quickly covered with her hand.

  Ronald grabbed the sides of the hammock and attempted to climb in. Losing his balance, the bed flipped and dumped him to the deck. The women couldn’t contain their merriment at his situation, and laughed even harder at his glare. He tried again, this time lifting a leg up and over, except it tangled in the cords at the end. He finally joined in their laughter while hanging upside down, his foot caught.

  “A little help here, please!”

  Between their laughter and tears, the women struggled to free the Lieutenant. Rubbing his backside, Ronald watched as Sofia approached her hammock, carefully sat in the middle, grabbed both edges, and then swung her legs up while lying down at the same time. Floanne turned to hers, copied Sofia’s actions and snuggled right in.

  Grumbling, Ronald unhooked his hammock, wrapped it around him and curled up on the floor. “There must be something wrong with mine. It’s not like I’ve never slept on the floor before.”

  More comfortable than she would have imagined, Sofia soon drifted towards sleep. It had been a very long day. Just prior to oblivion, a voice in her head stole her smile. ‘Beware the storm.’

  Early the next morning found Sofia and Floanne at the ship’s rail, refreshed after a sound sleep, while Ronald walked the ship’s perimeter trying to work out his stiffness. Neither Floanne’s excitement over watching the sun rise above the water’s surface or Ronald’s complaining managed to lift the darkness that had filled Sofia’s thoughts since last night’s warning.

  Captain Gerrad joined them at the rail. “Beautiful, isn’t it? I never grow tired of watching the rays of the sun shoot into the sky overhead just before it crests the water’s surface. If this weather holds, we should reach New Bratan tomorrow.”

  The lookout called down from above. “Sails ho, Captain, dead astern!”

  Miles shouted back, “What color?”

  “White.”

  “Bernard! Set full sails. I don’t want that ship catching us before we reach Marlinor.”

  “Aye, Captain!”

  Sofia turned to him, confusion etched on her face. “White sails? What other color would they be?”

  “Rogosh runs red topsails. He believes they strike fear into the hearts of his intended victims.”

  “And do they?”

  “Yes.”

  Turning away, he motioned for them to follow and headed for his cabin. Once inside, he unrolled one of his charts and pointed to an area near the middle of the Straits. “I plotted our position last night. We are on course, and with this increase in speed, we may reach the Bay of Salia tonight. Once there, we will be safe and can drop anchor for the night. It’s too dangerous entering New Bratan in the dark. Arriving early in the morning is best, anyway.”

  Before anyone could respond, Bernard burst through the door. “Captain. Sails directly ahead. Red sails.”

  Miles grabbed his distance viewer and sprinted out the door, the others hard on his heels. Standing atop the pilot house, the Captain didn’t need the viewer to see that Rogosh’s ship was near, and closing fast.

  “Curse you, Brother. May the Eye of Death consume your soul.” Turning to the others, he explained. “Somehow he knew we were coming, and used the other ship to drive us right into his cursed arms. He waited to set full sails, knowing we wouldn’t see him until it was too late.”

  “Can you outrun him?”

  “No. Any move we make, he can counter. We are too close.”

  Sofia locked eyes with the Captain, and in a quiet voice, decided. “Then we will fight. The longer we delay will give the other ship time to catch up and engage.”

  Miles struggled to pull his eyes away from the fire that threatened to engulf him. Maybe it was his imagination, but the world suddenly appeared darker. He managed to nod once before turning away.

  “Bernard, stay on course. Station the men and be ready to strike the sails on my command.”

  Afraid to face the Princess, he continued as if talking to himself. “When we strike the sails and slow, he will have to maintain full sails in order to close on us. Once in range, several lucky shots from our ballista should ruin his mainsail and give us a chance to get away.”

  The ships closed on each other like two bull elk in rut. A large projectile left the bow of the pirate ship, followed shortly by the distinct sound of a ballista being triggered. Captain Gerrad gave the command to strike sails, resulting in an immediate reduction of speed. As he had predicted, the other ship continued on with sails full.

  Ronald had taken Floanne back to their cabin amidships, and would stand guard outside while Sofia remained with the Captain. It felt right for her to face their enemy by Gerrad’s side. Unexpectedly, the pirate ship turned directly into their path.

  Miles bellowed the command, “Hard to port,” followed immediately with, “Fire!”

  Sails on Rogosh’s ship tore as the ballista shots ripped through them, but nothing could prevent the two ships colliding broadside. The impact s
ent many of the crew tumbling to the deck as a dozen grappling hooks found purchase on Gerrad’s ship. The lines snapped taut, spinning the ships in a circle.

  The number of pirates that rushed onboard easily outnumbered their crew. Miles drew his sword and turned to Sofia. “I hope you are prepared to die, Princess.”

  “Not this day, Miles. Not this day.”

  Her ever-burning anger gave her strength as the two of them repelled the first wave of pirates attempting to swarm the pilot house. Ronald appeared to be holding his own, but the rest of the crew were soon overrun. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw one of the pirates manage to get behind Ronald and raise his club. Before the attacker could deliver a blow, Floanne burst out of the cabin, screaming. Holding Sofia’s crossbow like a club, she struck the pirate in the back of the head.

  That turned out to be a terrible mistake as two pirates immediately broke off and grabbed her by the arms. A voice rang out from the other ship. “Bring the Princess to me and kill the rest!”

  Sofia’s anger exploded. Her spirit cowered in a corner of her mind as the anger raged totally out of control. Day became night as black clouds materialized along with howling winds. The sea rose up in mountainous spires, and an incessant rain of lightening pummeled both ships. Splinters of wood rocketed through the air as the two ships were flung against each other repeatedly. Ronald and Floanne clung desperately to each other, his free hand clutching ropes at the base of the mast.

  Ronald’s words to her whispered from afar. “The anger is part of who you are. It’s the fear of the anger that gives it power over you. Embrace your anger. It’s what makes you strong.”

  Drawing on a separate power, the power of her humanity, Sofia’s spirit rose up in her mind and shouted, “I am not my father!”

  She embraced the anger as it threatened to overwhelm her. Laughing, she realized she was just fighting herself and filled her soul with anger’s power. Reaching for the sky, Sofia pulled the lightening to her outstretched arms. The darkness and the wind fled as the seas calmed once again. Tendrils of blue lightening writhed up and down her arms as she dropped them to her sides.

  Ignoring the destruction around her and the pirates who scrambled out of her way, she approached Floanne and a smiling Ronald. Her eyes locked onto her former maidservant. The eyes that stared back belonged not to Floanne, but a spirit of indeterminate age. The ancient voice filled the air.

  “So, you have embraced your anger. Congratulations. The amulet is now yours. Wear it with compassion.”

  The amulet appeared in Floanne’s hand and she held it out for the Princess. Sofia placed the chain around her neck where it snapped shut; the amulet emitted a golden glow, and then vanished.

  The spirit raised Floanne’s arm to point at Sofia’s chest. “This young woman is now free to live her life as she pleases, and her true heritage will soon be revealed.”

  The mark branded into Sofia’s flesh, the day they left the Palace, lifted from her body and passed through her leathers to land on Floanne’s open hand. “No longer are you her guardian, and the link between you is removed. Never forget, Princess. The storm can destroy and it can cleanse. It is up to you to decide. You are the storm!”

  Chapter Eighteen ~ Secrets & Mysteries

  Prince Mathias spent most of the afternoon visiting with his family, thinking the logical place for an escape route would be somewhere with easy access to the royal family. He entered each apartment on the pretext of asking how they felt about the new servants while casually surveying the walls for anything out of the ordinary. The suites were almost identical in layout and design. Nothing odd stood out between them.

  He was afraid to ask anyone, especially his father who was the likeliest to know, because of the inevitable question: Why do you want to know? He hadn’t come up with a suitable answer to that yet. So Mathias wandered the Palace halls, peeking behind tapestries and cabinets when no one was around. No secret doors were to be found. After supper, not ready to give up, he headed for the Palace Library.

  With no idea where to look for the original plans used to build the Palace, he went first to the sealed cabinet containing all the old histories. One at a time, he gently removed each volume and sat down to skim the stories looking for any mention of a way to escape the Palace.

  Behind him, the sound of the door closing intruded on the hushed atmosphere of the library. He continued reading, there was only one person he knew who would seek him out here.

  “There you are. What are you doing hiding in the library?”

  Mathias spun around and smiled up at his old friend. “I am not hiding, Rafael. With all that’s going on, I felt I’d better read up on the Elder Races since I know so little about them. What are you doing in here?”

  The Duke’s son came around and sat across the table from the Prince. “Looking for you, and don’t bother with those old histories. I’ve already read them and there isn’t much in there about the Elders.”

  “You and your love of history,” Mathias laughed. “I should have remembered and come to you first. What can you tell me about them?”

  “Not much more than you already know,” Rafael retorted, and then leaned forward, his voice filled with excitement and longing. “But you actually spoke to one! What is he like, Mathias? Is he as fierce and savage as they say?” Slumped back in his chair, his tone became wistful. “I would give anything to actually speak to an ogre.”

  “Sebastian certainly looks fierce, but savage he is not. He’s well mannered and speaks as well as you and me. Why don’t you go speak to him and find out for yourself?”

  “What, and be disowned by my father who has forbidden it? By the Eyes, Mathias, the Duke is getting harder to deal with every day. Something is bothering him, but he refuses to talk about it.”

  The Prince slowly closed the ancient tome, returned it to the cabinet, and made sure the doors were sealed tight. Once again in his chair, he hooked a loose strand of hair behind his ear, crossed his arms and studied the son of their enemy.

  “Rafael, do you remember the secrets we shared as children?”

  A smile broke out on Rafael’s face. “Hah, do I ever. Some of those secrets would have earned us a sound beating, I’ll wager.”

  “I’m afraid a beating is nothing compared to what might happen if what I’m about to share with you gets out. I hate to involve you, my old friend, but there are few I can trust. I need your help.”

  Rafael lost his smile and leaned forward again. “Is this about the rumors? Are the Elder Races really going to attack?”

  Mathias shook his head. “No, but that is what we are meant to believe. The Scarred Mage has sent his agents out into the world to spread those lies. Unfortunately, too many people are beginning to believe. There is something else afoot that will put everyone in the Palace in danger.”

  Without hesitation, Rafael asked. “What can I do to help?”

  “The Palace must have a secret escape route or tunnel somewhere, and I need to find it. If you help me, I’ll do what I can to set up a meeting for you with Sebastian.”

  Rafael lowered his chin and closed his eyes, deep in thought. A moment later he raised his head to stare at his friend. “I seem to remember an old story where someone went down to the lower storage level to check on something they didn’t want others to discover.”

  The two sprang from their chairs, boyish grins lighting up their faces.

  “Well, what are we waiting for?”

  The years flew away as two boys once again embarked on another great adventure. Mathias in the lead, and Rafael keeping an eye out behind, they snuck along the hallways and stairs, peeking around each corner before proceeding. The lower storage level revealed a dimly lit hallway with a row of doors down one side.

  With a shrug, they each grabbed a spare lantern from the rack. After several failed attempts with the new striker, they lit them using the one already burning. Mathias opened the first door and jumped back as a cascade of broken furniture tumbled out int
o the hall. Grumbling at the laziness of servants, they shoved the bits and pieces back into the room. Rafael held everything in place while Mathias carefully closed the door. Both had to push to get it to latch.

  The next room held more promise. They could actually enter and walk along the walls looking for anything unusual. Shaking his head, the Prince left the room and started for the third door. “It would help if we knew what to look for.”

  “I know, but hopefully we’ll know it when we see it.”

  The next room was identical to the last, but Rafael had a puzzled look on his face when they returned to the hall. Turning around, he stepped back inside, followed closely by Mathias. He stared at the wall to the left and then to the right. Carefully measuring his steps, he paced the distance from the door to the right wall.

  Back out in the hall, Rafael paced out the same distance and had Mathias stand where he stopped. He disappeared into the second room, returning moments later and stepped out a distance from the second door. He stopped and stared at his friend. There remained a gap of roughly six feet between them.

  The Prince broke out laughing and they shared a triumphant smile. “Rafael, you never cease to amaze me. How did you know?”

  “I didn’t, but I remembered the doors to all the other storerooms are centered in the room. These two were just enough off-center to look wrong.”

  Excited, they peered closely at the wall and soon found the outline of a door hidden in the vertical wood pattern used throughout the Palace.

  “Leave it to the Deluti to hide a door in plain sight, but how do we open it?” the Prince asked.

  “Run your fingers over the wall. Maybe the latch is hidden in the pattern also,” Rafael suggested.

  When their inspection turned up nothing, Mathias slammed his hand against the wall in frustration.

  “Wait! What did you just do?” Rafael exclaimed and leaned forward studying the wall. “Do that again, only this time push instead.”

  The Prince laid his hand against the wall and pushed as instructed, but nothing happened. Setting his feet, he tried again with both hands, adding his weight to the effort. A grinding sound emerged from the floor as the mechanism protested centuries of neglect. His section of wall slowly depressed while the wall in front of Rafael swung outward.