Twin Soul Series Omnibus 2: Books 6-10

by McCaffrey-Winner

  “The gods don’t listen?”

  “Not unless you ask them very carefully,” Rabel said. “That’s why so many people seek out the shaman. She knows how to get Ametza’s attention.”

  Ellen could only look at him speechlessly. This was an upheaval in her world, in her thinking.

  Rabel topped off his tea and gestured to her to see if she wanted the same but she made no response, unmoving.

  After a while, Rabel got up and put another pot on to boil while putting the dishes in the sink. When the water was hot, he washed the pots and the dishes, drying them with a towel that he found under the sink. He put everything away, made a gesture to the stove that killed the fire and sat back down in front of the still wordless child.

  “What do you know of the gods?” Rabel asked her softly.

  Ellen jerked in her chair and met his eyes. “The gods?”

  Rabel nodded.

  “I know about Ametza, and Ophidian, and Vorg and Veva,” Ellen said.

  “What about Arolan?” Rabel asked.

  “Who?”

  “Arolan, Ametza’s husband.”

  “She’s married?” Ellen said in surprise. “Does she have any children?” A moment later, she added, “Where is he?”

  “Gone,” Rabel said. “He’s been gone for at least two hundred years now.”

  “Two hundred years?” Ellen said, trying to imagine such a long time. “Are you that old?”

  “No,” Rabel said with a chuckle and a shake of his head. “Most people only live sixty years or so.”

  “You’re older than that,” Ellen declared stoutly. She saw Rabel’s reaction and said, “You made a deal with Ophidian, so you’ve lived longer.”

  “I have,” Rabel agreed softly.

  “What happened to Arolan?” Ellen asked. Before Rabel could continue, she said, “Can you teach me about the gods?” Rabel nodded and she turned to the stove and back to him, asking in a smaller voice, “And how to make fire?”

  “I can teach you,” Rabel said. Ellen heard the note of caution in his voice and gave him a hopeful look. “But there are rules.”

  “I’ll follow them!” Ellen promised immediately. “I’ll be good, I promise!”

  “Oh, I doubt you’ll be good!” Rabel told her with a laugh. “Just be sure to follow the rules.”

  “I’ll be good anyway,” Ellen promised.

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, child,” Rabel told her sternly. He pointed a finger at her. “That is the first rule.”

  “I’ll try to be good always,” Ellen corrected herself.

  “Good enough,” Rabel agreed. He rose from his chair and stretched a hand toward her. “First thing, we’ve got to get you cleaned and dressed.”

  “Dressed?”

  “New clothes,” Rabel told her. “Where we’re going it will be cold.” He led her out of the room. “Have you ever had a bath?”

  “I can have a bath?” Ellen asked, eyes as wide as saucers. “I heard about them. Rich people at the Inn, they get them.” In a smaller voice, she said, “And I can really have one?”

  “Yes.”

  #

  Rabel had filled the tub with warm water, shown her how to use soap and had left her to her own devices. When, three minutes later, Ellen had brightly declared herself all done, Rabel had entered and had given her a lengthy description of getting into the water, getting wet, soaping up, and rinsing herself off. He’d also pointed to the two very dry towels sitting on the back of the chair and had explained how she would use them to dry herself off. He told her that he’d have clothes for her when she was done. He’d left immediately afterwards. Ellen eyed the warm water airily. She put a finger into it. She put her hand into it. It took her a good while before she was willing to put a toe in.

  Thirty minutes later, she came out of the bathroom, dressed in warm clothes, her hair only slightly damp. With a huge smile on her face, she began pledging herself to the goddess of water and the gods of fire.

  “Can I do that again?” Ellen begged.

  “Later,” Rabel told her.

  “But it’s so much fun!” Ellen squealed. “I see why the rich pay so much to have baths!”

  Rabel, who had experience with converts to the glories of warm baths, said nothing.

  Chapter Five: Gold Warrior

  “So, Mr. Newman, what is it you wish to see me about?” Captain Nevins said, gesturing for the other to sit himself at the other side of his captain’s table aboard Warrior. He allowed himself a grim smile. “I got the impression that it was neither good news nor the sort you wished to share with minister Mannevy.”

  “Oh, it’s —” Newman began airily.

  “I’m not a fool,” Nevins cut across him. “Spit it out man, it’ll just fester in the dark.”

  “We had planned on using steel for the engines,” Newman said.

  “And?” Nevins prompted. He knew what the other was going to say but he wanted to see the mechanic squirm — payback for trying to weasel his words earlier.

  “You heard about the jail?”

  Nevins snorted. “Who hasn’t?”

  “I understand that Rabel Zebala is among those missing,” Newman said.

  “And he made your steel!” Nevins declared. “So you don’t have any, or enough, so now what?”

  “The engines will be built, rest assured,” Newman promised, spreading out his hands in assurance.

  “That’s not my problem,” Nevins said. He nodded curtly to the other. “Say on.”

  “It’ll mean that the engines will be heavier,” Newman said.

  “Just as long as they move the ship, I don’t care,” Captain Nevins declared.

  Newman looked relieved and started to stand only to halt as he saw Nevins’ hand waving him back down.

  “But if you don’t want first minister Mannevy to know…” Nevins said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his hands behind his head, “well, I’m open to persuasion.”

  Newman dropped back into his chair. “How much persuasion? I have a case of some good port wine, if you’re interested.”

  “That’s a start,” Nevins said. “But I’ve in mind something more… flashy… something bright… and gold.”

  “How much?” Newman asked, figuring he could just include the loss in his price for the engines.

  “Say a chest the same size as a good chest of your port wine,” Nevins told him. He sat up in his chair and nodded. “Yes, that should be shiny enough for me.”

  “Very well,” Newman said. “I’ll be happy to oblige.”

  “Good,” Nevins said, rising from his chair and extending his hand. “Then, Mr. Newman, if there are no other problems, I’ll wish you good day.”

  #

  “Newman gave your captain Nevins a cask of port wine and another cask,” Peter Hewlitt, the spymaster, told King Markel the next evening.

  “Did he?” the king replied. “Care to wager on the contents of the second cask?”

  “Gold,” Hewlitt said. “Clearly, Mr. Newman was looking for some favor from the captain.”

  “And my prisoners?”

  “We’ve had no luck in recapturing them,” Hewlitt confessed.

  “And Rabel Zebala?”

  “He is highest on our list, as you ordered,” the king’s spymaster assured him. “We’ve offered a reward, of course —”

  “For him?” the king asked in a dangerous tone.

  “No, for any prisoners who’ve escaped the king’s justice,” Hewlitt replied. “And we’ve got a list of names.”

  “How much are you offering?” the king asked. Before the other could reply, he said, “Double it.”

  “Your Majesty?”

  “Double it,” King Markel said. “Dead or alive.”

  “Rabel is no use to you dead, sire.”<
br />
  Markel shrugged. “He’s no use alive, either.”

  #

  “They’re building more airships,” Rabel said two days later, as he returned from the docks. He and Ellen had taken turns, dressed in different clothes every day, to spy on the king’s men.

  “I should tell the captain,” Ellen said, reaching for one of her blue demons.

  Rabel stopped her with a raised hand. “Wait,” he said. “He can’t do anything yet and you only have two of them —”

  “Three,” Ellen corrected.

  “Two,” Rabel said. “The third will only go if something happens to you.”

  “What?” Ellen asked.

  Rabel said nothing but his eyebrow twitched.

  “If I die?”

  “That way he’ll know,” Rabel told her. “Wait to send your demon until you have something important to tell him.”

  “And if I never find out anything important?”

  “Then you’ll have three demons to give back to him,” Rabel told her with a grin.

  “How do you know they’re building more airships?” Ellen challenged, not convinced of his reasoning.

  “I helped them before,” Rabel told her. “I can make steel, dragon steel.”

  “Dragon steel?”

  Rabel nodded. “I can use Ophidian’s fire to make iron into steel. Those who use it call it dragon steel because only a dragon’s fire is hot enough.”

  “What about a wyvern’s?” Ellen asked. Instantly she regretted her question. Rabel stiffened and shook his head as though he’d been hit. “Sorry.”

  Rabel raised a hand and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter,” he told her. He added, “And you’re right — I imagine a wyvern’s fire would be hot enough. But no one has ever called it wyvern’s steel, only dragon steel.”

  “I’ll bet no one ever tried,” Ellen said. Rabel cocked his head thoughtfully, then nodded. Ellen took this as encouragement, so she asked, “And if they don’t get your dragon steel, they can’t make the airships?”

  “No,” Rabel said, shaking his head. “They have to use iron and that’s not as strong.”

  “And?”

  “So they have to use more iron and that adds weight,” Rabel said. His eyes gleamed as he added, “I’ll bet they’re not thinking of that.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “It means that their ships will be harder to lift into the air and slower to move in the sky,” Rabel told her. He chuckled, saying, “And they haven’t pulled the ships out of the water. They’re going to get a surprise!’

  #

  “What’s wrong? Why doesn’t it fly?” Mechanic Newman demanded of mage Tirpin when they stood under the new balloon aboard Warrior.

  “I don’t know,” Tirpin admitted wearily. He tried once again to reproduce the lifting spell. The balloon above them bulged with the lighter air and pulled on the ship… but Warrior remained firmly waterbound.

  “Gentlemen?” Captain Nevins prodded irritably. “Why are we not flying?”

  “Mage Tirpin seems to be having some trouble with his spell,” Newman said, nodding toward the blue-robed mage who stood, sweating in the morning cold, under the straining balloon above him.

  “Could there be a leak?” Captain Nevins asked, pointing to the huge balloon above them. Under his breath, he added, “Maybe that’s why they used so many on Spite.”

  “That was an inferior design!” Tirpin cried, lowering his arms to his side and glaring up at the balloon above him. “Ten balloons meant ten times more weight of fabric! This is much more efficient!”

  “What’s weight got to do with it?” Captain Nevins demanded.

  “The balloon is designed to lift the proper weight,” Tirpin said. “If we had more balloons, we’d have to adjust our lift to account for the added weight.”

  Captain Nevins turned toward the mechanic, who was turning an interesting shade of green. “Ah… Mr. Newman, is there something that you perhaps forgot to relay to our blue-robed acquaintance?”

  #

  “Here,” Rabel said to Ellen in the kitchen. He pointed to the sink which he’d filled halfway with water. “Take this glass, dunk it in the water and turn it so that it’s pointing upside down.” Ellen, frowning, did as he instructed. “Now pull it up, slowly, from the water.” Ellen pulled it up until the glass was halfway out of the water, even though it still had water inside. “The water sticks to the sides of the glass. It’d stick to the sides of anything,” Rabel explained. “Slowly, now, pull the glass all the way out of the water. Concentrate on how hard it is.”

  “It’s not that hard,” Ellen said, pulling the glass out triumphantly.

  “Now, try lifting it,” Rabel said. Ellen did as told, giving him a perplexed look. “It’s easier, isn’t it?”

  “But… that’s because of the water!”

  “Exactly!” Rabel agreed. “Water has a weight of its own but it’s also got one other thing.”

  “What?”

  “It likes to hold on to things,” Rabel said. “It takes more effort to break free from water than just pulling up the weight.”

  “And?”

  Rabel smiled. “Think about what that pull would be like on something really big.”

  Ellen thought. And her eyes widened as she said mischievously, “Like a ship?”

  “Exactly!”

  “It’s harder to lift a ship out of water than it is off the ground?”

  “On the ground, a ship is only resting on air,” Rabel pointed out. “There’s no water clinging to its sides.”

  “So they won’t be able to get their ships into the sky?” Ellen asked, smiling at the thought of the king and all his men running around screaming in confusion and rage.

  “No,” Rabel said, “they’ll just need more magic than they imagine.”

  “When I pulled the glass out, it jumped as it left the water,” Ellen said. “Will that —”

  “Indeed,” Rabel said with a chuckle. “They’re going to get quite a surprise!” He took the glass from her and cleaned it with a towel, putting it back into the cupboard gently. “But we won’t be here to see it.”

  “We won’t?” Ellen asked in surprise. They’d been at Ibb’s for over a week and she’d only just learned how to start the fire in the stove — the normal way, without any magic whatsoever.

  “We need to go north,” Rabel said. “First we’ll stop at my house.”

  “You’ve got a house?”

  “I did,” Rabel said in a sad voice. “We’ll get what we need there and then —”

  “Then?”

  “We’ll head north,” Rabel told her.

  “To the captain?”

  “Perhaps,” Rabel agreed. “But certainly to keep our word.”

  “Our word?”

  “Well,” Rabel said, with a smile, “you did promise to abide by my rules.”

  Ellen accepted this with a nod. “But that’s just my word, isn’t it?” Rabel nodded. “So what’s your word?” Before he could answer, she guessed, “The bargain you struck with Ophidian?”

  Rabel nodded firmly. Then he raised a finger to her, warningly. “Remember, outside this house, the gods will be listening.”

  “Well, sometimes,” Ellen agreed.

  “I should have said: ‘The gods can hear us,’” Rabel corrected himself.

  “What are we going to find at your house?”

  “Memories, mostly,” Rabel told her in a sad voice, looking down to the ground. He looked up at her. “Memories, and seeds.”

  “Seeds? What for?”

  “For beginnings.”

  Chapter Six: Ships of the Sky

  “Now what is it?” Captain Nevins asked tetchily as Warrior strained once more to leap into the skies. He pointed to the dock where King Markel and Queen Arivik l
ooked on with ill-concealed despair. “Your King does not look at all happy, mage.”

  Mage Tirpin shot Nevins a look of pure hatred. The past several days had done nothing to improve Nevins’ opinion of the blue-robed mage and his language had reflected that with the result that he had driven Tirpin to rage and despair far too many times.

  Nevins wouldn’t have done it except that the blue-robed Sorian was so much fun to tease. But he’d thought they’d finally worked out all the kinks in the magic — and the mechanics — necessary to get Warrior into the skies. He’d even removed another pair of canon — six-pounders — from his much-reduced armory to facilitate matters.

  “I can’t — I don’t — it’s like this damned water is holding us down!” Tirpin cried, gesturing to the sea below.

  “Well, of course it is!” Nevins returned hotly. And then he paused. “Are you trying to say you didn’t know that?”

  “What?” Tirpin barked. “Are you saying that Ametza —?”

  “Praise be her name,” Nevins interrupted quickly, before the mage brought a flood upon himself — and them. “I am telling you that water holds onto things and you have to account for that.” He paused. “Make your spell half again as strong and we should leap to the skies.”

  “Half again?” Tirpin shouted, veins bulging in his head. “Half again, how do you imagine I can do something like that?”

  “I imagine you can do it immediately,” Nevins returned smoothly, waving his hand toward the royal party at the dockyards, “or his majesty will doubt your skills.” He paused, adding silkily, “Perhaps enough even to lighten your shoulders of their burden.” He saw that the mage was too flustered to follow him, so he explained, “That is, of your head.” He turned toward the stern before the mage could react and bellowed, “All hands! All hands grab tight!”

  “Grab tight?” Nevins heard one of his slower ‘airmen’ — a certain Gates — grumble in confusion. “What’s he — urp!”

  Warrior leapt into the skies, pulling free from the water as though scorched.

  Nevins smiled as he raised himself back to his feet and turned to Tirpin. His words of praise were swallowed in alarm when he saw that the mage had collapsed to the deck.