Scimitar Sun

by Chris A. Jackson

  “Well, I think Mouse has had enough of Flicker’s teasing for tonight,” the seamage said, sampling the soup.

  “Aye, we’ll be lucky if he doesn’t show up in the middle of the night drunk and chirping sea chanteys.” Feldrin tried the soup and sighed. “Ah. So long at sea, I forgot what real food tasted like.”

  “Tim said you were in Marathia hunting pirates,” Edan said, tasting the soup. It was rich and lightly spiced, and he found that he liked it despite the rather revolting thought that there was turtle in it.

  “Aye, that’s true enough. They had a revolution down there and a bunch of warships went missing. I persuaded a few of their captains to return them to their owner, the sultan.” The captain tore a piece of bread from the loaf and dipped it in his soup, closing his eyes in bliss as he took a bite. “Cyn tells me yer here for yer ascension trials, and that you’ve tried it once before.”

  “Yes, when I was nine years old.” Edan took some bread and followed the captain’s example as the servant filled the men’s wineglasses and the seamage’s water goblet. He sipped the wine; he’d never tasted anything like it before.

  “That’s how you got the scars on your legs?” the seamage asked, raising an eyebrow. “Tim told me about them.”

  “Yes.” He grimaced a little at the memory, at his failure. “My first trials didn’t go very well.”

  “But yer here to try again, and that takes some stones!” Feldrin raised his glass in toast. “To yer success!”

  “Thank you, Captain,” Edan said with a slight blush, sipping his wine. Flicker ventured from the candles to inspect his glass, but he pulled it away. “No, Flick. Not for you.” She retreated with a pout, but he wasn’t about to let her have any. He knew from experience that firesprites and alcohol did not mix well.

  “It’s not usual for elementalists to try a second ascension,” the seamage said to her husband, nodding to Edan. “And to walk into a volcano, well…”

  “Walk into a volcano?” Feldrin’s eyes widened. “So that’s yer plan, eh? How do you prepare yerself fer that? You’ve got to be a little…uh…nervous.”

  “Afraid, you mean?” Edan said, smiling thinly at the captain’s careful choice of words. “I think I failed my first trials because I was afraid. This time, I won’t be.”

  “But how can you not fear it? Forgive me, Edan, but if you fail this time, you’ll perish in the flames.” He could hear the worry in the seamage’s voice, but he knew that she, of anyone, understood his obsession. He had worked with the lightkeeper for far too long not to know that magic was everything to an elementalist: their work, their play, their love, their life…

  “I’ve been preparing myself for this for years, without even knowing it, I think,” he said, relinquishing his empty bowl without realizing that he’d finished the soup. The bowl was replaced with a plate of crisp greens and slices of mango topped with crumbled white cheese. He had developed a taste for mango, especially with this cheese, and savored the interaction of flavors. And, to his surprise, he was enjoying the meal alone with the seamage and her husband. He had thought that it would be awkward, but they treated him as an adult, an equal, and that made him eager to share thoughts with them that he had never shared with anyone else.

  “And how have you prepared yourself?” the captain asked, digging into his salad with relish.

  “Failing once, and thinking for years that I would never be anything but the lightkeeper’s apprentice, that I would never have the magic, I didn’t think I had much to live for.” He shrugged. “Then you came along, Mistress Flaxal, and you broke all the rules. That gave me hope.”

  “But are you sure that fear was the reason you failed your first trials?” the seamage asked, picking at her plate. “I remember that I was plenty scared the night I was chosen by Odea.”

  “Were you, really?” he asked, surprised. “You were afraid of the storm?”

  “Well, now that you mention it, not so much of the storm. I was afraid of the pirates who had taken my ship, and of being taken to Bloodwind.” She raised her right hand, the one missing a finger, and smiled without humor. “Those fears were well-founded, I later learned.”

  “But you didn’t fear the storm, and I think that’s the key,” Edan said, warming to the subject. He pushed away his plate and sipped the wine, feeling emboldened enough to ask the one question that he’d wanted to ask her since the day they first met. “If I may ask, Mistress Flaxal, what did you feel? During your ascension, I mean. What was it like?”

  “I remember being surprised, more than anything,” she said, waving the servant forward to clear their plates. The main course arrived: lamb chops with rosemary, roasted new potatoes swimming in butter, and a small bowl of chutney studded with brilliant-red pomegranate seeds. “I hadn’t planned any of it, you know, and I didn’t know what was happening. I remember feeling a rush, elated that I felt so good — not seasick at all, even in a hurricane — clinging to the topmast with the wind tearing at me and lightning cracking around the ship.”

  Edan watched her as her eyes assumed a far-off look. The memory of her rapture, her oneness with Odea, shone in her face.

  “Then I saw the eye-wall of the storm, and the moon and the stars, and Mouse showed me my pendant, and it all came together.” She shrugged and sipped her water before applying her knife and fork to the meat. “After that, I don’t remember much. Only that I saw the lightning coming and threw Mouse away, trying to spare him. Then I was falling into the sea.”

  “A bloody wonder you weren’t killed,” Feldrin grumbled, spearing a potato and quartering it with deft strokes of his knife.

  “But you weren’t, and that’s the key!” Edan forgot the food, so focused was he on the seamage’s story. “Struck by lightning and flung from the top of the mast into the water; it should have killed you, but it didn’t! Just as walking into the volcano of Fire Isle won’t kill me! You see? I have nothing to fear, just as you didn’t!”

  “I hope so, Edan.” The seamage considered him for a moment before attending to her meal. “Maybe failing your first trials did prepare you for this. You know what there is to fear, and have overcome it.”

  “I have,” Edan agreed, sipping his wine and returning to the meal. He ate heartily and watched Flicker in the flames, envious of her intimacy with the fire. His hand still ached from the burn, but there was no fear with the pain. Pain and fear were different things; he could feel pain without being afraid. That, he knew, was key to his success. For he knew that, unlike Odea’s trials, Phekkar’s would not be painless.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Coming Storm

  *She signs much, but her motions say little,* Redtail signed behind the seamage’s back as she pleaded her case once again to Broadtail. *Always she signs of peace. Never does she tell us how to get what we want from the landwalkers.*

  *Yes, she signs much of peace.* Sharkbite flicked his tail in annoyance. *Like a newborn finling, crying for pap from a parent’s gullet. I wonder, is she weak, inept or simply a coward?*

  Their conversation, carefully out of view of the seamage, was meant to be overseen by as many of the remaining mer in the grotto as possible. The rumors they’d sown throughout the community about the seamage — her questionable motives, her unwillingness to help the mer against the landwalkers — had taken root, and of those assembled, as many looked to her with skepticism as with hope. Tailwalker and Quickfin floated to either side of the Trident Holder, in full view of their conversation. Both glared openly at them, their agitation plain for all, including the seamage, to see.

  *I think the growing heir in her belly has made her afraid of confrontation,* Redtail agreed, backing up slightly to avoid drifting into his companion. The motion was, as everything Redtail did, carefully calculated. His tail nudged another mer, and he turned to offer apology, knowing full well who was behind him. *My pardon, Sunglimmer. We are crammed in here like finlings in a cheek pouch.*

  *Yes, it is quite a school in h
ere.* She signed as she backed up. Her mate, Spineback, puffed out his broad chest and flared his gill slits at Redtail and Sharkbite, a subtle challenge. The closely packed school had brought tempers to the fore. Sunglimmer, it seemed, had been paying more attention to their conversation than the seamage’s rambling plea, and Spineback had taken notice.

  *Watch your tail,* the big mer warned. *And have a care what you sign in the presence of Seamage Flaxal’s Heir.*

  *Calm, my husband,* Sunglimmer signed, one graceful hand on his thick chest. *No insult was meant, and not all here agree with what Seamage Flaxal’s Heir is signing.*

  *True on both counts, Sunglimmer,* Redtail signed with a nod of respect. *We only sign our opinions, which to my knowledge we are still allowed to do, unless the seamage coaxes the Trident Holder into denying that privilege also.* He backed away before Spineback could reply, nudging Sharkbite to join their other friends. They had done all they could do here.

  The pair worked their way through the school, paying little attention to the seamage’s conversation with Broadtail. What she was signing they had all seen before; caution, peace, tolerance, talk…an endless prattle of obsequiousness that Redtail found increasingly nauseating.

  They joined Eelback and Slickfin where they were conversing with Kelpie. Redtail could tell by the priestess’ posture that she was upset.

  Good, he thought, gesturing from behind Kelpie’s back that their assignment had gone well. Eelback has told her of our discovery. Their entire conversation, purposefully held in view of Tailwalker and Quickfin, was to draw their attention away from Eelback’s conversation with the priestess. She was now the only one besides Eelback, Slickfin, Redtail and Sharkbite who knew the truth of their plan, the truth that would change the mer’s place in the world forever. If she responded poorly to this news, if she threatened to divulge the news to their enemies…well, that was why Eelback had recruited Sharkbite into their little group.

  *I do not expect a commitment from you now, Kelpie,* Eelback signed as the seamage finished her diatribe. *Simply consider it, and I will honor your decision.*

  *I cannot do it, Eelback,* she signed, obviously agitated. Her eyes flickered to the two mer flanking the Trident Holder, lingering on the seamage’s betrothed. *Seamage Flaxal’s Heir is my friend, and Tailwalker is — *

  *I know how you feel about the Trident Holder’s son, Kelpie,* Slickfin signed, resting a sympathetic hand on the other’s arm. *But you cannot let feelings guide you here. The future of our race is at stake.*

  *I must…think on it,* she signed, hurriedly disengaging and leaving the grotto, her colors shifting as she went, displaying her distress for all to see.

  *Odea’s priestess seemed upset,* Redtail signed with a knowing grin as Broadtail thanked the seamage for her opinion, and asked the school to present any questions they might have.

  *Come, let us go to my grotto,* Eelback signed, his own color shifting with his nervousness. They had just opened their plan to the possibility of discovery by their enemies. *There are enough here to ask the questions that we have all asked in the past. Let us discuss the future, and how we may shape it.*

  They left the grotto, and in their wake questions rained down on the seamage like a shower of silt from a ship passing overhead.

  ≈

  “All is ready, Commodore,” Captain Flauglin said as the last barge pulled away from the Clairissa’s side. “Fire Drake and Lady Gwen have signaled likewise. We can finish the stowage and get the marines settled while underway.”

  “Very good, Captain, and well done.” Commodore Twig was pleased; preparations that might have taken a tenday had been accomplished in only six. “Our orders are to depart as soon as possible. You may weigh anchor and make for sea. Please signal Fire Drake and Lady Gwen to proceed.” He paced the expansive quarterdeck as the captain acknowledged his orders and set things into motion.

  The crack crew on the Clairissa slipped her mooring with military precision and little delay. The boatswain called for the sweeps, and long oars were run out of the lowest row of ballistae ports; their blades dug into the water, adroitly turning the huge ship in the crowded harbor. Before her escorts had finished hauling their anchors, the sweeps had been stowed and the emperor’s flagship was making headway toward the harbor mouth under a dazzling tower of white topsails and jibs. Fire Drake and Lady Gwen soon followed, and the three ships departed the harbor in a neat row, the two warships in the fore, and the supply galleon bringing up the rear.

  The commodore looked back at the following ships, his lip twitching in a repressed smile. That pompous twit Norris and his entourage were sailing in the Lady Gwen, cramped into passenger quarters. The Clairissa and Fire Drake carried only military personnel, though a full battalion of four hundred marines made even the emperor’s flagship somewhat crowded. He and the captain were, of course, well appointed; the flagship sported two vast greatcabins aft, one above the other, the sweeping stern windows giving both light and welcome ventilation in the stifling heat. Captain Flauglin was in command of the Clairissa and her day-to-day operations, but Twig outranked him and commanded the entire armada, so he gave the orders that would ultimately affect their mission.

  The first swells of the Great Western Sea lifted the immense bulk of the Clairissa as she turned south. They would have to tack far out to sea before they picked up the trade winds. Then they could set a course straight for Plume Isle. Twig smiled at the thought of the haughty seamage’s face when she saw the emperor’s flagship on the horizon.

  Superfluous indeed, he thought, gripping the rail and looking out over the deck, with its double row of massive catapults shrouded in canvas, and the files of marines scurrying around stowing their gear. With a full complement of more than twelve hundred sailors and marines, the Clairissa was no less than a mobile fortress, able to reduce even a fortified keep to rubble.

  “We shall see who is superfluous, Seamage of the Shattered Isles…”

  ≈

  Cynthia stepped from the sea’s embrace into the waiting embrace of Feldrin Brelak. His arms enveloped her and held her close, and she wondered how she had lived so long without him. The sea was, as she had oft said, a harsh mistress, and while she felt a certain rapture and wonder under the sea that could not be paralleled ashore, there was nothing as comforting, as solid as Feldrin’s huge arms enfolding her. She knew he would never betray her, never treat her like an intruder or accuse her of manipulating him for her own ends.

  She squeezed him back as hard as she could, which drew a deep chuckle from his barrel chest. One of his huge hands cupped her head like a child’s, patting her hair, and it was all she could do to release him and step back.

  “Now, lass, why the tears?” he asked, wiping water from her cheeks with his thumbs.

  “Tears?” She hadn’t realized that she was crying, but it didn’t surprise her. Lately, her emotions had been tossing and turning like a fishing smack in a summer squall. She sniffed and smiled up at his concerned face, into his twinkling dark eyes, and lied. “Just thinking how much I missed you, I guess.”

  “Oh, now that won’t wash with me, and ya know it.” He put her hand on his arm and started their stroll up the pier. “Them fishy friends of yours get yer dander up again?”

  “How did you know?” she asked, poking him in the side and eliciting another chuckle. “You learn mind reading from that princess of yours?”

  He patted her hand on his arm and smiled. “No, it don’t take mind readin’ to know you’ve got yer knickers in a knot over the mer. I’ve watched ya dealin’ with them off and on for almost two years, and I see how frustratin’ they are to ya.”

  “You have no idea, Feldrin,” she said, with relief. Although she didn’t want to worry him with her problems, she was glad that he’d guessed the real source of her distress; it was nice to have someone to talk to about it. “They’re like spoiled children. It’s like they want war. I don’t understand them half as well as I should, and my father’s notes on
them are sketchy at best.”

  “Well, ya ever think that maybe they do want war?” he asked, taking her aback.

  “But who would ever…” She let that thought slide away at the knowing shake of Feldrin’s head. Maybe that was her problem; instead of denial, she should be looking for reasons. “Why would they want war with the landwalkers?”

  “I have no idea, Cyn, but ya gotta understand that not everyone wants peace, and not every war is a bad thing. Take what Mojani did down in Marathia. That revolution damn near ripped the country right down the middle, but they’re better for it. The bad thing is that, with that success under his belt, the sultan started lookin’ to carry the war beyond his borders, to keep up that feelin’ of power and control, and perhaps fill the country’s coffers.” He stopped at the steps to the keep and looked down at her. “What ya gotta ask yerself is: What do the mer stand to gain from war?”

  “That’s just it — I don’t know! It’s not like they can invade the land and claim it, and they don’t require its resources; the sea gives them everything they need. They’re spoiling for a fight, and I don’t know why.”

  “Well, maybe it’s a matter of respect,” he said, motioning to the bustling throngs of dark-skinned natives in the shipyard who were moving the masts of Cynthia’s new ship to where they would be stepped. “Like yer friends here; give ‘em credit fer runnin’ their own lives, point ‘em in the right direction and give ‘em the tools, and they’re busy as a hive of bees.”

  “Well, I can’t very well ask the mer to help me build ships, can I?”

  “No, I don’t suppose ya can. Not unless ya can design one that sails under the water.” He chuckled, but stopped as her brows knitted in thought. “Now, Cyn, don’t get any hair-brained ideas! Ya got enough problems right here without designing another new ship! Besides, I got one more problem for ya, and I think it’s a doozie.”