Scimitar Sun

by Chris A. Jackson

  “I need some time to think about this, Mistress Flaxal,” he said, pushing himself up from his seat with shaking hands. The anger had faded, and his eyes flicked around the room as if he were lost. “I don’t know what I would do, what I would be, if I gave up my ascension. I could earn a living, I suppose, but…” His eyes focused back on hers, a thin hope kindling behind them. “Do you think that she…that Camilla might…”

  “No, Edan, I don’t.” She hated herself for saying it, for telling him the truth. “She doesn’t love you. It’s not your fault that she doesn’t, it’s just the way things are.”

  “I…I still need to think about it.” He nodded to them both and left the room, his thin shoulders slumped, his gait slack, Flicker flying in agitated circles about his head.

  After the door closed, Cynthia and Feldrin sat for a while in silence, their hands clasped under the table. Finally, Cynthia expressed their mutual thoughts in words.

  “Gods, I hated that, but I don’t know how else we could have done it.”

  “It was the only way, Cyn,” Feldrin said, standing and starting to organize and stow the charts, rolling each carefully before tying it with string and slipping it into its own wooden tube. “But I still don’t feel right about helpin’ that lad become a firemage. He’s too full of fear, too much a coward.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t call him a coward, Feldrin. Anyone willing to walk into a volcano must have some fortitude. Just because he’s afraid of the ocean, I don’t — ”

  “It’s not just the ocean he fears, lass. You can see it in his eyes when he looks at ya. Fear’s runnin’ through his veins all the time, and he barely keeps it under control.” He stowed the last chart and slapped the cap on the tube with a crack. “Makin’ him a firemage, givin’ him that much power, is a mistake.”

  “Why?” she asked, though she thought she knew the answer.

  “’Cause there’s naught more dangerous than fear and power together.”

  ≈

  “Oy! You there, boy! Come ‘ere!”

  The gravelly dwarven voice stopped Sam in her tracks. She quelled the urge to run and instead turned to the thick-set little dwarven woman who ran everyone around the shipyard ragged with her tongue. She knew there would be a meeting like this, but she’d hoped to put it off a while longer. She was still getting the lay of the land. She knuckled her forehead and pitched her voice carefully.

  “Yes, ma’am.” She trotted forward and grinned. “Some’at I ken do for’e, ma’am?”

  “What’s yer name, boy?”

  “Billy, ma’am. Billy Knockshire.” She tried to ignore the dwarf’s huge hands tucked into her belt, hands big enough to reach fully around Sam’s upper arm and undoubtedly strong enough to break the bone simply by squeezing. “Off the Pride, I am.” She made sure she stood just out of reach of the dwarf’s short arms.

  “Are ye, now? I don’t remember seein’ ye ‘round these past four days.”

  “Aye, the mate’s had me scrubbin’ the bilge, stem to stern. I just seen daylight today fer the first time since we arrived.”

  “Oh, has he? Well, you can tell me the mate’s name then, I’m sure.”

  “O’course, ma’am. Master Horace’s the mate of the Pride.” Bloody suspicious female, she thought, glad that she’d spent the past two nights eavesdropping as the crews relaxed and talked after supper. “There a prob’m, ma’am?”

  “Just like to know everyone, is all.” The dwarf squinted at her skeptically. “You don’t look the type Feldrin Brelak would hire. How’d you get a berth on the Pride?”

  “Well, uh, I di’nt ‘xactly get no berth, ma’am. I stowed away, an’ Master Horace agreed not ta chuck me o’rboard if I scrubbed the bilges. All I wanted was to get away from me paw. I co’nt take his beatin’s no more.” She shuffled from one foot to another uncomfortably, which wasn’t much of an act. None of her lies would stand up to much scrutiny.

  “So, are they payin’ ye fer yer work?” the dwarf asked, squinting at Sam skeptically.

  “Oh, no, ma’am. He just agreed not to chuck me o’rboard, and to not tell the cap’n, o’course.”

  “Well, then. I could use another hand in the shop if you don’t mind hard work, and I’ll pay ya fer it. Tuppence a day. I d’nt beat nobody, though I got a sharp tongue, some say. And you’ll learn a trade by time ye got a hair on that chin o’ yers.” She clapped her hands together and smiled. “Whadeya say, Billy?”

  “I…uh…” She certainly didn’t want to get bogged down by accepting a job at the shipyard, but it would offer her a perfect cover story. “I’d like to, ma’am, but they feed me on the Pride, and though it ain’t a proper bunk, I gots a dry spot to sleep in the sail locker.”

  “Well, I can’t feed ya, but you can rig a hammock in the cordage room, and tuppence a day’ll buy ye food up at the keep, and gi’ye pocket money ta spare.”

  The dwarf looked at her expectantly, and Sam was about to give another excuse to get out of the position when she spied two young men leaving the keep. The one with red hair she didn’t know, but the other she knew immediately. Her brother, Tim, walked beside the taller boy, and on his arm stood a bird almost half as tall as he. The two were talking, or rather Tim was talking and the other was listening, or pretending to listen, as they strode toward the path that led over the ridge to Skull Beach. She longed to follow them, to eavesdrop and possibly find out why her brother would be carrying such a ridiculous thing on his arm, but the dwarf standing before her begged her attention.

  “I, uh…Okay, ma’am, I’ll take the job, but if you please, I’m runnin’ an errand fer the mate, and I best not quit right in the middle of it.” She bit her lip and made her decision. “Might I start in the mornin’, ma’am?”

  “Aye, good enough!” The dwarf woman grinned, stepped forward and whacked her on the shoulder hard enough to knock her a step aside. “See me in the loftin’ shed first thing. Oh, and I ain’t a ma’am. My name’s Dura. Use it.”

  “Yes, ma — er, Dura,” she said, smiling and saluting again. The dwarf woman waved and turned away.

  Sam started for the keep until the woman was out of sight, then veered off to follow Tim and his new companion up the trail and over the hill.

  ≈

  Isolated fires licked eagerly at the dry driftwood, congregating into a conflagration as Flicker hopped from one stick to the next, yipping in glee as each one burst into flames beneath her. The larger logs began to burn and she squealed in delight, rising on the flames in a swirl of orange and yellow, her coppery skin glowing with the heat.

  “She loves this,” Edan said, crouching before the fire and smiling at the ecstatic sprite. “We should have done this before.”

  “Yep, there’s nothin’ like a campfire!” Tim agreed, thrusting three stakes into the sand near the fire, each skewer sporting a good-sized fish. He had kept one out and cut it into pieces, which he now began to feed to the osprey. The bird cried out and snapped a piece of flesh from his fingers, pinning the meat to the log with its talons. It tore off tiny bits, swallowing each individually. When it was gone, she cried out again and Tim gave her another piece. “Samantha likes it, too.”

  “Huh? Oh, yeah.” But Edan’s mind was thoroughly engulfed in the fire, mesmerized by the dancing flames and the sight of Flicker lolling among them. He could feel the power there, and the longing was stronger than ever. He reached out his hand until the heat was painful, then withdrew it.

  “So, you’re really gonna do it, huh?” Tim asked, sitting down in the sand next to him, poking the growing bed of embers with a stick. “You’re gonna walk into a volcano. I can’t believe it.”

  “Neither can I,” Edan admitted. He’d already made his decision. He was nothing without the fire — without the power. If the seamage chose to blackmail him into telling Camilla he did not love her, holding as hostage his only possible future, he had no choice. “I’ve waited my whole life for it, and it’s finally come.”

  “Aren’t
you scared?”

  It was the question he’d asked himself before; the question he’d been asked before his last trials, before his failure. That time, his answer had been a lie, which he now knew was the reason for his failure. This time, his answer was truthful.

  “No. I’m not afraid of the fire anymore.”

  ≈

  As the sun set in a blaze of crimson, a slim figure crept to the edge of the jungle no more then a dozen strides behind the two young men. The bird saw her and screeched, but Tim just took it for a call of hunger and gave it another strip of fish.

  They talked and she listened, and she began to understand a few things. That her brother was completely seduced by the sea witch was clear to her now. She had thought of rescuing him, of bringing him back to the Cutthroat with her, but she now knew that was impossible. He would betray her to the sea witch, and she would have to kill him.

  But this other young man — the one with the red hair and the little fire demon on a chain — he interested her greatly. Tim and his companion talked for hours and she listened to every word…and smiled. Opportunities abounded, and plans for revenge against the sea witch roiled in her mind like the flames of the campfire.

  And that little fire demon…she thought, smiling. Yes, that little creature presents a whole bunch of possibilities…

  Chapter Twenty

  Collusions

  *No, I cannot do it, Eelback,* Kelpie signed. Although her signals were firm, Eelback could see the subtle shifting of her colors to deep muted tones, sure signs of nervousness. She had come to his grotto expecting to meet with him in private, but now, surrounded by his allies, she did not seem so confident that they would not harm her. She was right. *I cannot betray Seamage Flaxal’s Heir. She is my friend.*

  *You should be more careful in choosing your friends,* Eelback warned, his gaze shifting to the hulk of Sharkbite, who loomed behind the small, fragile priestess. He made a private signal to the warrior; should this conversation go ill, Kelpie could not be allowed to leave alive. *But what if The Voice demanded it? Would you defy The Voice to support your friend?* He smiled inwardly as he watched the quick shift of emotions on her face in response to the dilemma he posed.

  *I respect your position, Kelpie, but your loyalties are misplaced. The seamage has already betrayed us, as I knew she would. She allies herself with mages who wield the power of the burning island. She opposes our wishes at every turn, and preaches peace even as our numbers grow and our city fills beyond what our grottos can hold. Meanwhile, the landwalker empire makes ready for war — she does not tell them that they must be peaceful — and they will bring more warships to our waters.*

  *Not all landwalkers are evil, Eelback,* Kelpie argued, swishing her shapely tail in agitation, drawing the gaze of the males. This drew a flush of anger from Slickfin, who floated at the priestess’ shoulder; she was unused to sharing the attention of the males in the grotto. *There have been alliances in the past. You propose to bring Akrotia back to life, but Akrotia was constructed with the help of landwalkers!*

  *Yes, Kelpie, but you know what happened to Akrotia as well as I. The alliance was broken! They would not help with the renewal as they promised! They betrayed us, just as Seamage Flaxal’s Heir will betray us.*

  *They were not Odea’s Chosen! The Seamage Flaxal’s Heir is one of us! She has the gift!*

  *Yes, she is very powerful, and she has threatened us with that power, Kelpie. As we signed with the Trident Holder’s son and his friend Quickfin, she challenged us, knowing that we could not oppose her. She will use her power against us in the end.*

  *I do not believe that, Eelback. She will not allow harm to come to us. She wants peace between us and the landwalkers because she does not want harm to come to us.*

  *Peace is not always best, Kelpie. You know our ways. We have had no war for two years, and our numbers grow too great for this grotto.* He forced down his temper, willing his color to shift to more placid tones. *If we cannot go to war, we must resurrect Akrotia, or we will be too many for this place and all will perish! This is the only way.*

  *Akrotia is dead, Eelback,* she signed. *How do you know that you can bring it back?*

  *The scrolls say it can be done. You know this! And you know how it must be done! We cannot do this without your help, and we must do it if we are to be great again! Akrotia could be home to more mer than any ten other grottos.* He spread his hands in helpless supplication, or the guise of it. *If you will not help us, many mer may perish, including the one you love.*

  She gaped at him, at the threat so subtly worded. He could see it in her eyes; she knew he meant it, knew he would carry it out if she balked.

  *Why do you not go to the Trident Holder with this request? He will ask Seamage Flaxal’s…* Her signing trailed off as Eelback slowly shook his head.

  *Seamage Flaxal’s Heir would never consent, and the Trident Holder never goes against her wishes. His own son is betrothed to her! Even if we wished to invoke The Voice, do you not think that Broadtail could influence a decision to his suit his inclination…* At her agitated color shift, Eelback smoothly continued signing *…merely by expressing his opinion as our leader?*

  *But to take from her that which she treasures most…* she began, unable to complete the thought.

  *The time will soon come, Kelpie; when the landwalkers come with their warships, she will betray us. Then you must be with us. It is the only way to save the mer, and I promise you,* Eelback signed solemnly, *that Seamage Flaxal’s Heir will not be harmed.*

  She floated there for some time, her agitation plain to see, until she finally came to a decision.

  *If Seamage Flaxal’s Heir betrays us, Eelback, I will do what you wish.*

  With a flip of her tail, Kelpie darted out of the grotto, leaving Eelback, Redtail, Sharkbite and Slickfin smiling in her wake.

  ≈

  Edan stood as Camilla entered the great hall, his actions stiff, his hands clenched at his sides. Camilla, Cynthia noticed, looked much better, though she could still see the strain and the fear in the woman’s eyes. She was dressed in one of her best gowns. It was not one of the more revealing ones with the plunging necklines, but it was beautiful nonetheless, the verdant green accentuating her eyes and contrasting well with her crimson hair.

  “Thank you for coming down, Cammy,” Cynthia said, remaining seated for comfort’s sake; her back was killing her. Feldrin stood and carefully positioned himself between Camilla and Edan, a considerable barrier. “I’ve had tea brought, and the cook made those little sandwiches you like.”

  “Thank you, Cynthia.” Camilla took her accustomed seat to Cynthia’s right. Feldrin sat directly across the table from her, with Edan to his left.

  “We’ve spoken with Edan, and we think we can get this whole misunderstanding straightened out.” She patted Feldrin on the arm. “Would you pour, please?”

  “I will if ya don’t mind tea spilled on yer tablecloth,” he said, the humor easing the tension slightly.

  Edan sat as still as a stone, unsmiling, his eyes darting this way and that in an obvious attempt to keep from staring at Camilla. A pang of guilt shot through Cynthia at the sight of the young man’s struggle; he truly seemed to have feelings for Cammy. She didn’t envy him the decision she and Feldrin were forcing on him: his pursuit of Camilla or his chance to become a pyromage. If someone had told her to choose between Feldrin and her magic — well, she didn’t know how she could live without either.

  “We’ve explained the situation to Edan, and…well, I guess it would be simplest if you heard it from him.” She nodded to him and his face flushed crimson. If he balked now…

  “They told me…” he began, then faltered, his eyes still darting around, lost for something to focus on. He grabbed a cup and took a gulp of tea. Cynthia winced, knowing that the liquid was just short of scalding. Edan, however, showed no sign that the boiling tea had caused him any pain, and actually seemed to calm a little. He cleared his throat
and spoke, his voice much steadier, his eyes fixed on the plate of sandwiches.

  “I apologize, Miss Camilla, for my advances. I do have feelings for you, strong ones, but…but they were wrong.” His eyes flicked up to hers for a moment, then fell again, like two dying bluebirds shot from the sky. “I didn’t know how you felt. I thought…I mean, I didn’t know that you didn’t want me to…to say what I said.” He cleared his throat, trying to speak again, and failing.

  “It’s all right, Edan,” Camilla said, and Cynthia could see in her eyes her own sympathy for the boy’s pain. “You couldn’t have known. I’m just not ready for that kind of attention, from anyone.”

  “I understand,” Edan said, a flicker of a smile dying on his lips. He stood slowly, taking another gulp of tea. “Thank you for the tea, Mistress Flaxal. And thank you, Miss Camilla, for being so understanding. The last thing I ever wanted was to frighten you.”

  “Thank you, Edan,” Cynthia said, reaching to serve out the sandwiches. “Please stay and have a bite. They really are very tasty.”

  “No thank you, mistress.” His eyes lifted to hers, and Cynthia saw a brief flicker of something — anger? — in their depths. “I’m not hungry.” He nodded again to Camilla, turned and left the feasting hall, his steps even but hurried.

  “Well, there you are,” Feldrin said, taking one of the tiny fried sandwiches and popping the entire thing into his mouth. “The boy was sincere enough, I think.”

  “He seemed so, didn’t he,” Camilla said slowly, taking a sandwich from the plate and nibbling at it, her face a mask of contemplation. “I feel bad for him now. I didn’t want to hurt him like that.”

  “He hurt himself, Cammy,” Cynthia said, sipping her tea but pushing away the plate; the kippered fish and sharp cheese in the sandwiches was a little too strong for her delicate stomach. “It’s not your fault.”