by T B Phillips
Alec Pogue had laughed at his friend on the first day but felt sorry for the man on the second. “You okay, pal?”
“Probably not.” Amash clasped his hand over his mouth and turned over the rail, sending what little water he had consumed in the past few minutes over the side.
“We should be arriving at the blockade before too long. Do you have the stomach for going over the plan again? Or would you rather me handle things?”
Pogue had spent the greater part of a decade locked on land as The Cove’s captain of the guard. But, previously, had been a sailor by every meaning of the word. He cut his teeth on hemp lines as a baby, common for a child growing up in Eskera, and was born to a long line of seafarers. He could handle command of the ship on his own but made every effort to include his landlubber friend. Unlike Pogue, Horslei was the son of a horse breeder, born in Weston and more at home in a saddle than on deck.
“You can handle just fine without me, if you don’t mind.”
Pogue laughed loudly. “Well then, I think we’ll just blow through the line and race for the harbor. I grew up here and know the best heading and approach. If we’re chased by the Imperial Navy, I think the harbor will accept our struck colors. There’s a civil war going on, so defections are common.” A serious expression crossed his face. “Of course, we can count on being arrested as soon as they figure out that we’re from The Cove. Eskera has no love for pirates.”
Amash nodded his agreement then went back to his previous task of lightening his stomach over the side.
Alec slapped him on the back. “No worries, Mate. I’ll handle everything while you work on the important task.”
Horslei responded with a raised fist with a single finger pointed toward the heavens. He tried to speak, but quickly clasped his hands over his mouth.
As he walked away, Pogue’s thoughts returned to Mattie and the girls. Eliza’s nearly seventeen summers. He fought back a sob at the thought of Nevra’s men stealing her away and the raping she must have endured mere days before her sixteenth birthday. And Alexa. How could she have survived such a fate? That sweet girl was barely past fourteen and Mattie had done a good job grooming her to be a scholar. She was mentally stronger than she was physical. Gods, I hope she didn’t break.
Alec blamed himself for their fate. Mattie had begged him many times to give up his position in The Cove and take his family to a small town in Loganshire, where he could work as a constable. The thought had allured him, but he served Artema Horn at the time, and he was a man who always got his way. Of course, now The Cove knew the truth. The former pirate king was a master manipulator whose every move served personal ambitions. Why hadn’t I just listened to Mattie?
Worse, he blamed himself for not trying to find her sooner. He pulled a piece of neatly folded parchment from his pocket. He carefully opened it and stared at the message, now stained with months of tears as he reread every word. Of course, by now, he knew them by heart. You are married to your career and I refuse to be second behind that mistress. Don’t try to find us. Mattie. It had been so believable that she had left on her own instead of kidnapped. I should have tried to find her then.
When he had learned the truth, he lost his senses and tried to murder Lord Nevra. The man’s words echoed in his mind. Did you see in my ledger where I had sold a thoroughbred? I called her that because she was tough to break in. I had to let Turat help, but he mostly enjoyed your little girls. So did Captain Dominique during his voyage, from what I understand. Rage again bubbled up, but despair quickly replaced the anger. His only hope was to find Dominique and learn where on the southern continent they had been sold.
“Sail on the horizon!” The call came from the topside watch and sent men running to their stations.
Amash, surging with adrenaline, pulled himself from the rail. He asked the captain, “Fight or flight, Mate? Which will it be?”
Alec quickly folded and stowed the letter then studied the pair of galleons on the horizon. They had not yet turned but would soon. “Break out the uniforms, boys. Let’s be ready for either.”
Desperation tied her sails and allowed the two galleons to come along side. Imperial sailors worked quickly and tossed over lines and laid out planks for the boarding. Several soldiers milled the deck, and everything appeared routine. Captain Moran waited aboard his flagship, Terra Flora, for them to finish. Maritime interdiction was tedious work, with most of a crew’s time spent waiting for something to do.
He did not expect trouble from this ship of the line. Desperation was well-known throughout the Empire and he looked forward to seeing his old friend Captain Cartwright. He tried to remember the last time he had seen Bartholomew. They had been good friends at the academy and served together as midshipmen aboard Diligence. It would be nice to catch up while his men conducted their duties.
The sailors finished tying off and Moran crossed the rails with ten of his soldiers. He strode toward Cartwright, eying his crisply ironed and meticulous uniform. He always wore it smartly, he thought, smoothing his own as he approached. His friend stood on the forecastle, looking over the bowsprit toward the city of Eskera. Moran called out, “Bartholomew, old chap! How many years has it been?”
The man who turned to greet him was most certainly not Cartwright. Bartholomew was round faced and jolly. This man was chiseled and hard, his body muscled and athletic. His raven hair was neat, whereas Bart’s was blonde and unkept. The stranger before him wore a tight beard angled to a point below his chin. Cartwright had always been shaven. Moran froze.
He asked, “Who are you?”
The stranger casually strode forward, reaching an outstretched hand. “Captain Alec Pogue at your service. I’m happy to make your acquaintance. Captain …?”
“Moran.” He eyed the crew with growing suspicions. “Where is Captain Cartwright? This is Desperation, is it not?”
“Ah. Bart was relieved of command only a few weeks ago.” He leaned in to whisper so that the crew would not overhear. “It seems that he had a slight problem with a scandal.”
“A scandal?”
“Oh yes. One involving the wife of Admiral Stapleton, I fear.”
“But she…”
“Yes. Contracted a disease quite foul, from what I was told. When Stapleton found out the gossip, he had poor Bart brought in and keel hulled.”
“Oh my! How did he take it?”
“Ol’ Barty? I hear that his head exploded over the entire affair. He’s been a mess ever since.”
Captain Moran took in the information and considered. He was always quite lascivious. He looked up as two of his soldiers approached.
“It’s all in order, Captain. No contraband, only normal rations.”
“Well then, Captain Pogue. It seems that all I need to see are your dispatches and we can send you on your way.”
“Absolutely. I have them right here.” The stalwart captain patted his pockets for the paperwork. “I say. It appears I’m mistaken.” He searched his jacket and made a show of feigned forgetfulness, probably hoping Moran wouldn’t press. “I did have them. Perhaps I left them in my stateroom?”
“No problem. My men will retrieve them.” Moran signaled for two crewmen to return below decks, then movement caught his eye.
Pogue’s hand slid down just slightly, but undeniably, to his sword belt. With a flash both men drew and all men on deck did the same. A sailor standing on the forecastle gave an order and a thunderous boom rocked the ship. Desperation fired a full broadside into both ships, ripping their gun positions to shreds. Sailors threw off the planks and drew knives, quickly sawing the lines to set the ship free.
Moran called for assistance but the reserve soldiers aboard Terra Flora could not lend aid. The blast had knocked every man from their feet and their ears rang from the concussion. Desperation fired a second volley and the deck violently shook. While Moran staggered Pogue advanced.
<
br /> Never had the captain of Terra Flora witnessed such mastery at the art of swords. Pogue wielded two with more grace than the greatest instructor at the Academy had swung one. He parried each blow Moran attempted and returned an immediate counter with his off hand. Steel sang aboard Desperation.
The sails unfurled overhead, and the ship swayed. He lost his footing. Thankfully, Moran’s misstep did not cost him his life. Pogue paused briefly to yell to someone aft, “Marita! Give us wind, dearie! Make it blow!”
Confused, Moran turned to see a young woman raise her hands in the air. The sails abruptly filled with wind and the ship lurched ahead with breakneck speed. Everyone on deck stumbled except for the girl. By Cinder’s grace! She’s a Falconer! Moran raised his eyes just in time to watch Pogue’s sword hovering overhead.
“Mercy!” He pleaded. “I surrender!” He laid his weapon at the feet of the pirate and braced himself. The towering man crossed his blades and placed them against his throat.
“Sorry, Mate. We can’t afford to take prisoners after what you just saw. Well, perhaps your crewmen, but not an Academy man like you.” He felt the swords slice his neck and the world went black.
Alec Pogue severed the neck of the Imperial captain and watched him bleed out on the deck.
“Why’d you kill him, Alec?” Amash looked less green than before, but the bouncing of at these speeds was beginning to work on his stomach.
“He saw what Marita did. We can’t let the Imperial Navy know that we have an emotant on board, can we?”
“No. I suppose not.”
“Do me a favor and drag him to the rail next time you puke? Just kick him over the side when you have a chance.” Alec turned his attention to Marita. She was humming quietly, pleased with the speeds she provided. At times the mast creaked under the strain of the sustained winds. “You okay, dearie?” She shot him a smiling thumbs up from behind her freckles. Weird kid, he thought. “Just dial it down a bit. Don’t rip off our mast.”
“Sorry Captain Pogue!”
“Thank you.” The ship slowed just a bit and he relaxed.
Amash had already dispatched the body and pulled Alec aside. “You aren’t worried about the effect that will have on her?”
“What do you mean?”
“She just watched you nearly lob a man’s head off.”
“Amash, we’ve known each other a long time. Other than that time with Nevra, have you ever known me to act rashly or in a harmful way toward children?”
“Not at all, Alec.”
“Then trust me that it was the right decision. Besides, the child emotants that Braen recruited have already experienced violence. One beheading won’t stick in her mind. For Cinder’s sake, she was in Atarax and witnessed the brutality by Skander Braston.”
Alec turned toward the city and watched the harbor growing larger in the distance. A glance aft reassured him that no one followed, and he called again to Marita to slow the wind. In no time at all Desperation arrived at the port of Eskera with stricken colors. He was correct in assuming two things: that the harbor guns would not fire upon the vessel and that they would be arrested for piracy immediately upon arrival. They went willingly.
Chapter Thirteen
Taros stared at the waterwheel as it turned. It had a cracked seam that slapped the water with an audible splash every time it made a full revolution. When it did, light water droplets sprayed his face, but the boy didn’t mind. He found the mist refreshing and relaxing, even though he always felt perpetually cold.
He had wintered away from his people and had chosen this spot for several reasons. First, it provided a vantage that overlooked the Steppes of Cinder and the nighttime glow of the Caldera. He worried about the state of his childhood home. The fires had spread at an increasingly alarming rate, nearly devouring the plains in only a few months. The flames were close to breeching the forbidden waste and would eventually reach the Misting River.
Secondly, the millhouse provided seclusion and a profound lack of visitors. Other than an occasional visit from Teot, he wished to speak to no one else. He viewed conversation as a distraction from his quest for answers. He had become a spiritual hermit, questioning his relationship with Felicima. He pondered the truth of her existence and the reason for his powers.
Finally, the mill sat on a small island surrounded by a creek that fed the river. The water seemed to serve as a buffer for his ability to draw in heat, and he never lit a flame in the fireplace. He had isolated himself entirely from flame. After he had nearly killed Sarai, he wanted to stay far away from anyone else he could accidently harm.
He sat like this, staring at the waterwheel and meditating on Felicima, when he heard a polite cough. He turned his head and saw the granddaughter to Elder Daska. She held a basket on her head and seemed anxious for conversation. Despite that she had obviously walked far to find him, he tried to send her away. “I do not wish visitors. You should leave, Flaya.”
She set the basket on the ground and bowed respectfully. “My apologies, Shappan.” She glanced mournfully back toward the city from whence she had walked. “I’ve come such a long way, please allow me to rest a while before I make the second journey.”
He shrugged and turned back to the waterwheel. Uninvited, she brought the basket and placed it in front of him. Then she settled down directly beside him.
“Can you not rest somewhere else?”
“Since I am here, you may as well eat the food that I brought.” She began to draw out carefully wrapped bundles that he recognized immediately as traditional Pescari fare.
Taros grunted his dissatisfaction but caught a whiff of something wonderful when he did. His stomach growled, betraying his hunger. He asked, “Is that smoked rabbit?”
Flaya laughed at the sound of his belly. “It is. I smoked it all morning so that I may bring it to you when the flavor was best.” She glanced back toward Weston. “I would hate to waste the timing by carrying it all the way back.”
Taros felt his mouth salivating at the thought of perfectly smoked game. “Perhaps I was hasty, and you should share a meal before you leave?”
“Perhaps.” She drew out an animal skin and spread it out on the ground, laying out items one by one for the boy chieftain.
Taros watched closely as she drew out a small knife and carved the rabbit. He wondered, why haven’t I paid attention to her before? But he knew the answer and pushed the thought aside. In all his life he had never considered her or any other Pescari woman attractive. But watching her now, he couldn’t remember why not.
One thing that she had in common with the others was her stern face and determined jaw. Pescari women rarely smiled, but when she had laughed, he caught a brief glimpse of vulnerability. In that brief moment he thought of Sarai, the pretty blonde woman in Weston. She had a tender face full of abundant smiles. He had been so smitten with her that he was blinded to anyone else.
Flaya had beautiful brown eyes, now that he took the time to notice them. Her cheeks were tan and arched high across her face. Her lips just the right shade of rose and puckered like one beginning to open. He couldn’t help but notice that she had not adopted the Westonese style of dress like many Pescari girls in the city. He felt his manhood respond to the way her body curved gracefully beneath her loosely fitting buckskins.
She blushed shyly when she caught him staring. “Shappan, I am not the rabbit.”
He quickly realized what he was doing and apologized, “I am sorry, Flaya. I have not spoken or looked upon anyone in a long while.”
Without answering she picked up a slice of game and popped it into his mouth with her fingers. The meat was decadent and melted immediately. It was even better than his mother used to make. He smiled and the girl laughed.
She locked her eyes with his momentarily, but then started to wrap the meat. “I am rested. Perhaps I should begin my walk.”
Ta
ros felt panic well up inside and his mind scrambled for something to say. “Wait!” The word came out too forcefully and he saw her recoil a little in shock. “I mean… You don’t have to go yet. Please stay.”
She smiled deviously and unrolled the meat. It took him a moment, but he finally understood her joke. It felt good to laugh for the first time in months. They sat like that, eating the meal and making small talk for quite a while. Before long Felicima dropped fully from the sky and disappeared into her fiery home.
Taros felt himself relax as they lay, looking up at the stars. With a full belly and Flaya’s company he felt free. He realized suddenly that he had not allowed himself to enjoy life since the day his village had burned. As shappan he bore too much responsibility to waste time staring at the heavens.
Tender fingers gently touched his hand. He felt his intertwine with hers as his heart leapt in his chest. This feeling was new. He welcomed her touch and wished they could lay like this forever. Until this night, the only other girl who had ever touched him had been Sarai. But he had misread her gestures. What she had intended as friendship he had mistaken for intimacy.
There was no mistaking that Flaya held his hand with a lover’s intent. After a while she rolled onto her side and nuzzled her head into his chest. He held his arm out to the side, afraid to move but yearning to touch her skin. He finally took a chance and cradled her, touching her delicate skin with his fingertips. She responded by nuzzling closer.
Her breath was rhythmic, setting a slow tempo that countered his racing pulse. He turned his head to gaze upon her and saw two dark pools staring back. She smiled and pulled him closer, touching his lips with hers. Their mouths lightly danced, teasing and tasting. After a while she pulled back with gentle tug. They both laughed into the night and embraced again. His second kiss was as magnificent as his first.
Taros had never suspected that two people could share so much through physical contact until she swung her leg over and sat astride his hips. She rocked slowly back and forth, pressing into his manhood. At first, he was shocked by her sudden movement, but the gentle pressure of her body intensified his arousal. They locked eyes. Flaya raised her arms and pulled her buckskin dress over her head, exposing soft breasts that were starkly white against her tanned skin. And then she truly taught him passion.
