by Lisa Rector
He turned his face and called to the men. “Not bad, young masters, not bad.”
His face glistened.
She rose, her tingling legs protesting, and yelled, “What’re you doing?”
Everyone stopped. Several Eilian fell over their oars, but Meuric leaned his elbow casually on the side of the boat. Catrin ignored the labored breathing that expanded his exposed pectorals.
His eyebrows lifted as he took her in.
Don’t look at me like that. As if his mere existence should be enough to satisfy her and make her forget her troubles.
A grin curled just imperceptibly over Meuric’s lips. “Game’s over lads. The lady’s caught us in our fun.”
“How are we to ever reach shore if you’re jerking the boat off course? For the love of dragons, if I have to endure your reckless, dauntless behavior, I might dive back into the water!”
Meuric jumped to his feet and faced Catrin. His brow furrowed, and his eyes darkened. She thought he might strike her, but his face relaxed, and he said, “I’ll grow on you. I promise. In four days, you’ll be wondering what you ever did without me.”
“I doubt that. You’re full of conceit. Don’t you ever tire of it?”
“Never.” Meuric reached over the side of the ship and dipped his hand into the water. He splashed his face and chest. Refreshed, he sighed. Casually rubbing one hand over his hardened stomach muscles, Meuric reached up and stretched with the other. He grabbed his shirt, and after sliding it over his head, he leaned in and murmured, “I must remember to keep my shirt on so I don’t embarrass you. I’ll try to be more sensitive to your virtue.”
Catrin gave him the most hate-filled stare she could manage and hoped a wave would come and toss him overboard.
***
Catrin took her turn rowing. She didn’t want Meuric to think she was too good for arduous labor. Matching the rows of the Eilian was an annoyance. Each stroke they made was half the size of hers. In the end, she and Meuric sat on each side to even out the rowing and to give the Eilian a break so some could resume later and row on into the night.
She worked hard to ignore Meuric’s subtle looks, but she felt his probing eye rove to her form with each pull. Good, he can have an eyeful. Catrin prided herself on her appearance; her physique turned a few heads. It certainly turned Einion’s more than enough.
Dinner consisted of more jerky and dried-out flatbread washed down with water from the sun-soaked skins. Catrin stretched out at the rear of the ship, grateful her round of rowing had finished for the day. She declined a blanket as a cover but took one for a pillow.
Meuric tried to cover himself with the length of two short blankets, but he gave up and curled into a ball. One of the little people took pity on him and tucked the blankets around him. Meuric’s communication had been minimal since she last snapped at him. She despised touching him and was more than relieved she didn’t have to hold his cold, empty hand. He shivered and huddled tighter.
The air was so chilled that autumn seemed to have been completely skipped. Catrin sighed. They might be farther north where the weather turned frigid overnight. Where had Meuric dropped them? In the North Sea?
Having nothing to do with the weather, gooseflesh dotted her arms. Despair accosted Catrin as she thought of Meuric and his darkness. How did anyone live with it? If she were a half-emrys, she’d choose the light. How could anyone not? She didn’t understand his choice. Use the light and warm yourself! His stubbornness irked her to no end.
Something her mother would have said came to Catrin’s mind. We make our own choices. We follow our own path. You cannot judge what you do not understand. Catrin wished Meinwen were speaking to her. What Catrin wouldn’t do for a motherly embrace and guidance! Hadn’t she scoffed at the advice she received right before the battle? Steady, Catrin. Not all is sure. Forgiveness leads to freedom, and hearts can be changed. One might appear to be lost forever, but it is not for you to judge. Meinwen was so free of judgment and so patient. At the time Catrin thought the words referred to Rhianu, but Catrin wasn’t sure anymore. Had her mother, as the High Emrys and her peoples’ seer, foreseen this turn of events? Were her words a way of warning Catrin?
Sleep was a lost cause. Catrin rose and moved around the deck, stepping over several Eilian. A few at the oars muttered lazy greetings to her.
She found herself at the bow of the boat, gazing down into Meuric’s face. His eyelids fluttered from sleep, and his smile twitched occasionally with dream. A strong, straight nose graced his face between chiseled cheekbones, but his rounded jaw softened his features. He didn’t look fierce or menacing in his slumber but rather kind and slightly sad. His brows furrowed with a profound longing some dream created.
Catrin had a strange desire to reach out and touch his hair. She had never touched locks cropped near the scalp. Instead, she closed her eyes and envisioned slipping her fingers into Einion’s wavy hair. How many times had she done that? It had been too long. A sharp twinge pricked her chest. Einion didn’t love her, and he never would.
She shook her head. Why am I torturing myself? Catrin moved back to her position at the stern and tried hard to fall asleep.
Meuric had to be lying, refusing to take her back. This was a trick. If the smug-faced half-breed wasn’t willing to return her home, she’d have to find her own way. Once they reached land, she’d set her bearings and travel to Gorlassar. Surely she could find a dragon patrol to fly her to the entrance. Once she found Einion, her brother, and mother, she’d forget about this crude detour in life.
Catrin pictured her bees, buzzing from flower to flower in Gorlassar, and counted them until she grew weary.
CHAPTER FIVE
RELATIONS
Catrin woke early as the sun climbed over the horizon behind them. She scanned the little people on the boat. Exhausted from rowing through half the night, they lumped in piles against each other for warmth.
She smiled to herself. Catrin had a fond spot in her heart for the Eilian, having visited them many times with Einion. They were the most caring and thoughtful people one could find. Industrious, clever, and the hardest workers she ever saw. Building houses in trees hundreds of feet in the air and maintaining them was a skilled feat that took ingenuity and resourcefulness. These had to be the tree dwellers she knew. How could they not?
Meuric was fast asleep at the far end of the boat. An Eilian had rolled against his back, and they shared a blanket. The picture was comical. Catrin shook her head. Remember—an innocent child when asleep but a viper when awake.
She turned her face to the rising sun and sat cross-legged on the boat’s floor to meditate. A river of gold running across the water stretched toward the pink sky. Catrin inhaled, and her breath drifted out as she closed her eyes. Blocking her mind from external cares, she searched for other lights—other emrys who could be discerned over a distance. If she concentrated, she might be able to find them. Catrin had seen the lights of the half-emrys approaching before the battle, and they had been on the other side of the desert, so her mind’s eye reached far. Try as Catrin might, she sensed nothing but a void across the water and, unfortunately, the speck of light from her sleeping companion at the far end of the boat. She abandoned her attempt.
Why can I discern only Meuric? A countryside full of emrys couldn’t have perished in the blast. Could they? This just didn’t make sense. Maybe she and Meuric were on the other side of the world, and her sight didn’t reach to the three realms beside the desert.
Her hands unconsciously found her hair. The braid had come well loose, so Catrin untied the leather string and freed the twined strands. Her fingers combed through the long tresses and straightened the locks. Taking sections of her hair, Catrin smoothed them flat with heated hands. She was mid-stroke when a grating voice spoke behind her.
Catrin froze with her hands to her head.
“Your hair is becoming.”
Catrin still didn’t move.
“It reminds me of the sand—”<
br />
She dropped her hands and twisted to face Meuric. “What—the dirty sand of the smoldering wasteland?” Not the best compliment.
He rolled his eyes. “No, you didn’t let me finish. Back home, a beach in the north had pristine white sand. Except… some of the grains were clear, and others held the hint of silver and gold. They sparkled in the sunlight, as your hair does.”
A genuine compliment. What was the catch?
Meuric sat beside her, crossing his legs. Catrin swiftly plaited her hair and tied the string before Meuric said anything else.
“I wonder if you’d do something for me?” he asked.
Here it comes. I knew it.
“Well, it’d be for all of us. Since our rescuers have been so selfless.”
He stared at her. Catrin looked everywhere but at his face. Hmmm, Braith did an excellent job of sealing the boat. Her fingers ran over the smooth floor, ignoring the eyes drilling a hole into her head. She couldn’t resist asking. “What?”
“A few of us caught fish during the night. I said to let you sleep until morning, especially since you were so peaceful and less waspish in slumber—”
She snapped her head in his direction.
“—but it’d make a fine breakfast…” He picked up a bundle, which had been by his side, and unwrapped it, revealing a cluster of fish.
Catrin’s eyes widened. What a breakfast it would be! She could already taste the fish.
“They have a frying pan. We just need the heat.” Meuric grinned at her. His remarkably white teeth were straight, except for one crooked eyetooth.
“All right.” Catrin was game for something mouthwatering.
“Excellent.” Meuric retrieved the frying pan from a satchel lying against the side of the boat. “Heat this while I take care of the fish.”
He pulled a knife from his pocket.
Catrin was about to ask him how he acquired the weapon—
“Braith”—Meuric acknowledged the knife when he saw she was staring at it—“said I could borrow it to clean the fish.”
She gripped the pan’s handle and sent energy into it. Soon the pan would become hot enough that no one would be able to hold it but her.
Meuric slit the fish, and guts slid into the water. His steady hands moved automatically as if he had done this a thousand times. They were much bigger, meatier than Catrin’s hands and slender, pale fingers. His hairy knuckles, and the palms and the fingers, appeared strong—strong enough to kill a man. Looking at the knife, Catrin imagined it slicing across a man’s throat. No doubt Meuric had done this before.
“I knew a half-emrys who was as fair as the pure emrys. Her skin couldn’t tan,” Catrin said in an effort to change her morbid thoughts.
“Really?” Meuric dropped the cleaned fish in the frying pan and moved to another one. He acted as if he didn’t care. “Guess the way the sun affects us depends on who your father is.”
“Who was your father?”
“Gereth.” Meuric didn’t glance up. “A mortal man.”
“And your mother is Siana,” Catrin said.
“Yes, how did you—”
Catrin shrugged. “She was my brother’s daughter, the first emrys to leave the dragon realm. I haven’t met her, but I know of her.”
“You saw her before we came here. She told that dragon to let Rhianu talk to Einion. She was Siana.”
“Oh… that’s why she was familiar. Urien has her portrait in his home. I’ve examined my niece’s picture countless times.” This lifted Catrin. If anything good came from the conflict, at least her brother would be reunited with his daughter—if they were alive.
“You have a portrait of my mother? I forgot she had another life outside of Morvith. Did other emrys leave, like my mother? I mean, before your people decided they could safely interact with the mortals?”
“Only one other emrys had left, and she was a close friend of mine. Her parting was a terrible tragedy.”
“Oh?”
“Niawen—she’s dead. Her grandson is Einion.”
Meuric harrumphed. “The circle of friends and family always stays close. We’re related. Strange, we don’t share the same characteristics.”
He dropped another fish in the pan. He used the edge of the knife to turn the first fish, which sizzled away, making a mouthwatering aroma. Several Eilian had caught the scent and were stirring.
“It’s your mortal blood.” She spoke too bluntly. Catrin clamped her free hand over her mouth.
“Do you have a problem with my mortal blood? My father was a righteous man.”
“Oh, no.” She lied. “I only meant to say the emrys are fair. Your father gives you your rich coloring.”
“My rich coloring. Does your coloring mean you’re better than I am?”
“By the Light, no!” She was digging herself into a hole.
Meuric clenched his jaw.
She blubbered. “Einion’s skin tanned. His hair was brown and curly.” Why was she speaking in past tense? His hair is brown and curly. Oh, did she think Einion was dead?
“You know, you’re my grandaunt. I find it funny that I’m older than you.”
Catrin ignored Meuric’s assumption of her age. She was, in fact, far younger than he was. “When you live forever, you’re bound to have relations of all ages. My brother, Aneirin, and I came more recently than my other siblings. Urien, your grandfather, was the eldest child of my mother and father.”
A line of the Eilian had formed with plates in hand, waiting for the fish. “Good morning, dear friends,” Meuric served up the first fish to two of them.
“What of your father?” Catrin continued. “What did he do?”
Frowning, Meuric hesitated before answering. “He worked with stone. He was hired to work on the stronghold. My mother fell in love with him. He lived to a grand old age. My mother kept him healthy and strong with her healing ability.”
Meuric passed another fish to a little man.
“We live to a grand old age,” the little man said.
“Is that so?” Meuric encouraged.
“Yes, indeed. My thrice great-granduncle lived to be nine hundred and three years old. He had a beard so long it reached to his toes, and he used a cane. One night, while the moon hung full in the sky, he hobbled down to the shore, dropped his cane, and limped into the surf. A great wave took him as he lifted his arms, and he returned home to the Master from whence he came.”
“That’s some story.” Meuric scraped up another fish.
“He wanted to go out in a dramatic way. Knew his time had come.” The little man picked up a piece of fish with his fingers and popped it into his mouth. “Mm mm, delicious!”
One fish remained. Catrin set the pan on the deck of the boat. Meuric split the fish.
“After you.” He gestured with the knife.
They sat across from each other and ate the fish with their fingers. Catrin closed her eyes and savored the taste. What a relief to her sore jaw after chewing the rock-hard jerky!
Catrin focused on the savory flavors of her fish. Not bothering to open her eyes, she reached into the pan to grab another piece, but cold metal smacked her fingers instead.
“What’s your problem?” She hissed while snatching her hand away from Meuric’s blade.
“If you wanted the rest of my fish, you only had to ask.” He flashed a smug grin at her.
Catrin looked in the frying pan. She had eaten her fish and didn’t realize she tried to grab Meuric’s last couple of bites.
“I didn’t know you were so hungry,” he said. “Here, have my share if you desire.”
Catrin pressed her lips into a thin line, stood, and stalked away as far as she could in the tiny vessel.
Meuric called after her. “At least give me your thanks for catching the fish!”
CHAPTER SIX
ONE MOMENT
The pattern continued for three more days. Meuric and the Eilian caught fish during the night, and every morning Catrin and Meuric cooked bre
akfast. She didn’t mind doing her part in heating the pan, and the Eilian were grateful and praised her incredible skill. They acted as though they’d never seen an emrys use light or never even seen an emrys at all. What strange circumstances have I fallen into? Some sort of parallel universe?
The wind picked up, and they unrolled the sail and caught the breeze. After pulling the oars into the boat, they found themselves with far too much free time. Meuric cut a set of three dice from the end of an oar and carved characters into them to teach the Eilian a game of chance. Each figure on the die topped another figure but could be beaten by another one as well.
When an Eilian won, he whooped, hollered, and danced a jig. Eventually, they stopped the game and pranced around, kicking their legs in one spot because the boat was too cramped. A couple of them thumped the boat’s side, creating a beat, and another blew across the opening of a waterskin, and they started a lively tune—something about rescuing strange people floating in the water and silly make-believe houses in the tops of outrageously large trees.
Catrin found herself laughing at their antics, in spite of her anguish over the prior events that led them here. She presumed the battle was over and hoped her loved ones were spared. Her chest ached to think of Einion possibly dead, or worse, with Rhianu. Please tell me he survived. Deian, did he survive? Her heart warmed, telling her if he was dead, no matter where or how they were separated, she’d know. He was yet alive.
Would her mother and father know what happened to her? Would Meinwen, in her infinite, divine wisdom, be able to sense her daughter’s presence no matter where she was, even if Catrin couldn’t sense anyone? Her mother was the first and most powerful emrys. She knew particulars that no other immortal or mortal knew. Meinwen would know what happened, and she’d send dragon riders. Catrin might be home before she knew it.
Meuric made the best of the conditions by tapping out a beat on the deck. When he laughed, his eyes scrunched up, crinkling around the edges. He even shocked Catrin when he started singing with a deeply haunting voice that reverberated around the boat. The song was translated in the common tongue, but Catrin knew the tune. Siana must have taught him the old songs, which she learned long before leaving Gorlassar. The song was about the War Between the Masters, the battle where Cysgod entered Gorlassar and killed the dragon race—all except one egg.
