Storms of Destiny

by A. C. Crispin

  She wondered how closely her friends were being guarded. Time for a little trip belowdecks, to reconnoiter the situation.

  Thia sat on the edge of the bunk in the small third mate’s cabin, crying silently. Tears flooded her eyes, slid down her face, and every few moments she swiped at them with her free hand. Her eyes already felt sore and hot.

  Khith sat beside her on the narrow bunk, holding her other hand, gently stroking it with its delicate, long digits.

  Eregard sat on the floor, knees drawn up, his face buried in his arms, muttering softly in Pelanese. Thia didn’t know most of the words, but from his tone, she assumed they were curses. She wished she knew a few herself. Before thrusting them into this tiny third mate’s cabin, their captors had patted them down in a rapid and cursory fashion, searching for weapons. They’d confiscated only two things: her firestriker and Eregard’s knife. It was obvious they considered the three no threat, as they’d laughed and joked in their own language the whole time.

  She’d looked, but hadn’t gotten even a hint of where they’d taken Jezzil. Images of him bleeding and barely conscious, being dragged off by his countrymen, tormented Thia. Where was he now? How badly was he hurt? That man—Barus? Was that his name?—had said he would have Jezzil executed, hanged! Thia shuddered.

  Khith’s fingers tightened on hers as the little Hthras gave her hand a sympathetic squeeze. She turned to look at the physician, on the verge of breaking down completely. “Doctor, did you understand what that man Barus said? That Jezzil will be hanged when the Redai signs his death warrant?”

  “Yes.”

  She shook her head, swiped at her face with her sleeve.

  “We can’t let that happen!”

  Eregard raised his face from his arms and regarded her bleakly. “What can we do? There’s a guard posted outside this door. The cabin is stripped bare, not so much as pair of drawers left. Talis is still free, but they certainly are going to watch her, so we can’t count on her to break us out.”

  Thia frowned. “There has to be something we can do.

  Maybe one of us could pretend to be sick. When the guard comes in, we can …” She hesitated.

  “Break the chamber pot over his head?” Eregard suggested sarcastically. “Thia, this isn’t some bardsong or epic lay. That sort of thing only works in stories.”

  “There has to be something,” she insisted. “What have we got between us? Anyone have anything sharp?”

  “Just my knife,” Eregard said. “And they took that.”

  “They didn’t take everything. Empty your pockets,” she ordered, scrabbling through the folds of her skirt. “Let’s see what we have.”

  Eregard laid out his contents on the bare boards of the floor with a sigh and an eye roll. Two small coins, a bit of string, a bandanna that had been used to clean Talis’s tack in the past, and two pieces of endpaper he’d torn from a book and folded carefully, planning to use them to write a note to his father in case he had trouble getting past the palace guards.

  Thia didn’t do much better. She had a small pouch of coins, a chapbook of Rufen Castio’s writings that Denno had given her as a farewell present, a stub of candle, and a small waxed parcel of dried fruit and nuts she’d bought from a vendor on the docks before boarding The Pride of Pela.

  When both humans were finished, they turned to look at the Hthras. “Master Khith?” Thia asked, wondering if the Hthras even had pockets in its robe. “Do you have anything that could help?”

  The Hthras’s huge eyes gleamed in the dimness of the little cabin. “Let us see,” it said, reaching into the folds of its physician’s robe. “What do we have?”

  Thia watched in growing perplexity as the Hthras crouched between the bunk and the wall, adding objects to the small pile. Five brightly colored scallop shells, tightly closed.

  Seven large acorns, their little caps still in place. A piece of charcoal, and a stub of chalk. A short piece of string, and a small tube that looked like a pipe with the bowl broken off.

  Thia regarded this depressing collection dejectedly. “Oh, well,” she murmured. “It was just an idea.”

  Khith sat down on the deck beside Eregard, arranging its robes prissily around its skinny shanks. The Hthras looked up at her, and the corner of its huge eyes crinkled. “Oh, I don’t know, Thia, my dear. I believe we have done rather well, all things considered.”

  Eregard raised his head to look again at the little pile, then glanced up at Thia. It was plain from his expression that he was wondering, as she was, whether the little healer had lost its wits.

  “Master,” she said hesitantly, “you see something in this collection that will help us?”

  “Quite possibly,” Khith said. “It depends on our course of action. What is our first priority?”

  “Free Jezzil—” Thia began, but Eregard raised his voice to speak over her.

  “Warn my father of Kerezau’s invasion.”

  Now it was Thia’s turn to give him a scathing look.

  “There’s no way to do that!”

  “Do not be too sure, Mistress Thia,” Khith said. “I secreted some of my powders and potions in these”—it touched, first, the shells, then the acorns—“and many things are possible.”

  “Sending a message to my father?” Eregard jumped up so quickly he nearly stepped on their little pile of “treasures.” Khith made a warning hiss as it raked the pile onto a fold of its robe. “Caution, Your Highness! My containers are fragile.”

  “Yes,” Eregard said, moving with exaggerated care. He dropped onto the narrow bunk beside Thia. “Excuse me, Master Khith. I don’t mean to seem skeptical, but how?”

  Khith regarded him. “There are invisible cords that bind us to those we love … and, sometimes, those we hate. Tell me, Your Highness, which member of your family are you closest to?”

  Eregard considered for a moment, “Well, my mother, I guess …”

  “Can you see her face clearly in your mind?”

  The Prince closed his eyes, then shook his head. “No, she’s been ill for some time. I can’t visualize her.”

  “Whose face can you see?”

  Eregard smiled wryly. “The Princess Ulandra. My brother Salesin’s wife. I—” He gave Thia a look that she couldn’t read. Embarrassment? Defiance? “I love her,” he said after a long pause.

  “Love is good. Love is the strongest of bonds, I believe, more so than even hate or fear. Does the Princess return your feelings?”

  He looked down. “No. But she knows I’m her friend. I think she has some affection for me … at least, I hope she does. But she probably thinks I’m dead, along with everyone else.”

  “That does not matter. If this works, she will know that you are alive. She will be within you, inside your mind. She will see through your eyes.”

  Eregard stared at the Hthras, wide-eyed. “You can do that?”

  “It can be done among my people. Whether I can accomplish it with a human subject is another thing. It would be better if Jezzil were here. He has the potential for great power, and he is of the same species. But we will do what we can, at this time.” The little physician raised its head, sniffed the air. “I sense a change in the weather, and not far off.

  There will be a storm by nightfall, a bad one. We had best hurry.”

  Quickly, they scrambled to obey the doctor’s instructions.

  Thia found herself hanging the faded old sheet from the

  bunk on the wall, struggling to catch it on splinters in the ship timbers. Finally the task was done to Master Khith’s satisfaction. The Hthras handed her the tiny chunk of charcoal, and told her that she and Eregard would be writing with it, so that Princess Ulandra would be able to read their message. “Write clearly,” it instructed. “She will not receive a verbal message, only what you write.”

  “First of all,” Eregard said, “we need a map.”

  The Prince sketched busily with the charcoal for several minutes, drawing a rough outline of Pela, labeling the por
t of Minoma on the western side, across the Narrow Sea from Kata. Then he made small sails with half-moons below them to indicate the presence of Kerezau’s fleet. “My best guess is that he’ll attack from the north,” he muttered. “It wouldn’t make any sense for him to sail all the way around the island to come in from the south. That way he’d have to cross the Goddess’s Crown, and that range is still snowcapped. No, he’ll come from the north, or perhaps northeast.” He drew an arrow to indicate the direction the symbolic fleet was heading, then handed the charcoal to Thia.

  “Not much left,” she said, looking down at it. “What shall I write?”

  Khith told her, and she obeyed. The charcoal ran out in mid-word.

  “It will have to do,” Khith said. “Now, we must have a source of flame …”

  Thia held up her candle stub. “But they took my firestriker.”

  “That does not matter,” Khith reassured her. Using the tip of one taloned forefinger, the Hthras carefully pried open one of the scallop shells. Inside the shell was a fine, purplish powder. Khith picked up the little tube, then, with two loud sniffs, inhaled some of the powder into first one flat nostril, then the other. The Hthras sat there, hand over its eyes, head bent. Thia could hear it breathing.

  Finally it raised its head and stared at the candle stub.

  Without warning, the wick flared with bright yellow flame.

  Thia yelped, so startled she nearly dropped the candle.

  “You did it!” Eregard exclaimed.

  “That was the easy part,” Khith said slowly, its voice thicker, deeper. Drugged, Thia thought, and felt a surge of fear. She tried to reassure herself that Master Khith surely knew what it was doing.

  “Now for you, Eregard. We must strengthen that invisible cord, so your minds can meet,” Khith said. Carefully, it opened one of the other scallop shells, and there was a grayish powder inside. “This will be difficult,” Khith murmured.

  “If only I had my laboratory instruments.” With a quick twist, it took the cap off one of the acorns and handed it to Thia. She held it, seeing a pinch of dark brown powder within. “When the gray powder melts,” Khith told her, “pour the brown powder into the scallop shell.”

  “Yes, Doctor,” she said, gripping the acorn.

  With exacting care it took Eregard’s two coins and the bandanna, then inserted one of the flattened flanges of the scallop shell between the two coins until it was stable. Using a fold of the dirty bandanna, it held the two coins tightly together and moved the scallop shell until it was nearly touching the flame. “This powder will melt, my Prince,” it said, “and it will do so suddenly. When it is melted, Thia will add the brown powder. The mixture will then turn red. You must be prepared to take the shell and swallow its contents before the mixture can solidify. You will have only a handful of seconds before the mixture begins to harden. Understand?”

  “Yes,” Eregard said apprehensively. He caught Thia’s eye and squared his shoulders. “I understand.”

  The three crouched over the candle flame, staring at the powder. The flame burned, and hot wax dripped down over Thia’s fingers. She did not move; her training in Boq’urak’s temple stood her in good stead. Staring at the powder, she gripped the candle and the little acorn, scarcely daring to blink.

  For what seemed like many minutes, nothing happened.

  The candle was shrinking at an alarming rate. What if it goes out?

  Just as she decided that Master Khith had made a mistake about the powder, it happened. As the Hthras had predicted,

  the change was sudden. One moment the grayish power lay there, inert, the next the powder had darkened around the edges … and by her next breath it was all dark, an iron gray now, plainly liquid.

  Biting her lip with concentration, Thia tipped the contents of the hollowed out acorn into the scallop shell. The brown powder lay there for a second, then Khith carefully tilted the little shell to mix the contents.

  Red blossomed like a wound against pale flesh. Even as Khith said, “Now!” Eregard was already snatching the scallop shell. He hissed at the heat, but then his head was bent over it and he tipped it up, pouring the hot contents onto his tongue. He gagged, but mastered the reflex. Thia saw his throat move as he swallowed.

  Hastily, Thia blew out the candle flame. They might need light later on.

  Eregard moaned and raised his scorched fingers to his mouth. “By all the hells!” he whispered.

  Khith grabbed his shoulders and turned him to face the map. “Concentrate!” the Hthras hissed. “See her face!”

  Eregard faced the white sheet. Khith inched forward so it was behind Eregard and rested its furred, taloned hands on the Prince’s shoulders. The Hthras leaned over and pressed its face against the back of Eregard’s neck. “Concentrate!”

  Thia sat in silence, watching, afraid to move. For long minutes nothing happened. Then, slowly, Eregard’s breathing changed, became deeper, slower. His eyes closed.

  She looked over at Khith and could see tension in every line of the Hthras’s small body. Softly, the doctor began to whisper a chant. The words were nonsense syllables to Thia.

  Khith’s voice strengthened, grew deeper, slower. Eregard twitched, shuddered, then began to whisper “Ulandra” over and over.

  It’s happening, Thia thought. Khith is doing it!

  More minutes passed as the two figures crouched together next to the narrow bunk. Khith chanted, Eregard muttered, and time crawled by. Thia sat still, forcing herself not to squirm.

  Without warning, Eregard moved, pulling away from Khith’s half embrace. The Prince slid forward and began tracing the words she’d written on the sheet in Pelanese, muttering the words as he did so. “This is Eregard, alive, off the northeast coast. Kerezau’s troops will invade within hours or days.” He looked up. “I need to tell her more!”

  “Here!” Thia cried. “Here, finish!” Grabbing Khith’s limp hand, she raked the Hthras’s talon across her palm. Blood welled up, pooled in her palm. She held her hand out to Eregard. He dipped his finger in the blood and began writing again, “Tell Salesin! Tell my father! I am held captive on ship,” he said as he wrote, and painted a hasty red X on the map with his finger. “Send help. Send help …”

  His hand trembled and then dropped as Khith quietly slumped over, unconscious. Thia gave a muffled cry and reached over to feel the doctor’s pulse. Eregard slumped against the wall of their prison and regarded her dazedly. “Is Khith all right?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Khith is breathing, its pulse is strong. My guess is that the doctor fainted from the strain.”

  Eregard nodded, then stared at the blood-and charcoal-splotched sheet. “I can’t believe it worked,” he whispered. “I was really there, inside her mind. I was in the palace. Goddess!” He buried his face in his hands. “My brother was there, somewhere close. He had just …” He glanced up, then trailed off. “He has not been a kind husband.”

  Thia watched him. “Surely your brother will be glad to know you are alive?”

  He gave a harsh bark of laughter. “I doubt it. He’ll probably send the Royal Navy to sink us to the bottom. But he’s not stupid. He’ll muster the troops.”

  At her feet, Khith mumbled something, and then its breathing grew deeper. Thia looked at the Hthras. “Sound asleep.”

  “I’m not surprised. I could feel the effort it cost to open that link. I could sense the strain. I’m tired myself.”

  He inched over to the sheet, pulled it down off the wall and, turning it over so the message did not show, used it to cover the Hthras. “Let the doctor sleep. How is your hand?”

  Thia had forgotten about it. She held it out, seeing that the bleeding had mostly stopped. Eregard used the cleanest corner of the bandanna to wipe away the blood.

  Khith continued to sleep as the rest of the day passed.

  They were fed by the taciturn guard, who replaced their chamber pot with a more utilitarian bucket.

  Eregard fell asleep soon after they had
eaten their meager allotment of food. Thia read for a while, till the light faded from the porthole, then she, too, fell asleep.

  She was awakened abruptly, in total darkness, when the Pride suddenly wallowed like a sow in a fresh mudhole. The deck rose beneath her feet as she sat up with an exclamation, then dropped away with sickening abruptness. Outside, she could hear the howl of wind, the lash of rain.

  Khith’s promised storm had arrived.

  Bone Magic

  When Jezzil opened his eyes to utter blackness, his first thought was that he’d been buried alive. He was lying on his side, on something damp and unyielding, and couldn’t seem to breathe.

  Moments passed, and then he felt movement beneath him.

  Not a grave, then. Graves didn’t move.

  The fight with Boq’urak, he thought. I’m in the wagon …

  but why are there no stars?

  He remembered that Thia had been there, with him, cradling his head in her lap as the wagon bumped along, and reached out for her. His groping hand encountered only boards, damp boards.

  He lay there, fighting to breathe, then managed to turn his head to look up through slitted eyes. Where are the stars?

  The boards beneath him heaved gently, not sharply like the jouncing of a wagon.

  “Thia?” The name was only a ghost of a whisper, so soft and distorted that he could barely hear himself. He tried again. “Thia?”

  There was no answer, and he realized he was alone.

  It was a struggle to breathe. His entire face hurt. He tried

  to open his eyes all the way, but could not. He realized that his face was swollen, and that the center of the pain was his nose.

  But Boq’urak didn’t hurt my face … he broke my leg …

  hurt me inside …

  He tried to move his head, but the pain was so intense that he stopped immediately. Think. Where are you? What happened?

  Slowly, memories began to trickle back. He remembered Khith. Remembered walking on crutches. Remembered shadowing the two Chonao, overhearing them plotting to betray Kata. Remembered boarding a ship …

  He let out a grunt as the rest of the memories surged back.