Storms of Destiny

by A. C. Crispin

  Talis realized that surprise was exactly what she’d been feeling, and found herself blushing. She blessed the night.

  “Of course not. I just … I just …”

  He handed her the flask. “Think nothing of it. Here, it’s your turn.”

  Talis sipped again, and this time did not sputter. The brandy slid down her throat and sent a wave of warmth washing through her.

  They sat in silence for another long while. Talis heard the Prince sigh, then curse under his breath. “What is it?” she asked.

  When Eregard spoke this time, his voice was harsh, thick with emotion. “The thing that just about kills me is that I was so damned close. We were almost to Pela. Almost within sight of Minoma harbor. Then that wretched storm and that wretched tinpot tyrant, Kerezau, had to come along. Just my luck,” he finished bitterly. “Just my double bedamned luck.”

  She put her hand on his arm. “Maybe we’ll be rescued.

  Don’t give up hope just yet. At least we’re free, not Chonao captives.”

  “I suppose you’re right, mis-” He broke off. “Ah, hells.

  My mother is sick, you know. I was always the one she wanted to come visit her. I would play and sing for her. Read her stories, tell her court gossip. It comforted her, having me there.” He drew in a breath, and the sound was so full of pain that Talis’s heart ached to hear it. “What if I never see her— or any of them—again?”

  “You will,” she said. “If you weren’t meant to see them again, we’d never have met. We’d never have met Jezzil, or Thia, and I’d have never realized who you really were …

  are.”

  “You really believe that?” he said raggedly.

  “Yes, I do,” she said, surprised to realize she was telling the truth. She strove to put conviction into her voice. “I do believe it.”

  “I wish I could,” Eregard said, and she heard him trying to choke back a sob. He rubbed his eyes roughly on his sleeve.

  “Damned brandy was supposed to cheer me up, not start me sniveling.”

  “You’re not sn-sniveling,” she insisted, trying not to slur.

  “I’m supposed to be a double bedamned prince, and all I can do is whine and snivel,” he continued, plainly not listening. “Talis, when I was small, I believed that I must be a changeling. That the real Prince Eregard was someplace safe, hidden away, and that he was strong and noble and a true royal.”

  “That’s silly,” she said. “Of course you’re Prince Eregard.

  Everyone says you look just like your mother when she was a girl.”

  “Oh, I suppose I stopped believing that fantasy about being a changeling at some point,” he said, “but I’m not like my brothers, not at all. I don’t look like them. I’m no warrior. I’m no good at court intrigue, either. My father was afraid of my brother, and what did I do to help him? Nothing but get myself sold into slavery. Better if I die out here than betray the family honor any more than I already have—”

  “Stop that!” she said, pulling him around to face her on their piece of driftwood. “You’re royal, but you are also human, Eregard. You’ve been given a great gift, to see and understand the other side of things. What it means to work with your hands, how it feels to go hungry, what it’s like not to have enough firewood, so you have to sleep shivering.”

  She drew a deep breath. “That gift makes you the best of them, Eregard. Pela needs you, and so does Kata.” She gave him a brief, comradely embrace, then pulled back, holding his face in her hands. “Listen to me. I believe there is a reason for what you’ve suffered, and someday you’ll know what it is. You have a destiny. I just know you do. You should pray to the Goddess for a sign, so you’ll know it, too.”

  She could feel dampness from the tears, and his beard was thick and harsh beneath her hands. It seemed to take him forever to focus on her face, hear what she was saying.

  “Talis,” he muttered, and then his hand rose to touch her face in turn. “You think so?”

  “Yes,” she said. Their faces were now so close together that she could feel his breath, warm and smelling of the brandy. She felt light-headed, doubtless from the liquor. Pull back, she ordered herself. Pull away.

  But her hands did not seem to obey her mind. Her fingers

  cupped his cheek. “Oh, Talis. Thank you,” he breathed, and turned his head to kiss the palm of her hand. His mouth was warm, and she could not believe the jolt of sensation that simple caress sent through her entire body.

  What’s happening to me? Talis realized she was drunk, but it wasn’t just the brandy. She’d never felt this way before. Eregard’s hands slid down to her shoulders, and he pulled her close to him, holding her tightly. He was big and solid, and his warmth felt good.

  He was stronger than she had ever realized; she could feel the muscles in his arms and chest. Her head swam, and she turned her head to tell him to let go of her, tell him to stop … stop!

  Before she could do more than open her mouth to say the word, he was kissing her.

  He tasted of brandy, and salt, and his mouth was gentle but insistent on hers. For years just the thought of Uncle Jasti’s kiss had been enough to make her vomit, but this was different. So different!

  Talis realized dazedly that she was clinging to Eregard and that she had returned the kiss. His tongue touched hers, and it was a fire that ran through her. No one had ever told her that there could be pleasure in this, a pleasure so profound it seemed to fill her body. She could not break away from that kiss, it seemed to go on and on, and she thought she would die if it ever ended.

  But it did end. He drew back a little, then began kissing her face, her ear, her throat, murmuring to her, his words slurred but understandable. “Talis, you are so beautiful, so beautiful. You’re beautiful when you fight, when you laugh …”

  She found herself seeking his mouth again, kissing him, and realized that he was touching her breast through the thin blouse, his hand expertly squeezing, his thumb exciting her nipple. Another jolt of pleasure arrowed through her, and she ran her fingers through his hair, traced them down the side of his neck … encountered the cold iron of the slave collar— —only to feel Eregard pull away from her with a jerk so sudden that they both slid off the piece of driftwood, landing on the soggy, cold seaweed.

  The cold wetness acted like a slap in the face for Talis, bringing her up short. What am I doing? she thought, horrified. I swore I would never, never let any man touch me again!

  She scrambled to her knees, realizing her heart was pounding as hard as it had when she’d fought Kerezau …

  was it only hours ago? Years seemed to have gone by.

  Eregard cursed softly under his breath as he heaved himself back up onto the driftwood. His voice was unsteady as he turned to offer her his hand. “I’m sorry, Talis.”

  She avoided his hand as she scrambled back to sit on the opposite side of the log, as far away from him as she could get, wrapping her arms across her still-tingling breasts.

  Falling back on her spy training, she managed a fairly convincing laugh. “Sorry for what? Getting sloshed and pawing me? It’s not like it’s never happened to me before.”

  “But—” He broke off, and she saw him shake his head unsteadily. “Well, leave it at that. My apologies, mistress. I bid you good night.”

  She watched him get up cautiously, then head back toward their sleeping comrades, his dark shape silhouetted against the multitudes of stars.

  It meant nothing, she told herself fiercely. Forget it. Forget it and go to sleep.

  They awoke at dawn, still tired, cramped, and stiff from sleeping on the driftwood. They managed to suck a small bit of moisture from the dew that had collected on their clothes, but it did little to satisfy their thirst. Khith moved around, collecting grubs and seaweed, then rolling the seaweed around the grubs in bite-sized pieces. “Let us break our fast,” the Hthras suggested, laying out a row of the morsels.

  “Jezzil? Eregard?”

  Eregard shook his head. “I�
��m not hungry,” he muttered.

  “I’ve got a demon of a headache.”

  “Can’t be any worse than moldy field rations,” Jezzil said wryly, picking up a couple of pieces and popping them into his mouth. He chewed once, twice, then swallowed, grimacing. “Well, at least it’s not moldy.”

  Talis sighed. “Later. I’ll let mine dry out a bit.”

  Thia just shook her head, turned, and walked away.

  Khith followed her. “Please, at least try.”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t feel well. I’m not hungry.”

  Khith lowered the morsel of seaweed. “Very well. Your skin, it is so fair. Yesterday’s Sun reddened it. We must protect you from it today.”

  The doctor spent several minutes swathing Thia in some of their castoff clothing, using its own robe to cover her head and arms. “I’m going to try and sleep again,” she said, and went back to the chunk of driftwood she’d claimed the night before.

  Eregard glanced over at the sun, still low in the east.

  “We’d all better cover up before long, or we’ll burn like a roast when the spit stops turning.”

  Jezzil gestured at the seaweed. “Ordinarily, we’d use mud in the field if we didn’t have protective clothing. But there’s no mud here, so the seaweed will have to do.” He glanced down at his own weathered skin. “I’ll be fine for a few hours.

  Then I’ll cover up.”

  Talis poked desultorily at the seaweed mat. “How does it live, with no earth to sustain it? What keeps it afloat?”

  “I don’t know,” Jezzil said.

  “I’ve heard sailors talk about it. They say that they’ve seen these things set afire,” Eregard said. “How could wet seaweed burn?”

  “It is not the seaweed that burns, but the bladders that keep it on the surface,” Khith said. The doctor sat down on a plank of driftwood with a sigh. “The weed produces a gas as it takes in sunlight and air, and that gas is incendiary.”

  “A gas? Bladders?” Eregard poked the seaweed, trying to dig down through to see what lay underneath.

  “Yes, membranes of tissue, very tough, but nearly trans-parent, like those of some anemones,” Khith said. “They in-flate with the gas that the kelp produces as it digests light and air.”

  “How do you know so much about it?” Talis said. “You are from the deep forests of the Sarsithe, you said.”

  Khith drew its slender, furred body up. “I am a scientist, as well as an alchemist and adept. I studied the natural world in the abandoned city of the Lost Ones. When I left, I had learned to translate their language, albeit poorly. The Ancients created this form of seaweed as an adjunct food source for livestock.”

  “Tell me about this city,” Eregard said, fascinated. “Who are—or were—the Lost Ones?”

  “They are the people who built the ruins in the Sarsithe,”

  Khith said. “I believe they looked much like humans. They once ruled our world; they had great power. Their science was far beyond even the science of my people, much less yours.

  And in their last years, they learned to fuse magic and alchemy with science. It gave them incredible powers. Before their destruction, there were Adepts among them whose abilities were beyond anything my people ever dreamed possible. They controlled their world, even the weather. When they battled, they did so with weapons that could smite an entire city and leave nothing behind but smoldering, toxic rubble and dust.”

  Jezzil glanced up. “What you describe sounds like the Great Waste, which lies east of Chonao lands. They say a man can safely travel there for three days, but if he stays much beyond that, he is doomed. Treasure hunters scavenge there for precious metals and gems, but they can reach only the edges of the deposits in a day. That gives them a day to search and to collect, and then a day to return. If they take longer, they fall ill, and often die, of a wasting illness.”

  “From my reading in the Lost City, I believe that the Lost Ones were responsible for the Great Waste,” Khith said. “But their records grew so chaotic at the end, one cannot be sure of anything.”

  Eregard leaned closer. “Do you think they wiped themselves out? Reduced their cities to ruins, buried in the jungle?”

  “It is possible that they were responsible for what happened to them …” The doctor paused.

  “Or?” Eregard breathed.

  “But some of their records seem to indicate that they faced an enemy even greater than they were—a terrible enemy that was not of this world. There are hints in their texts that this may have been so.” Khith paused. “It was very difficult for me to decipher their language, and often I was uncertain as to the meanings of words.”

  “Lost cities and lost history! I’m intrigued,” Eregard said.

  “I’d love to go there.”

  Jezzil gave him a glance. “I’ll never be a scholar, I’m afraid. If you go there, I’ll be your bodyguard, and do some hunting. That sounds far more interesting to me than poring over dusty records.”

  Eregard glanced up. “Thia’s sitting back up. I’m going to go check on her.” He picked up several of Khith’s seaweed concoctions, grimaced, then manfully gulped one of them down, trying to chew as little as possible. It was salty, chewy, and slimy, but he managed to swallow it. “Maybe I can get her to eat something. We have to stay strong enough to watch for a ship.”

  “I’m worried about her,” Jezzil said. “She’s too thin as it is.”

  Eregard rose and slogged over the seaweed, trying to ignore the way the footing underneath rose and sank as it took his weight. It was the first time he’d been alone since he’d awakened, and his “repast,” noisome as it had been, seemed to have cleared his head.

  The events of last night came rushing back, so vividly that he stumbled and almost splashed down into the seaweed. He managed to catch himself at the last moment, but he was frowning as he realized that not once had Talis looked at him today, much less spoken to him.

  He sighed. Is she angry because I started, or because I stopped? From observing the way Talis acted around men— as opposed to women—the complete absence of any flirta-tiousness in her manner, or any sexual component to her interactions, he feared it was the former. For a moment anger surged. For the love of the Goddess, I’m only human!

  And what was it, after all, but a kiss and a bit of groping?

  It’s not as though I raped her!

  He vividly remembered the way she had felt in his arms, the passionate response of her mouth, the hardening of her nipples. It’s just as well we stopped, he thought. Ulandra is the one I love, and it’s Thia I’m going to ask to marry me, if we get out of this.

  He glanced down and scowled at his groin. “Down, you fool. Get down.” He slowed, almost stopping. Can’t let Thia see me like this …

  Why had he stopped? Up until the moment he released her, Talis had plainly welcomed his attentions. He’d felt her shudder with passion when he caressed her. She’d returned his caress, putting her hand up and stroking his cheek, his hair, his— Eregard stopped dead, and just as it had last night, his arousal died as he remembered. It was the collar. I felt her touch this bedamned collar.

  The Prince put his hand up to his slave collar, felt the groove he’d worn in the iron. I should have made them take me to a smithy so I could get it taken off, he thought bitterly.

  He began walking again, and in a few more strides reached Thia. She was huddled on a silvery plank of driftwood, with Khith’s robe pulled over her head, shielding her face and arms from the Sun.

  “Good morning,” he said, sitting down beside her. “I brought you breakfast, m’lady.”

  Thia peered out at him, turtle fashion, her face in shadow from the shrouding garment. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t think I can.”

  “You have to try,” Eregard urged. “I felt much better after I forced a little something down. And we need to stay alert, watch for any ships that might come along.”

  Carefully, he picked at one of the little bundl
es and offered her a scrap of seaweed that was fairly dry. “See if this will go down. It’s just a bit of seaweed.”

  Thia hesitated, then took the bit of vegetation. She regarded it, resolutely closed her eyes, popped it into her

  mouth and tried to swallow. She gagged, clamping both hands over her mouth. Eregard could see her jaw muscles working, and finally saw her swallow.

  “Good!” he said. “In a few minutes you can try another bit. I’ve managed to get it down, see?” He popped another tidbit into his mouth, chewed once, then swallowed. “Nothing to it, and it made me feel much better.”

  Thia smiled wanly. “You shouldn’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

  “You will if you eat a bit,” Eregard said. “Here, just a bit more seaweed now.”

  They sat together, talking desultorily, while Eregard got Thia to eat nearly a handful of the damp seaweed. She refused to try the grubs, though. In a few minutes her color improved and she looked a bit livelier. The Prince told her about the Lost Cities of the Sarsithe, which captured her attention.

  The day dragged on. Eregard wrapped his shirt around his head, feeling the prickly tightness that meant sunburn on his cheeks. He’d never been so thirsty. After a few hours it was difficult to think about anything but water, or cold beer, or ale, or tea, or …

  Resolutely, he forced himself to watch the horizon. They were sitting back-to-back, with each castaway responsible for watching a designated quadrant. His back was to Talis, and he was uncomfortably aware that not once that day had she spoken to him, or even looked at him. It pained him to be on the outs with any of his companions. In some ways, Khith, Jezzil, Thia, and Talis felt more like family to him than his own family ever had.

  As the Sun lowered toward the west, Thia, sitting next to him on the plank, made a tiny moan and slumped over into his lap. “She’s fainted! Doctor!” the Prince cried.

  Khith hurried to her side to examine her, pinching the skin of her wrist, smelling her breath, and peering into her eyes. “She is unconscious,” the doctor said. “She needs water. I have been saving a few swallows for all of us in my water flask …”