Ages of Wonder

by Julie E. Czerneda

  “That will hold her for now,” Bane said, “but you need to get her in the deep. It’s the Afhasi source and they sicken when deprived of it. Fear not, they get over it, eventually.”

  The sea speaks.

  Awake, daughter.

  Mother?

  Hush, my Kyamarantha. Let the water replenish.

  Mother.

  You must go back where you belong. You are Afhasi.

  As are you.

  Once. No longer. I have drifted away from the sea.

  Where are you?

  Near, but . . . far away. So far. Go home, child. Leave air to others.

  And what of you?

  I am other. I cannot go back.

  Nor can I. My heart is my home. His name fills my soul.

  Then I grieve for us both. I think you and I are the returning tide of the Eld One’s decree of isolation. Prepare for pain and joy.

  But that makes no sense. Joy is uplifting.

  When heart rules over all, the price of joy is pain. I urge you to shut his name from your soul. He has too much power over you.

  We have power over each other. The power of giving, of sharing. Of loving.

  He will only hurt you. Go now, while the sea cradles you.

  The water caresses my scales, calm, peaceful.

  “Kya!” Jonathon’s voice floods me. I pull away from the deep.

  My daughter, you are lost.

  She is gone; Jonathon is here.

  I swim to him.

  Jonathon stared over the side of the shallop, both hoping and fearing that Kya would swim away. It would mean his death, but should his love be the shackle that enslaved her to Bane’s bidding? Was that love? Or was love setting free?

  “Hail her again, bosun,” Danby said from the seat behind. “The signal is hoisted.”

  “She needs more time.” He glanced over at the mizzenmast where a green banner flapped in the lee breeze. “Bane will have to wait until she’s healed.”

  The point of a dagger pricked his skin. “If the cap’n has to wait, we’ll all need healing.”

  Jonathon instinctively pulled away, but then wondered if he had the courage to throw himself backwards. Before he could decide, long, pale fingers grasped the gunnels of the boat. He wanted to grab them and kiss them, or smash them and drive her away. Her blue-black hair appeared, shiny and lustrous again, followed by her aqua eyes, sparkling like light on the water. He reached to help her aboard but a flick of her powerful tail propelled her into his arms. He kissed her and then averted his eyes as her scales turned to flesh and her tail split into legs.

  Bane’s voice cut across the water. “I hate to interrupt your fun, but we needs be underway and smartly, too. Your navy is six leagues aft and coming on strong. You men,” he pointed at the rigging, “into the ratlines with you. The rest of you, hand over hand and give us a tune.”

  Kya quickly dressed as the crew struck up a lively shanty, hauling the scallop toward the ship.

  Jonathon stared up at the empty crow’s-nest. “Even with the best glass no man can see six leagues away.”

  Kya tipped her head toward the northeast. “He’s right. The waves whisper of three ships.”

  Jonathon nodded. “But how does he know?”

  I am refreshed.

  The slave captain stands on the forecastle waiting for us.

  Jonathon immediately asks, “How do you know the interceptors approach? Do the waves whisper to you, too?”

  “My navigator told me.” Bane smiles, but not of happiness. “Helmsman!” he shouts, “south by southwest. Mr. Danby if you would.” A noose drops over Jonathon’s head and pulls tight, the other end tied to a rail above the deck. “Mr. Danby, the ship is yours. Keep a steady course, and make sure we’re not disturbed.”

  “Aye, cap’n. Steady as she goes.” Danby starts shouting orders as soon as he leaves.

  “The rope is just a precaution, my dear,” Bane says. “I wouldn’t want the bosun getting heroic when he sees his colors flying. And sinking.”

  My Jonathon lunges at him but the tether drags him to his knees, with a gasp. Distress floods me and I charge at Bane with fists and nails. He tries to avoid me, tries to contain me, but I am fin-slippery and draw blood on his cheek. He curses and his pistol lashes out, catching me hard on side of the head.

  Jonathon shouts, but his angry protest is overwhelmed by a wail that pours up from below deck. A cloaked figure bursts among us, shrieking, “You said she wouldn’t be hurt.” Short-bitten fingernails run through shorn blue-gray hair.

  I jerk as if gaffed. “Mother?”

  “Don’t interfere, Mea,” Bane commands.

  She places gnarled fingers against my cut and begins to sing a Healing, but the notes are malformed. Uttering a despondent cry, she pulls back. “I told you to swim away,” she says, “I told you.” Her aqua eyes are cloudy; her face, lined and sallow, bears the ravages of soul sickness. She turns back to Bane; her hands tremble. “Please, Edward, let her go, for the sake of the love we once had.”

  I am stunned, rudderless.

  His face changes from cold and hard to a soft warm smile. “Mea,” he whispers, touching her hollow cheeks. “It’s too late for that.”

  I spin her around. “Him?” I accuse. “You left us to go with him?”

  She sobs, “He holds my heart!”

  “How can your heart be so blind?”

  “And yours isn’t?” She points at my Jonathon. “What won’t you do for him?”

  Bane enwraps her. “I’m sorry I struck her, love. It was a craven act, done in haste. Once we lie on the other side of the monster, I will put about and she can stay with him or return to her home. The same decision you made ten years ago. Remember?”

  “Oh, mother,” I plead. “Leave this evil man.”

  Bane laughs. “And who do you think has aided me? Who warns me of your ships when my hold is crammed full of slaves?”

  Horror fills me. “You are his navigator? How could you? Can not you feel those souls crying in agony?”

  Bane grunts, “Slaves have no souls. They are little better than animals.”

  “At least they are better than animals,” Jonathon says.

  Mother pushes away from them. Tears streak her face. “Kya . . . my Kya. I feel them all the time. They diminish me. I hear their cries, their horrible, endless cries. But he has my heart,” she wails, “and a heart has no ears!”

  “Oh mother, the sea is so far from you.”

  “As it will be from you. Beware, child. Your magic will be your heart’s undoing. It will change him.”

  I shake my head in denial as she speaks.

  “One day, you calm the sea for favorable passage then, before you know it, you are reading it for ships in pursuit. You stir fog, raise waves, heal his wounds, anything to keep him safe.” Tears roll down her hollow cheeks, her voice falters. “Anything.”

  Bane pats her shoulder. “Hush, love, hush. My poor sick Mea. You should go below and have another tot of grog. Let me run my ship.”

  “Edward, let me try to control Kraa’kken. I know the old songs. I might—”

  “No, love, your power has almost faded. Kya is young, still of the sea. She will do it or her heart will die.”

  Jonathon pulls toward her. “More than I will die! You cannot—” He falls, his words cut off by a blow from Bane’s pistol.

  I drop to my knees and cradle his head. “Mother. Please! Help us!”

  She shakes her head. “I can’t. Don’t ask. It’s too late. Kya, please!” she howls, “Please, my child if you have any love left for me, just calm the beast!” She turns away from us, moving slowly along the deck, her hand outstretched to the spray.

  I watch and whisper, “May you find calm, mother.”

  She touches her wet hand to her lips then wipes it on her cloak. “I no longer know how. You and I, we are alike. Afhasi no more.” She staggers away without once looking back.

  Bane’s shoulders slump with her every stumble, but once
she is gone, he takes a deep breath, turns and lays his sword against the fleshy part of Jonathon’s thigh. “Well?”

  I hear cries of despair cresting on the surface of the sea. Those voices will be with me always, as they are with my mother, but even their constant torment cannot compare to the agony of losing my heart. Piece by piece.

  Jonathon will live, the rest I will learn to live with.

  Mother’s accusation echoes in my mind, like the rumble of undersea quakes in the caverns of my distant home.

  Afhasi no more.

  Jonathon awoke to singing. Spray flew like white fire over the bulward rail, the foresails billowed, and sheets snapped in the favoring wind. To the stern, the interceptors were coming on strong, Bane leading them to their doom.

  A high-pitched tune came from the direction of the bowsprit, one note flowing into another in endless waves, cresting and dropping, soothing . . . like a lullaby. He noticed a chain that wasn’t a bobstay wrapping the capstan and peered toward the cutwater.

  He recoiled at the sight of Kya bound face-forward to the ship’s blue-haired figurehead, as if mother was whispering in daughter’s ear. With each plunge of the hull, waves slammed her with a sound as dead as a falling sledgehammer. Her lower body had transformed, seawater sluiced off golden scales. He shouted above the thunder. “Kya! Nothing is worth the cost.”

  The high song stopped, her eyes found his. “Love is.”

  “What kind of love is paid with the lives of slaves?” He leaned over as far as he safely could, trying to touch her, trying to bring her back. Or was he trying to free her? A large wave pushed him away. He made to return but a sharp tug on the rope around his neck jerked him to his knees.

  “The monster rises,” Bane said, his sword pointing at Jonathon’s chest.

  Ancient power swells the sea.

  Kraa’kken stirs. Rage flows. He burns.

  I sing what little I know of the old song and merge it with a Soothing for children who awake in the night.

  I feel his pain. I see into his soul, his memories. He burns with shame.

  Born deformed. His wings are too small and though he tries mightily, he cannot fly. Cast out. His brothers and sisters beat him with their wings. Burned. His father’s fire drives him from the nest. Abandoned. His mother turns her face away.

  He cannot fly; he can only tumble into the sea where he cries his shame.

  The last of his kind, he does not belong in this world. But do I?

  He is only a tiny baby, lost, alone, searching for the mother who betrayed him. As am I.

  Mother? Kraa’kken echoes the image. Curiosity peeks from under the rage. He sees me, I see him.

  Poor wretched creature, his long undulating body, pale and transparent, burns from the inside. His dragon fire, developed underwater, could only rage inward. He consumes himself.

  I gather all my strength, my power, and start to sing a Healing to his fiery pain. I sing to his strength, to the beauty of his marred soul, even as my own sinks in the suffering my love will unleash.

  Shame swamps against me, pressing with a force greater than the weight of the sea. Kraa’kken’s shame. Mine.

  Jonathon’s.

  I feel him above me. Our fragile, forbidden love will not survive his honor. I see him. I hear him talking to the captain. I fear his words.

  “You won’t ever let Kya go,” he says. “You’re going keep the Kraken awake so you have a place to run from the hounds. She will never be free.”

  Bane shrugs. “Who of us is, bosun?”

  He stares at the blade inches from his chest. “My Kya will be,” he whispers and lunges, impaling his heart on the steel point.

  I scream. My heart is Sundered.

  Healing redirects and wraps him in its embrace, holding, refusing to let him go. Love, dragon pain, power all flow through me. I scream again. Stays snap, sails shred, masts topple as soul magic powerful enough to sink an island is unleashed in fear and retribution. My chains shatter and I rise to the deck in a fist of water.

  My mother charges through the quailing crew, distraught and fearful, shouting my name.

  Jonathon’s wound glows, blurs, and disappears. He gags on a breath he had never expected to feel again.

  Relief pushes aside power.

  Kraa’kken rises, wailing piteously, and tips the disabled ship beams-up. Bane windmills to keep his balance, but Jonathon jerks the tethering rope against his feet, toppling him into the angry sea where the dragon waits.

  “Mea!” Bane shouts. “Calm the monster!”

  She stares down at him, then at the baby burning with neglect. “We are all monsters,” she murmurs. She looks at me, and smiles. “Use your power to heal this world,” she says. “The Eld Ones are wrong. We should have always belonged.” She dives over the side and surfaces singing, her scales gleam like diamonds.

  I join her song, our voices pitched in a perfect, harmonious note of empathy and promise that sails the sea. The dragon’s fire dims and he draws toward her. Our shared song ends and turns to tears in my mouth. “Mother is taking Kraa’kken far away,” I say, “where they will die.”

  Bane paddles toward my shining mother. “My love,” he cries, “save me from the monster.”

  “Of course, Edward,” she says. She wraps him in her arms, presses her lips to his and drags him under.

  I watch the bubbles swirl and wonder if I will someday have to do the same with my love.

  Jonathon puts his arm around my shoulders. “We will rename this ship the Afhasi and will honor your mother’s memory through her figurehead. Let every slaver know, when they see her coming, that men will be free.”

  I return the embrace. It is enough.

  We are Afhasi. Of the sea.

  A Swift Changing Course

  Jana Paniccia

  From her position on the quarterdeck of the Shoteth great ship Seadragon, Kaimi Loraen could only watch as the wind shifted, sending wracking shivers through the ship’s square-rigged canvas sails. A line of ominous clouds cut across the horizon, and her heartbeat grew faster as she watched their bulk spill upward, filling the sky with dark, deep-lined ridges.

  “It’ll be a bad one.”

  Kaimi jumped away from the deck rail, startled. Turning, she found Captain Aurus standing a foot away, his sun-darkened face calm despite his words. Seadragon’s captain carried a quiet confidence; the thigh-length black overcoat with its delicately engraved gold buttons done up to his neck only added to his authority. With the wind picking up, his gold-laced hat was tucked under one arm.

  “Will it break our path?” she asked, giving him a slight bow, as she had seen some of his crew do. After three ten-days aboard, she was more relaxed with the captain and the crew than she had ever expected. While Captain Aurus had the gift of air, he was not a magis, and neither were most of the ship’s company, though each had some affinity—mostly air, water, and fire. In the heat of the war with the Gida, crewing with anything less would be unconscionable. A spark of talent was enough to get a man impressed, and most Shoteth ships didn’t consider foreign citizenship a reason for freeing a man from service if he could make one of the cannons fire.

  “It shouldn’t,” Captain Aurus said. “This is where having power-touched sailors comes in good stead. They aren’t just for sinking enemy ships. Watch—” Without the slightest hesitancy, he motioned to a man standing by the wheel, First Lieutenant Makane. Kaimi recognized the officer’s slim features and chestnut hair. While the lieutenant’s uniform was not so different from the captain’s, she imagined there were greater differences between the two men than just one having bone buttons instead of gold and white trousers instead of black. An even greater step separated the officers and the ordinary seamen, who wore little beyond canvas trousers and plain gray shirts.

  “Get the captain of the maintop to ease the wind back to westward,” the captain ordered, voice loud as the wind picked up.

  Before Makane could move, a reedy dark-skinned boy ran out from beyond the g
reat ship’s wheel, offering up a speaking horn. Amazing how so many people wait on his word. Then again, four hundred men lived beneath Seadragon’s decks—far more than she would ever have imagined. More than in all Lake Kelyar Academy.

  And all of them treated the captain with the same diffidence that people had once given her mother. The greatest air mage in a generation, Kailana Loraen had been called.

  Kaimi grimaced. So many had expected her to take her mother’s place, her mother who had given everything to save Shoteth from an airborne invasion.

  If only they had sent me to a regular school. Instead she had been forced to endure life with those who did show great power; three turnings worth of ridicule, of pitying looks, and insults from those who had already attained magis status while she had shown no power at all. For five turnings she had been tested: earth, water, fire, air. She had shown an affinity toward none. And everyone there made certain I knew it.

  “Wind back to west’ard,” the lieutenant hollered, his voice echoing through the horn and breaking her reverie. Once he received acknowledgment from above, he handed the horn back to the boy, then said to the captain, “Wind back to west’ard ordered, sir.”

  Aurus nodded absently, eyes focused on the struggling sails.

  Kaimi edged away, not wanting to intrude. Even though one was the captain and the other a lieutenant, there was a distinct ease between them. They must know each other well living so close together, fighting together. It wasn’t a feeling she knew. At the academy she had always been an outcast. The failed daughter. Was this camaraderie what her mother had felt working from the tower of the senate building—what had pushed Kailana to give her life for Shoteth?

  Up in the maintop, a man in a short oiled-cloth jacket moved to stand in the center of the slender platform, his balance steady despite the wind. Even at a distance, his bright red hair identified him as a native of Farshas Island, close enough to Traeis to make her wonder if Seadragon had made the extended journey before. No doubt his would be an interesting story.

  Kaimi recognized his relaxed posture—the way his head bent toward his chest, eyes no doubt closed. A lump filled her throat as she recalled standing in that same position, hoping and praying for something to happen.