by Mel Odom
Placing a hand in the center of his chest, Sabyna shoved the man into the rutted street. She turned to face his friends, who weren't totally convinced they couldn't take her.
She opened the bag of holding at her side and called, "Skeins."
The raggamoffyn fluttered up through the opening and formed a striking serpentine shape that hovered on the wind. The men backed away at once, terror on their faces.
"Don't," Sabyna said coldly, "let me see you again."
Without another word, the men grabbed their friend from the rutted road and took off.
Releasing a slow, taut breath, Sabyna stepped into the apothecary's shop. Skeins retreated into the bag of holding.
The shop stood small and tidy beneath a swaying ceiling that had seen its best days pass it by. Wheel-shaped candelabras hung from the ceiling. Handmade shelves, added as needed and not with a uniform design in mind, stood against the left and right walls.
Glass bottles of all shapes, sizes, and colors mixed with jars, canisters, and small boxes to cover the shelves. Open vases held sticks of spices and rolled herbs. Cheesecloth pouches of pipeweed sat on barrels.
Some of the herbs had been dried and left in their original shape, lying in jars, in thick clusters, or hanging from strings strung around the room. Other herbs had been ground into meals and powders, grains separated from the chaff.
"Hail and well met, lady."
Fazayl stood behind the battered counter at the end of the shop. Long gray hair hung to his shoulders, but the top of his head was bald. Gray chin whiskers jutted out in disarray. He wore a homespun shirt and worn breeches. A long-stemmed pipe was in one hand, and the rich aroma of cherry blend pipeweed filled the shop.
"Hail and well met." Sabyna crossed to the counter. "You have the herbs and other things I asked for?"
"Aye," the man replied. "That I do."
He reached under the counter and brought out a small wooden box. Inside were a dozen vials, jars, and bottles of different colors. Bundles of herbs and incense sticks took up more space.
Sabyna took the bottles and herbs out one by one, checking each.
"I've gotten some new stock in, lady," Fazayl stated, waving his arm generously around the small shop. "If you'd care to take a look."
"Thank you. I will."
Despite the danger inherent in being in the town of Agenais by herself, Sabyna found she was reluctant to return to Azure Dagger so readily. While aboard ship she was consciously aware of Jherek's absence. She left the small box in the apothecary's care and crossed the room to the potions and oils.
Two small children, no more than six or seven, entered the shop amid gales of laughter. Dressed in made-over clothing patched in dozens of places, they pushed and shoved each other in playful sibling rivalry. The children stopped at the counter and peered up at Fazayl.
"And where do you rapscallions think you're off to?" the apothecary demanded.
The children didn't answer, simply peered over the edge of the counter with their big eyes. Dirt stained their wind-reddened cheeks, and they wiggled in excitement.
Smiling, Fazayl reached under the counter and brought out half a dozen hard candies. The children scooped them up, yelled quick thank you's, and scurried for the door. The old man laughed at them, then caught Sabyna looking.
"Bless the children, lady, for they see only the good things in this world."
"Are they your grandchildren?" Sabyna asked.
"No, lady. My boys and my grandchildren live in Ches-senta. The Whamites turned out far too small to keep them from roving. Still, most of the children in town know I and the missus can be counted on for a few pieces of sugar candy without too much of a fight."
The shop door opened and two rough-looking men stepped through. Both of them walked with the rolling gait of professional seamen and wore cutlasses instead of long swords.
"Shopkeeper," one of the men roared. "I've got a list of goods here we'll be needing." He reached inside his blouse and took out a scrap of parchment.
"If I can," Fazayl replied. "Some goods are in short supply these days."
The two men swaggered to the counter and gazed around at the shop. One of them looked directly at Sabyna, and the ship's mage recognized him in an instant as one of Vurgrom the Mighty's crew of pirates that had captured her in Baldur's Gate and fled with her down the River Chionthar.
She readied her spells in the event that he recognized her.
After they gave their list to Fazayl, they turned to the barrels where the apothecary kept live fish, salamanders, frogs, and newts that he used to make some of his powders, potions, and oils.
Returning to the counter, still watching the two men, Sabyna quickly paid for her supplies, then shoved them into the bag of holding. Skeins sensed her tension and tried to ease from the bag. She pushed the raggamoffyn back inside, thanked Fazayl, and headed for the door.
Without looking back, she crossed the rutted street that cut through the heart of Agenais and took up a position beside a sail maker's shop. From the alley she had a clear view of the apothecary.
When they left, she followed.
XV
29 Flamerule, the Year of the Gauntlet
"You're an excellent player," the captain said.
Jherek glanced at Captain Tarnar across the inlaid marble chessboard on the small table between them in the captain's quarters. The pieces were done in dark red and white, matching the board, carved in figures of king, queen, priests, horsemen, castles, and kneeling archers.
"You're very gracious," the young sailor responded.
Steadfast cleaved the water as she was named, pulling full into the wind now.
"No," Tarnar replied, "I'm not. I don't like to lose."
He poured another glass of wine for himself, then offered the bottle to Jherek, who politely refused.
The captain had invited Jherek to join him for dinner, and the young sailor had reluctantly accepted. Jherek preferred his own company, but he was loath not to show good manners in light of the situation.
"I find it more disturbing that you beat me three times in a row-" Tarnar paused to sip his wine,"-in light of the fact that you're distracted."
"I'm not-"
"A woman?" the captain asked, interrupting politely.
Jherek didn't reply. To speak of Sabyna so casually would be dishonorable.
"Of course it's a woman," Tarnar said with conviction. His eyes bore into the young sailor's. "The only other interest to so bewitch a man's soul would be an object of greed, and you aren't the type to covet physical goods." The captain started setting up the chess pieces again. "You threw yourself into the sea without so much as a bag packed those days ago."
Jherek set up the pieces on his side of the board, appreciating the smooth feel of them.
"Is it the ship's captain I saw you with?" Tarnar persisted. "The half-elf? Or the young red haired girl that seemed so upset by your leaving?"
"I'd rather not speak of this," Jherek said.
"Nonsense. Men at sea always talk of women," the captain persisted. "First, they speak of their mothers, then of lovers, then of women they've left in different ports. When they start speaking of wives, you'd best start looking for another crewman."
Candles lit the room and filled it with the smoky haze of herbs that eddied out the open windows in the ship's stern. A generous portion of the room was given over to the large bed that extended across the stern a good eight feet. Shelves and closets occupied the remaining space along the wall on either side of the bed.
There was a large rolltop desk that held map scrolls and nautical plotting and marking tools. Ship's journals sat neatly ranked on one side. The current journal occupied the center of the table, open to the entry Tarnar last made. A quill and an inkwell sat nearby.
A shelf on the opposite side of the room from the desk held a row of books. Most of them, Jherek found upon inspection, were treatises regarding the worship of Mystra. Beside the bookshelves was a locked armory that hel
d swords of different makes and styles.
Jherek nodded at the shelves and said, "I've noticed your interest in books."
"The worship of Mystra. Yes." Tarnar swirled the dregs of his wine. "I am a failed priest of her order."
Stunned that the man announced the fact so casually, Jherek opened his mouth to speak but found no words.
The captain grinned. "It's nothing I'm ashamed of," he said. "While I attended the Lady of Mysteries' schools and talked with her priests, I learned a great many things. All of them have helped me become a better man. I begrudge none of the experience, not even when I took myself from the order."
"Why did you?" Jherek asked.
"Because I felt the calling, but I never felt I could devote myself to the priesthood. Not the way I wanted to, wholly and without reservation. So I went to sea, which seemed as wild and as restless as any mysteries I might seek to uncover under Mystra's guidance."
"But your interest remains," Jherek observed. "Why would you keep the books otherwise?"
"Aye," Tarnar replied. "My fascination remains. Mystra is also known as She of the Wild Tides here in the Sea of Fallen Stars. I love her because she seems so much a part of this world, yet above it. Legend has it that during the Time of Troubles she even wralked on this plane as a mortal herself."
Jherek remained silent.
"Today I tried to divine something of what lies in your future," Tarnar said.
Shaking his head, Jherek grumbled, "I don't want to know."
"There's not much to tell," Tarnar told him. "I never learned how to divine properly, though I was told by my teachers that I possessed some mean skills at it. I only got two impressions from the attempt. I know that something shapes your future-though you have a choice in that- and that the guiding hand does not belong to Mystra."
"What choice?"
Tarnar ran his finger around the rim of his wineglass and said, "I could not say. Have you any stronger feelings about where we're supposed to go? By the afternoon of the day after tomorrow we'll be at the mouth of the Alamber Sea. Providing the wind stays with us, the trip to Aglarond will not be long."
"No. I have just the steady need to travel east-and even that is not as sharp as it once was."
Even as the young sailor's words faded away, a low, mournful croon echoed inside the captain's quarters.
Drawn by the sound, Jherek excused himself from the table and headed through the door.
Men stood out on the deck, lit by a few lanterns secured in the rigging to warn other ships of their presence and to allow them to see in the dark night. None of the sailors appeared relaxed.
"What in the Nine Hells is that?" one man grumbled.
"It's enough to wake the dead," another volunteered.
"You ask me," a third stated, "that's the cry of someone or something dead. Come to call us on home ourselves."
"Stow that bilge, Klyngir," Tarnar ordered as he followed Jherek up the steps to the stern castle.
"Aye, sir," the sailor snapped.
The mournful moaning continued, just loud enough to be heard over the waves lapping at Steadfast sides. It echoed on the wind, as if carried a great distance.
Jherek stepped up on Steadfasfs stern castle deck. The chill wind snaked icy fingers under his clothing, prickling his skin. His hair whipped about, blown forward from the stern. He scanned the horizon where the star-filled black sky met the rolling, green-black sea.
"I want men circling this ship along the railings," Tarnar roared as he stood overlooking the deck. "Those blasted sea devils are known to be thick in this area."
"Sounds far away, Cap'n," the mate behind the wheel stated.
"I don't want to take any chances," Tarnar snapped.
Steadfast creaked and the rigging popped in the wind, but the ship's noises never covered the mournful moans. Jherek listened to the sounds, finally recognizing them for what they were.
"Whale song," he said.
"Aye, Cap'n, it is," the mate at the wheel said. "I know it now, too."
The cadence of the whale song rode up and down the scale, sounding eerie and menacing.
"I've been told whales can sing the length and breadth of the Inner Sea," the mate said, "but I've never heard anything like this."
"Nor have I," Tarnar agreed. He glanced at Jherek.
"Wherever they are," Jherek said, "that's where we must go."
"You're sure?" Tarnar asked.
Men scurried along Steadfast railing, holding lanterns out over the sides as they scoured the dark water.
"Aye," Jherek replied. The pulling sensation inside him was growing, accompanied by an increased anxiety to get there.
"What direction?"
The young sailor listened, but the mournful moaning seemed to come from everywhere.
"I don't know," Jherek mumbled, frustration chafing at him.
Tarnar approached him and spoke soft enough that his words didn't carry. "Close your eyes, my friend. If this is a message for you, as you believe, it will be made known to you."
Filled with tense doubt, Jherek closed his eyes. The moaning continued to echo around him, faint and distant. He couldn't guess in what direction it truly lay.
He shook his head and said, "It doesn't help."
"That's because you're still listening with your ears," Tarnar said patiently. "Listen with your heart, Jherek, not your head, not your body. Breathe out slowly. Relax."
Jherek exhaled, concentrating on the sound.
"Your heart," Tarnar said, "not your ears. You're still trying to listen with your ears."
"I can't do it," Jherek whispered hoarsely.
"You can," Tarnar told him. "Think of some other place, some other time. Get some distance between here and now. Think of a place you like to go. One that has no bad memories, no pressure."
With difficulty, Jherek imagined Madame Iitaar's house at the top of Widow's Hill in Velen. He remembered the trails he'd raced up and down while working at the shipwright's shop and living with Madame Iitaar.
Breathing out, he recalled the cool breeze that lingered under the apple tree where he'd often stood and watched the ships out in Velen's harbor. He'd spent hours there, hungering after the opportunity to put to sea again. Out in the harbor, he watched Butterfly pull out of port, her sails popped full of a favoring wind, knowing that he had Finaren's promise that the next time she sailed he'd be part of her crew.
Whale friend. The voice in Jherek's mind was rusty with fatigue. You must come as quickly as you can. Time grows short. The Taker moves more swiftly than our legends foretold. He is already on his way.
Who are you? Jherek knew the voice wasn't the one that had been with him for the last fourteen years of his life. This wasn't the voice that told him time and time again, "Live, that you may serve."
I am called Song Who Brings Bright Rains.
What do you want?
Only to do that which I have been given to do, Jherek Whalefriend. As we all must. The voice sounded weaker, farther away, like a light growing dim in a long corridor.
You are not the one who has talked to me before.
No. I am but a piece of the tapestry that is your destiny. Another's hand has wrought it.
Who's hand?
That is not for me to say, Jherek Whalefriend. It is not yet the time of choosing. Follow, and may all your songs be strong.
When the communication ended, Jherek opened his eyes. The wind blew cold over the perspiration that covered him. He stared hard into the darkness.
"Do you know the direction?" Tarnar asked.
"East," the young sailor replied. "We need to adjust four points to starboard." He felt the direction like a compass needle.
"Make it so," Tarnar told the mate.
As soon as Steadfast came about on her new course, the sensation within Jherek's breast felt a little stronger.
"How far is our destination?" Tarnar asked.
"I don't know."
The captain hesitated, picking up the small lan
tern near the plotting desk beside the wheel. He glanced at the compass, traced a map with his finger, and said, "If we stay on this course, we're going to end up in the middle of the Alamber Sea."
"When?"
"By the day after tomorrow. That's the very heart of the sea devils' empire. I can't ask these men to go there, and I won't order them to."
"I understand," Jherek replied. "If the time comes that you're faced with that, I'll go on alone."
Grim-faced, Tarnar folded his map and put it away. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."
"There is another problem," Jherek said. "I was told we're not the only ones headed this way."
"Told?" For the first time, doubt showed on Tarnar's face. "Who told you this?"
"The whale who sings," Jherek replied.
The young sailor noticed the look the mate swapped with his captain and chose not to respond to it.
"Who else is supposed to be coming?" Tarnar asked.
"The Taker," Jherek said.
Confusion lit Tarnar's face in the glare from the small lantern he held. "Do you know what the Taker is?"
While Azla pursued Vurgrom, mention had been made of the Taker. In fact, some of the people the pirate captain questioned suggested that Vurgrom was somehow in league with this mythological terror.
"A story," the young sailor said. "I've heard a few legends about the Taker."
"And what if this thing is real?"
The possibility seemed overwhelming to Jherek. His life was troubled enough.
"How could the Taker be real?" he asked. "The Taker is a legend. No one has ever seen him."
"If you have spoken to a whale," Tarnar said, "then you know someone must have. Whales never lie."
XVI
2 Eleasias, the Year of the Gauntlet
Follow me more closely, little malenti, Iakhovas ordered as they swam through the currents around Vahaxtyl. I would not have the princes know we are divided in any way.
Laaqueel obeyed reluctantly, drawing two feet closer to Iakhovas. The sahuagin princes of Aleaxtis had sent warriors to escort them from Tarjana. The great galley sat at anchor above the ruined city. All around them, the whale song echoed.
