by Mel Odom
“I know. So why give up now?”
Jherek glanced at his fist, thinking of the object inside it, what it had meant then and what it had ceased meaning since. “I’m not giving up. I’m acknowledging my inability to control whatever destiny I may have.”
“It sounds like quitting to me.”
Jherek shook his head and laughed. “Call it what you will. I’ve had enough.”
“Enough of what? Disappointment? Everybody faces disappointment.”
“Not disappointment,” Jherek answered. “I’ve been betrayed.”
“By whom?”
“I don’t know.”
Glawinn let him have some time, then asked, “How have you been betrayed?”
“What does ‘Live, that you may serve,’ mean to you?” the young sailor asked.
“Nothing. Should it?”
“Probably not, but for years I’ve been wondering what it meant for me.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve been told that.”
In a shaking voice, Jherek told of the voice, how it had said that the first time and he’d been saved by a dolphin. He also told him how the voice had spoken again earlier that day, just before the freak gust of wind had powered them out of capsizing.
“For all my life,” he finished, “I’ve wondered what that’s supposed to mean.”
“Maybe it’s not time,” Glawinn replied.
“No,” Jherek said in a loud voice. “I’m tired of waiting. I’ll tell you what I think now. I think whoever that voice belongs to has been trying to destroy me, to destroy my hope. I’ve fought it. I lived when I wanted to die. I escaped my father, risking my life against the sea, rather than take up a blade against an innocent man. I starved because I wouldn’t steal. I worked because I had to take care of myself and not throw myself on the mercy of others. I’ve lived, but I’ve had no life.” His voice broke.
Glawinn, thankfully, kept his distance and let Jherek regroup on his own.
The young sailor spoke carefully when he could. “The closest I’ve ever come to a life was in Velen. In risking my life to save a rich, spoiled girl, I saw all that taken away from me. My reward. No, it should have been ‘Live, that you may suffer.’ ” He shook his head. “I’m done with that, and I’m done with this.”
The young sailor opened his hand and revealed the small pair of white clay hands bound at the wrists by a blood-red cord that lay on his palm.
“You follow Ilmater the Crying God’s teachings,” Glawinn said.
“Aye. I did.”
“He teaches endurance and perseverance. Good qualities for someone who’s had to learn to accept.”
“I’ve accepted,” Jherek said. “I had accepted—even the voice—but I’m not going to accept any more.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
Glawinn paused for a moment, then his eyes opened wider. “You’re afraid that the voice belongs to something or someone evil, but that could never be, Malorrie. You aren’t an evil person.”
“I’m not?” Jherek laughed bitterly. “You just called me Malorrie. Don’t you understand that was my teacher’s name? I’ve never told you my real name. I lied, and I would never have done something like that until now. As it is, I’m not even able to live my own life. That’s been stripped from me as well.”
“Maybe you’re only being shown to your new life.” Glawinn shrugged. “I don’t know how these things work, young warrior. I only trust the weave that I follow.”
“I can’t,” Jherek said. “Not any more. I only fooled myself into believing that I could.”
“Have you spoken with Sabyna?”
Jherek said nothing, the pain in his throat growing larger and harder to swallow. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Why should I?”
“Because she seems to have a vested interest in you.”
“She’s under the mistaken impression that she owes me something.”
“Ah, young warrior, there are so many things you still don’t see in life.”
Jherek’s anger turned him hot even in spite of the cool night breeze blowing around him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Only that time will make you wiser, but I can see that the learning won’t come easily to you in certain matters.”
“I can’t tell Sabyna.”
“Even though you love her?”
Jherek shook his head. “You don’t know that I love her. I don’t know that I love her.”
“You were willing to abandon your quest for the pearl disk because of her.”
“It’s foolish for her to die for my mistakes.”
“She didn’t let you walk away. She cares about you.”
“I know,” Jherek said thickly, “but I’m afraid to let that happen either. If I foolishly ever thought that it might. She deserves someone much better than me.”
“Why haven’t you told her about your past?”
“Because,” Jherek said, “my father killed her brother, and I was on Bunyip, hanging in the rigging and watching when he did it.”
Glawinn cleared his throat. “I see. That does present some difficulty.”
“And there again,” Jherek said, “is the ill luck that has been bequeathed to me in this life. I find a woman and feel something for her that I’ve never known, never allowed myself to feel except in the occasional fantasy of a story I was reading, and my father has murdered her brother. That’s why I’ve made my decision.”
He curled his fist around Ilmater’s symbol, then threw it far out to sea. The white clay hands caught the light for a brief moment, then disappeared from sight. Jherek felt empty, but he filled it in with the newfound cold rage that had claimed him earlier that day. Live, that you may suffer. From here on, any suffering he experienced was going to be on his terms.
“Now what, young warrior? You have no hope and no god. What are you going to do with yourself?”
“Hope only got in my way,” Jherek replied. “I’m going to be a realist. I have no god because I’ve never had one. I’m going to get that pearl disk from Vurgrom or die trying because I don’t know what else to do.”
“Is that it? Or is part of it because you still believe returning the disk to the temple of Lathander in Baldur’s Gate is the right thing to do?”
“Azla pursues Vurgrom,” Jherek said. “I’ll ship with her and see that my part of it is done. When everything in my past life is dealt with, I can begin anew.”
“Then where will you go?”
“I’m not even going to think about it,” Jherek declared, trying to imagine such a time. “I’ll eat when I’m hungry. I’ll sleep when I’m tired. I’ll work when I have to. I’ll settle with that out of life until I’m dead.”
“What a bleak, hard life you’ve set for yourself.”
Jherek shook his head. “There’ll be no false expectations.”
“So you choose to believe in nothing?”
“Aye.”
“We’ll start with small beliefs, then,” Glawinn said, drawing his sword. “Get your weapon out and I’ll begin with trust with your eye and your sword arm, young warrior. Your eye and your sword arm—and we’ll let your heart take care of itself.” He waved his broadsword about in invitation.
“It’s dark.”
“Do you think every fight you’re going to wage will be well lighted?”
“No.” Jherek already knew that.
“Then draw your sword and show me your best. Or do you think you have anything better to do?”
Jherek stepped back and drew the cutlass from his sash. His left arm still hurt and was healing slowly. Dark shadows limned the paladin’s face. In the next instant, the sound of steel ringing on steel filled the deck and echoed over the Alamber Sea.
Glawinn pressed him hard, driving him backward, coming closer than he ever had in practice to actually cutting him. “Come on, young warrior, show me what you have. Or has your disbelief exhausted you
r strength and skill as well?”
Growing angry but tempering it with the cold rage that filled him, Jherek beat back the attacks, stepping up his own retaliation.
“You’ll believe in your eye and your arm,” Glawinn promised again. “The heart will take care of itself. You’ll see.”
Jherek drove him back, circling closely to turn him to his weak side. He wished Glawinn would shut up.
They fought until Jherek’s arm trembled and he was covered in sweat. The young sailor tried to beat back the paladin’s offense, tried to chew through his defense, and tried to overpower him at every turn. Jherek fought until the rage filled him and slipped past his control. His blade moved faster. He no longer thought of any restraints.
“That’s it, young warrior,” Glawinn said softly. “Get it out. Let it all out.”
“Shut up!” Jherek said.
“Get it all out. All the frustration and fear and anger. Give it to me. Once you get rid of it, you’ll fill up again. You’ll see.”
Glawinn fought even more fiercely, his blade moved like a live thing hammered into the steel. Jherek couldn’t even see the blades any more, only the red fog of anger that clouded his vision in the darkness. He was vaguely aware of the crowd of sailors that had been attracted to the duel.
“Give me your anger,” Glawinn coaxed.
Jherek swung harder, faster, and sparks shot from the blades. His legs quivered from the strain of keeping up with his arm as they moved him across the deck. He concentrated all his hate on the paladin, just wanting the man to shut up.
Then, without the least indication of what he was going to do, Glawinn dropped his sword point to the deck, leaving himself totally defenseless. Jherek checked his swing with difficulty, missing a diagonal cross-body slash that would have cut Glawinn from right shoulder to left hip if it had landed.
“What are you doing?” he shouted. “I could have killed you!”
“Proving to you that you can trust your eye and your arm,” Glawinn stated calmly.
“And what if I hadn’t been able to stop myself?”
“Then I’d have been wrong.”
Suddenly overcome with emotion, Jherek threw the cutlass down and turned to walk away.
Glawinn sheathed his own weapon and grabbed him by the shirtfront. “Where are you going?”
“Away,” Jherek answered. “Away from you and this madness.” He tried to push away, but the paladin held him too tightly.
“No. You must realize what you were able to do. What skills you have.”
“I could have killed you,” Jherek said hoarsely, not believing the man couldn’t understand him.
“But you didn’t. Don’t you see that?”
“No,” Jherek answered. “No, I don’t. You took a fool’s chance with your life.”
“I trusted your skill so that you could trust it too. Your eye and your arm, Jherek. I’ll teach you to believe, but we’ll begin there.”
“I could have killed you.”
The image of the knight with his chest and belly split open filled Jherek’s head and made him sick. Nausea boiled up inside him and Glawinn helped him over to the railing. Later, when he was finished and there was nothing else to give up, Glawinn pulled him back. Jherek’s mouth was filled with the sour taste.
“And what if you had killed me, young warrior?” the knight asked in a ragged whisper. “Would it have mattered?”
“Aye.”
“If you’re so empty of caring, it shouldn’t have. You may think your heart’s empty, but it’s not.” Glawinn held him at arm’s length, both of them breathing hard and covered with sweat. “It’s not completely empty. Trust what’s within your reach and the rest will come.” Tears ran down the knight’s face as he held the young sailor’s face between his callused hands. “I give you my promise.”
Jherek wished desperately that he could believe, but he couldn’t. There’d been too many lies.
XXIX
2 Flamerule, the Year of the Gauntlet
Tarjana cleaved steadily through the water, deep into the territory of Aleaxtis. Vahaxtyl, the sahuagin capital, lay in ruins less than five hundred yards away, riven by the volcano’s explosion the day before.
Standing on the enchanted mudship’s prow, Laaqueel stared out at the destruction scattered over the bed of the Alamber Sea. It was worse than she had expected. For a time she’d feared none of the sahuagin community had lived through the fiery blast.
Huge, jagged rocks lay strewn across the blasted terrain. Dead fish floated in the dappled turquoise water and glinted silver where the weak sun’s rays touched them. Small scavengers that had finally returned to the area worried frantically at the unexpected feast, concerned that larger predators would come at any moment. More rubble covered the skeletal remains of ships that had fallen to sahuagin savagery, battles, and deadly storms.
Dozens of sahuagin bodies floated in the currents as well, prey to the flesh-eaters also. The malenti priestess knew that those weren’t all that had been killed. Many more corpses had surely remained trapped inside their dwellings when they caved in. Other bodies had been swept away by time and tide.
The living sahuagin worked among their dead, sharp claws and huge teeth stripping meat from the corpses for meals. The scent and taste of scalded blood and boiled meat hung in the water, constantly touching Laaqueel’s nostrils.
“You are troubled, priestess?”
Slowly, not knowing how to properly broach the subject, Laaqueel turned to face Iakhovas. Her eyes met his even though she still wanted to show him deference. No matter what, she knew she couldn’t lie. He would know and she didn’t want that between them.
“Yes,” she said simply.
Iakhovas walked to the railing and closed his hands over it. His face remained stern and hard. “Why?”
“So many lives of We Who Eat have been forfeited.” She gestured out at the seabed. “They have lost their homes.”
In the distance, the Ship of the Gods still simmered. White, foamy bubbles from superheated water spiraled to the surface. The currents threaded hot waves in with the cool ones that coiled around Laaqueel. Still, the volcano appeared to be in little danger of spewing deadly lava again.
“Ah, little malenti, your perception of things is off and you don’t even know it.”
A sudden flush of anger flooded Laaqueel. She turned to him.
“You forget, my priestess,” Iakhovas continued before she could speak, “they didn’t choose to make their lives here.” He gestured at the heaps of rubble. “That’s no home, no village lying out there strewn about and destroyed. This parcel of unwanted land is what the sea elves and mermen grudgingly gave this tribe of We Who Eat after the First Serôs War over ten thousand years ago. They drove them here, then penned them in, and they’ve kept them here ever since.” He held her eyes with his solitary one. “This was no home, priestess. This was a prison.”
In her heart, Laaqueel knew he spoke the truth. Everything around her, including the Alamber Sea, was a cage. The Serôsian sahuagin had lived very small lives.
“I had not intended for so many to die,” Iakhovas stated quietly. “In truth, I didn’t know that our arrival here would cause such an upheaval.”
Despite his flat tone and the fact that she knew he wouldn’t have wanted her to know much of his private thoughts, Laaqueel believed the note of regret she heard in Iakhovas’s voice was genuine.
“It was not your will, Most Exalted One,” she said, speaking with the certainty of faith. “It was the will of Sekolah. These deaths are the result of the fury of his claws and teeth reaving the weak from the tribe, making his mark on his chosen people.”
He stayed silent for a moment, not looking at her, as if weighing her words carefully. It was the first time Laaqueel could ever remember him doing that. “Do you truly think so, Most Sacred One?” His voice was almost a whisper.
Laaqueel shoved aside the tiny seed of doubt that stayed relentlessly within her. Even by Iakhovas’s
own admission he hadn’t known the explosion was going to happen, but it had. Her training taught her that it had to be by the Great Shark’s will.
“Yes,” she said. “The sahuagin who lived here have stayed in one place for so long, it would have been hard to convince them to leave.”
“Or to convince them to challenge the sea elves and mermen who sentenced them.” Iakhovas glanced at her, a small smile twisting his lips. A dim golden light gleamed in the hollow of his missing eye. “I find your words, your thinking, very comforting, my priestess.”
Laaqueel bowed her head, not prepared for the onslaught of emotions that whirled within her. She had never thought in her whole life that she’d be completely accepted. She was too much of a freak to expect that. She could only hope, and even then that hope was always dim. A surge of embarrassment filled her, one of the few times that it came from something she’d accomplished instead of something she’d fallen short on. She tried to think of an appropriate reply but couldn’t.
“Thank you, Most Exalted One,” she said simply.
Tarjana floated closer to the destroyed sahuagin city, powered by the oars of the rowers below. The ship’s approach had drawn attention in the form of a dozen fliers that suddenly skimmed from hiding on the sea floor. All of them carried sahuagin warriors.
“Ready yourself,” Iakhovas warned. “We won’t be greeted gratefully.”
Laaqueel knew it was true. As she’d been trained, she pushed her emotions away. It was so hard this time, though, because there was so much pleasure in how she felt as a result of Iakhovas’s unexpected praise. That confused her because generally her emotions were filled with pain. Bloody Falkane had left her feeling the same way.
Tension twisted her stomach as she watched the fliers quickly flank Tarjana. The fliers the Serôsian sahuagin used were smaller than the ones the malenti was accustomed to, but they moved quickly and powerfully through the sea.
Iakhovas called orders out to stop the mudship. Quietly, Tarjana sank to the sea floor, settling deeply into the loose silt, crunching against the lava rock thrown out from the volcano.
