Into the Wind

by Anthony, Shira

  “What did she say about Taren?”

  “That the blood of the priests runs strong in his veins,” she said, imitating the quavering voice of an old woman.

  Larin chuckled. “Mage, indeed! Anyone could have said the same knowing our families. The Council’s been testing our kin for centuries now. Goddess only knows what they’d have done if any one of us possessed the ancient gifts. No doubt our son will be as wonderfully ungifted as we are.”

  “She seemed to think otherwise,” Duri said as she tickled Taren’s belly and nudged his face with her cheek. “Didn’t you see how she pulled Vurin aside after the consecration?”

  “She’s probably already decided on a mate for Taren.”

  “And what’s so wrong about that?” Duri grinned at her husband. “She was hardly wrong about you. Or are you having second thoughts about our handfasting?”

  “Never.” Larin kissed her cheek and gazed down at Taren again. “She may be a bit doddering, but she knows how to make a match. Still, you and I were a bit older than Taren when she suggested we meet.”

  Taren yawned and struggled to keep his eyes open.

  “You need to sleep now, my sweet,” Duri said as she placed Taren back in the basket and arranged the blankets around him. “Tomorrow we will take you to the water for the first time. You should see how handsome your father is when he transforms.” She began to sing, a sweet lullaby he knew he’d heard before.

  I don’t want to sleep. I want to stay here with you!

  “MOTHER. PLEASE let me stay,” Taren mumbled. Why was his mouth filled with sand? He was supposed to be sleeping. It had been so warm under the blankets.

  “Wake up!”

  Taren awoke to discover Brynn leaning over him, his expression set in a frown. “I… where…?” He felt disoriented, as he often did after a vision. It had ended too soon. Maybe if he just closed his eyes, he’d find himself back in the basket with his mother’s voice singing to him.

  “Lost your mother?”

  Stupid fool! If he’d wanted to harm you—

  “You’re still worried I might hurt you, aren’t you?” Brynn appeared pleased with this conclusion.

  Taren ignored this, although he figured Brynn had a point. As out of sorts as he’d been since he’d washed up on the beach, Taren knew he’d been careless with his own safety. “Go back to sleep,” he grumbled, unwilling to dignify the question with a response. “It’s you who should be worried of what I’ll do if it turns out you lied to me about Odhrán.”

  Brynn crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. “I haven’t lied. You’ll see.”

  Taren repressed a chuckle. “That I will,” he said as Brynn lay back down on the sand. “That I will.”

  Eight

  THEY SET out at dawn after loading the small boat with coconuts. Brynn explained that it would take them nearly the entire day to reach Odhrán’s island, and while they might be able to fish along the way, there would be no fresh water for them to drink.

  Thankfully, the sun played a game of cat and mouse with the soft white clouds as Taren rowed. Brynn offered to help, but thin as Brynn was, Taren figured he’d let the boy rest a bit. Taren’s body still ached from his injuries, but he embraced the physical labor. It helped keep his mind off Ian and his crewmates, at least temporarily.

  The faster you find Odhrán, the faster you’ll be reunited with them, he reminded himself as he pushed away his unease at being separated from Ian. He disliked making decisions such as this one, but having done so, he resolved not to doubt his choices. Or at least he resolved to try not to doubt them.

  “Were you born on these islands?” he asked Brynn as the island grew small on the horizon.

  “No.”

  “Where are you from?”

  Brynn shrugged and gazed skyward at the gulls that had followed them since they’d left the beach.

  Much as Taren wished to learn more about the boy, Brynn was clearly reticent to speak about himself, and Taren wouldn’t press him. Best to try to draw him out first. Speak of something less personal. “What more do you know about Odhrán?” he asked.

  Brynn looked back at Taren, clearly pleased to share what he knew. “He is powerfully strong. Stronger than you, even. They say he can kill a man your size with his bare hands.”

  Taren supposed this was possible, although Odhrán would have to be a giant of a man to do so. “If he’s so powerful, why does he hide?”

  Brynn shrugged again. “They say he has enough gold to last him an eternity and that he guards it well.”

  “The dragon,” Taren said with a smile. Brynn nodded solemnly. “And the stories about merfolk?” Taren disbelieved the rumors that Odhrán kept Ea as slaves, but he was curious to learn more about how they had begun.

  “Some of the fishermen claim to have seen them,” Brynn said. “Men and women with tails like fish. Myself, I don’t know.”

  “You haven’t seen them?”

  Brynn stretched his arms over his head and yawned. “I’ve seen something. Don’t know what to call it. Like a small whale. It vanished before I could see it clearly.”

  Something the size of a whale, even a small one, was far too large to be an Ea. “Do you think merfolk exist?” He wasn’t sure why he asked.

  “Nah. Although if they did, I’d like to meet one. Like to meet a dragon too. Can you just imagine, flying on its back as it swoops over the islands and lights the volcanoes?”

  Taren laughed at Brynn’s broad grin. Perhaps after he’d found Odhrán, he might see if Rider needed another hand aboard the Sea Witch. This thought reminded him again of how alike he and Brynn were.

  Night had nearly fallen when the island came into view and the familiar smell of the ocean mingled on the warm breeze with the earthy scent of trees and flowering plants. Birds sang to one another and insects added to their melodies. Unlike the other Gateway Islands, this particular island had little flat land or beach. Jagged cliffs seemed to rise directly from the water, and the vegetation was thick and green. There was no sign of any habitation. No boats, no trails visible from the water.

  “Hundreds of years ago, they say the island was a volcano,” Brynn said as if reading Taren’s thoughts. “Those who weren’t killed when the mountain came to life fled to other islands.”

  “They never moved back?” Ea’nu had a similar history, and yet the islanders made their home there. Taren had heard the soil on these volcanic islands was rich and easy to farm, so he found it surprising no one lived on the island.

  “The island is inhabited with spirits,” Brynn said in a voice that made it clear that he believed this as well. “The islanders don’t venture near.”

  “A perfect place for a pirate to hide.”

  “Many folk believe Odhrán himself commands the spirits.”

  “Do you?” Taren asked.

  “Don’t know. He doesn’t fear them. Maybe it’s true.” Brynn hopped out of the boat and grabbed the rope at its bow to drag it ashore.

  Taren jumped into the water after Brynn and immediately felt the strong urge to transform. His need had grown less demanding during the months he’d spent at Callaecia with Ian, but he’d rarely gone more than a few days without giving in to the call. He would transform tonight, after Brynn had fallen asleep. In the meantime, the water felt good against his skin, cooling the burn he’d received from the hours spent on the water.

  He was just about to take the rope from Brynn when he felt a strange sensation against his skin. Like the gossamer touch of thousands of tiny insects’ wings, it reminded Taren of the feel of passing through the enchantments that hid Callaecia from its human neighbors. Unlike those enchantments, however, this sensation was far more pleasant—a lover’s tender touch or the feel of silk gliding over his skin. Sensual and inviting. The feeling ended as quickly as it had begun, although his skin still vibrated after.

  Goddess. What was that? Had the touch—whatever it was—aroused him?

  “Taren?” Brynn frowned at him, causing T
aren to wonder what sort of expression his face held. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine,” he replied quickly, hoping to hide his discomfort at his body’s response.

  “You looked strange.”

  “We should get the boat ashore. It’ll be dark soon and we should fish.” He pretended to ignore Brynn’s probing gaze. Clearly the boy hadn’t felt what he had. Was it possible the stories of Odhrán’s merfolk were true, after all? If the strange feeling had been an enchantment, had Odhrán given Brynn the ability to pass through it and bring others with him?

  Or maybe you’re so enamored with the idea that there might be others of your kind here that you’re dreaming things up. Better not to worry about things he knew nothing about. He needed to find Odhrán and ask him about the stone.

  Nine

  THEY CARRIED the boat over the rocky shore, and for once Taren wished he had shoes. Brynn appeared entirely oblivious to the sharp stones.

  The beach was shallow, ending at a sheer cliff face that rose at least a hundred feet. Here and there, trees grew from cracks and holes in the volcanic stone, jutting outward, then reaching up for the sun so that their trunks were bent. Other than the sound of the water and of the birds overhead, it was eerily quiet, with no sign of Odhrán or his men.

  “Where to from here?” Taren asked after they’d secured the boat to a tree.

  “We climb.”

  “We have no ropes,” Taren pointed out as he gathered their meager provisions into the small net they’d found on the boat.

  “There’s a trail. It’s narrow but passable.” Brynn started down the beach without waiting for Taren to finish, forcing Taren to speed up. By the time he’d caught Brynn, the soles of his feet were battered and bruised from the rocks, as were his ankles. Brynn, however, seemed none the worse for wear. He sat down on a rock and waited until Taren made his careful way over to the edge of the cove.

  Brynn laughed, then hopped up and slipped between the cliff face and a knotty tree. Taren followed. It took a bit more effort for him to squeeze through the tight passage, but as he emerged on the other side of the trunk, he saw the path Brynn had described. The trail was hewn from the volcanic rock, though it was surprisingly smooth.

  Brynn scrambled up the trail with Taren following a few feet behind. The going was slow, as the trail ascended steeply. Vines had grown over the rock, sometimes blocking their way as they climbed. Halfway up, Taren looked into the distance and saw several other islands rise like stepping stones over the aquamarine-tinted water. The air here was cooler than in the cove, and Taren could hear the sound of rushing water from above them.

  Nearly an hour later, they arrived at the source of the sound: a waterfall created where a river exited the rock about thirty feet from the top of the cliff. Water cascaded over the trail and created a mist that caught the sun and glimmered like a rainbow when Taren looked across it. They’d need to take care crossing—the going was steep and the rock beneath slick with plants.

  “This wasn’t here the last time,” Brynn told Taren with a frown. “This time of year, the rains make the underground rivers swell.”

  Taren eyed the way, noting several larger holes in the rock where he might gain a foothold. “I’ll go first, then pull you up,” he said, deciding his more muscular body was a better match for the task of climbing.

  Brynn’s frown deepened. “I can climb this without your help. I’m stronger than you think.”

  “I really don’t think that’s—” Taren began to say, but Brynn had already begun to scramble up the trail. Taren shook his head and followed.

  For the first twenty feet or so, Brynn made steady progress upward. When he reached the beginning of the waterfall, he stepped underneath and glanced back at Taren. “Some tasks are easier if you’re nimble,” he shouted over the water. Brynn scrubbed his face in the water and worked it through his hair.

  Taren chuckled at the boy’s self-satisfied grin, then followed him under the waterfall and did the same. It felt good to rinse the sweat and salt from his skin, and his legs welcomed the brief respite from the climb. They drank their fill of the water, which tasted sweet and clean, then emerged on the other side of the cascade. Taren guessed they had a scant twenty feet to go, but he also reckoned the going was the steepest yet. A trickle of water traced its way down the cliff by way of the path, and plants clung to the porous stone, crisscrossing over the trail.

  Once again Taren offered to lead the way, but Brynn refused. Much as he feared Brynn might lose his footing on the slick surface, Taren marveled at the ease with which he climbed. From where he followed several feet behind, Taren could see the sinews of Brynn’s muscles tense and relax as he continued to work his way upward, pulling himself up by his fingers at times or scraping away dirt to clear a foothold.

  Taren smiled when he realized they’d nearly reached the top of the cliff. With their goal in sight, Brynn picked up the pace of his climb.

  “Boy,” Taren warned as Brynn lost his grip on the rock several times along the way, “take your time. We’re in no hur—”

  His words were cut short as Brynn slipped and began to slide toward him. Brynn scrabbled for purchase, grabbing frantically at some of the vines that followed the trail upward. For a moment his downward movement ceased, but then one of the vines holding him in place detached from the surface of the rock, its roots too weak to hold the weight of his body.

  “Brynn!” Taren shouted as he tried to stop Brynn’s descent with one hand. Taren’s own foothold began to crumble beneath their combined weight, causing him to slide backward several feet. He managed to find an indentation with his foot, though the rough stone scraped his skin and he hissed at the stinging pain.

  Brynn now dangled, still holding desperately on to a single vine with one hand, the fingers of his other hand wrapped around the root of one of the misshapen trees. Each time he tried to steady himself by planting his feet, they slipped against the wet trail.

  Taren gritted his teeth, frustrated that he could do no better than hold his ground. If he could just manage to climb a few feet higher, he could snag the boy around his waist and haul him up. But try as he might, he couldn’t find a place to dig his fingers in and shore up his own precarious position. If he could take advantage of his Ea strength, perhaps he could force his fingers into the stone, but in his human form, he wasn’t nearly strong enough.

  Brynn kicked and swayed, grunting with the effort of holding himself up with only his arms. “Stay still, boy! I’ll come get you, just don’t move!” Whether Brynn heard him or not, Taren couldn’t be sure, because he didn’t heed Taren’s words. Instead, he continued to move about frantically.

  Damn! The water that now ran over his hand reminded him once more of how weak he was as a human. Or perhaps you’ve come to rely too much on your Ea abilities.

  The root Brynn clung to suddenly broke under his weight. It didn’t snap in two, thank the goddess, but Brynn slipped farther down. Taren had no time to think. He gritted his teeth and shoved his human fingers into one of the holes. He ignored the pain, instead digging deeper until he knew his grip was solid. He did the same with his feet as he reached up with his free hand and grabbed Brynn by the waist of his trousers. The net holding their meager supplies tumbled down onto the rocks below—a stark reminder that if Brynn fell, he’d take both of them. But if Taren could support his weight—

  “Let go slowly, Brynn!” he shouted. Brynn glanced down at him, eyes wide with fear. “Slowly. I’ll hold you. Trust me.”

  Brynn nodded, then slowly released his grip on the root and allowed it to slip through his fist. As he let go entirely, Taren snaked his arm around Brynn’s small waist and pulled him against his hip.

  “I’ve got you, boy. Now hold on tight.”

  Brynn wrapped his arms and legs around Taren’s neck and torso. When Taren was sure the boy wouldn’t fall, he let go of his waist and began to climb the rest of the way up. The going was slow and painful, the burn of his cuts and scrapes and the
sound of Brynn’s labored breath in his ear reminding him what fate awaited them if they fell.

  Goddess, lend me your strength, Taren prayed as he reached the steepest part of the trail and edged his way sideways until the edge of the cliff was in reach. “Go, boy,” he said as he pushed Brynn bodily over the top. Then he dragged himself up and collapsed, boneless, on the grass next to Brynn.

  They lay there for some time, panting, bruised and bloody. “You…,” Brynn said in a hushed whisper. “You could have let me fall. If you’d moved over, I wouldn’t have hit you and—”

  “And you would have died.”

  “But… but why…?” Brynn sat up, then wiped some of the dirt off his face and hands.

  Taren chuckled. “Why indeed.” He wouldn’t explain to Brynn that he owed his life many times over to men who’d seen fit to risk their own lives to save his. Instead, he said only, “I need you to lead me to Odhrán. What good would you be to me if I’d let you fall?”

  Brynn stared at him for a moment, lips pursed, brow furrowed. He got to his feet and looked out over the water, then shrugged and turned back to Taren. “Thank you,” he said, his expression serious for once.

  Taren only nodded.

  THEY MADE camp after walking several hours toward the interior of the island. Brynn said very little, which was fine with Taren, who was tired and sore from their ordeal. The sense of unease he’d felt before had only gotten worse as time passed. His mind seemed constantly filled with thoughts of Ian. He imagined Ian pacing the deck of the Phantom, worried for his safety. He pushed the thought away.

  Other than some berries they found on their way and some shrimp they found in a brackish stream near the campsite, they had nothing left to eat and nothing to keep them warm but the clothes on their backs.

  “How often do you come here?” Taren asked as they settled down to sleep on a bed of moss.