Flame on the Sun

by Maura Seger

  "That's easy," Erin announced smugly. "There's a magical incantation I learned long ago."

  As Storm chuckled, she recited, " 'Unhand me, you brute. I am not that sort of woman.'"

  "Works, does it?"

  "It must. After all, look what happened when I forgot to use it."

  The tension eased out of his big body as he gathered her closer. A burnished hand traced the petal-soft curve of her cheek with infinite gentleness. "Thank you."

  "For what?"

  "For being so much more sensible than me."

  "Is that why you say you love me, because I'm sensible?"

  "Of course. You didn't think it was because you're ravishingly beautiful, delectably responsive, marvelously intelligent and a good businesswoman to boot, did you?"

  "I'm not."

  "Which?"

  "A good businesswoman. If you hadn't agreed to help me, I'd never have gotten the Emerald Isle and Nantucket Moon outfitted."

  "Putting aside for the moment the matter of your overwhelming modesty, I wondered if you were ever going to admit that."

  "I just did."

  Storm yawned. He was worn out from his rum-sodden night and drained by the realization that she was willing to forgive him. Later he would be more than happy to properly celebrate their reconciliation. But for the moment he was in desperate need of sleep.

  "Let's consider it a wedding present," he suggested.

  "I'm still not sure we should get married."

  "We'll discuss it later."

  "When?"

  "After we're wed."

  Erin sighed. He was the most stubborn man. But then, she really wouldn't want him any other way. A satisfied grin curved her mouth as she nestled closer to him. Storm grunted contentedly, one big hand lying over her abdomen with the other tangled in the silken skeins of her hair.

  They were almost asleep when shouts from the deck brought them suddenly upright. As the meaning of the words sank in, Storm flung himself from the bunk. He was reaching for his swords as Takamori burst into the cabin with the news that their sanctuary had at last been discovered. The shogun's fleet was rounding the point near them, under full sail, with gun portals opened.

  Chapter Fifteen

  "How could we be taken by surprise like this?" Erin exclaimed as she and Odetsu hurriedly loaded rifles and handed them one after the other to the sharpshooters stationed on the deck.

  Storm had tried to prevent her from taking on that task, but she had made it quite clear that it was either that or let her go below to help the men arming their dozen cannons. He had relented reluctantly, only after being assured by Odetsu that she would stay close to Erin's side.

  "It was the fog that came up last night. We could not even see the ships in our own convoy. I would not be surprised if the shogun's forces were as startled as we are to discover us here."

  "If they are," Erin muttered, "they're certainly making the most of the opportunity."

  Although the attacking fleet was comprised solely of Japanese ships, which were slower and less maneuverable than Western counterparts, the captains clearly knew how to get the most from their craft. Already they had managed to come close enough to fire several cannon salvos, one of which had just missed taking off a chunk of the Rising Sun's mainmast.

  "Why do they all keep firing at us?" Erin gasped. "Shouldn't they pay some attention to our other ships?"

  "Not if their commanders are as smart as they seem. If they can sink or incapacitate the Rising Sun, they will gain an immense advantage in the battle."

  Erin lifted her head slightly to get a better look at what was going on. As she did so, a grizzled seaman caught sight of her and swiftly pulled her back down. His muttered curse was accompanied by the sound of a bullet whizzing past her.

  "Begging your pardon, ma'am, but you've got to stay out of the line of fire. This ain't no time for gawking."

  Murmuring her apologies, Erin got back to work. She lost count of the number of rifles she loaded, pausing only long enough to help fill buckets of water to snuff out the flaming arrows fired onto the deck by samurai archers. Like the samurai of the Satsuma fleet, their code of Bushido made them despise guns in favor of more traditional weapons.

  Though Storm's sharpshooters succeeded in picking off many of them, they continued unrelentingly. Each time a man fell, another quickly replaced him. The Rising Sun's Japanese forces were every bit as determined. They managed to fire the sails of several ships in the shogun's fleet and started a major blaze on one of the smaller vessels.

  The frigid morning air was soon black with acrid smoke. Cries from the wounded rose on all sides. As the ships moved so closely together that the sharpshooters no longer had any advantage, the women turned their attention to caring for the casualties.

  Erin mobilized a makeshift dispensary staffed by the servants brought from Storm's Yokohama house. Since they were the only people who could be spared from the fighting, they were kept busy bandaging gunshot wounds, digging out arrowheads, stanching bleeding, and offering what comfort they could to the wounded and dying.

  In too many cases, the injuries were so severe that nothing could be done. The stores of laudanum were quickly depleted. Bodies covered by blankets began to line one wall of the dispensary. As a young boy grasped her hand, crying out in pain and fear, Erin shook herself dazedly.

  It was as though time had rolled back and she was once more in the war hospital, surrounded by shattered men. The differences in appearance and language were insignificant. They were all part of the same humanity devouring itself in some obscenely cannibalistic rite.

  The Rising Sun's cannons had begun to fire constantly, the force of the blasts reverberating throughout the ship. Word filtered down of several sinkings among the shogun's fleet and the disabling of more vessels. Two Satsuma war junks were crippled, but managed to make for shore after transferring to other ships all of their crews that could still fight.

  Storm appeared occasionally below deck to offer a word of encouragement to the men at the cannons and check on the wounded. Despite the near-freezing temperatures, he wore only the same wrinkled shirt and trousers in which he had spent the night. His swords were buckled around his tapered waist and a pistol was stuck into his belt.

  All signs of the rum's aftereffects were gone. His slate-gray eyes glittered with determination and his mouth was drawn in a hard, thin line. The burnished planes and hollows of his face were shadowed by a night's growth of beard and something more.

  Erin did not doubt that he was also torn by anguished memories of other battles. Yet the mere sight of him was enough to bolster her flagging strength and renew her courage. They exchanged a quick look, full of tenderness and understanding, before hurrying on about their tasks.

  As the battle raged on into midday, the shogun's forces resorted to a desperate gamble. With courage and skill that had to be admired even in an enemy, they brought several of their war junks close enough to the Rising Sun to fire a cannon salvo that took down her mizzenmast. It crashed to the deck, trapping several seamen beneath.

  "All but one of them's dead, ma'am," a white-faced cabin boy reported to Erin. "We can't get the poor sod who's still alive out from under. He's caught fast and screaming something horrible."

  Pulling a blanket over the samurai who had just died in her arms, Erin hastily gathered medical supplies and followed the boy on deck. As she stuck her head through the hatchway, she froze momentarily, unable to credit the scene before her.

  The Rising Sun was completely surrounded by the shogun's war fleet and Satsuma vessels fighting to help her hold them off. The ships were so close together that their sides thumped and scraped against each other repeatedly. Storm was at the wheel, using the boom as a battering ram to smash through the prow of an enemy junk.

  The ploy worked, but only just. He had barely a moment to turn at a precariously steep angle to avoid a cannon blast that would have taken out their midsection. The clipper pitched low on its side toward the water's
edge, and for a sickening moment came close to capsizing. But the ship's superb construction and Storm's magnificent handling prevented it. They righted quickly, in time to see water flowing through the smashed prow as the junk began to founder.

  "That'll show them bastards," a crewman muttered. "The way they build those ships, they're damn near watertight. But they didn't figure on the captain, here. He can sail or sink anything afloat."

  Erin prayed the man was right. They were still surrounded by enemy vessels, several of which were now close enough to hurl boarding lines toward them. As she made her way across the deck, she was dimly aware of others scrambling to cut through the lines and at the same time throw their own. The battle was reaching its peak even as all her attention focused on the sailors trapped under the fallen mast.

  Quickly confirming that only one was still alive, she knelt down beside the seaman who was writhing in pain from his shattered leg. The laudanum she poured down his throat helped somewhat. By the time the mast was heaved out of the way by straining men, he was mercifully unconscious.

  Erin's hand trembled slightly as she examined him. She took a deep breath, forcing her emotions back under control. One of the steel bits that held the rigging in place had cut almost all the way through his leg. There was no possibility that she could save the limb. Blood pumped from severed arteries. He was bleeding to death before her eyes.

  Turning to the cabin boy, she ordered, "Bring me water and towels, then get a torch and stand by until I need to use it."

  He nodded and raced away, returning moments later with another young boy he had enlisted to help and the supplies she needed. Erin almost wished they had taken longer. She was not at all prepared for what she had to do, but time was running out and she had no choice but to act at once.

  The white apron covering her blouse and skirt was soaked through with blood as she knelt beside the man again. Checking to make sure he was still completely unconscious, she removed a razor-sharp surgical blade from her satchel. Mercifully, the steel bit had already done almost all the work for her. Only a few quick cuts were needed to finish severing the leg.

  Blood flowed over her hands to pool on the deck at her feet. There was but one way she knew to stop such a hemorrhage. Taking the torch from the boy, who turned away to retch, she applied it to the stump. The putrid stench of burning flesh filled the air.

  If the man did not succumb to shock or infection, he had a chance of surviving. Erin was well aware he might not thank her for that. Her face was ashen as she watched him being carried below to the dispensary. For long moments she could not move or think. Overwhelmed by the horror all around her, she drew inward, trying frantically to find some safe place for her spirit to hide.

  But there was no such sanctuary, as she realized an instant later when a fierce roar alerted her to the fact that despite the heroic efforts of her crew, the Rising Sun was being boarded. Within seconds Erin was surrounded by men fighting in hand-to-hand combat. She turned to flee, only to be stopped by the sight of Odetsu, her kimono caught up into impromptu pantaloons and a sword grasped firmly in her hand, clearing a path toward her.

  The young Japanese woman was obviously no novice. She wielded the sword with deadly efficacy, dispatching several opponents. Dimly, in the back of her mind, Erin remembered hearing that the daughters of samurai families were also trained in the martial arts. But she had never expected to witness such forceful proof of that custom, especially not from gentle Odetsu.

  "Come on," her friend commanded, "we must get below deck."

  Erin obeyed instantly. Seizing her precious supplies, she followed Odetsu toward the hatch. Along the way, she thought to pick up a heavy length of wood. Compared to the glittering swords flashing all around her, it didn't make much of a weapon. But it proved unexpectedly useful when a samurai thought to make short work of Odetsu, only to find himself caught between the young woman's slashing blade and Erin's club. She brought it down smartly on the back of his head, sending him sprawling to the deck,

  "I didn't think Western women were trained to do such things," her friend commented when they at last fell gasping into the passageway.

  "We're not," Erin admitted breathlessly. "But it's amazing what we can do when we have to."

  Odetsu nodded, gesturing toward the men suddenly streaming onto the Rising Sun's deck from other Satsuma vessels. "Reinforcements, and not a moment too soon. If Davin-san can just hold on, we may make it yet."

  Erin glanced toward the prow. A low moan escaped her as she spied him surrounded by samurai, fighting fiercely but being pressed back relentlessly toward the railing. She took a quick step forward, only to be stopped by Odetsu, who had also seen the unequal contest and knew Erin could do nothing to help.

  Takamori was nearby, frantically trying to fight his way to his friend's side. But it was too late. A soundless scream tore from Erin as Storm lost his balance, teetered for a moment and fell headlong into the remorseless sea.

  Chapter Sixteen

  "You must come inside," Odetsu said softly. "It will do you no good to stand out here."

  Erin shook her head numbly. Oblivious of the freezing wind, she continued to scan the beach in front of the village of Myuga where they had taken shelter, and beyond to the icy waters where men in longboats were still searching for survivors of the battle, which had ended hours before.

  Takamori's superb leadership had saved the Rising Sun and won the battle, but had not been able to help Storm. Despite frantic efforts, no trace of him had been found. Erin knew the search might well be futile, but she was grateful that it had not yet been called off. When that happened, her last hope would die.

  "At least put this warmer cloak on," Odetsu pleaded. She slipped it around Erin's shoulders gently and managed to guide her over to a small stone bench overlooking the sea. They sat together for some countless time without speaking.

  Tormenting images flashed through Erin's mind. Storm as he looked in Ned Carmody's office and again on the night of the dinner party. Their arguments about the Emerald Isle and Nantucket Moon that merely cloaked far more personal conflicts. The ferocity with which he had fought the samurai who tried to kill her in the market, and the tenderness he had shown her afterward. The days in his house when he selflessly refrained from touching her until the old wounds between them were truly healed and they could forge a new life together free of shadows.

  She closed her eyes against the bittersweet memory of their lovemaking. How gently he had brought her to the full realization of her womanhood. How generously he had taught her to relish her capacity to both give and receive pleasure.

  Only a strong, tender man could so encourage her to accept her own passions without fear or restraint. Storm was both. It was impossible for her to believe that a spirit which had triumphed over so much could be snuffed out by capricious fate.

  She refused to accept what all the evidence insisted must be true. Every ounce of conviction she possessed told her she would know if Storm were dead. Just as she had known of his child growing inside her before the physical signs were manifest. But far from believing him lost to her, she was utterly certain he still lived. Where and how, she could not say, but that did not weaken her faith.

  The sun was beginning to dip beneath the snow-fringed pine trees when she at last looked up. Takamori was standing over her. For the first time since she had met him, his stoic expression was gone. In its place was anguish and deep, abiding sorrow.

  In a gesture that was at once a plea for understanding and a revelation of overwhelming compassion, he knelt down before her and took both her hands in his. "There is nothing more we can do."

  Erin knew he was telling her the truth. The men were exhausted, night was coming, and the water was too cold to allow anyone to survive in it for very long. If any hope had remained, Takamori would have moved heaven and earth to continue the search. Not only did his honor demand that he do so, but he was also Storm's friend, a man with whom he had shared both the burdens and the rewards
of their search for a new, better world. If he said it was over, then it must be.

  Yet her heart continued to insist Storm was still alive. "Perhaps in the morning . . ."

  Takamori and Odetsu glanced at each other. Both were extremely worried about Erin. In her anguished condition, she might well lose the child. If that happened, her final link to the man she loved would be gone and she could well feel that life had become unbearable.

  Neither believed there was anything to be gained by deliberately misleading her, but they still wished to protect her from the full realization of the tragedy until she had a chance to regain her strength.

  Rising, Takamori gazed down into her drawn face. Her eyes were fathomless pools of sadness. Her soft mouth trembled slightly. She seemed somehow smaller and more fragile, as though a vital part of herself had been stripped away.

  Quietly he nodded. "In the morning."

  With Odetsu's help, he got her inside the fisherman's house where they were sheltering for the night. The family, awestruck by such revered visitors, had gone off to stay with a neighbor. The small, one-room structure was austere by any standards, but Erin did not notice. She was barely aware when Takamori lowered her onto a mat and covered her carefully. Sleep came in a great dark wave that hurled her so far from consciousness that not even dreams could reach her.

  She woke abruptly in the dead of night. All weariness was gone. In its place was a fierce if incomprehensible urge that propelled her out of bed. Tiptoeing carefully around the half-dozen or so people sleeping nearby, she left the hut and headed toward the twisty, rock-strewn path leading to the beach.

  A full moon rode high in the sky, pale as an ancient shell marooned on some eternal shore. Its ashen light bleached out what little color remained in the winter-bare landscape. Stark silhouettes of trees marked the edge of jagged cliffs. Below, the sea pounded endlessly. Only scattered clusters of debris cast up by the waves testified to the great struggle that had raged scant hours before.