WindFall

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  “What of my daughter?” Dakin asked and met Duncan's gaze as that man turned to him.

  “What of her?” Duncan sighed.

  “Are we not going on to Ciona?” Dakin asked, barely glancing at young Thècion McGregor as that royal son rode past them. “Surely we can take passage on the Boreal Queen if not the Wind."

  Duncan looked once more toward the harbor where the procession had stopped along the quay. “Why bother?” he asked.

  “But my daughter...” Dakin protested.

  “Will never see Kaelan Hesar again,” Duncan said. He glanced up at the snow filling sky and shrugged. “I will annul her Joining to Rolf because I find I have made a grievous error in that department. She will be free to marry whomever she wishes."

  “She wants Kaelan Hesar,” Dakin reminded the king.

  Duncan drew in a long, long breath, then slowly let it out. There was a hitch in his voice when he said:

  “No woman will want him when the Tribunal is through with him."

  * * * *

  Gillian threw her cup against the far wall and let out a string of unladylike words which made the Constable blush. Nevertheless, the stalwart man refused to do her bidding and gently, but firmly, closed the door behind him as he left the jail.

  “Damn you to the Abyss, Nicholas Cree!” she shouted and her plate followed the path of the cup.

  Slamming herself down on the cot that had been padded with numerous thick quilts and covered with layer upon layer of wool blanket, Gillian glared up at the ceiling where cracks in the plaster webbed out in a lacy pattern that, under any other circumstances, would have delighted her. Her heart thudding in her chest from her anger, her stomach roiling with indigestion for the same reason, Gilly plotted vicious ways she could get even with her high-handed brother.

  “It's because I'm a woman!” she seethed. That statement made her flip to her side. She grabbed her thick pillow, punched it savagely into submission beneath her head, then lay there, rigid and fairly quivering with fury, her mind filled with worry for her beloved.

  “You will be with him soon,” a thought slipped gently into her mind. “Never to be parted."

  “I hope so,” Gillian whispered. “By the gods, I hope so!"

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Part Three

  Chapter One

  Occultus Noire leaned against the railing of the ship and stared intently at the dolphins swimming alongside the vessel. There was a scowl on his lean face, a hard glow in his dark eyes, and, to those who traveled with him, he appeared infuriated beyond appeasing. No one dared to intrude on the tall man's introspection and few even dared look his way. Those who did, shuddered, for they fancied they saw murder in the priest's stony glare.

  It had been three days since the mysterious white ship had sailed out of the fog bank near the Isle of Bright and fired a warning shot across the Boreal Queen's bow. Though her lines looked familiar to the sailor's of the Serenian ship, the ghost vessel bore the name the Revenant, a ship unknown to the Boreal Queen's captain.

  “Prepare to be boarded!” the thunderous voice shouted.

  “We are a passenger ship this time out!” the Boreal Queen's captain declared. “We've no cargo!"

  “Prepare to be boarded!” the pirate vessel's captain demanded again in a voice that brooked no further challenge.

  Twenty-two masked sailors, dressed entirely in white, boarded the Boreal Queen, cutlasses in hand. Their captain, a tall, red-haired fellow with a swath of white silk covering the lower half of his face, strode up to the Inquisitor, himself, demanding who the Tribunal was after this time.

  “What poor unfortunate are you carting off to the dungeon at Boreas Keep, priest?” the pirate sneered.

  To give Noire his due, he did not appear frightened of the scurvy bunch which had commandeered the ship. Instead, he had looked down his long, gaunt nose at the pirate and refused to answer, infuriating the pirate captain.

  “Search the ship and find me this bastard's prisoner!” the red-haired thief ordered. “And anything else of consequence!"

  What the boarding party found was a man lying on his sick bed, deathly ill, and two sleepy, confused young princes who had had the misfortune to sail the Boreal Queen.

  “Ransom them, Cap'n!” an elderly fellow, whose white attire hung loosely on his shriveled frame, suggested. “They be royalty and worth some gold, I'm a'thinkin'! Let's take ’em with us!""

  The taller of the two princes had squared his shoulders and fixed the pirate captain with a steely glance. “My father will not pay one copper piece for my return,” he snapped. “The only thing you'll get is a longer neck when the executioner stretches it for you. The McGregor will not deal with the likes of you!"

  “N ... nor will m ... my father,” the other young prince stammered, although not with as much conviction as his companion.

  “Then you'll rot out your lives in the belly of my ship!” the pirate had declared. He ordered the young princes taken aboard his ship and cast into irons.

  “I ... irons?” the Chalean prince had gasped, his face going white. “You said n ... nothing about..."

  “You will regret this, sir!” the Serenian prince warned, cutting his friend off in mid-stammer.

  Before the pirate could respond, two of his crew appeared, the sick man carried on a stretcher between them. The red-haired captain glared hatefully at the priest, then looked down his nose at the man, his pale green eyes filled with contempt. “This is how you treat your prisoners?” he demanded.

  Noire had looked away, dismissing the question.

  “Put this poor man in my cabin,” the pirate ordered his men. “There will be no more abuse of him.” He turned his fierce gaze on the priest. “You would have let him die, wouldn't you have, priest?"

  The priest had shrugged indifferently, turning his back to the men who carried the sick man to the other ship.

  “You are a sorcerer?” the pirate queried, becoming angry when the priest did not reply. When he repeated his question and still received no reply, the pirate ordered the tall man taken on board the Revenant.

  “For what purpose?” came the immediate haughty reply as the Inquisitor spun around.

  “I'll not leave you on the Queen to spin a curse on us,” the pirate snapped. “You will go with us."

  Occultus Noire had straightened his thin shoulders and, in doing so, became taller still. “I most certainly will not accompany you!” he hissed, his eyes flashing a dangerous warning the pirate ignored.

  “Either board my ship or you'll go down with the Queen!” the red-haired thief proclaimed.

  “NO!” the Boreal Queen's captain exclaimed. “Please, I beg you! She's a good ship. Do not sink her!"

  The choice had been given the priest: either board of his own freewill or see the flagship of the Serenian Empire set afire.

  “Please, Your Worship!’ the captain whimpered. “She is the Queen's flagship!"

  There had been unconcealed fury on the priest's face as he walked stiffly to the plank connecting the two ships. He cast the pirate captain a look of utter contempt before crossing over to the Revenant. Once across, himself, the pirate captain kicked the plank away and ordered the Boreal Queen to lower her anchor until they were well away.

  “If you do not,” the thief cautioned, “I will turn, fire, and sink you to the bottom of the Boreal Sea!"

  The Boreal Queen dropped anchor immediately, took in her sails, and prepared to stay where she was until the Revenant's white sails disappeared on the horizon.

  “He's out of his head again."

  The words broke into Occultus’ thoughts and he turned, the anger slipping quickly from his face. He sighed, ran a hand through his thick black hair. “I will go to him."

  Nick smiled. “I know you're tired, Your Worship."

  “No more so than the rest of you,” Occultus returned.

  “The men told me you've been at the rail all morning, glaring down at the water. Is something amiss?”


  A closed look came over the priest's face, but he managed a parody of a smile. “Sometimes,” he said, laying a hand on the young man's broad shoulder, “it is hard to be graced with the sight.” He looked beyond Nick. “To know your future and not be able to change it."

  “What will be, will be, eh?” Nick asked. “Our destiny can not be changed."

  Occultus shook his head. “Destiny is not chance, though, young Nick; it is more often than not choice."

  Nick frowned, sensing the other man's great pain. “But if that's the case, can't you alter what will happen?"

  The priest squeezed Nick's shoulder. “The people of the Outer Kingdom believe in the old god who came to earth so that sins might be forgiven. Have you heard the tale?"

  “I've met no Outer Kingdom warriors and know nothing of their beliefs,” Nick replied.

  “It doesn't matter,” Occultus said. “What does matter is that when this god came, He was persecuted, tortured, crucified, then killed by His own people. He knew that was His destiny from the day He was born and, though He had the power to stop what would happen, did not lift one finger to stay His death."

  “Why not?” Nick asked.

  “His death served a purpose for the greater good,” Occultus answered. He lowered his hand from Nick's shoulder. “I do not pretend to know the old god's reasons for what He did, but I can understand them. I must sacrifice myself so that one day the Dark Overlord will come. He will not know his destiny until it is cast upon him, but when it has settled on his shoulders, he will rise up from the ashes of his own torture and persecution to rid the world of the Domination. Yet though I understand the reason, I can not stop myself from being angered by the injustice of what must be done."

  “And Kaelan?” Nick questioned. “What part does he play in this?"

  Occultus smiled. “It will be from seed of his seed that the Dark Overlord will come."

  * * * *

  The fever was still high, the heat of Kaelan's body making it necessary to change his linens every hour. Lumley and his son, Ned, bathed him in cool water each time the linens were changed and dribbled lukewarm medicine down his parched throat.

  “I will stay with him awhile,” Occultus told the two sailors.

  Lumley put a finger to his forelock and ushered his son to the door, quietly closing it behind them.

  Kaelan was semi-awake, his eyes too-bright and glowing with an unnatural light that revealed his absence from the real world. He strained at the silk rags that bound his wrists and ankles to the captain's bed.

  “Easy, my son,” Occultus whispered and sat down beside the young prince. He laid a cool hand on the heated brow, easing back the damp black locks that were in dire need of washing. But that would have to wait until the sick man was better.

  “GILLY!” Kaelan called and jerked against the constrictions around his wrists.

  “She is safe,” Occultus comforted him. “As are you. Hush now and lie still.” He ran the back of his hand down the brutal cuts and bruises which had turned the once-handsome face to a pulpy mess and frowned deeply.

  There had been too much to worry about since Kaelan Hesar had been brought onboard the Revenant than the healing of the young man's face. His fever had worsened on the trip from Holy Dale to the harbor at Wixenstead. His cough had become wet and his lungs rattled with every breath. By the time he had been transferred to the hastily-painted pirate ship, he was raving, out of his head with the fever.

  “Don't take her away from me again!” came the heartfelt plea. “Please don't take her away again!"

  “Never again, Kaelan,” Occultus answered. “She will never leave your side again. I swear this to you."

  “Gilly.” The word was a talisman against the demons which burned and tormented his body. The dark eyes closed in agony and the battered face turned toward Occultus. “Help me,” he begged. “Please? I can not let her see me like this."

  “And she shall not, Your Grace,” Occultus seethed, hurt deeply at the request. He laid his palms on each of the young man's cheeks, lifted his own face to the heavens, and began a rune to heal the awful damage that had been done by Rolf de Viennes’ fists.

  * * * *

  Gillian smiled sweetly at the constable's wife when that gracious lady brought in Gilly's noontime meal. She sat where she was, her feet drawn up onto the cot beneath her.

  “Do you like stew, milady?” the constable's wife asked, setting the tray on the floor as she fumbled with the huge ring of keys that would unlock Gilly's cell door.

  “I find I like everything you cook, Madame Belvoir,” Gilly replied. “You've a way with spices."

  “That's what my sons say,” Madame Belvoir beamed. “Did I tell you I have a new grandson? Born just this morning. He be our first!” She sighed. “They named him André, they did. A fine, strapping lad, he'll be, too!"

  “Congratulations, then,” Gilly replied. “Long life and good health to him."

  “Thank you,” the constable's wife said.

  When at last she'd found the right key, Martha Belvoir opened the door and swung it wide. Over the past two weeks that this young lady had been their guest—Martha refused to think of her as a prisoner though Helmet swore she was—the girl had made no attempt to try and escape. Martha didn't think today would be any different as she turned her back and stooped down to pick up the tray of food.

  Gilly moved faster than she ever had in her life: pushing up like a kangabeast from her cot and racing to the cell door before Martha could straighten up. It took only a second or two to gently swing the older woman into the cell, pull the door shut, and lock it on the stunned expression that was just then settling into place on Martha's lined face.

  “Oh, dear,” was all the constable's wife could say as Gilly turned the key in the lock. She stood there, tray in hand, and looked at Gilly with hurt confusion. “That wasn't very nice."

  “My apologies, Madame Belvoir, but I've a ship to catch!” Gilly laughed, waving her goodbye as she tripped lightly up the stairs.

  “Oh, dear, oh, dear,” Martha Belvoir repeated. She looked down at the tray for a moment, shrugged, then carried it and herself to the cot. Sitting down, she settled the tray more comfortably onto her lap and began to eat, adding another pound or two to her already-plump frame.

  * * * *

  Thècion McGregor slipped quietly into Kaelan's cabin, trying not to disturb the priest who was obviously working his magik on the ill man. The young Serenian kept well back, out of the way, and leaned against the cabin wall, his arms folded across his chest, watching.

  “How are you, young one?” Occultus asked, not even turning around.

  “All right,” Thècion replied. He hadn't thought the man had heard him enter, but perhaps Dear Mutt was right: Occultus Noire had eyes in the back of his head.

  “I have often wished I did,” Occultus stated and turned to see the Serenian prince scowling.

  “I'll not ever get use to having my private thoughts read,” Thècion complained. “It is unsettling."

  Occultus laughed. “Then do not Join with D'Lyn, my son, for she is adept at reading minds."

  Thècion's scowl deepened. “You know I will not be allowed to Join with her, Your Worship."

  The priest reached beside him and took up a cool cloth that had been soaking in lime water, wrung it out, then laid in across Kaelan's brow. “You can have that after which you are willing to go, young McGregor,” he corrected.

  “My father would have the whole of the Serenian Guard after my ass to find me and take me to the Baybridge Sanitarium if I but hinted to him that I was after Joining with a gypsy girl.” He snorted. “And a sorceress, at that."

  “Then don't go home,” Occultus advised.

  Thècion stared at him. “And where is it I am to live if I don't go home?"

  Occultus shrugged. “Wherever you wish.” He cast a glance at Thècion. “If you really want to be Joined with D'Lyn."

  The young man's eyes narrowed. “Did you have
something to do with me falling head over heels for her the moment I saw her?"

  “No."

  “You sure?"

  Occultus smiled. “Quite sure."

  “Did she?” the young man asked suspiciously.

  “Do you remember what she said to you when you first met?” Occultus asked him.

  Thècion thought a moment. “She said: I knew you would come one day."

  “Had you fallen so hopelessly in love with her before or after she made that statement?"

  The heavy scowl smoothed out on the young man's brow. “Before."

  “Then that should answer your question.” Occultus turned back to his patient.

  “Answer me one more question and I'll leave you alone,” Destin countered.

  “Ask,” Occultus replied.

  Destin came to stand beside the bed, amazed at the difference in the battered face of the sick man. Although there were still dark purple bruises and a nose that remained hitched to one side along a gashed check, Kaelan at least was recognizable as being human.

  “Ask,” Occultus stressed, eager to get back to his magik.

  Thècion tore his attention from Kaelan's healing face. He took a deep breath then spoke on a long rush of air: “What is my part in all this? Mine and Diarmuid's?"

  Occultus looked over at him. “Diarmuid Brell is here because Thècion McGregor is here. There is no other reason for him. He plays only a minor part."

  “And me?” Thècion queried. “How big is my part?"

  The priest locked eyes with the young man. “Your brother's wife has conceived a son,” he said. “Your father will name him Gerren."

  “Blasdin will be pleased,” Thècion snorted. “So long as his firstborn is a male, he'll be content."

  “He will have a daughter, as well,” Occultus said gently, almost reverently, “and your sister-in-law will name her Dyreil."

  “What has all that to do with me?"

  Occultus sighed. “You have the McGregor trait of being impatient, young sir,” he accused. “As your daughter will be."

  “My daughter?” Thècion questioned. “Mine and D'Lyn's?"