by Keith Walter
The frustration put a boost in Barclay’s steps, and he made his way to the bridge. He checked the GPS monitor, gravely watching for several seconds as the Entregon crept ever closer. Tearing himself from the danger at hand, he reached behind the captain’s chair to open a square metal chest bolted to the floor. Grabbing a handful of the folded maps inside, he pulled them into his lap.
Once the appropriate maps were unfolded, he began laboriously pouring over every port and network of roads leading out them. The Port of Erie was the closest, but was quickly dismissed. There were already enough lives at risk. No reason to pull in any of his associates. Instead, he focused on the little ports and boat launches farther up the coast. Best-case scenario, he could find some private human launch that was out of the way of the big cities. Something the Union wouldn’t pay attention to and that had quick access to a major roadway.
He startled when a pleasant voice called from the bridge doorway, “Permission to enter the bridge?”
“Grace,” Barclay breathed, relieved. He saw the kind smile on her face and turned back to the maps. “Permission granted.”
Grace glided into the bridge. She glanced briefly at the maps strewn all around Barclay before settling in front of the GPS monitor. She briefly allowed her fingers to touch the large red dot. “You don’t think we’ll make it,” she stated.
“Is mind reading another one of your skills?” Barclay asked absently.
In one smooth motion, Grace spun on one heel and seemed to melt into a sitting position on the floor halfway into his pile of maps. “No magic needed with that look on your face.”
Barclay took the moment to put down the map in his hands and lock eyes with Grace. “I have been here before,” he admitted coldly. “Trying to save a bunch of greenhorns from an enemy they don’t really understand.”
Grace laughed. “As the captain, you don’t inspire much faith.”
He cringed at the thought. “I don’t have time to inspire.” At Grace’s continued smile, he added, “Besides, I am not their captain. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”
“I don’t need to read your mind to know that’s a lie.” She chuckled to herself. A somber expression overtook her features as she continued. “You did a good thing for them, risking much.” She caught his eyes with her own. “I think you are worried that it was all for nothing if they can’t escape.”
Barclay puffed up his defenses. “Life is different after a few centuries. You tend to realize the importance of the little things. I’m just a dumb soldier, too stubborn to let go of a bad decision.” Barclay stopped himself, realizing he’d found the perfect landing spot. He tapped his finger on the map as Grace looked on curiously. “We might just beat that monster after all.”
“The Entregon?” Grace asked calmly.
“Yeah.” Barclay eyed the woman at his sude. “You actually know of it.”
Grace dropped her gaze to her lap. Unconsciously, she rubbed her left hand. “I’ve met her.”
“Seriously?” Barclay couldn’t help but gape. “And yet you live to tell the tale.”
Grace stared at her hands, apprehension clear in her eyes. “My…clan…has dealt with the Entregon many times in the past. I was unfortunately present often.”
“Gods, as if meeting that demon isn’t bad enough,” Barclay admitted. “I can’t imagine having real dealings with something so…dark.” He stared at his own hands. “Getting close to darkness like that can change a person, whether you want to or not.”
“It frightened me,” she admitted. “It was…” Grace shuddered. “I couldn’t bear it.”
Barclay watched the young woman wrap her arms around her shoulders defensively. He wasn’t one to pry, but there was clearly more to the story. “Is that how you ended up downstairs? Something else you couldn’t bear?”
Grace reluctantly replied, “I was not able to be the daughter my clan wanted.” As she spoke, her reluctance was replaced with sorrow. “I never fully agreed with the clan, but it took years before I realized how rotten their view of the world really was.”
“Clans,” Barclay grumbled. “Always their way or the highway.”
“Were but it that easy,” Grace uttered just above a whisper. Shaking her head, she continued, “I ran away.” She squeezed herself in a hug, “But my mother wouldn’t let me go.”
Barclay pondered that revelation. Most clans were terribly proud, and would excommunicate or even eliminate a member that walked away. To actually go out and force them back was odd. Either her old clan was particularly cruel, or Grace was more important than she knew. Barclay shifted uncomfortably as silence stretched out over the bridge. “Not to pry, but you might know something here that could help.” He pointed to the GPS monitor. “I haven’t figured out yet why it’s not already on top of us.”
Grace frowned before looking away toward the blue water all around. “I discovered some rather powerful concealment runes on the deck, and they seem to be drawing from the strength of the ship’s enchantments. It is possible that is the reason, but I doubt anything will hide us forever.” Her eyes clouded and she held a fist to her chest. “It seems our past is destined to haunt us.”
Barclay mused pensively. Grace had seen more darkness than her cheery demeanor let on. He’d made peace with his own darkness centuries ago. It was a part of growing up in this world. Still, a fleeting memory of a blue-haired girl that looked so much like him sprang to mind. He shook his head roughly, forcing the memory away. “It’s not on us yet, kid.” His mouth felt dry at that last word. “Just how familiar are you with this boat?”
“Familiar?” Grace muttered. “I have been here most of my life.” Her eyes drifted to the floor sadly and she seemed lost in thought.
Barclay waited curiously, but was met finally with just a sad shrug. He had no idea how effective his runes were, but didn’t have much else to go on. Changing them now might only make things worse. Tapping his finger to the map again, he broke the silence. “No matter. We just hope things hold out.” Grace tried to smile, but managed little more than a twitch. They remained in silence for another five minutes before Grace politely mentioned she had more repairs to make and slinked away.
◆◆◆
Charles felt like an elephant was sitting on his entire body. Every breath took effort, but to his amazement, he was alive. Not only alive, but his body was far more healed than it should have been. The mercifully few times he’d given in to the moonlight he’d been smart enough to run, to get far enough away from his pursuers that he could pass out for a week and heal up. That he could even move his limbs right now meant he was days ahead of schedule. Exhaling softly, he prepared for whatever fresh hell awaited him.
Testing his surroundings, he tried slowly lifting each arm. Layers of bandages pulled and snagged as he tried to sit up. That was odd. It wasn’t like the Union to heal a prisoner before executing them. He tilted his head to the side, feeling the soft fabric of a pillow against his cheek. The room was dark, but his eyes could make out the tiny cabin relatively well. There were stacks of books lining each wall and a small desk. A slow realization surfaced, perhaps he wasn’t where he thought he was.
Charles pushed his senses as best he could, but the weakness in his body was playing havoc on everything. Gasping for breath, he was once again reminded that last night had serious repercussions. A dull hum of magic seemed to hang in the air, confusing him. Rumbling echoed from outside the room, pushing tiny vibrations through every surface. He swore it sounded familiar. He shut his eyes and tried to push everything away and sink into the cot. There, small but clear, he felt himself bob. Then again. Wherever he was, it was moving almost rhythmically. Not a truck, there were no bumps or changes in speed—something bigger. “Gods!” He choked out to the empty room.
He looked up to the single source of light in the room. He hadn’t recognized it at first, but it was a porthole. He was on a ship! And not just any ship, but more than likely the funny yacht that he had b
een trying to save. A moment of relief washed over him, only to be replaced by a great empty sadness. His gamble must have worked, giving the others enough time to escape. But somehow they must have found him, brought him along, even healed him. He was alive, stuck on a boat in the middle of an escape. This was the last place he wanted to be.
Memories filtered back from his last moments on the docks. The cracking of bones and screams of the soldiers rang out in his head. Lifeless bodies rolled under his feet as he pushed toward the rest. He closed his eyes and tried to will it all away, but the images refused. How many lives must his mistakes take? They were soldiers, yes, but also men. They were men with parents, wives, and probably even children. He’d justified it against saving others, but to what end?
He wiggled his toes and tested the muscles in his legs, shifting one leg toward the edge of the cot. Depressingly surprised by his mobility, he pushed down with his arms as his first foot fell to the floor. Using all the strength his body could muster, he shifted his other leg off the cot and let the sudden momentum pull him into a sitting position. He tried pushing down with his legs, growing more confident as he lifted himself off the cot completely. His legs were shaky, so he struck out a hand to the nearest shelf, steadying himself. His body was racked with pain, but it only managed to further his resolve. He lurched forward to the only door he could see, thankful to find it opening with a simple push.
A woman’s voice half shouted just outside the door, “You shouldn’t be up! You are barely holding yourself together.”
Charles could hear the worry, a sound that should have been pleasant, that should have made him feel warm from the care. He hoped he would have been able to do this without anyone noticing. With his head hanging low, he gathered his strength to reply. “Barely holding myself together? This is me after every good night on the town.” He heard a little laugh and his forward leg gave out, causing him to stumble. An instant later, he felt an arm under his shoulder and another body propping him up.
“You really need to get back in that bed and rest,” said the woman’s voice next by his ear.
Her words hung in the air like something from a dream. A lifetime of training for the war had forced him to sharpen many of his senses. Since he started running, those senses had been honed to razor-sharp focus. Mannerisms, inflections, and magical impulses mingled to give him a different view of the world, a view few could see. So when everything coming to those senses told him that this voice was familiar, he paid attention.
“I know you,” Charles mumbled, trying to place her. “During the fire, I felt something in the back of my head. A flickering. That was you,” he stated with a hint of suspicion.
“The fire…” she repeated, trying to recall its meaning. Her eyes widened. “You mean last night. You heard me?”
“It was more of a feeling, that’s why I swam to this ship. You were here, somewhere, weren’t you?” Charles stammered, trying to wrap his head around it all. Noticing her skeptical expression, he added, “The buttons on the bridge, the location of the engine room—I would have never found them on my own.”
Grace stood, looking confused, her eyebrows scrunched together. “I don’t think that is possible,” she whispered. “I could see what was happening outside but the lock stopped me from acting.” She trailed off, with a look of disbelief.
He waited a moment before the fatigue in his body reminded him of the situation. “You were the one that healed me, I take it?” Grace nodded with a smile, and he placed his free hand over his chest. “Then you saw my scribbles. They have a tendency to muck up other people’s spells.”
“They are rather unique,” she noted thoughtfully. “It’s been quite difficult to get your body working.” She sent a halfhearted glare at her companion. “All the more reason you should get back in bed.”
Charles tried to pull away, but realized quickly he had no chance of escaping the petite young woman’s grasp. “You’ve done a hell of job so far,” he acquiesced darkly. “I’ll be fine. Just need to clear my head.”
Grace stared at Charles’s forehead. “I didn’t think about that. You did hit your head quite hard, maybe I can focus on that.” Shaking her head, she tried to nudge Charles back into the small room.
“Wait, when did I hit my head?” Charles asked skeptically.
“You don’t remember,” Grace whispered in realization. Charles frowned and she added, “That’s how I was freed. There was an explosion at the docks. You must have been caught in it, because moments later you came crashing through the wall of my room.”
Charles gaped, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly like a fish. He had passed out during the explosion, but there was some unconscious part of him that still wouldn’t give up. It must have directed his body to the ship. A bitter laugh tried to force its way out of his throat, but he held it down. “That’s…lucky of me, eh?”
“More than just lucky, I would say,” Grace added reverently. “The spells that were holding me were very old and designed to disperse any magic that came close. That other form you have must be very powerful to break through. Most fey would not have survived such an experience.”
“Yeah,” Charles grumbled as he looked at the floor. “It’s…it’s not that big a deal,” he added, trying desperately to deflect the conversation.
Grace eyed the man at her side carefully. “Still, I can’t thank you enough. Freeing me is one thing. But what you did for the others—” she eyed him shyly “—it was very selfless of you.”
“No… It… I wouldn’t say so,” Charles replied quickly, hiding his eyes by staring at the floor.
“If you heard me, you know it was.” Grace unconsciously let her eyes drift to the doorway to her room, still littered with the remnants of broken runes. “I wanted to help, but I couldn’t.” Locking her eyes with Charles, she smiled. “You did.”
Charles choked back the feelings those words brought forward. “It was…the only thing I could do. I couldn’t let them just take everyone,” he admitted. “I’m sure, uh, anyone would have done the same.”
Grace nodded in agreement, but smiled all the brighter. “Your actions say more than you think.”
Charles grumbled. This was not how he intended the conversation to go. “You’re overselling it,” he declared. He watched Grace turn away to hide her smile and he huffed. “I suppose you’re just repaying my help then? Healing me?”
“If you prefer to look at it that way,” Grace replied with a frown. “I wouldn’t be in position to help anyone without your intervention. But I’d like to think there needs to be no debt to show kindness.”
For several moments, Charles second-guessed what he needed to do. It was cruelly ironic. His life had been nothing but struggle and darkness for years. Now it was as if the sun had finally come out, Grace’s blinding optimism and warmth washing over him like a summer’s day. But his bones ached and muscles protested with every movement. He was so very tired. Tired enough to turn his eyes from the sun. “Aren’t you just the sweetest,” he replied, not sure if he was being sarcastic or not. He tried to pull away again, needing to get any sort of distance from this woman.
“Where do you think you are going?” Grace asked as she gently tried to tug him back.
“Out,” he replied nonchalantly. At her frown, he added smoothly, “I suppose we don’t know much about one another, do we?” Charles managed to hide the pain in his expression and offered his left hand. “I’m Charles. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Grace eyed his hand before shaking awkwardly. “My name is Grace.”
“It suits you,” Charles complimented. “Anyway, I do my best healing in the fresh air and sun.” Having been cooped up in a metal box for the better part of the day, he felt that statement was only barely a lie.
“I don’t think you should be moving around, but I can understand the desire for fresh air,” she replied thoughtfully. “Here,” she said, sliding around to his side and propping him up with her left shoulder, “we’ll take it
slow.”
Charles knew she was hesitant to let him leave the room and decided to tread carefully. He couldn’t rightly remember the last time he’d been in this position, and realized he didn’t really know how to act. Being so close to her, he could feel currents of her magic as she supported his weight. The electric tingle was something he had never really felt before, steady and calming.
She led him through the bowels of the ship, slowing to a stop at the bottom of a short staircase. Raising an eyebrow at Charles expectantly, she asked, “Are you sure you’re up for this?”
Charles smiled. “I suspect you’ll be doing most of the work, but I’m ready when you are.”
“Upward and onward,” she declared, tightening her grip around Charles’s waist.
For a slight young woman, who apparently had spent a healthy amount of energy healing his wounds, Grace didn’t seem to notice his weight. With a single arm and with no outward sign of discomfort, Grace was completely lifting him off the ground. Charles felt her grip like iron, completely unflinching. He managed to lift each foot enough not to catch on the steps, but wasn’t able to put any pressure down.
As the two climbed the stairs, the proximity began playing havoc on Charles’s senses. He could feel the touch of her skin where his bandages separated, and ripples of her magic just beneath the surface. His mind focused on her magic, the gentle flow calming his nerves. His own magic clawed and tore to escape in contrast, but there was a connection there. Like opposite poles of a magnet, Charles felt himself drawn to her magic. Unconsciously, he leaned in and smelled the damp spray from the lake in her hair. He jerked his head back suddenly, as if slapped. There was no time for that, now more than ever.
By the time they reached the upper deck and the sunlight, Charles had to find his balance all over again. “Thanks,” he offered, keeping one hand on Grace’s arm as he steadied himself. Once he had his own footing again, he pointed to the railing. “You can drop me off there.”
