by Keith Walter
“I won’t,” Barclay replied. The old fey brought a hand to his face, clearly unsettled. “I think,” he began, “I should head downstairs. Don’t want to be sitting on deck when the Union shows up.” He half stumbled to the door, not waiting for Charles as he walked through the bridge, down the stairwell, and to his cabin.
Charles stayed out in the sun, basking in the warm rays. He hadn’t intended to tell anyone who he really was. That had already ended poorly too many times before. He wondered how Barclay would adjust to this new information. He remembered his own depression, sitting in that healing ward, as Alastair spilled the truth of the Union’s actions. He had been betrayed from birth, raised to fulfill some promise he had never made. He was so very angry for so long after, it was the only way he could overcome the unending emptiness that threatened on all sides. As the engines rumbled to life under him, he hoped the captain had better luck coping.
Grace began moving, slowly at first, pulling away from the loading docks and out into the harbor. Charles stood on deck, one hand holding the doorway to steady himself. He watched the docks recede behind him. To the side, he saw the breakwater close in. After a few minutes, he felt the ship slow and stop beneath his feet. The sounds of chain link clacking let him know the anchor had been dropped. He supposed it was time he headed in, as well.
Opening the door to the lower bridge, Charles found Grace had already descended and sitting at the bottom of the staircase. She looked upset, and Charles considered his options. The way he had treated her after jumping off the ship still left a bad taste in his mouth. Striding to the left, he stopped in front of her. “I wanted to apologize for my behavior earlier.”
Grace lifted her head quickly. “Oh?” she asked skeptically.
“Yeah.” Charles fought the urge to scratch the back of his neck, a nervous habit he’d tried to kick most of his life. “I, uh, wasn’t in the best state of mind, and it was wrong of me to take it out on you.”
Grace remained wary, but replied, “Thank you, I guess.” She returned to her thoughts, eyes staring at the floor, chin held up on her knuckles, supported by her knees. After a minute, she realized the shoes at the edge of her vision hadn’t moved. Addressing the man once again, she asked, “Is there something else you needed?”
Charles listened to the mild frustration in her voice. He supposed he deserved that. “May I?” he asked, gesturing with one hand to the floor below the steps.
“Um, okay?” Grace replied, unsure what to expect.
Charles eased himself to the ground, leaning against the cool wall. He closed his eyes and just waited, letting silence fill the room. He was directly in Grace’s vision, and she seemed to grow uneasy the longer he remained silent. Just as she took a breath to ask him another question, he started speaking.
“I used to have a friend who thought like you. He was an optimist, always believing things would work out. He was sure that if you wanted something bad enough and worked hard enough, it would happen. And he was right most of the time. Everybody loved him because he made them feel good, reminded them that there was some bit of happiness in every situation.” Charles opened his eyes and made sure to lock gazes with Grace, smiling apologetically. “Ever since I lost him, it’s been kinda hard for me to see anything but the worst.”
“I’m sorry. Your friend sounds like a good person,” Grace offered.
“Thanks,” Charles replied quickly. He was surprised just how good it felt to get that off his chest. “His name was Alastair. He hated fighting, thought it was the dumbest thing living beings could engage in. Of course, he also happened to be the greatest military mind in the Union. He couldn’t stand the loss of life on either side, which is probably what made him so great. He wouldn’t waste a single soldier, and he would always offer his enemies a chance to surrender—ending some battles before they even started. He was so much smarter than me, and sometimes I wonder how he ever put up with me. I was such a hotheaded idiot.” Charles realized he was rambling, missing the point. He tried to steer the conversation back on track. “A lot like the way I acted toward you. Turns out, I’m still kind of an idiot.”
“It’s okay,” Grace stated. “You were just upset.”
Charles took a deep breath, smiling sadly. “You’re too forgiving, even when I don’t deserve it. Alastair was like that, too. It never mattered how bad I screwed up or how dumb I acted, he wanted to believe there was a good man in me that just needed some encouragement.”
“I think we are all good, or at least capable of it,” Grace offered. She narrowed her eyes suddenly, tapping one index finger on her lips before she added, “Well, most of us.”
“I hope I’ve still got some good in me,” Charles continued wistfully. “I look at where we are, even in the thick of things, and I realize what a little good can do. You’ve proved my earlier regards wrong, and I think you should know how much I appreciate that.”
Grace smiled, the first sign of happiness since Charles had approached her. “So you believe we will make it now?”
Honestly, Charles wasn’t all the way there. What little he knew of Leslie, he was only half sure she wouldn’t give herself away inadvertently. Serin and Talmer were significant question marks in his book. He was most confident in the captain and Grace, but even then it depended a lot on how much of a head start they got before the Union realized they’d been had. Looking at that smile and twinkling green eyes, he couldn’t help but admit, “Let’s say I wouldn’t bet against you.” He warmed at the sound of her soft laughter.
“You don’t strike me as the type to bet in the first place.” Grace smirked. “You seem like a man who makes his own luck.”
Chuckling softly, Charles acquiesced, “In another life that was probably true. Nowadays I have to rely on being saved by surly old men, healed by beautiful ships, and kept hidden by the goodwill of strangers.” He blew out a breath slowly. “These days I’m just trying to stay in the game, and I’ll take all the luck I can get.” Silence reigned over the pair again. Charles watched a sour expression replace Grace’s smile, her gaze moving to find the floor again.
“You know,” Charles began, “despite how great Alastair was, he had a problem that always seemed to make things harder for him.”
Grace turned, curiosity shining in her eyes. “What problem?”
“See, he was so cheerful all the time, always trying to pick everybody else up when they were down. I think he never learned how to be sad.” Charles pointedly ignored Grace’s shocked expression. “He’d try to hide it, though he was terrible at hiding. He’d hold it all in, afraid maybe to let anyone see him without a smile.” At last he caught the woman’s eyes, holding her gaze as he continued, “Thing is, all he really needed to do was let it out.” Charles smirked, leaning back against the wall. “So I’d just sit, sometimes for hours, in silence, and wait until he was ready.”
Grace scrunched her face in consternation. She looked back to the floor stubbornly. Charles just closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall. If it was going to be a battle of wills, she certainly had the upper hand. If she didn’t want to talk, she could wait until he had to leave. But he suspected she did want to talk and was simply scared to do so. “I don’t know what to do.”
“After you escape this town?” Charles asked.
“Just…being free,” Grace admitted. “When the war broke out, my clan was happy, eager to join in the slaughter. Honestly, I don’t think they even cared which side they were on. But I just couldn’t do it. I ran away, and I thought I had found a new purpose helping people travel and carry medicine from place to place. It was short lived, my mother eventually found me and punished me. I tried so hard to get out, but over the years I began to lose hope of ever escaping.” Taking a calming breath, she added, “I was stuck in that room for over forty years. Now I’ve gotten out, and the world is different than I remember. I don’t know where I fit anymore.”
Charles couldn’t help but think of the last four decades of his own life. Wh
ile he was free to move about, it was a freedom in name only. The places he was welcome disappeared over time, and more and more often he found the only way to live was completely alone. He hadn’t truly empathized with someone in a long time, and felt even worse having not realized this before. “You’re right, it is a different world now.” Forcing a smile to his face, he added, “But it’s a big world, with all sorts of things to do. You don’t have to figure it all out now. You can explore and find something that really suits you.”
“What I want to do is help everyone on board,” Grace stated. “But I can’t help everyone. For me to take them to the Republic, it would take us through the territory of the Ancient Ones. Even at my best, I could never hide from such a gaze. And the Ancient Ones would never allow converts to pass. Even if I were to stay, try to keep them hidden, eventually we would be found out. If not by the Union, I know my mother will eventually come for me, as well.”
“You’ve done more than any of us could have expected already,” Charles said, trying to infuse his voice with conviction. “You can’t take the whole world on your shoulders like that.”
“Maybe so, but I like to think of you all as my friends now. What kind of friend am I to make you all run off, just to save myself?” Grace covered her face with her hands.
Charles pulled himself from his seated position onto his knees. From the landing of the stairwell, he was nearly eye-to-eye with Grace. He gently reached out to grasp her wrists, pulling her hands away and forcing her to look into his eyes. “What kind of friends would we be to let you take the fall for us?” He sighed, shaking his head slightly. “You have to trust that we can take care of ourselves.” He forced a confident smirk, adding, “I’ve been doing it for a long time already.”
Grace relaxed her arms, and Charles released her wrists. She folded her hands on her knees. “What about when you’re gone?” Grace asked. “The captain said you’d be going off on your own. Maybe it is easy for you, but what about the others? Shouldn’t you stay with them?”
One hand involuntarily snuck up and began scratching the back of Charles’s neck. Once he realized, he pulled his hand back to his side. “Look, everybody is better off if I’m not with them. The Union—well, I’m the one they’re really after. I’ve always been the one they were after.”
“You’ll be stronger together,” Grace insisted. “We’re all stronger together!”
“I have another plan, I promise,” Charles replied. “Like I said, I’m the one the Union wants. It won’t be a thing for me to get myself seen in another town tomorrow, to keep the Union searching where the others aren’t.”
“That’s too dangerous! What if you get caught?” Grace exclaimed.
“Well, getting caught isn’t part of the plan,” Charles answered. “But there’s a better chance that I’ll get out than the rest.”
Grace opened her mouth to retort, but closed it quickly. She had to admit, Charles had proven himself inordinately resourceful so far. And to have escaped the Union this long, he had a good point. “I still don’t like it. You should stay with them, make sure everyone is safe.”
In another life, Charles may have agreed. He still remembered what it was like to have hundreds or thousands at his command. He knew the strength of a unified front, even against greater enemy forces. But this wasn’t as simple as all that. The war, for all its ugliness, made a kind of sense, in large part because back then he still wholly believed in the cause. Charles shook the memories from his mind. He lifted one hand, tentatively resting it on Grace’s knee. “I need you to trust me. Trust that I know what I’m doing and want everybody safe, too.”
Grace took a deep breath, raising her head as high as she could while seated on the stairs. Her eyes shone with a hope that seemed to fill the entire room around her. “Do you promise they’ll be safe?”
Charles couldn’t look away if he tried. Those green eyes had caught him under their spell, and he was struck by the emotion in his own voice. “I promise.”
A smile spread across her face tentatively, pleased but still unsure. “Promise you’ll be safe, too.”
Her smile must have been contagious. Charles showed off his pearly whites in a wide grin. “Yeah, I promise I’ll be safe, too.”
Grace jumped from her step to the landing and wrapped the man in her arms. She squeezed his face into her waistline, whispering, “I trust you.”
Charles wrapped his arms around Grace, hugging high to avoid anything inappropriate. He was glad to be free of her gaze. The intensity and emotion was nearly too much to bear. Briefly, he considered she could have probably gotten him to promise anything with such a look. Grace broke the hug first, and Charles found himself reluctant to let go. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had embraced him so sincerely, without any ulterior motives. For the first time since Alastair, his heart felt full again.
CHAPTER NINE:
Prom Night
Barclay sat on the edge of a ridiculously plush bed. The blankets shimmered like silk, but were thick enough to hold off the chill of arctic waters. Under normal circumstances, he would have appreciated the detail and luxury Grace had made for him. Granted, it was all overblown for his tastes. He wouldn’t complain about a nice bed, but he would have been just as happy with a little bunk or even a hammock. He’d never much understood the so called “finer things” that people would cut each other’s throats for.
As it was, these were not normal circumstances. He didn’t see a clock in the room, and could no longer tell how long he’d just sat there. He pushed aside thoughts of Charles, thoughts too terrible and depressing to worry about now. Sometime soon, Grace would come to tell him that the main Union forces on the docks were gone, and they’d be pulling back in. And just a few short minutes later, all these people he’d risked his life to help would be gone. His hand unconsciously balled into a fist, squeezing the extra soft blankets with it.
He should be going with them. That’s what the captain did, he led the men and women in his charge all the way to the end. He’d always hated the leaders who sat back in safety, ordering soldiers to give their all. Soldiers under their leaders’ command. Maybe it was the fact that he had started on the front lines and just never got over it. Maybe he didn’t trust anybody but himself to ensure victory. The reason didn’t much matter now, just the longing to continue the fight, just the uncertainty of letting them all go out on their own.
But he couldn’t go. Grace needed him. Well, not exactly. She didn’t really need a captain, nor some old sailor who happened to know the routes to the ocean. Not a one of them was half as capable as Grace—not even the broken general. Grace’s problem was that she cared too much. If Barclay jumped off to lead the converts, he was sure Grace would never give up trying to follow. She’d jump from port to port, maybe squeeze herself down the Mississippi just to keep an eye on everyone. And inevitably, she’d get caught for it. He’d seen it in her eyes, she was too attached to everyone already.
Barclay knew he had to keep her busy, distracted, and on a different course. He had to make sure she saved herself. That was going to be easier said than done. She seemed keen to follow orders, but the reality was, if she wanted to he couldn’t really stop her. It would take weeks or more for the converts to get to the Republic, if they made it at all. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his thoughts. He tried not to worry about the converts and their protectors.
Serin had impressed him. She wasn’t hard enough yet, but she was a leader at her core. She cared about the people with her, and he saw already how all of them deferred to her without a thought. Even Leslie, stout young woman though she was, clearly held the smaller woman in high esteem. Leslie never even considered Serin might not be able to handle that rune on the deck, and he guessed Leslie didn’t consider there was anything her bond couldn’t do. He remembered the shock on Leslie’s face when he’d confronted her about the bond, and the grudging acceptance from Serin in the same situation. It wasn’t hard to deduce which of the two was
more comfortable in their own skin.
He hoped Serin would do what needed to be done. So far, they had been sailing under a lucky star, and Grace had done all the real work. When plans unraveled, when forced to contend with enemies that weren’t looking to talk, someone would need to step up and fight. The fire he saw in Serin told him she’d fight. But would she be willing to take a life that stood in the way of escape? Would she be willing to sacrifice one of her own to save the rest? Those were decisions captains had to make, had to live with for the rest of their lives.
A knocking on the door caused Barclay to stare at the door and stand to attention. “Come on in,” he demanded.
A small blob of auburn hair peeked in. “You have a minute, Captain?”
“What do you need, Serin?” Barclay asked.
Serin closed the door behind her, stealing one last look at the hallway to ensure no one was listening. “I need to know if this is really going to work. I need to know what we’ll be up against if anything goes wrong,” she answered matter-of-factly. “I know Charles said we’d be fine, and Leslie seems to believe him, but I need the no-bullshit truth.”
Barclay eyed the woman. She had a fierce expression on her face, unflinching in her demands. He smiled, considering she might really be the leader he’d hoped. “Chances are you’ll be caught eventually. You’ll run into professional black-baggers, fey with the power and inclination to end you if you don’t surrender.”
To her credit, Serin didn’t appear shocked. She crossed her arms and looked to the ceiling for a moment in thought. “What would happen if we surrendered?”
“It’s not an option.” Barclay stated flatly.
Serin ground her teeth in annoyance. “Just tell me.”
“The converts would be killed on the spot—quick and clean so they don’t have to waste time.” He tried to remain impassive as he continued, “Leslie, Talmer, and yourself will be taken to a no-name facility and professional interrogators will rip the memories from your mind. In the unlikely event it doesn’t drive you mad, you’ll find it’s the most terrible experience you can imagine. And when they’re done, they’ll erase you.”
