Bloodbound

by F. Wesley Schneider

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  PATHFINDER

  TALES

  PIRATE’S PROPHECY

  by Chris A. Jackson

  Available February 2016

  Copyright © 2015 Paizo, Inc.

  7

  PERILOUS PROPHECIES

  Torius mounted the quarterdeck steps, yawned in a great lung full of sea air, and smiled. At sea again … The motion of the ship, the wind in his hair, and the creak and groan of the rigging never ceased to ease his nerves. Beneath his feet, the deck barely heeled. The seas were running about twelve feet, but Stargazer bore it easily, steady on a beam reach, stabilized by her full hold and towering canvas. A glance aloft confirmed that nothing had changed since his last watch; all plain sail with a reef in the main and forecourse. Since becoming privateers, they’d run with the usual white sails at all times, forgoing the black sails they formerly used at night while pirating. Though it made checking the sails easier in the dark, it also made Torius feel a bit like a bug on a white tablecloth. One of the trade-offs for being legitimate, I guess.

  “Nothing on the horizon, Captain.” Thillion met him with a casual salute and a smile. “Not a single light nor sign of a ship. Snick worked the bugs out of the compass, and we’re on course.”

  “Good.” A glance around showed only one thing missing. “Where’s Celeste?”

  “She went below.” The elf shrugged. “She asked if I needed her, and since we’re headed for open sea, I said that I didn’t. Kortos was off our port beam at sunset, and we’ve been on a rhumb line for Sothis since then.”

  “That’s odd. She usually waits up for my watch.”

  “She’s not in your cabin? I thought … well …”

  Torius waved off Thillion’s unease. The whole ship knew that he and Celeste often reserved the early evening watch for private time. “No, she’s not there, and I didn’t see her in the galley.” He glanced around the middle deck, but didn’t spy her distinctive white hair. He grew uneasy. She’s been acting strange lately … “Would you mind staying on watch for a few more minutes, Thillion? I’d like to find her.”

  “No problem, sir.”

  “Thanks. Oh, and you can ease off to the west a few points. We’re not going to Sothis.”

  “Yes, sir!” The elf grinned. He knew that meant that none of the Stargazers had decided to jump ship.

  Torius went to their cabin first, wondering if he might have missed Celeste curled up on her pillows in the dark, but she wasn’t there. Nor was she in the galley or reading in the spare stateroom. The main hold was dark, so he lit a lantern and started exploring among the barrels and crates of herbs and spices, the scents of rosemary, sage, and other exotic herbs overpowering in the close confines. The cargo was well secured against the motion of the sea, and Snick’s babies were stowed away, but no Celeste. There was nothing forward on this deck but crew quarters, and he knew she wouldn’t disturb the sleeping sailors.

  A great, dark hole opened before him, the open hatch to the lower hold. A cool breeze ruffled his hair from above. As was their usual practice when the weather was good, the main hatch had been replaced by a grating for ventilation. Moonlight filtered down through the gaps, the checkerboard of pearly light sweeping back and forth with the roll of the ship. Torius shone his lantern down into the lower hold. There weren’t many places to hide aboard a hull only a hundred feet long. He descended the ladder and peered into the gloom.

  Over the ship’s creaks and groans, he caught a faint sound of scratching. The ship’s cat chasing a rat? Torius worked his way forward, shining his lantern into the narrow gaps between the stacked crates of cargo. When he reached the forepeak bulkhead and the hatch to the storage locker, he heard the scratching again over the rush of the sea past the hull. Definitely from inside the locker.

  What the hell? Torius hung the lantern on a hook, quietly drew his dagger, and reached for the latch.

  Scratch, scratch … Like a pen on parchment, or …

  He pulled open the door. “Celeste?”

  The soft lantern light spilling into the storage locker illuminated the naga coiled among the canvas and cordage. Turning toward him, she hissed and blinked at the light. The pile of translucent, scaly skin beneath her confirmed his suspicion. Celeste was shedding.

  “Go away, Toriusss.”

  “What’s wrong? I’ve seen you shed before. It doesn’t bother me.” In fact, she usually shed her skin in their cabin. Instinct drove her to seek a safe haven until she could rid herself of the sloughing scales. It was inconvenient, but passed quickly. So why is she hiding away in the bowels of the ship?

  “I … I don’t want you … to come any closer. Please. Just go.”

  “No.” Something was wrong, and Torius was determined to find out what it was. He grabbed the lantern, stepped inside the cramped locker, and shut the hatch behind him. Looking closer, he saw patches of dry skin still clinging to her body. That was unusual; her skin usually shed in one complete piece. Only once had he seen her looking so splotchy … chained in a slaver dungeon when he first met and rescued her. Later she had told him that stress adversely affected her ability to shed well. From the looks of it, she was pretty stressed right now. “Tell me what’s wrong. You’ve been edgy lately, but this is over the top. What’s bothering you?”

  “I don’t … I can’t tell you.” She turned away, hiding her face in her coils. “You’ll think I’m crazy. By the stars, I think I’m crazy!”

  “Crazy? What are you talking about, Celeste?” Torius gently ran a hand down her cool scales and felt her shudder. “What’s happened?”

  “I don’t know! I saw … something that can’t be real!” She writhed her coils, scraping more of the old, dry skin off her tail with a distinctive scratching sound. “It can’t be …”

  “What can’t be real? What did you see?” He knelt down and ran his fingers through her hair, trying to ease her nerves, though her behavior had him truly worried. He’d seen her upset before, even to the point of hissing and spitting venom, but this was different. Judging from her wide eyes and twitching tail, she was terrified. Her natural reaction to a threat was anger, not fear.

  “I saw … Snick, but it wasn’t Snick. It was like the whole world stopped around me, then she … changed.” Her head rose from her coils and turned to him, blinking hard against the light, tears glistening in her eyes. “She spoke to me … in my head, and then she changed into … a butterfly. Into Desna’s butterfly!”

  “She …” Torius swallowed his initial skeptical response. If Celeste said Snick turned into a butterfly, then he believed her. He’d never known her to hallucinate or have delusions. “What did she say?”

  She fixed him with a hard glare. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

  “No, I don’t think you’re crazy, but I don’t know what happened either.” He ran his hand through her hair again, and she leaned into the caress. At least she still trusted him. “This could be some evil trick, or it could be exactly what you thought. It could have been a waking dream sent by Desna. She is the goddess of dreams, you know.”

  “Dreams … But why would Desna talk to me, Torius? What did I do?” Celeste shook her head. “I’ve never prayed to any god in my life!”

  “True.” Though Celeste wasn’t an atheist, she tended to rely more on astrology than any divine influence for her answers. She believed the entire universe was a single immense consciousness, and that the motions of the planets among the stars sent messages to those willing to pay attention and listen. But that didn’t mean one of the gods might not take an interest in her. “But you did spend weeks at her shrine. Maybe you … caught her attention.”

  “But I don’t want her attention!”

  “Why not?” Torius smiled, relieved to think there might be a simple, albeit astounding explanation for her vision. “I
pray for Gozreh’s attention all the time. It’d be nice to know that she was actually listening! Besides, you couldn’t have picked a better deity than the goddess of stars.”

  Celeste slapped her tail against the hull. “But I didn’t pick her!”

  “No, but maybe she picked you.”

  “But why?”

  “Who knows? Because you already look to the stars for guidance, maybe? Now, maybe you can just ask Desna.”

  “But that’s just it, Torius. She said … that I had to find my own answers.”

  “She did?” Torius considered for a moment. “Actually, that sound exactly like something a deity would say. What else?”

  “She … touched me.” Celeste’s eyes lost their fearful look and assumed a far-off, wonder-filled sort of gaze. “And for a second, I had the answer to everything, every question I could ever think to ask, but now … I can’t remember.”

  “Well, I’m glad of that, anyway!” Torius laughed.

  “What?” Celeste looked horrified. “Why?”

  “What would be the fun in living if you had all the answers? No more exploring, no more discovery, no more adventure!” He shrugged. “Kind of like knowing the end of a book you just started reading.”

  “But … I think she does give me some answers.” At Torius’s befuddled look, she explained. “That slaver galley, Torius. I was wondering if we should fight, and suddenly … I just knew we’d win. At the time, I didn’t understand how I knew, I just knew I was right.”

  “You did?” He grinned at her and laughed out loud. “Well, that’ll come in handy!” A sudden memory came to him of Celeste shrouded in starry light. “What about that cloak of starlight during the battle? I didn’t recognize it as one of your usual spells.”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t …” Celeste closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them wide. “Maybe I did! I …” She blinked, and starlight shimmered around her. She looked down at herself in amazement. “Torius! I did!”

  “Holy …” Torius bit his tongue. Blaspheming in the presence of a divine manifestation didn’t seem wise. Reaching out a hand, he felt a cool pressure against his palm before his fingers penetrated the radiant aura to brush Celeste’s scales. “How did you do it?”

  “I just … asked.” She closed her eyes again and the luminous barrier faded.

  “Did you send it away?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you summon it again?”

  “I … don’t want to.” She writhed her coils again, her agitation returning.

  “What’s wrong, Celeste? If these are gifts from Desna, you should use them.”

  “But I’m not a cleric! I don’t worship Desna! I’ve got my own faith, my own beliefs. Why would she give me anything unless … she wants something in return?” Celeste bit her lip and shook her head.

  “But Desna’s a good—”

  “It doesn’t matter! I didn’t ask for it.” She looked stubborn. “You don’t give someone a gift out of nowhere then ask for devotion in return. It’s … rude!”

  “This isn’t like gifts at a birthday party, Celeste. Just because we don’t know what you did to earn her thanks doesn’t mean you didn’t do something worthy.” He pondered, wondering how he could help her, and realized that matters of religion weren’t really his area of expertise. “Maybe you should talk one of Desna’s clerics, or at least someone who knows more about faith than a pirate.”

  “Maybe.” Celeste took a deep breath and shuddered down her entire length. “I guess it couldn’t hurt.”

  “You’ll probably have to wait until we get back to Almas. I don’t remember seeing any shrines to Desna in Ostenso.”

  “What about Sothis? Aren’t we stopping there?”

  “No.” He smiled broadly. “No need; the crew all decided to stay. We’ve already come off to the west, and I’m going to make our turn to the north early, since Trellis is in such an all-fired hurry for us to deal with this Chelish weapon.”

  “Thank you for telling them all the truth.” Celeste slithered forward and brushed his cheek with her own. “And thank you for helping me sort this out.”

  “I didn’t do anything.” Torius ran his hands through his lover’s hair and held her close, her glossy new scales cool against his shirt. “I just listened.”

  “Sometimes that’s enough.”

  A surge of urgency twinged along Vreva’s nerves. Mathias … She cast her spell, and looked down to check her disguise: the roughskinned hands of a sailor, feminine yet muscular arms, and the canvas trousers and wide-collared shirt of a Chelish sailor on shore leave. Perfect. Without a mirror, she’d have to assume her face resembled her chosen foil—one of the sailors she’d seen on her way to Ronnel’s cabin. She wasn’t worried; dusk was deepening and in the dark one sailor looked pretty much like another.

  Another empathic surge thrilled up her spine; Mathias was close. Before she could step into the open, she caught sight of him, a black blur dashing into the shadowed alley. He leapt up into her arms and nuzzled her neck.

  *She’s coming up the street. She looks like the same Chelish sailor she did last time, skinny with brown hair, missing one front tooth, and a scar on her cheek.* He bonked her chin with his forehead, mewing in apology when she winced.

  “Don’t worry. It’s healing.” The bruise was from the armrest of the settee in Ronnel’s private cabin. He had turned out to be what one of her earliest instructors called a rough trick. The admiral wasn’t really a sadist, but made love like he was fighting a battle: hard and fast, no mercy, no surrender. Vreva had given as good as she got, though, and he had a few bruises of his own.

  *I don’t know why you didn’t just kill that bastard outright!* Mathias mewed quietly. *Without him, this whole plan to start a war falls apart. On second thought, let me go with you next time. You slip knock-out toxin into his wine, and I’ll chew off his balls.*

  Vreva stifled a laugh. Her familiar tended to be protective, and hadn’t liked it at all when she returned from the dalliance sporting bruises. “As tempting as that sounds, I can’t kill him. Anguillithek could be the kingpin behind this, and if Ronnel ends up dead, the devil will know something’s up. He’s still a good source of information.”

  *He’s not that good a source. You learned that they’re targeting Augustana, but nothing about the weapon.*

  “For some reason Ronnel didn’t like to think about it, and it’s a difficult subject to work into pillow talk. But if Bushatra’s actually guarding the weapon as you said, delving into her mind might give me all the details I need.” Vreva peered around the corner and saw a Chelish sailor striding up the street—skinny, brown hair, and scarred cheek. “You’re sure that’s Bushatra, and not a real Chelish sailor?”

  *I’m sure. Same bad leather smell. The only way she could lose me is to lose that corset! I had no trouble following her the other night.* His ears twitched. *But then, I’m a cat. You should probably be careful!*

  “Always.” Dropping Mathias, Vreva peered around the corner again and cast her charm spell. Winning the woman’s trust was essential before she started reading her thoughts. Between the magic and her disguise as a fellow sailor, she hoped to get Bushatra thinking about things more important than just what she was planning to have for dinner.

  Vreva felt her spell wrap around the woman’s mind, then fail, some interposing force brushing her magic aside. Vreva wasn’t too worried. She cast the spell again, and once again it failed to take hold of the witch’s mind. Damn! Spell failure was common to new casters, but Vreva prided herself on her arcane skills.

  “Something’s wrong,” she whispered, ducking back into the shadows as Bushatra strode past her hiding place. “She’s resisting my magic.” Vreva watched carefully, worried that her attempts might have been detected, but the witch walked on without a glance, her steps fast, evidently intent on her destination.

  *Losing your touch?*

  Vreva shot her familiar a glare. “I’ll have to try without the charm.” She cas
t her thought-reading spell, and stepped out of hiding. Instantly, numerous minds—astute, dull, and indifferent—flickered into her perception. Concentrating, she identified Bushatra’s, a keen mind indeed, which might explain the witch’s ability to shrug off Vreva’s charm spell. Hastening her steps, Vreva affected the raucous manner of a Chelish sailor on shore leave.

  “Hey, shipmate! Hold up there!” She slurred her words as if tipsy, and fished a pipe out of a pocket as Bushatra turned to face her. “Got a light?”

  “Bugger off! I’m busy!” The witch turned away and continued up the street.

  Vreva tried to delve her thoughts, but didn’t get past a haze of irritation. “Too busy to light a shipmate’s pipe? Well, that’s friendly for ya!” She lengthened her stride to keep up as she focused on the woman’s mind. She could feel it, but couldn’t penetrate through to hear her thoughts. “Come on, mate. I lost my matches. Just a light.”

  The witch turned, glared at her supposed shipmate, and uttered a single arcane word. With a snap of her fingers, a spark ignited the bowl of the pipe. “There’s your light, now bugger off!”

  “Whoa, nice trick!” Vreva puffed and blew a smoke ring. She slowed her steps and tried one final time to pierce the haze of Bushatra’s mind. Nothing. “Thanks, mate!” She raised her pipe and grinned, but the witch didn’t even look back.

  “What a bitch,” she muttered under her breath as she strolled off the street. Mathias joined her in moments.

  *I told you she was a piece of work.* Mathias rubbed her leg as Vreva tapped out her pipe. When she’d tucked it away, he hopped up into her arms.

  “Yes, you did, but something’s wrong. I can’t seem to get any magic to work on her.”

  *Maybe she’s just tough.* Mathias lashed his tail, and she felt his revulsion for the witch. *Or maybe her magic is stronger than yours. She is a witch, after all.*

  “Maybe …” Vreva stiffened her resolve. If she couldn’t get information about the weapon from Bushatra’s thoughts, she’d find another way. “Where did you say she goes?”