The Captain stepped forward and finished the service. The gangplank was lifted so Maurence’s body slid into the waiting sea. The shroud was weighted and sunk when it hit the water. Most of the crew was back to work before it was out of sight. Warton and Dawn stood at the rail long after the others left. Bezel had the wheel and Cite stood to one side, trying to figure out how to go about the business of saving Rogen.
Dawn turned her head up and kissed Warton on the cheek. After a few words from her, the man headed to Tildan’s cabin to relieve his father of watching Rogen. Dawn turned and noticed Cite watching her. She looked around to check and see where her crew was, and turned again to look at Cite. Her green eyes met his blue ones and he felt the push of a thought as he studied her face.
‘Can you hear me?’ he felt her voice ask in his head as he opened his thoughts and let his mind relax. He nodded even as he sent a single word answer back to her to match his nod. He received a blend of words, images, and feelings that he was learning to translate to a more understandable form.
‘It is good to find someone else who can,’ the next series of images confused Cite and he could only vaguely translate it to mean the ability to use or touch, ‘magic. For so long, I have been alone in this.’ She continued to push the language at Cite. It was like catching balls of cotton thrown into the wind by a young child. Cite had to reach out with his mind to snatch thoughts out of the space between them the things she was trying to make him understand. He reached out with his mind and pushed into her mind to make it easier.
Dawn gasped and arched her back, and rose to her tiptoes. A few crewmen looked over, worried. Cite realized what he did and, with a surge of fear and regret, released her. She almost collapsed to the deck and the crew heard her cry, “No!” Again, a few made a move to go to her side, but she stopped them with a wave of her hand and a shake of her head.
“I’m fine, just upset over the day’s events,” she told them and they returned to their duties. She looked back up at Cite and with a small wave of her hand, invited him back into her head.
Cite felt the insistent push of her thoughts again as his abilities sought out minds to explore. He felt her welcome, not as a friend or lover might, but as he thought a business invitation might feel. Using care, he wrapped his thoughts around hers, enveloped her psyche and held it with his. He could see her sigh, relieved that it was much less intrusive this time.
‘I can hear you now. I’m sorry about that thing before, I’m still learning,’ he said into her head.
‘Well this is certainly much less brutish than what you did a moment ago.’ She saw his face flush and the contact waver. ‘Don’t worry about before. Let’s worry about what is in front of you today. Can you still hear my thoughts if I am not looking at you, or am facing away?’
‘Yes. It sometimes seems to help if I see you, but I think it is just for me to place your facial expressions and body language with the thoughts and feelings I am getting,’
‘Good, because I am turning away before my crew thinks I am some lovesick girl fawning over the friend of a murderer and lynch me also.’ A surge of worry and fear ran from Cite to Dawn. She turned away and raised her chin into the breeze. He turned also, pacing. ‘Sorry, not also. You will save Rogen.’
The images he received were of her swooning in a gingham dress at the sight of Cite, then of her being hung from a yardarm by her men, Rogen swinging next to her, Tildan dead on the deck, and Warton tied to the mast. Laughter swam through the whole set of images and feelings, as she found it amusing. Because she knew in her heart that they would really try to do this, but he saw she had little fear as a second set of images showed her standing over her whole crew who were unconscious and beaten. Tildan, Warton, Bezel, Rogen, and Cite stood behind her. Each sentence he translated was a series of emotions, images, and scenes that crossed and overlapped each other in a weave that created a tapestry of one thought.
Cite tried to send precise images and feelings back to her. He did not want to overwhelm her or frighten her. He was gaining control of this ability, but the thoughts of someone who was trying to communicate was as hard to control as someone who was blocking it. She pushed more than he wanted into the thoughts and when he thought to her, she grabbed anything and pulled it into herself. He had to dole it out in small bits or risk his mind slipping and sliding into hers, like a drunk man might slip and slide into the waiting and hungry ocean on a greased boat deck.
‘How are you going to go about finding out who it is?’ she asked in his head.
‘I am not sure. Some will talk to me, but I need to get them to think about the murder to find anything.’ He felt her flinch and saw her back tense when he said murder, which was actually the image of Maurence dead with his skull bashed in. Cite changed that image to show Maurence alive, then missing from the room, a void where he had stood. ‘If I force my way into their head it would be like trying to find a scrap of paper with a dozen words on it inside a library of books with no covers and with no shelves for the books to rest on.’
‘If you cannot prove Rogen’s innocence and find the true murderer, I will try to set you both adrift in the ocean rather than having to kill him.’ Cite nodded and sent a feeling of gratitude, but could not help but tinge it with sarcasm. Dawn laughed aloud, and crewmembers again looked at her with concern on their faces.
‘I had better go to my cabin, or else they will think I have gone mad if I keep speaking to you.’ She turned towards the door below the quarterdeck.
‘I need to get on with this anyway.’ he said.
‘Wait,’ she said, stopping with her hand on the doorknob and looking up at him peering down from the quarterdeck. ‘I would really like the chance to talk to you about magic. Like I said, I have been alone with my powers for all my life. It would be nice to talk to someone about them who understands, even if they practice a different school of magic.’ Almost none of what he had just received from her was images, but rather a complex flurried puzzle of thoughts and emotions.
‘It would be my pleasure,’ he thought back, ‘I have a bit of professional curiosity myself.’
Dawn went through the door and disappeared. Cite watched the horizon in front of the ship for a few more minutes, then turned to begin his task. Bezel stood at the wheel and watched Cite with a calculated look, seeming to lean back just the whole time he did.
“Bezel?” Cite asked. “Is something wrong?”
“No, I do not believe there is, Cite.” Bezel replied in his slow, condescending manner. “I believe that there is more to you than meets the eye alone. I believe you may be a truly amazing man and, rightfully, an equal to Rogen and to our own Captain Dawn Redblood.”
This was not an answer Cite expected and he found himself extending an instinctive tendril of thought to Bezel to find more of his thoughts.
“What does that mean?” Cite asked him.
“Nothing at all.” Bezel turned away and faced the stern of the ship. The only thing Cite could glean from Bezel’s detached thoughts was hope.
Chapter 14: Choose Your Enemies Carefully
“You can’t choose your family, but you can choose to kill them.”
Rondarius the Foul, Necromancer
5854 – Thon – Talsā - Uthr
He was unsure how to go about this. He had new abilities that allowed him to feel others’ thoughts, but wasn’t sure if it was right to do that to people. The headaches were also something to consider. His temple throbbed and the base of his skull had a sharp stabbing pain. He knew if he asked directly it might give results, but it also may cause his target to throw up mental shields without realizing it. Whether or not it brought results, it would cause the crewmember to spread the news of what he was asking. That would put the true murderer on the defensive.
Cite set to work finding Treat first. Treat was just a swabbie, the lowest of the crew, like Tart and Puffer. He was tending to some work down below with Kytson, patching some sails that needed repair. Cite wanted to find them al
one, but when the pair saw him Kytson spat and said with a scowl, “What the hells do you want, lubber?”
Cite already distrusted Kytson. Between his general sour disposition and the thoughts Cite had pulled from him earlier, he felt the man would be a prime candidate for murdering Maurence and framing Rogen. Cite reminded himself that magic of some sort was probably involved and not to be distracted by appearances.
“Bezel sent me.” Cite gave the first excuse he could think of. “He is at the wheel but needs some stuff from below for later.” Kytson stared at him, his eyes narrowing, and Treat continued doing what he had been doing. Cite knew it was a weak excuse but he was having trouble thinking.
“Kytson, how did Rogen do that to Maurence without the Captain hearing him when she was just in the next room?” Cite asked.
Kytson glared at him, and even Treat looked up at him. “I don’t know,” Kytson growled. “Maybe the Captain was asleep, or playing music, or reading, or doing something that she didn’t think anything of some damned noise. There are lots of noises on a ship.” He spat on the ground, just missing Cite’s foot with the thick brown juice of the tobacco tucked in his cheek.
Cite tried to grasp at the man’s thoughts. He felt Treat’s thoughts echoing his own questions, then the other man’s answers. Kytson’s thoughts surged into Cite’s head. They were lewd thoughts of Treat. The man had turned his attention to the swabbie, and the images he was sending out were of the skinny man naked and weeping under the larger man’s sweating form. Cite stumbled backwards, tripped over some crates, and fell. He hit his head on the mast step and blacked out.
He came to consciousness with Cutter standing over him, a blade in hand and coming towards him. Cite jumped up and scrambled backwards, slamming his back into the wall of the bunk he was lying in. His mind punched outwards and grabbed the mind of the ship’s surgeon. Cite’s eyes glazed over with a white mist as his powers grappled with the other man’s psyche. In a few seconds, Cite was filtering through Cutter’s thoughts the same way someone would go through a child’s seashell collection, picking out the things that were most interesting.
Cite felt the information filtering into his head. Opinions of Rogen, Maurence, Cite, and the other crewmembers were filed away. Where the man was during the time when Maurence was killed.
Cite stopped, as he had the information he needed. It was then he realized he was being shaken, and not gently. A stinging slap brought him to full awareness. Dawn stood in front of him, hand poised to slap him again. Tildan stood behind her, holding Cutter’s unconscious body.
“If you ever do whatever it is you just did to another member of my crew, I will put a knife in you myself,” was all Cite heard before he passed out again.
5854 – Thon – Talsā – Dunwith
Rogen wrung out the washcloth and laid it back across Cite’s forehead. Tildan snored on the single chair in the cabin, leaning on the table with his chin in his hand. Rogen sat on the edge of the bunk and looked at the lad who was trying to save his life. Cite murmured something and his eyes fluttered open. He stared at his friend, trying to figure out where he was after passing out for the second time.
“You are in Tildan’s cabin,” Rogen said. “Relax and lay there for a bit. You had a nasty bump.”
“Is Cutter alive?” Cite asked. Rogen nodded and helped the younger man sit up. He passed him a mug of water and Cite sipped from it as he sorted through his thoughts.
“From what Tildan told me you passed out after falling over something and hitting your head. You were below deck with Kytson and Treat.” Cite remembered that and nodded. “They took you to Cutter who was going to give you a bleeding. Tildan and the Captain took over from there. You woke when he was about to open your vein and you used your mind powers. They say your eyes were totally white. They also said you had Cutter in some kind of grip. He was shaking and spitting. Not sure what it was, but the Captain had to hit you to make you stop. They told the crew you knocked him out while flailing when you were unconscious. Drink some more, slowly. I have some food here for you, too.”
Cite took the food and began eating.
“Did you learn anything from Cutter?” Rogen asked.
“Oh, yes. I was sorting through the stuff again as I was dreaming. I know a lot about the man now. I also know he did not do it. He was below deck looking for Jumper. Then something interrupted my sleep.” Cite looked around then asked, “I was being called?” Cite asked. Rogen shook his head, confused. “I must have been dreaming. Something was calling me. It was hissing my name, but it was my real name, my birth name. Not the name I use now, the name that my village gave me as my dreams became my trademark. It called ‘Ralzarie Sinter’. It told me it would kill everyone on the ship if I didn’t find it.” Cite looked at his bearded companion. “What time is it?”
“One bell in the morning watch,” Rogen told him. Seeing the boy’s confusion, he clarified. “About four-thirty in the morning. You slept a little more than twelve hours.” Cite’s eyes went wide when he heard this.
“That means I only have about ten hours to figure out who did this before they kill you!”
“Relax. I will be fine. You will not do me much good running out of here just to collapse again. You may want to take it easy on using your powers.”
“Look, what do you think they will do to me if they kill you? I won’t have much time after that.” Cite moved down the bunk so he could put his feet on the floor without knocking the smaller man off the bed. “And if I don’t use my powers, how do you expect me to find the killer?”
“Use your head,” Rogen said and smacked Cite on the shoulder. “You were born with all the things everyone else has. You have eyes, a brain, and all the other things that someone should use to figure out any problem. What in the name or Torgoth’s Scales did you do before you could read minds, boy? Just sit in a corner and quiver, waiting for your Wandering God to come and bless you with more crap?”
“If you two are going to yell all night, can I at least have the bunk so one of us can sleep?” came the deep baritone voice from behind Rogen. They both turned and looked at Tildan, who stared back with bleary eyes.
“Yeah, of course. Sorry, Tildan,” Cite said and moved off the thin bed. The large man stood up and the three did an odd shuffle, as they each tried to get somewhere that someone else had been a moment before without knocking anyone over. When it ended, Cite was seated at the table, Tildan was lying on the bunk and Rogen sat on Tildan’s footlocker between the bed and the table.
“Cite, eat something, then go find out who killed my best friend so I can kill them back, ok?” Tildan said as he pulled a pillow over his eyes. “Rogen, you keep watch over me for a change. Try not to bash my skull in while I sleep.”
Rogen chuckled. “I am strong, my friend, but even I cannot get through something thicker than rock barehanded.”
Tildan laughed a deep, loud laugh and Cite could not help but join in with him. Rogen smiled and enjoyed something he had not had for many decades. He had equals.
Cite left Tildan’s cabin and went up to the quarterdeck. Jumper was at the wheel. It was tied to hold the course, but someone was always in attendance. The skinny man leaned against the permanent table behind the wheel that was used for maps. He peeled an orange and flicked the pieces of peel overboard. As he watched Cite approach a smile spread across Jumper’s face.
“Hello, glad to see you are still doing well,” Jumper said.
“I am, thanks. Just a bit shaken by the things that went on I guess,” Cite replied.
“Yeah, I know what you mean. I am pretty upset about it too. Maurence was a good one. He sure could guard like no one’s business.” He tossed the last bit of peel towards the rail and watched it bounce off and land on the deck. With a shrug he pulled a wedge from the orange, bit into it and licked the juices from his fingers as they dribbled down.
Cite tested to see if he could get any thoughts from the man without overdoing it and hurting himself or Jumper. He c
ould feel Maurence in the other man’s thoughts, and they slipped to a large fish swimming by the hull of the ship.
“You have talked with Rogen; you know him a little bit. I don’t think he did it, do you?” Cite asked.
“Naw, I guess not.” Thoughts of Rogen drifted past lazily on the man’s thoughts. A rod then dominated the feeling and a line in the thoughts was let out to that waiting fish. “He is a slaver though, and the easiest way to keep your trip secret would be to kill everyone on board. He could do it, too. I think he really knows those weapons he lugs around. I hear they found almost a dozen different weapons in his things.”
The idea of going through Rogen’s personal things charged the man’s thoughts with excitement. The image changed to the fish being pulled on deck and its belly being slit, its guts spilling across the planks. Jumper smiled and looked at Cite and asked, “You said you liked fishing, how come you haven’t done any fishing with me?”
Cite was taken aback by the sudden change of topic. “I don’t know, no reason really.”
“Well maybe you can later. Come find me, I have some great bait and I think I can guarantee some good sport.” Jumper slid the last piece of orange into his mouth and wiggled it with his tongue. For a moment it appeared to be a living thing, trying to escape a predator. “Good eating too, I promise. Nothing more tasty.”
“I will do that.” Cite made one last attempt at trying to glean any information from the man’s thoughts. He only saw the image of dozens of fish hanging from the yardarm to dry, their bellies slit open.
Cite wandered the ship in the predawn light. The sun seemed to rise sooner and set later when there was nothing except the horizon for it to fall behind. It was still the morning watch, four bells. Two more hours till the change of watch. Treat was on the forecastle, and Cite went to talk to him alone. Treat’s thoughts were a haze of fog. He offered Cite the bowl of the herb he was smoking with a shy smile and Cite declined, figuring it was safer to light his own pipe.
Harbinger: The Downfall - Book One Page 20
