The Questing Game

by James Galloway

  "Sometimes I wish it were that easy, deshaida," he sighed. "I've been trying."

  "That is why you're staying away?"

  "Partly. I don't go to your classes because I don't want to learn Sorcery right now. The main reason is, well, I guess I don't have much to say."

  "You've said a great deal to me today," she challenged. "We are family, Tarrin. These are things you should have told me rides ago."

  "Probably, but it's hard to put it in words, sister," he said. "And I don't want to worry you."

  "We worry as a family, brother," she said to him in a voice of unshakable resolve. "We are a family. The burdens of the clan are shared equally." He turned around and looked at her. "Keritanima and I, we are your family, my brother. There is nothing you can't tell us. We will always be here for you."

  More than once, he'd seen Allia's nearly unnatural ability to completely overwhelm someone with an eloquent sentence or two. She didn't speak much, but she always knew exactly what to say. He embraced her wordlessly, letting her loyalty in him bolster him, calm his worries. Allia was a being of unfathomable strength. He tended to forget that, and the reminders of it always managed to surprise him. With her support and love, he knew that things would eventually work themselves out.

  The morning was bright and sunny, but a bank of clouds hung heavily on the western horizon. Tarrin sat sedately on Miranda's lap as she worked on a sleeve of one of Keritanima's dresses, her hands moving with that exacting precision and speed that always impressed the Were-cat. She could write even faster. She was embroidering tiny little roses on the cuff of the sleeve of the cream-colored dress.

  It was a day, much like any other on board the ship. Azakar was being harried by Faalken, Binter, and Sisska near the stern, and Dolanna had Keritanima, Dar, and Allia near the bow, teaching them more and more about Sorcery. Tarrin didn't really have anywhere to go, so he kept Miranda company. Not that she needed company. Miranda seemed to be perfectly content to be alone, just as she seemed to be content to be with company. She was an enigmatic Wikuni, and someone to whom Tarrin could relate. He rather enjoyed someone who didn't talk for the sake of talking, like some others did.

  "You're getting in the way, Tarrin," she chided, lifting the sleeve up so she could see what she was doing.

  He hunkered down, then laid down on her lap, letting her return to her more comfortable position. His eyes were on the prisoners. They sat amidships, under lean-tos made of sailcloth, with two cutlass-wielding sailors keeping an eye on them. They were universally quiet and a bit sulky, and he could understand why. But not one could look in his direction and hold his gaze for more than a moment, other than Sheba. She seemed almost indignant in her glares at him. She was chained to the other pirates, but she stood where they sat. The days since the loss of her ship had seemingly returned her combative personality, as she shook off the defeat and the imprisonment. She was nearly getting cocky again, being waspish with the men guarding her. Her behavior confused him, because only a day ago, she was more than willing to jump over the rail and let the sea claim her. Something had changed that had curbed her desire for self-destruction, but he couldn't imagine what it could be.

  He jumped down off Miranda's lap and changed form, then leaned against the bulwark and rail and looked down at the insufferably cute mink Wikuni. She glanced at him and gave him a cheeky grin, then went back to her needlepoint. "You want to talk?" she asked.

  "I guess," he replied.

  "Something had to get you off my lap and back on two feet," she said with a wink. "The only thing you can't do like that is talk. That kind of narrows the options, you know."

  "I'm just wondering what's made Sheba so happy," he said, looking down at his claws and inspecting them.

  "I'm not sure yet," she replied. "I've been watching her, and she's definitely thinking that her flag's been raised to the top of the mainmast." She bit the green thread apart, then pulled out a spool of red thread from the shoulder satchel she commonly carried about. "I can't see a reason for it."

  "Do you think that it's dangerous for us?"

  "I doubt it," she replied. "She only has twelve men, where we have nearly fourty, and several of which could kill her entire complement single-handedly. She's not going to start trouble. She'll be keelhauled if she does, and she knows it."

  "I've never understood that term."

  "What term?"

  "Keelhauled."

  "Well, when you keelhaul someone, you tie a rope to them then throw them off the bow of the ship," she replied. "They get pulled under, and dragged against the ship's bottom. That may not sound bad, but there are these little shellfish called barnacles that collect on a ship's bottom, and their shells are sharper than the edge of a good sword. It's about the same as getting dragged behind a horse over broken glass. There isn't much left that comes out from behind the stern."

  "Sounds unpleasant."

  "Slightly. Ships have to pull up onto beaches from time to time to get their hulls scraped. The barnacles slow a ship down. It's a messy job, and most sailors that get roped into it have shredded meat for hands by the time they're done, if they're not careful."

  "I wonder who thought that kind of punishment up."

  "Not someone I'd like to meet, I assure you," Miranda said, threading her needle.

  "For someone who hates to sail, you know alot about sailing."

  "I'm Wikuni, Tarrin," she grinned. "I may not like sailing or the sea, but I can't get away from it. Not when it's my people's national pasttime."

  "You have a point there," he admitted.

  "This girl will keep her tail on dry land, thank you," she said. "At least when I can."

  "How is Kerri?"

  Miranda glanced at him. "That's a strange question."

  "Well, I haven't really been talking to her lately," he admitted. "I haven't been talking to anyone, for that matter."

  "Whose fault is that?"

  "Let's not go there, Miranda."

  A sudden gust blew up, causing the sails above to snap against the force, making him look up. The wind was picking up ahead of that line of clouds, obviously a storm line, and the ship began to pick up its speed. It began to rock to and fro slightly as it plowed into the waves.

  "Looks like we'll be making up some time," Miranda said, looking up. "That rainline won't hit us for hours, and it's going to push us ahead of it. We may be in Dayisè tomorrow night."

  "I didn't realize we were so close."

  "How big do you think Shacè is,Tarrin?" she winked.

  "I grew up in a village, Miranda," he replied. "To me, the next village was an entire world away. The whole world seems big to me."

  "I guess it is, but to a ship, distances don't mean that much," she said. "Only really serious trips, like back to Wikuna, take a long time."

  "How long did it take you to get here?" he asked curiously.

  "Almost two months," she replied. It would take a little over a month to get back to Wikuna, if we were going that way."

  "Why the difference?"

  "It has to do with wind and sea currents," she replied. "There are wind patterns and an ocean current that make getting to Wikuna from here faster than getting here from there. To get here, a ship has to sail from the northern lattitudes. That's why the Stormhavens and Suld are such large ports, and we visit them so often. To get back to Wikuna, we'd have to leave from Dayisè and travel along the southern lattitudes, where the winds favor a westward journey."

  "I didn't know that," he said musingly. "It's surprising the Wikuni go so far from home."

  "To most Wikuni, the sea is home," she replied calmly. "Those back in Wikuna just hold down the homeland until it's their turn to go out."

  "Strange."

  "We're a race of wanderers, Tarrin. I guess it would seem strange to someone that would have been happy sitting in one place all his life."

  "Oh, not me," he chuckled. "I was getting out of Aldreth. I wanted to see some of the world."

  "Well, you've seen
some of it. What do you think so far?"

  "I think I'd have enjoyed it a great deal better if things had gone differently," he said soberly, flexing his paw. "Much differently."

  "Do you regret it?"

  He looked out to sea, his expression distant. "I want to, but I can't. Part of being like this is a sort of forced acceptance. The instincts have imprinted on me, Miranda, in a way that makes it hard for me to remember how I used to be. Even the first day after the change, I wasn't sure if I'd been born any other way."

  "Hmm," she said, putting a finger to her cheek and regarding him. "I wonder what you looked like, before that happened."

  "Now that, I can show you," he said, closing his eyes. It had been a while since he'd done it, and he had good reason. Looking within, he tried to conjure up an image of himself before he changed, but it wasn't easy. That part of his life seemed like ancient history, and he had to concentrate before he felt ready to attempt a change. He gritted his teeth and did so, feeling his body contract slightly as it was forced to flow into a mold that didn't entirely contain it. He felt the muggy sea air on his human hands and feet, felt it on his human ears, and felt the immediate nagging ache spring up throughout his entire body. He turned to face her, saw her surprised expression, holding his arms out so she could see that he really didn't look that much different at all.

  "I didn't know you can do that," she remarked. "Keritanima never told me."

  "I don't do it often, because holding the human shape is unnatural for Were-cats," he told her, feeling the aching turn into a pounding throb that coursed through his body, keeping time with his heart. "It's painful." He reverted back to his natural, humanoid form, and felt the ache immediately vanish. He swished his tail a few times to get the tingles out of it.

  "Well, call me partial, but I like you better this way," she said with a wink. "You look better with fur, Tarrin."

  "I would call you partial, Miranda," he said, running a fingertip up her white-furred arm.

  Keritanima, Allia, and Dar emerged from the doorway leading below, and they immediately rushed over to Tarrin and Miranda. "You missed a great session, Tarrin!" Dar said. "I managed my first Illusion!"

  "He's good," Keritanima admitted. "I couldn't tell it from the real thing. Dar seems to have a natural aptitude for it."

  "It's that artist's soul, sister," Tarrin told her. "Dar has a vivid imagination,and that's vital for good illusions." He turned to Dar. "Show me."

  He nodded, closing his eyes and looking like he was concentrating. That looked out of place on the dusky-skinned youth's usually amiable, carefree face. Tarrin felt him make contact with the Weave, and a perfect image of a brightly-plumed, short-beaked bird, green with tail feathers of red and gold and a heavy, hooked beak that narrowed down to a very sharp point, appeared before them, flying in place. There was no sound or scent to the image, for those required seperate weaves to create, but Tarrin had to admit that it looked absolutely real. "Impressive," he said, looking at it. "That's really very good work, Dar. I think you found your talent."

  Dar absolutely beamed.

  "Is that what you studied today?" Tarrin asked Keritanima.

  She nodded. "Dolanna's been teaching us weave by weave. I wish she'd just show me all of them. She knows I just have to see her do them, then have her explain to me which flows to nip and tuck to alter the weaves."

  "Put a sock in it, Kerri," Dar told her. "At least you didn't complain today."

  "Complain? What about?" Tarrin asked.

  "Dolanna usually teaches us weaves that our sister already knows," Allia replied to that. "Our deshaida is easily bored, and she complains about it. That interrupts our studies."

  "I can't help it if I learn faster than you two," Keritnaima said defensively.

  "You can't help it that Lula taught you all that when she wasn't supposed to," Tarrin retorted.

  "Well, that too," she admitted with a slight grin. "Have our guests caused any mischief, Miranda?"

  "None today, Highness," Miranda replied in that calm, sober voice of hers. "Sheba has been acting like the queen of Garramon, but there hasn't been any other unusual activity."

  "Is that so? I wonder what's gotten her all confident all of the sudden."

  "Feel free to find out," Tarrin told her.

  She looked at him. "You're awfully talkative today," she noted. "Decided to give over on the isolation attitude and spend time with your sisters again?"

  "Want me to go back up the mast?" he asked pointedly.

  "No!" she said instantly, putting her hands on his forearm. "I'm not saying it's bad, I'm just saying you're doing it. I'm glad you're talking again. I missed you, brother. I don't have anyone to laugh at when you're not around."

  He gave her a sudden glare, but she laughed and put her arms around him fondly, then gave him a light lick on the cheek. Her version of a kiss.

  "Looks like Zak's getting beat up more than usual today," Dar said, looking to where the warriors were training. Azakar was indeed being manhandled by Sisska, but that in itself wasn't unusual. It was the blood flowing from the cut on his forehead and his shoulder that made it different. Sisska was using a sword, and it was apparent she was sparring with full contact.

  "I don't know why they're so hard on him," Miranda said.

  "Because an enemy would be even harder on him," Allia answered. "Right now, Azakar must learn how to focus through the pain of his injuries and keep his mind on the task at hand. It is as much a training exercise as learning how to use a weapon."

  "My mother used to do that to me," Tarrin grunted. "But she used a padded wooden pole."

  "Why not a sword?" Allia asked.

  "She didn't believe in scarring up her son," he replied. "She believed that scars were trophies, and she wasn't about to give me any false trophies."

  "I've heard alot about your mother, Tarrin," Keritanima said. "I'd really like to meet her."

  "She's curious about you," he said. "So is my father."

  "Why is that?"

  "Because they know you're not a ditz," he told her.

  "You told them?"

  "Sure," he said. "Because I know they won't let it go any further."

  "See if I tell you any more secrets," she fumed. "I'm mad at you, Tarrin!"

  "You don't have any more secrets, Kerri," he said with an exaggerated calm.

  She was about to retort to that, but Dolanna joined them from the stern. She was wearing a plain brown dress, just like many of her others, and she was carrying a book, held in the crook of her arm. "Kern says that we will reach Dayisè tomorrow," she announced.

  "What will he do with them?" Dar asked, motioning at the prisoners.

  "Most likely, he will hand them over to the authorities," she replied. "The amount of gold offered for their capture is considerable. It will more than pay for the trouble we have caused him."

  "I'm glad he's getting something for it," Tarrin said. "We've cost him crewmen, starved the ones that are still alive, forced him to dock in a pirate's nest, and gotten his ship beaten up." He made a face. "Tomas is going to kill me."

  "I am sure that Tomas knew there was a risk that his ship would come under attack, young one," Dolanna assured him. "That he was there to offer us passage was a gift from the Goddess."

  "Sometimes I think I wandered into his yard by more than accident," Tarrin said, mainly to himself.

  "I sure wish I could have met them," Dar said. "From the way Tarrin described them, they were good people."

  "They certainly are, Dar," Dolanna agreed. "They are very good people."

  "Tarrin knows how to pick friends. After all, look who he has with him," Keritanima said with a roguish grin.

  "Sometimes I think I should have left a couple of them at the dock," Tarrin grunted.

  Keritanima stuck her tongue out at him. "I'm going to go find out why Sheba is so happy," she said in a churlish tone. "At least I know she's an enemy." Then she stomped off, her tail lashing behind her.

  "That wa
s unlike you, my brother," Allia said, but she had a slight smile on her face.

  "How do you mean?"

  "You left some skin on her."

  "Would you like to play some chess, Tarrin?" Dar asked.

  "Later, young one," Dolanna interrupted. "I need to speak with Tarrin. He will be available for you when we are done. You and Allia should practice your weaving. You will not improve without practice."

  "Yes, Dolanna," Allia said obediently. "Come, Dar. Let us find a quiet place to practice."

  "Sure," he agreed, and the pair moved towards the bow.

  "What did you want to talk about, Dolanna?" Tarrin asked as he fell into step with her, as she started walking along the bulwark.

  "Tomorrow we are going to reach Dayisè, dear one," she said. "It is a very large city, and it is full of many people."

  He thought he knew where she was going. "I'm not going to cause trouble, Dolanna. Not unless someone does something to set me off, anyway."

  "That is only part of the reason I wish to talk to you," she told him. "We must plan for the eventuality that our enemies know where we are headed. We did stop in Den Gauche and Roulet, and there is a chance that the pirate priest gave away our location before the battle. That means that there is a chance that we may find a hostile reception awaiting us."

  "What does that have to do with me?"

  "Of all of us, you and the Vendari are the most striking, my dear one," she told him gently. "Allia can conceal herself beneath a cloak, and Keritanima is just another Wikuni. But you stand out, and there is no way we can hide the Vendari. They are simply too huge."

  "But you have a plan."

  "I have an idea," she agreed. "Keritanima and myself are skilled enough to weave together Illusions, and hold them for a considerable amount of time. But that leaves us one short. We need to keep you concealed, dear one, so you have a choice. You can take cat form and hide in Miranda's satchel, or you can take human form and travel with us openly."

  "I can't hold the human shape for more than about five minutes, Dolanna," he grunted. "It hurts too much."

  "Have you been practicing?"

  He gave her a blank look.

  "Tarrin, Jesmind said herself that the ability to withstand the pain is a function of age and experience. And experience is gained through practice."