Time's Demon

by D. B. Jackson

  He looked away, color rising again, and she laughed.

  “Get below, Mister Lijar. My crew and I will steer us through this.”

  “I came up to help.”

  She shook her head. “You can’t. You’re learning still, and doing well, but I can’t risk a green sailor in these winds.” When he hesitated, she added, “That’s an order, sailor.”

  Reluctantly, Tobias took refuge in the hold.

  He hoped they would clear the storm before nightfall. They didn’t.

  Rain drenched the ship in sheets, and waves battered them. Through it all, the Dove continued westward into the teeth of the gale. Tobias, Mara, and Sofya remained below, where the motion of the vessel was more discomforting.

  Late in the day, they heard faint cries from above. They ventured onto the deck to investigate and spotted ahead of them, through the deluge, the pale gray outline of a land mass, closer than Tobias had expected, though obscured by rain. Kantaad. Members of the crew assured them they would reach Blackrock Bay before nightfall.

  The storm drove them back below. Tobias would have preferred to remain above, in spite of the danger. Anything would have been better than hiding in the hold, his stomach in his mouth.

  Sofya fussed at whichever of them held her, not because she felt ill, he thought, but because she wanted to roam as she usually did. But the ship bucked and shuddered, and the hull creaked under the force of high seas and wind. They didn’t dare set her down, even below decks.

  Mara suffered the most. She hadn’t eaten all day, and more than once she stumbled up onto the deck, was sick over the rail, and returned, haggard, sodden, and miserable.

  The next several bells crawled by. Having seen Kantaad ahead of them, Tobias couldn’t help but anticipate reaching the isle and the relative calm of Blackrock Bay.

  Either the wind shifted again, or the currents and swells proved more implacable than the crew anticipated. As the sky darkened, he chanced another foray onto the deck. Kantaad still loomed before them, no closer than before. The storm had worsened.

  Captain Larr clung to the helm. Tobias knew better than to approach her. He retreated to shelter, dispirited, nauseated, weary, though he had done little more than sit.

  They tried to sleep. Tobias managed to doze off; he wasn’t sure Mara did. She had long since emptied her stomach, but she continued to be sick.

  At some point, well into the night, he awoke to find the ship’s motion less pronounced, the roar of the wind abated, the groan of straining wood silenced.

  “It calmed down a short time ago,” Mara whispered beside him. “Maybe a quarter bell.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “A little better. I’m not ready to enlist in Kantaad’s navy, but at least I’m not racing to the rail anymore.”

  He found her hand and brought it to his lips. “I’m glad.” He sat up. “I’m going to take a look.”

  “I’ll come.”

  They donned overshirts, left Sofya snoring softly on her pallet, and climbed to the deck. The Dove had entered a large inlet, the gap to the ocean behind them, wooded hills to the north and south, and the muted glow of the city ahead.

  Rain still doused the ship, and a strong wind filled the sails. The ship’s torches lit whitecaps on the water’s surface. Compared to the violent seas through which they had passed, though, Blackrock Bay might as well have been a mountain lake.

  Tobias wiped rain from his face, and started toward the hatch. Mara didn’t budge.

  “I can’t go back down. Not yet.”

  “All right,” he said, stepping back to the rail.

  The captain joined them.

  “Feeling any better?” she asked Mara.

  “Yes, thank you. I guess I wouldn’t make a very good sailor.”

  “You’ve done fine. All of you. A storm like that–” She cast a look over her shoulder, toward Kheraya’s Ocean. “I’ve seen old sea dogs go a little green in such waters.” She brushed a lock of wet hair from her forehead. “We’ll be at the wharves in another bell or so. You still intend to keep out of sight?”

  “One of us should,” Tobias said. “As you’ve said, a ship is no place for a child. She’ll draw attention.”

  “Aye, she might.”

  “I’ll stay below,” he said. “With any luck the skies will clear before long.”

  Larr squinted up into the rain. “They should. No storm can last forever.”

  Mara appreciated Tobias’s offer to stay below with Sofya while she remained on deck. The idea of spending another bell in the hold turned her stomach.

  They reached Kantaad later that night and found the docks crowded with ships. It seemed every captain in the bay had sought shelter in port, and few had come farther or arrived later than the Dove. The captain was forced to anchor them away from the wharves.

  At first, Mara and Tobias thought this a blessing. The ship was safe and they could allow the princess to roam the deck without fearing she might be seen by passersby. Other members of the crew could row to and from the city, securing fresh food and other supplies.

  If the storm had passed within the next day, they would have been fine. But dawn brought more dark clouds, harder rain, and a bitter wind. Others ships entered the bay, found the wharves full, and anchored near the Dove. As the waters grew more crowded, and vessels took positions within hailing distance, Tobias and Sofya returned to the hold.

  The rain and wind raged on. Captain Larr had warned them about the weather they might encounter during Kheraya’s warmer turns, but none among the crew could remember a storm lasting so long.

  Tobias allowed the princess to wander the hold to her heart’s content, but whenever she tried to climb the ladder, he stopped her. This frustrated her no end, until he and Mara both feared that sailors on other ships would hear her squalling. Worse, it drew the attention and suspicion of Captain Larr’s crew, who wondered why they confined the child to the hold when the only dangers on deck were wind and rain.

  “None of them are fools,” the captain told Mara and Tobias after supper on their third night in the bay. They had repaired to her quarters and shut the door. “They know there’s a reason you don’t want the child seen. I’m afraid they’re going to concoct stories that could be far more dangerous than the truth.”

  “Such as?” Tobias asked, watching Sofya as she tottered around the chamber.

  Larr’s quarters were cramped, but the princess didn’t seem to mind. These surroundings were different, and that was enough.

  “That you’ve stolen her from her real parents. That you’re no better than the slavers in Chayde.”

  “They wouldn’t believe that,” Mara said.

  The captain lifted a shoulder. “I can only reveal so much, and soon my assurances will begin to sound thin.”

  “You want us to tell them.” Tobias offered this as a statement.

  “I want you to trust us. All of us.”

  Tobias started to answer, but swallowed his first response.

  Larr’s expression flattened. “You don’t, do you?”

  “I trust you,” he said. “And it’s not that I distrust the others. You have to understand, captain: we’re all that stands between her and the assassins who killed her parents. I don’t believe any man or woman on this ship would intentionally do her harm. They wouldn’t have to. A careless word spoken in the wrong place could mean her death.”

  Some of the captain’s indignation sluiced away, leaving her looking deflated and fatigued. “I do understand. Truly. But these are good people. Explain to them what you’ve explained to me, and your secret will be safe. I’m sure of it.”

  Tobias said nothing.

  “If you don’t do it,” Larr went on, “and the storm persists for another few days, you could be placing her in greater peril. Either one of the stories bandied about on this ship will take root and grow, or you’ll have to allow her on deck, which poses its own risks.”

  “Are there any Oaqamarans aboard?” Tobias asked.<
br />
  The captain bristled. “Gwinda is from Oaqamar. She left after the autarch’s soldiers raided her town and executed so-called ‘dissenters,’ including her brother. Will you tell her you don’t trust her because of where she’s from? Do you know how many people I’ve met who wouldn’t trust you because your skin is brown, or because–”

  Tobias stopped her with a raised hand. “You’re right. Forgive me.”

  Her expression didn’t soften, but she dipped her chin.

  “All right,” he said, exhaling the words. “When should we tell them?”

  The captain stared back at him, eyebrows raised.

  “Now?”

  “Can you think of a reason not to?”

  Tobias sat back. Sofya walked to him and climbed into his lap. “I can’t.”

  Larr stood and strode to the door. “Good. We’ll gather below.” She left Tobias and Mara to themselves.

  “I didn’t handle that well,” he said.

  “She’ll forgive you.”

  “Do you think she’s right about what we need to do?”

  Mara tried to smile, but wasn’t sure she succeeded. “We have to do something, and we have nothing but bad options. This is the least bad.”

  He blew out a breath. Sofya laughed and copied him, blowing one breath after another. Tobias kissed her nose, eliciting another laugh.

  Mara and Tobias stood at the same time, and she took his free hand, led him out of the captain’s quarters, and down into the hold.

  They joined the captain there, and waited as the rest of the crew descended the ladder.

  At last, Captain Larr rapped her knuckles on a wooden post, silencing the sailors.

  “Mister and Missus Lijar would like a word. I’ve assured them that every one of you can be trusted not only to be true, but also to be discreet. Disappoint me, and you’ll never sail aboard this ship again. Clear?”

  They answered with nods and murmured assent, but already they had directed their stares at Tobias and Mara. She saw curiosity in most faces, but suspicion in a few. The captain was right to have them act tonight.

  Tobias still held Sofya, who had put her thumb in her mouth and was eyeing the sailors.

  “Many of you have noticed that we’ve kept Nava below decks for the past several days,” he began, his tone leached of emotion. “Some of you are wondering why, and even thinking perhaps we have something to hide.” He sighed. “And we do, but not what you think. Please forgive us, but Mara and I have misled you. We’re not husband and wife, and Nava isn’t our daughter. My name is Tobias Doljan. This is Mara Lijar. And Nava… Nava is the sovereign princess of Daerjen. Mearlan’s daughter. I was his court Walker. I saved her the night he and the rest of his family were killed.”

  Silence. Mara couldn’t tell if they were too stunned to reply or didn’t believe him.

  “How did you get away?” Ermond asked after some time. The big man leaned against a post, his bearing casual, but his gaze intent.

  “I had help. I escaped the castle with aid from the former minister of arms. Nava and I were given shelter by an old couple who hate the Sheraighs, and then by the keepers of Sipar’s Sanctuary. We found a place to stay in the Notch with help from a pair of Tirribin.” He canted his head Mara’s way. “Mara found us there, and together we fought off the assassins the night Captain Larr welcomed us aboard the Dove.”

  “So they’re still after you.”

  “After her,” Tobias said. He glanced down at the princess and smoothed her hair. “Yes.”

  Again, the sailors absorbed this wordlessly.

  Tobias wet his lips. “I don’t really have proof. Maybe you’ve noticed the faint scars on Nava’s temple and chin. She got them that night. You can’t miss my scars. I got them in the dungeon of Hayncalde Castle, from the chief assassin himself. He wanted to know where I’d hidden the princess, and I refused to tell.” He pointed to smaller scars on his temple and ear. “I got these the night Mearlan died.”

  He went on with his tale, adding details when sailors interrupted him with questions. When at last he finished, the crew said nothing.

  “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you before,” Tobias said, filling the silence. “Both of us are. But we’re all the princess has. And we’re not nearly enough to keep her safe should the men who are after her find us.”

  “Why keep her below?” Ermond asked.

  Mara sensed that if they could win his trust, the others would follow.

  “Captain Larr made it clear our first night aboard that most captains wouldn’t allow children on their ships,” she said. “We’ve been afraid that if sailors from other vessels see or hear her, they might wonder who she is. Even something that small could be enough to draw the attention of Mearlan’s killers.”

  One of the women eyed the princess. “So her real name–”

  “I think it’s easier, safer, if we just call her Nava,” Tobias said. “In fact, the best thing any of you can do is treat us all exactly as you already have.”

  After yet another silence, Ermond straightened. “All right, then. You had me wondering these past few days, but I’m satisfied.” He caught the captain’s eye and nodded.

  “That’s all,” Larr said. “Off with you now. Night crew is up. The rest of you get some sleep. Here’s hoping we can leave this bloody bay tomorrow.”

  Those who were to work the deck through the night left the hold. The rest stole off to darkened corners, or arranged themselves on pallets and hammocks. The captain joined Tobias, Mara, and Sofya.

  “You did well.”

  “Thank you, captain.”

  “They won’t fail you.”

  “I believe you.”

  “Yet you remain frightened.”

  “Where she’s concerned? Always.”

  The captain grimaced. “I understand. Rest. As I say, I hope to be underway tomorrow.”

  She moved off. Mara took Tobias’s hand again.

  “Are you all right?”

  “One wrong word,” he said so only she could hear. “That’s all it would take.”

  Mara could think of no reply.

  The following morning brought no improvement in the weather. Ermond and eight sailors rowed the pinnace to Fanquir to buy food and drink, but beyond that they could only wait.

  Tobias said little throughout the day. Mara wondered if he regretted the previous night’s confession. Not that they could unspeak the words, or carry the entire ship back through time.

  That thought set her mind racing.

  Perhaps the time had come to take a different approach to combatting their enemies. The greatest weapon she and Tobias possessed was their ability as Walkers. Tobias’s chronofor had been destroyed the night of Mearlan’s assassination, and hers had been taken from her by the traitors, Gillian Ainfor and Bexler Filt.

  They would never have found chronofors in Chayde or Flynse. Bound devices of any sort were rare, none more so than chronofors. Here in the Outer Ring, however, within sailing distance of Islevale’s wealthiest and most powerful lands, they might make inquiries through channels known only to a canny merchant like Larr.

  She and Tobias carried two Bound apertures that he had taken from Hayncalde. They had some value for trade. They also had the tri-sextants and ministerial robes they had taken from Orzili and his men the night they fought off the assassins and joined the Sea Dove’s crew. These items, though, were so rare, so noteworthy, that any attempt they made to trade or sell them, would draw notice. For now, they had to keep them hidden.

  Mara didn’t speak of this with Tobias, but waited until he took his turn with the princess in the hold. She went above, approached the captain’s door, and knocked.

  At a summons from within, Mara entered.

  Larr sat at her desk, studying a sea chart. “Missus Lijar,” she said with genuine surprise. “What can I do for you?”

  Mara closed the door, faced her. “We need a chronofor.”

  The captain indicated the chair beside her desk. Mara sat
.

  “This is rather abrupt,” Larr said. “You’ve hardly spoken of any device since you joined my crew, and now you need a chronofor.”

  “We’ve needed one all along.”

  “Precisely. Has something happened to make the need more urgent? Do you need to Walk today?”

  “Would it matter if we did? Would you be able to secure one for us so soon?”

  Larr shook her head. “No. I ask out of curiosity.” She picked up a small bronze figure from her desk and toyed with it. “The truth is, I wouldn’t know where to find one. Which is not to say that we can’t, or won’t, but it could take time.” She grinned. “An irony, yes?”

  Mara couldn’t tell if the captain expected an answer. This was her first conversation alone with the woman. Since Walking back in time and losing so many years, she’d had few opportunities to reflect on what it meant to be a sixteen year old girl in the body of a grown woman. Right now, though, facing Larr across the cluttered desk, she felt young and beyond her depth.

  “We’re Walkers,” Mara said, trying to sound reasonable. “We can be of use to you, but only if we have a Bound device.”

  “I understand.” She paused. “I have to ask – and I’d appreciate a candid answer – do you seek a chronofor so that you can serve the Dove, or so you can use it for your own purposes?”

  That brought Mara up short. She blinked in the candlelight, unsure of what to say.

  “I see.”

  They eyed each other.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” the captain said, leaning back in her chair. “By taking us to Chayde, you and Tobias have already repaid us and more for sheltering you. You’ve proven your worth, you’ve endeared yourselves to the crew. And your… your daughter is much loved.”

  “But?”

  She opened one hand, and with the other set the bronze figure on the desk. “A Bound chronofor is no trifle. For all you’ve brought to us, it would still be a tremendous expense, particularly if it hastened your departure from the ship.”

  “We’ve offered you two Bound apertures. You can trade those–” “A Bound chronofor is far more dear. You know this.”

  She did.

  “So, you have no intention of finding a device for us?”