Beyond the Moons (24 page)

On the fourth day, Teldin could not help noticing a current of tension among the rest of the crew, particularly in the eyes of Luciar and Cwelanas. The human could see no obvious reason why anyone should be worried; things on board were otherwise no different than the day before, and he doubted there was any danger of depleting their provisions. Finally, while he was high above the deck, hanging in the yards and struggling with the brails, the small lines that lashed up the forecourse sail, Teldin looked back over his shoulder to see Cwelanas and Luciar in conference on the afterdeck.

Teldin clutched at the yard to keep from falling, then turned to Galwylin, who was beside him, providing the day’s lesson in the proper way to furl a sail. Galwylin was one of the few elves who seemed to have any patience with the yeoman’s clumsy landlubber ways. “Wise Galwylin,” Teldin asked while struggling to keep his balance over the yard, “what do you suppose they’re discussing?”

The weatherworn elf cast a casual glance aft. “Something has the captain worried, Bare Tree,” he laconically replied.

“But what?”

“He does not tell the rest of us. If it is important, he will tell us. If he does not, then it is not important. Trust him.” The elf gave a fatalistic shrug and returned to work.

Teldin shook his head. “I can’t. I nearly got killed once already, trusting someone I thought was a friend. I can’t afford the risk anymore.” He looked back to where Cwelanas and Luciar stood.

A tug at his arm reminded the human why he was hanging in space over the deck. “Then more is the pity for you, Bare Tree,” Galwylin said sadly. While Teldin struggled to keep his feet on the ropes, the elf continued the lesson.

When the work was finished, Teldin gratefully clambered down the shrouds. “Now’s the time,” he decided, intent not to let his trust be betrayed once more. With a resolute stride, he made his way aft to learn from Luciar just what was going on, only to have Cwelanas block his path at the afterdeck stair.

“Where are you going, human?” Her face was grim.

“I want to see Luciar,” Teldin replied with polite firmness. He carefully kept his distrust suppressed. “I want to know what’s going on.”

Cwelanas didn’t move. “Captain Luciar has retired to his cabin. He does not want to see you and he has nothing to tell you. Go help Galwylin splice line – Bare Tree.” From her tips, his nickname sounded like an insult.

The farmer did not let her gibe get to him. “Captain Luciar can’t speak for himself? Let’s ask him and see what he says,” Teldin insisted. His gaze locked with Cwelanas’s. He suddenly felt the heart pain again, which Grandfather had described, from something deep in her eyes. Given her attitude toward him, the pain he felt only made Teldin more sarcastic.

“He will not see you,” she said more fiercely, though she was unable to take her gaze from him.

“Or is it that you don’t want me to see him? You’re afraid he might like me – a human,” Teldin blurted. “That would just ruin your day, wouldn’t it?” Even as he spoke, the farmer knew the words were a big mistake.

For a moment, Teldin thought Cwelanas was going to relent. Her hard gaze softened and her pale cheeks flushed with pink. Then, just as suddenly, her old temper returned. “Get back to work, human!” she spat, her finger pointing toward the rest of the crew. “Do as Galwylin tells you.”

Teldin could feel his temper rising. Rather than push it over the limit, the yeoman bit his lip and strode back toward the bow. After a few long strides, he vented his rage in a low, fierce mumble. “Damned proud —”

“Human!” Cwelanas angrily called out. “Did you think I would not hear you?” She came down the stairs and walked up behind Teldin. The whole plan was turning into a disaster, but if Cwelanas was going to be so stiff-necked about it, Teldin was damned well not going to apologize to her. He clamped his mouth shut to keep himself from doing anything else stupid, then slowly ruined to face her.

Cwelanas continued her tirade. “Ever since you appeared at our ship, you have been nothing but trouble. When you could not buy your way on, you stole on board. Now, because of some moldering old laws, we’re forced to take you to Sancrist!” Cwelanas was shouting, her voice choked with rage. “You eat our food, you demand to see the captain, and now – now you suggest that I – I – Ohh! I will not be so insulted!” Her hand went to the sword at her side, and before Teldin could say a word in defense, the blade of her silvery cutlass flashed in the sunlight. She lunged blindly forward, but Teldin instinctively threw himself to the side.

“Now wait a —” Teldin tried to say, suddenly very aware that their argument had gotten out of control, but already Cwelanas had recovered and held her sword raised, intent on hewing him. Instead of backpedaling, Teldin remembered one of Gomja’s lessons — “Do the unexpected.” — and so dove forward beneath her arcing blade, trying to knock the elf off her feet. With her quick speed, it was futile; Cwelanas lightly sprang to the side at the last instant, Teldin’s fingers barely brushing her thigh. The cutlass swished through the air behind him, carving out a slice of air.

Teldin sprawled on the deck, then rolled as quickly as he could. Cwelanas wheeled to face him. Her face was flushed red, eyes wide and wild. “To the Abyss with the laws of hospitality,” she muttered.

Teldin’s hand found his spear resting near the rail. Frantically the farmer got one hand on the shaft and swung the weapon up just in time to block her lunge. The elfs cutlass skittered off the haft, shaving the wood as it did so and almost knocking the spear from Teldin’s grip. With a solid thunk, Cwelanas’s blade wedged into the ship’s railing. She tugged at the sword, but it was stuck fast. Teldin, still on his back, kicked hard with his legs and caught the elf full in the side. She crashed to the deck with a startled grunt, hardly expecting the human to transform their fight into a brawl. The fall wrenched the cutlass free.

Once on his feet, Teldin cautiously backed away from the bloodthirsty elf, keeping his spear up and ready, as Gomja had taught. A cloth flapped at Teldin’s back, and he realized his bizarre cloak had grown of its own accord, transforming itself from the small collar he normally wore.

At the start of the fight, the crew members had politely ignored the pair, until steel had flashed. Now they were gathering at a safe distance, uncertain of just what to do. Someone had already gone for the captain, while Galwylin hurried to fetch Gomja.

Amidships, the two fighters warily circled each other; the human backed away as the elf kept trying to close. Fire still smoldered in Cwelanas’s eyes. Her sword flicked out in feints and jabs, and metal tang on wood as Teldin blocked her attacks with his spear. He did not want this light, and he tried to avoid using any threatening moves. The elf may have started the battle, but he didn’t want to end it in blood – his or hers.

“Stop this foolishness!” Teldin demanded. Cwelanas answered with a low feint to the legs, followed by a lunge for his chest. Teldin saw the feint just in time and barely managing to beat away her attack. While she was badly out of position, Teldin made no attempt at a riposte. His arms ached from warding off the ringing fury of her blows. “Stop it, Cwelanas! Let it go.” He turned and shouted to the crew gathered around them, “Stop her!” None of the seamen made any attempt to interfere. A strange sense of honor kept them from the battle, apparently.

Likewise, Cwelanas did not seem to hear him. She made a few quick attacks, testing his parries, probing for weak spots. In desperation, Teldin faked some lunges, trying to keep her off balance and away from him. The cloak, which flapped in the breeze, hindered his moves somewhat. Teldin realized he was working against himself, feeding her rage. Her countenance was cold and businesslike, seemingly immune to the human’s reasoning.

“Do the unexpected.” Teldin remembered the axiom again. At the same time, he could remember his Grandfather saying, “Pick your fights wisely, son.” The memory was startlingly clear – Grandfather wiping the tears from Teldin’s dirty face after a childhood brawl. He even remembered the cold draft that blew through the rip in the oilcloth of the kitchen window. This was not a fight he wanted, nor a battle he wanted to win, but Cwelanas was offering no choices. One of them had to lose. In his mind, Teldin knew what to do. He just hoped it wouldn’t get him killed.

“Why fight?” Teldin asked aloud. Suddenly standing straight, he cast his spear down with an angry thrust, dropping his guard. There was a thunk of wood as the spear hit the deck. Teldin stood before Cwelanas, his arms spread, ready to receive her blow. “I won’t fight you, Cwelanas. If you still want to kill me, I suppose you can,” he said, trying to sound as brave he could.

Cwelanas, with her hair falling over one eye, took a step forward, her cutlass pointed at his chest. She took another step. Teldin forced himself to stand his ground. Part of him prayed that his gamble would work; the other part waited for the blow to land. The only sounds were the waves booming against the hull and the sails snapping in the wind. Teldin’s cloak swirled behind him in the gusts.

Before Teldin knew what her choice would be, Gomja roared through the small crowd of sailors. The big giff easily bowled aside the delicate elves. Distracted, Cwelanas started to turn toward the onrushing giff, but before she could complete her move, Gomja lashed out with his broadsword. Suddenly the elf maiden was on the defensive, driven back by the raging mass of muscle that bore down on her. Gomja moved with a speed surprising for his bulk, hewing at the elf’s parries. There was a ringing clang of metal and Cwelanas’s sword was knocked from her grasp. The blade slid toward the rail, where it was grabbed by an onlooker. Gomja restrained himself and stepped between the mate and Teldin, his sword pointed at Cwelanas. His huge chest heaved rapidly.

“No more fighting!” he bellowed in his bass tones. “On my life, you will not kill my commander!”

“Indeed,” echoed Luciar’s voice from the aft companionway. The old elf stood at the head of the stair that led to his cabin. He spoke softly, but his voice trembled with rage. “Cwelanas, attend me. You, with the sword, Boardbreaker, take your friend and keep him out of trouble. Put your sword away now. As for you crewmen, go to your posts and reflect on what should have been done. There will be no brawling aboard my ship!” The captain’s normally frail body seemed as hard as steel as he glowered at the assembled crowd. Gomja quickly snapped a salute and grabbed Teldin by the arm. Cwelanas, the fury exorcised from her by Luciar’s words, stood in shock at what she had done. Her shoulders sagged and her chest heaved from the exertion. At a sharp motion from the captain, she numbly began to move, but before Cwelanas reached the companionway, her pride had returned. Her chin was high once again as she looked back at Teldin, but her large eyes were narrowed and hard.

Gomja led Teldin by the elbow to the bow, moving easily through the gathered crewmen, who apprehensively parted before the pair. Elven eyes harbored looks Teldin couldn’t fathom – anger, distrust, fear, sympathy, perhaps even respect in a few faces. Slowly the seamen returned to their tasks.

Teldin, shaking from what he had done, collapsed by the base of the bowsprit. Gomja stood stiffly over him, waiting for a chance to speak. Finally Teldin looked up. “Yes?” he asked defensively.

“It is only some observations on your fight, sir,” Gomja explained uncomfortably, “to help you improve.” The farmer snorted at the suggestion, surprised that anyone would even think of such a thing at this time. Gomja, however, interpreted the sound as permission to continue. “You blocked quite well, sir, but you were not aggressive enough. There were several times when you could have lunged or made an effective riposte, and you let these opportunities go. And, sir, if I may say, you should never drop your weapon.

Teldin’s jaw dropped, and he looked at Gomja in disbelief. Was the giff just dense? he wondered. “Gomja, that was the idea! I didn’t want to kill her.”

“That may be true, sir, but she wanted to kill you,” the giff callously pointed out. He sat on the angled spar, unconsciously dropping into his instructor’s tone. “Sir, I’m sure you meant well, but in a fight, if you take up your spear, you must be ready to use it. Suppose I attacked you. What would you do? You couldn’t run away on this ship and you couldn’t parry me forever. If someone tries to kill you, you must fight. It’s the only choice – kill or be killed.”

“No, it’s not, Gomja! What if I had wounded or killed her? What would happen then? I don’t think Luciar would be too understanding about his daughter’s death. The crew would probably hang me – and you – or throw us both overboard.” The farmer left unsaid his feelings for the elf maid. Part of him had wanted to strike back, if only because of her pigheadedness, but ultimately he could not and did not. “Gomja, things just aren’t that simple!” Teldin shook his head in disgust. “You can’t go in and solve everything by fighting. Sometimes you have to try to get along and work things out.” Teldin slid about to stare down at the bow cutting through the waves.

Gomja’s huge mouth puckered as he thought about Teldin’s words. “If you say so, sir.” He sounded unconvinced. “Perhaps it is that way for humans.” Teldin sighed from the frustration of trying to get the giff to understand anything other than fighting.

Gomja noticed that the crew kept casting glances in their direction, so he pulled a whetstone from his pocket and drew it in long, careful strokes across his broadsword. The steely scrape formed a rhythmic counterpart to the
Silver Spray’s
surging through the waves. The hot sun and rhythmic noise slowly eased Teldin’s tense muscles, lulling him into a drowsy but irritable lassitude.

Teldin began to doze, the adrenaline of the fight almost gone, when Gomja stopped his sword-sharpening in mid-stroke. “Sir. Wake up, sir.” The giff gripped Teldin by the shoulder and gave him a solid shake. “Company, sir.”

The haze of sleep lifted, and Teldin scrambled to his feet. Near the ladder to the forecastle stood Luciar, looking more solemn and grave than he normally did. The old captain was dressed in elegant finery, a pearl-white robe trimmed in gold and red. His thin hair was tied back, leaving his head a bald dome. Behind him stood Cwelanas, her eyes downcast, her hair falling gently to frame her face. Most amazing to Teldin was that she wore none of her mannish, martial garb. Instead, she stood on the swaying deck in a deep-blue gown of shimmering silk. It fit tightly, revealing a figure as feminine as Teldin had ever imagined. The long, flowing sleeves almost hid her hands, which were demurely folded at her waist. Behind the elf pair were the barely visible heads of the crew, gawking almost as much as the yeoman imagined he was. Sweaty, salt-stained, sunbaked, and unshaven, Teldin suddenly realized he must look atrocious in comparison.