Glory Season (60 page)

Philosophical dilemmas such as “why?” and “what?” seemed less important than “how?” Somehow, she must get Renna to safety. And if Leie chose to come also, that would be fine, too.

“We had better start thinking about putting in somewhere. It’s that or risk hitting rocks in the dark.” Brod held the
tiller, constantly adjusting their heading to maintain southward momentum. With his other hand, he rubbed his chin, a common male mannerism, though in his case another distant summer must come before he felt a beard. “Normally I’d suggest putting out to open ocean,” he continued. “We’d lay a sea anchor, keep watch on wind and tide, and rejoin the archipelago at daybreak.” Brod shook his head unhappily. “Wish I didn’t feel so blind without a weather report. A storm could be just over the horizon, and we’d never know in time.”

Maia agreed. “At best, we’d waste hours and come back exhausted.” She unrolled the map. “Look, there’s one large island in this area with a charted anchorage. It’s not too far off our route, near the westernmost line of Teeth.”

Brod leaned forward to read aloud. “Jellicoe Beacon.… Must’ve been a lighthouse sanctuary once, like Halsey. Deactivated and deserted, it says.”

Maia frowned, feeling suddenly as if she had heard that name before. Although the sun still lay some distance above the horizon, she shivered, ascribing the feeling to this creepy place. “Uh … so, shall we jibe to a sou’western tack, Cap’n?”

Maia had been half-teasing him with the honorific all day. Grinning, Brod responded with a grossly exaggerated accent. “Thet well bee doin’, Madam Owner. If yell be so kinned as te lend a help wit’de sail.”

“Aye, sir!” Maia took the taut, straining boom in one hand, setting a foot at the kick-strap. “Ready!”

“Coming about!” Brod swung the tiller, propelling the skiff’s bow sharply toward the wind. The sail luffed and flapped, signaling Maia to haul the boom around from port to starboard, where the sail snapped full with an audible crack, sending them rushing on a new heading, surging up the long shadow of a tall island to the west. The late sun lit a luminous aureole of water vapor, a pinkish
halo, turning the rocky prominence into a fiery spear aimed beyond the clouds.

“Assuming we find shelter in the lagoon at Jellicoe,” Brod said. “We’ll resume southward at dawn. Around midafternoon tomorrow, we can strike east, hitting the main channel near Halsey Beacon.”

“The active sanctuary. Tell me about the place,” Maia asked.

“It’s the one citadel still operating in the Dragons’ Teeth, sanctioned by the Reigning Council to keep order. My guild drew short lot to staff the lighthouse, so they sent two ships and crews they could most easily spare—meaning dregs like me. Still, I never expected the captain’d try picking up extra cash by hiring out to reavers.” He frowned unhappily. “Not every fellow feels that way. Some like watching women fight. Gives ’em a summery hot, they say.”

“Couldn’t you get a transfer, or something?”

“You kidding? Middies don’t question captains, even when a cap’n is breaking an unwritten guild tradition. Anyway, reaving’s legal, within limits. By the time I realized Captain Corsh was selling out to
real
pirates, it was too late.” Brod shook his head. “I must’ve shown how I felt, ’cause he was glad enough to offer me as hostage, while out loud yelling to the reavers what a great loss I was, and they’d better take good care of me!” The boy laughed harshly.

We’re alike, poor fellow
, Maia thought.
Is it my fault I don’t have any talents right for the world of women? Or his, that he’s a boy who was never meant to be a sailor?
Her bitter reflection was unalloyedly rebellious.
Maybe it’s just wrong to make generalizations like that, without leaving room for exceptions. Shouldn’t each of us have the right to try what we’re best at?

They were also alike in both having been abandoned by people they trusted. Yet he was more vulnerable. Boys
expected to be adopted by a guild that would be their home from then on, while girl summerlings grew up knowing exactly what they were in for—a life of lonely struggle.

“We’d better be careful, then, when we reach Halsey. Your captain may not—”

“Be happy to see me?” Brod interrupted. “Hmph. I was within my rights, escaping with you and the others. Especially after Inanna and her murdering schemes. But you’re right. I don’t guess Corsh will see it that way. He’s probably already worried how he’s going to explain all this to the commodores.”

“So we’ll try getting there near nightfall, tomorrow. I know a channel into the harbor. One that’s too shallow for ships, but just right for us. It leads to an out-of-the-way dock. From there, maybe we can sneak into the navigator’s suite and look at his charts. I’m sure he’s written down where the reaver hideout is. Where they’re keeping your starman.”

There was a slight edge to Brod’s voice, as if he felt dubious about something. Their chances of success? Or the very idea of consorting with aliens?

“If only Renna were being held right there, at Halsey.” She sighed.

“Doubtful. The reavers wouldn’t leave a male prisoner where he could talk to other men. They have too much riding on their plans for him.”

On Grimké, Brod had told Maia about the Visitor’s actions, just after Manitou was seized. By Brod’s account, Renna had stomped among the jubilant victors, protesting every violation of Stratoin law. He defiantly refused to move over to the
Reckless
until all of the wounded were tended. So stern had been his otherworldly countenance, his anger and clench-fisted restraint, that Baltha and the other reavers had backed down rather than be forced to hurt him. Brod never mentioned Renna paying special notice
to one victim in particular, but Maia liked to imagine her alien friend’s strong, gentle hands soothing her delirium, and his voice, speaking in low tones, promising her firmly that they would meet again.

Brod had little more to say about Leie. He had noticed Maia’s sister among the reaver band, notable mainly for her eager eyes and intense interest in machines. The motor-room chief had been glad to have her, and hadn’t given a damn what gender a soot-stained crewmate carried under shirt and loincloth, so long as he or she worked hard.

“We only spoke privately once,” Brod said, shielding his eyes as they sailed toward the late afternoon sun. He adjusted the tiller to a change in the wind, and Maia reacted by tightening the sail. “I guess she chose me since no one would care if
I
laughed at her.”

“What did she want to talk about?”

Brod frowned, trying to remember. “She asked if I had ever met an old commodore or captain, back at my guild’s main sanctuary in Joannaborg. One named Kevin? Calvin?”

Maia sat up quickly. “Do you mean
Clevin
?”

He tapped the side of his head absentmindedly. “Yeah, that’s right. I told her I’d heard the name. But they shipped me out so quickly after adoption, and so many crews were still at sea that I’d never actually met him. The shipname, Sea Lion, was one of ours, though.”

Maia stared at the boy. “Your guild. It’s the Pinnipeds.”

She stated it as fact, and Brod shrugged. “Of course, you wouldn’t know. We lowered our ensign before the fight. Pretty shameful. I knew right then things were no good.”

Maia sank back down, listening through a roil of conflicting emotions—astonishment topping the list.

“Starkland Clan has known the Pinnipeds for generations. The mothers say it was once a great guild. Shipped
fine cargoes, and its officers were welcome in High Town, winter and summer both. These days, the commodores take jobs like staffing Halsey Beacon, and now even hiring out to reavers.” He laughed bitterly. “Not a great billet, eh? But then, I’m no prize, either.”

Maia examined Brod with renewed interest. From what the boy said, he might be her distant cousin, several times removed … only a temple gene-scan could tell for sure. It was a concept Maia had to struggle with, along with the irony that here, after so many frantic adventures, she had finally made contact with her father-guild. The manner wasn’t at all as she’d imagined.

They sailed on quietly, each of them deep in private thought. At one point, a swarm of sleek, dark shapes cruised into view, some meters below their tiny vessel, undulating silently with sinuous power and speed. The largest of the creatures would have outmassed the Manitou, and took several minutes to progress, yet its smooth passage scarcely caused a ripple above as the skiff passed at an angle. Maia barely glimpsed the monster’s tail, then the mysterious underwater convoy was gone.

A few minutes later, Brod shifted forward in his seat, staring as he shaded his eyes with one hand, his body abruptly tense. “What is it?” Maia asked.

“I’m … not sure. I thought for a second something crossed the sun.” He shook his head. “It’s getting late. How close to Jellicoe?”

“We’ll be in sight after that next little spire, ahead.” Maia unfurled the chart. “It seems to consist of about two dozen teeth, all fused together. There are two anchorages, with some major caves noted here.” She looked up and gauged the rate of sunset. “It’ll be close, but we should have time to scout a channel before dark.”

The young man nodded, still frowning in concern. “Get ready to come about, then.”

The maneuver went smoothly, the wind snapping
their rugged sail into line as it had all day.
Maybe our luck really has changed
, Maia thought, knowing full well that she was tempting fate. Once they were cruising steady on the new tack, she spoke again, bringing up another imminent concern.

“Naroin made me promise to try calling her superiors, in case we find a radio at Halsey.”

It wasn’t a vow she relished. Maia personally trusted Naroin, but her superiors?
So many groups want Renna for their own reasons. He has enemies on the Council. And even supposing honest cops answer a call, will the reavers let Renna be taken alive?

One disturbing thought after another had occurred to her.
What if the Council still has weapons like those that burned Grimké?
What if they conclude a dead alien is better than one in the hands of their foes?

Brod’s answer sounded as halfhearted as Maia felt. “We could try for the comm room, I suppose. It might be unwatched late at night. The idea gives me a pain in the gut, though.”

“I know. It’d be awfully risky, combined with burgling the chart room—”

“That’s not it,” Brod cut in. “I’d just … rather someone else called the cops on my guild.”

Maia looked at him. “Loyalty? After the way they treated you?”

“That’s not it,” he said, shaking his head. “I won’t stay with ’em after this.”

“Well, then? You’re already helping me go after Renna.”

“You don’t understand. Another guild might respect me for helping you save a friend. But who’s gonna hire a man who’s squealed on his own crewmates?”

“Oh.” Maia hadn’t realized the added risk Brod was taking. Beyond life and freedom, he could lose all chance of a career.
Something I never had
, Maia almost murmured,
but recanted. It takes courage for a person with prospects to gamble them on a hazard of honor.

The skiff began rounding the nearest headland. Beyond, just as Maia had predicted, a large, convoluted island hove gradually into view. To Maia, it looked as if a great claw had frozen in place while reaching out of the sea. Some mysterious geological process had welded the fingerlike talons, joining multiple slender spires in a mesh of stony arches.

Jellicoe Island had been even bigger, once upon a time. Stubby, fused remnants showed where a more extensive network of outlying islets had been blasted apart by an ancient power, presumably the same as excavated Grimké. Linear tracks of seared stone glistened like healed scar tissue across the jutting cliffs, adding contortions to the convoluted outlines ordained by nature. The resulting coastline had the horizontal contours of a twisted, many-pointed star, with rounded nubs instead of vertices and edges. Irregular openings broke the rhythmic outline.

A few minutes later, one of those gaps let Maia glimpse a lagoon within, as placid as glass.

“There it is!” she announced. “Perfect. We can sail right through and set anchor—”

“
Shiva an’ Zeus!
” Brod cursed. “Maia, get down!”

She barely ducked in time as Brod steered hard, sending the boom flying across the little boat, whistling where Maia’s head had been.

“What’re you
doing
?” she cried. But the young man did not answer. Gripping the tiller, his hands were white with tension, eyes all concentration. Lifting her head to see, Maia gasped. “It’s the Reckless!”

The three-masted, fore-and-aft schooner bore toward them from the southwest, almost directly out of the setting sun. The sight of its gravid sails, straining to increase a speedy clip, was breathless and dreadful to behold. While Maia and Brod had been wrestling their tiny vessel on a
series of sunward, upwind tacks, the reaver ship had already crossed most of the space between two islands.

“Do you think she’s seen us?” Maia felt inane for asking. Yet, Brod was clearly counting on that hope, trying to duck back behind the spire they had just passed. If only the reavers had lazy lookouts.…

Hope vanished with the sound of a whistle—a shriek of steam and predatory delight. Squinting against the glare, Maia saw a crowd of silhouettes gather at the bow, pointing. The image might have triggered déjà vu, bringing back how the day began, except that this was no little ketch, but a freighter, augmented for speed and deadliness. Smoke trails told of boilers firing up. Maia’s nose twitched at the scent of burning coal. She did a quick calculation in her mind.

“It’s no good running!” she told Brod. “They’ve got speed, guns, maybe radar. Even if we get away, they’ll search all night, and we’ll smash up in the dark!”

“I’m open to suggestions!” her partner snapped. Perspiration beaded his lip and brow.

Maia grabbed his arm. “Swing back westward! We can tack closer to the wind. Reckless will have to reef sails to follow. Her engines may still be cold. With luck, we can dodge into that maze.” She pointed at the corrugated coastline of Jellicoe Island.