Scimitar Sun (33 page)

“Feldrin Brelak, you are so full of seagull crap that you’re starting to squawk.” She jabbed him in the stomach with a stiff finger, only managing to hurt her finger. The chuckles from his crew had more impact than her poke, as did Mouse’s peal of high-pitched laughter right in his ear. “With a seamage aboard, you worry about running into a reef?”

“Yer fishy friends leave a bad taste in yer mouth again?” he asked, flicking the mirthful seasprite off his shoulder and nodding to Horace, who was also impatient to be away from the dock. Orders rang out across the ship, and the dock lines were slipped from their cleats and thrown to the crew on the pier. It would take most of the day to sail to Fire Isle, and approaching the unfamiliar shore in the dark, seamage aboard or no, was nothing that any sane sailor would relish.

“No more than usual,” she said, looking up to see Camilla, Chula, Paska and Tim standing on the pier, waving farewell. She waved back, then accepted Feldrin’s help to the little cabin that sheltered the hatch. He had rigged a small bench on each side so that she could sit comfortably whichever way they heeled. She sat and sighed, shaking her head as Mouse landed on her shoulder, twittering with mirth and mischief. “Sometimes I wonder if they truly understand a single word I say.”

“Different culture, different rules,” he replied, then barked an order to the helmsman. Immediately, the forestaysail burst aloft and the ship pulled away from the pier. Four crewmen hauled madly at the mainsail halyard, and the ponderous gaff rose slowly. Mouse shrieked in glee and shot aloft, perching on the gaff as it rose, chirping unintelligible orders down to the crew. “Merchant sailors run into it all the time. If you haggle on a price in one place they think you’re cheating them, but if you don’t haggle in another, they think you’re a coward.”

“I understand that, but the mer are so different that it gives me nightmares. They make decisions differently than us, almost like facts mean less than their gut feelings. I think they suspect me of betraying them in some way by helping Edan, just because he’ll be a pyromage.” She looked around the deck suddenly. “He is aboard, isn’t he?”

“Oh, aye. He made it across the gangplank without fallin’ in the bay, though he turned pale as a sheet doin’ it.” Feldrin barked another order and the ship rounded up into the light breeze and the main luff came taut.
Orin’s Pride
bore off the wind and they slacked the main sheet as they pointed toward the channel. “He went straight to his cabin without a word.”

“I should go see him, make sure he’s settled in.” She craned her neck to see their progress. “Do you really want some help out of the channel? It is near low water.”

“Nah. I was just spoutin’, and you know it. The day this crew can’t take the
Pride
through a cut a boat-length wide without
divine intervention
is the day I need a new crew, ay, Horace?”

“Aye, Capt’n.” The mate barked commands at the boatswain and the helmsman without letting his eyes stray from the trim of the sails and the heading they were making. “All’s well, sir!”

“See?”

“Well, I’ll just go check on Edan, then.” She accepted Feldrin’s aid to stand, and again to descend the narrow companionway down into the ship. Once below, she said, “Go on back up. I know how you feel about her, Feldrin. She’s your baby, go take care of her.”

“No, you’re my baby, and this,” he put a hand on her bulging tummy, “is my baby. The
Pride’s
just a ship, Cyn. But yeah,” he admitted, “I’d feel better on deck.” He kissed her and smiled. “Take a rest. We’ll need you most come evening.”

“I will. Thanks.” She watched him go, smiled to herself, then proceeded aft to the mate’s cabin and rapped on the door.

“Yes?” replied Edan’s mild tone from within.

“It’s Cynthia, Edan. I just wanted to check on you, make sure you had everything you needed.”

“Oh, come in!”

She worked the latch and opened the door. It was dim inside the cabin; a towel had been tacked up over the port, but enough light filtered through the deck prism overhead to show her Edan in the bunk, propped up on one elbow. Flicker, she noted, was in her gilded cage, which sat on the little folding desk. The firesprite was perched on a little bar over a bowl of burning lamp oil, bathing in the flames and utterly content.

“We’re heading out the channel now, and we’ll be turning south. It’ll be a beam reach, so you’ll probably need to secure Flicker’s cage.”

“Uh, okay.” He lurched up out of the bunk on unsteady legs. “What’s a beam reach?”

“Oh, sorry. It means the wind will be straight abeam, er, I mean, coming in from the side of the ship. It also means we’ll heel, uh, tilt over quite a bit, especially since we’re running without any cargo to weigh us down. It’s nothing to worry about, but Flicker’s cage will have to be secured somehow to keep it from sliding off the desk, especially with that flame. If it spilled, we’d all be in trouble.”

“I see what you mean.” He looked around the small cabin, his expression almost panicked. “How should I secure it?”

“Well, you could tie it down to the desk top with a bit of cord, or you could hang it.” She pointed to the lamp hook affixed to the overhead. “If you want to leave the flame lit, I’d suggest hanging it. That way it’ll swing with the motion of the ship and the oil won’t spill.”

“Oh! Okay. I see.” He moved to his little trunk and withdrew a length of chain. “I’ll do that right now. Thank you.”

“Not at all. I’ll be right next door in the captain’s cabin if you need anything.” She stepped back through the door and nodded. “We’ll be nearing Fire Isle around sunset, but we’ll stand off shore until morning, then sail close in at first light and put you ashore. You should have plenty of time. The eclipse won’t begin until around midday.”

“Yes, I know. Thirty minutes after noon. That will give me more than six hours to climb up to the caldera.” He lifted the cage and put the chain through the top and over the hook, then clasped it. He let the cage swing free, and noted with a smile that Flicker didn’t even stir. “Thank you again for doing this, Mistress Flaxal. I know it’s dangerous.”

“My pleasure, Edan. I know you’re nervous, but try to rest. You’ll need your strength tomorrow.” She closed his door, entered the captain’s cabin and made herself comfortable on one of the cushioned settees. She felt the motion of the ship change as they reached open sea, and heard the calls from the deck ordering more sails aloft, and a reef in the main and foresail. Then
Orin’s Pride
rounded to the south, and the trades caught her on her beam. She heeled and surged forward, shuddering as her bow plowed through the swells. The motion soothed Cynthia, and she realized how long it had been since she’d sailed in one of her original schooners.

More than a year
, she thought. She placed a hand against the hull and felt the surge of the sea beyond the thick planking. She placed her other hand on her bulging abdomen and her grin broadened. “My babies…” she whispered, letting the motion of the sea and the gentle kick of her unborn child bring tears of joy to her eyes. She had started to ease into a gentle sleep when the ship lurched into a plunging swell, and she heard a truncated yelp of alarm from the mate’s cabin.

She considered calming the seas to ease Edan’s discomfort, then thought better of it. If she concentrated all day to calm the seas around the ship, she’d be exhausted when they reached Fire Isle. And
that
, as Feldrin had warned, was when things would get interesting.

≈

Sam hunkered in the corner of the sail locker in the bow of
Orin’s Pride
, comfortably wedged in with a spare jib atop her and several other sails beneath, her back against the hull between two frames. She could barely hear the shouts of the crew on deck over the roar of the sea as it flowed past the hull with every plunge of the bow. Only a hand-span of hardwood and cedar separated her from the raging sea, and she could feel its power through the planks as a vibration along her back.

“So close,” she said to no one but herself. She lay one hand flat against the hull to better feel the rushing water and considered her plan. If things went well, she’d be even closer to that raging sea by morning, if not in it. If things didn’t go well, she could very well be under it, caught in her own trap.

“Well, no use frettin’ about it now, Sam. It’s either sink or swim. Literally.” She laughed quietly at her own little joke. She’d been in worse spots and come out alive. All it would take was a little diversion and a few strokes of a knife, then she’d be in the launch watching as all hells broke loose and
Orin’s Pride
, her captain and the sea witch went down in flames.

“Best get some shut-eye, Sam,” she said, shifting her position slightly to pillow her head on a sail bag. “You’ve got a busy night ahead of you…”

≈

Broadtail swam back and forth in his grotto, ignoring the dozen finlings that swam around him, clinging to his fins and tail. Only as long as his hand, they were barely weaned from pap, and still frightened of every eddy and motion. The bolder finlings, perhaps a dozen more, were exploring the nooks and crevices of the grotto. He was alone with his offspring, his mate having left to stretch her fins for the first time in almost a month.

A throaty tone sounded outside the curtain of woven seaweed that was the grotto’s only door, and the finlings darted for cover, many of them swirling in a panic around his mouth, begging to be taken in for protection. Broadtail kept his jaw clenched firmly, though his reflex was to open it and let them in. This was a difficult phase of their growth, when instinct and experience vied against one another; the instinct to protect his young, versus the discipline to make them fend for themselves. He pushed away the few finlings still begging and made a deep sound in his throat, telling his visitor to enter.

Chaser nudged his way through the curtain and most of the finlings gave up and darted for cover. The visitor bowed. *Pardon my intrusion, Trident Holder, but I was told that you wanted to see me.*

*Yes, Chaser. Come in.* He gently waved away the last of the clinging finlings and made a gesture of welcome. *Seamage Flaxal’s Heir came to converse with me this morning. Tomorrow is the day the moon and sun merge, when she is to take the finling firemage to the burning island.* His tail flicked repeatedly, showing his displeasure with this event. How could the seamage not see how her refusal to comply with their plea — to aid this potential enemy against their urgings — appeared to them? He had actually seen the subtle signs signifying “traitor” being exchanged within the school.

*I know this, Trident Holder Broadtail,* Chaser signed. He remained utterly still, either in an attempt to hide his feelings or avoid startling the finlings. *It has caused much concern.*

*Yes, it has.* He swished his tail angrily, forcing down his temper. *I want you to follow Seamage Flaxal’s Heir to the burning island. Bring as many scouts as you wish. I want to be informed of what occurs.*

*Yes, Trident Holder,* Chaser signed. *I will leave at once.*

*Good.* Broadtail noted that Chaser showed no signs of the nervousness that he must be feeling. This was a dangerous task; the mer had good reasons for not venturing close to the burning island. If the mountain became angry and the burning stone-that-flowed-like-mud touched the sea, the resulting underwater explosions could injure or even kill. He signed his thanks, but refrained from telling the scout to be careful. To do so would insult his abilities.

Chaser made a gesture of leave-taking and departed the Trident Holder’s grotto without a backward glance. Outside, his two friends greeted him with worry plain in their postures.

*Did he send you to watch the seamage?* Quickfin asked, turning to swim after Chaser as he passed.

*Yes,* he signed back, pausing to look at them. *He told me to follow and inform him what happens. He signed that I should take as many others with me as I wanted.* He left that statement floating in the water for them, and they did not disappoint him.

*We will go with you, Chaser,* Tailwalker signed with a positive fanning of his fins. *Let us get a few items and we will meet you at the entrance grotto that faces the setting sun.*

*Very good,* the scout signed, allowing himself a flutter of his gills. He knew that Broadtail would not want his eldest son to go on such a dangerous trip, but he welcomed the company. *Bring as little as you can. We must swim fast to keep pace with Seamage Flaxal’s Heir’s ship.*

Quickfin and Tailwalker signed their agreement and darted off to their grottos, while Chaser continued on his way. It would be good to have them along, just in case there was trouble.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The Burning

“This is about as close as we should get in the dark, Feldrin.” Cynthia frowned at the jumble of convoluted rock she felt beneath the ship. “Any closer and the night watch will have trouble keeping her on station.”

“Right! Horace, heave her to. Inner jib and reefed forestays’l, both cross-sheeted. Rig a tris’l aft.” He squinted aloft in the light of the waning sunset and frowned. “If she’s got too much effort forward, drop the forestay’l.”

“Aye, sir!” Horace shouted, relaying the orders and adjusting the sails.

They were still in deep water, more then fifty fathoms, but Cynthia could feel the push and pull of treacherous currents and surges closer to the island, which now loomed dark and ominous to windward. The winds were fickle here as well, variable in intensity and shifting direction occasionally, which would make the night watch’s job more difficult. Cynthia watched as the crew reefed and cross-sheeted the forward sails and rigged the small trysail on the main boom just above her head. Mouse sat on her shoulder, ignoring the sailors, his eyes fixed wide on the dull ruby glow at the peak of the island. The glow had nothing to do with the fading sunset. The glow was fire, fire from the heart of the earth, and Cynthia could tell that it filled the seasprite with a fear more intense than that inspired by any pirate who had ever sailed the seas.