Accidental Sorceress (Hardstorm Saga Book 2) (13 page)

He cut down one man, then another, his feet planted on deck, his arms moving swiftly. Metal clanged against metal, over and over.

I could see the merchant from the corner of my eye, defending himself with his rapier, protecting the children behind him. I was surprised to see that he also had bodies lying in blood at his feet now. I had not expected a merchant to fight like a warrior.

Then the tiger’s roar drew my attention to the cage as several men stabbed at her. She swiped, then lurched from side to side, trying to turn in the narrow cage as men attacked her from the back, stabbing her hindquarters.

Blood ran down her matted hide. She roared again, a mighty roar, and swiped with her massive paw, throwing up her head. And even from a distance, I could hear a crack.

She stilled as if she knew what the sound signified. And then she attacked the cage itself.

My heart rate sped even faster. Could she? The endless jostling of the cage in the storms had to have loosened the lashing that held the bars together.

The men jumped back, but not all of them were fast enough. The bars cracked open the next moment, and the tiger sprang forward, bringing the nearest pirate down with a mighty swipe. Blood washed the deck.

This time, she roared so loudly, the sails rattled.

Most of the pirates abandoned us at that, and went to fight the tiger, knowing she was the most dangerous threat on deck. They needed numbers to take her down, and they knew they could come back to us later. Only three pirates remained with Batumar and the merchant each to keep them cornered.

One man sliced into Batumar’s shoulder before the High Lord ran him through with his sword. I could feel Batumar’s pain, although he did not allow it to slow him down as he faced the remaining two men. We were still back-to-back. Through that touch, I healed him.

He gave a warning growl deep in his throat, sounding like an unhappy tiger himself.

He had long before forbidden me to heal him with my own strength. He allowed me to help with only my herbs. I was prepared to withstand his displeasure in this matter. I stood ready to take upon me whatever injury his attackers would mete out. Batumar could not fall. If he did, our island would fall with him.

One of the pirates rushed forward to run him through, while the other lifted his curved sword and angled it to cut off Batumar’s head. Batumar jumped sideways, avoiding one man while cutting the throat of the other. Then he finished off his last attacker.

I looked to the merchant, where swords still clashed. He had one opponent left.

Batumar ran toward them, and I followed. I did not want to become separated from him.

A roar drew my attention to the prow, where the pirates had cornered the tiger and closed in around her. She was bleeding from half a dozen wounds, baring her teeth, swiping at her opponents. She brought down a man with nearly every swipe, but she was tiring. She had been starved and weakened to begin with, and now stabbed and bloodied.

I tore my gaze from her as we at last reached the merchant—just as he slayed his last opponent.

“The barrels,” he shouted. “We need rope.”

Batumar jumped to help him. Then so did I, once I understood what they were doing.

We lashed the empty water barrels together with bits and pieces of storm-torn rigging that was lying on deck. Nine barrels in all, bottoms down, open mouths up, making a raft that looked similar to a honeycomb.

We heaved the raft over the side of the ship and balanced it straight, the two men holding it, one from each side, with the two longest pieces of rope they could find.

I desperately scanned the feeble-looking device. “Will it hold together?”

“It will,” Graho said with full certainty, as if he was also a builder.

No time for questions.
I filled the raft, quickly lifting the children one by one and settling each into a barrel.

Then Graho said, “You should get in with Nala.”

“Quickly,” Batumar urged.

The little girl was crying, frightened by the bloodbath on board, likely just as frightened by dangling high in the air above the ocean. Enough room remained next to her. I had always been slight of body, and was even slighter now after our days of starvation.

I climbed over the side quickly, then into the barrel, and drew her into my arms. “We are fine well. Hold on to me, Nala.”

She buried her face against my chest and wrapped her little arms tightly around me. The other girls whimpered. Even the boys were staring at the churning water below us with wide-eyed fear.

Batumar and the merchant began lowering us hand over hand, keeping the makeshift raft even so we wouldn’t tumble into the sea.
A few moments
, I told myself. A little longer and we’d be on the water, then drifting with the current away from the
Doomed
and toward shore. I expected that our light raft would move faster than the heavy ship.

But at this point, our escape was discovered.

Pirates shouted up above, and then they were right there, seven, fierce and outraged. They were predators, just like the tiger, not about to let prey escape.

Graho and Batumar each held the rope with their left hands now while fighting right-handed, trapped where they stood. We dangled in the air, too far down to climb back up, too high up still so that if the ropes loosened, the crash into the sea would break the makeshift raft apart.

Land was still at a great distance, beyond what I could swim, for certain, and hopelessly far for the children.

They all shrieked and cried now as blood splattered down on us. And even more so when a dead pirate dropped by us only to be immediately swallowed by the waves.
Spirits have mercy.

I had not the time to reassure the little ones. I had to focus all my attention on the fight above. The cuts Batumar and the merchant suffered, I immediately healed, taking the injuries upon myself. We were in this desperate escape together. We all had to live for any of us to live.

Then the merchant suffered a fearsome cut between his neck and shoulder, and before I could heal him, he was heaved overboard.

The raft tilted, the children screamed, but Batumar caught the second rope before we could all spill into the waves. Tilted as we were, he held both ropes in one hand while fighting with the other, a feat beyond human strength, and yet somehow he managed.

He roared as loud as the tiger, in full battle rage.

Below, Graho treaded water, the ocean turning red around him. I healed his wound before he could draw predators, if the slain sailor hadn’t already.

Our raft began to lower, and kept lowering. I looked up. Batumar was letting the twin ropes slide through his hand little by little while he fought the enemy.

My heart clenched as I watched him. He needed to move so he could outmaneuver the men, or they would cut him down. He fought at least four at a time, while holding the weight of the raft and all of us in it.

If he let the raft go, he could have grabbed another sword from a fallen enemy, danced away, set the rhythm of the fight. But if he let us go, the raft would break apart as it hit the water, and we would all drown.

He held on with a strength I did not know a man could possess.

I saw red staining the rope as it slid through his hand, and knew that the rough rope was shredding his skin and his flesh. The weight he held had to be unbearable.

Yet he did not let go.

I raised my spirit to heal the wound, but he was stabbed in the side the next moment, his liver run straight through, so I healed that first, then tried to catch my breath as blinding pain seared into my own body. Agony sliced through me. I felt as if I had been cut in half.

All through this, the raft dipped down and down, moving lower against the side of the pirate ship.

Soon we were nearly at the water, although at a perilous angle. If we did not touch down level with the sea and some of the barrels began taking on water, they would pull down all the rest and the raft would sink.

A sword sliced through Batumar’s arm above. I breathed hard as I took in that injury and used my healing spirit to mend it in myself.

As Batumar fought the pirates above, I fought time below. Slicing a man to the bone takes but a blink of an eye. Healing that damage takes much longer. With four men surrounding him still, he was receiving his injuries at a greater speed than I could mend.

The closer the raft reached to the water, the weaker I became, my body a ball of agony. Even my mind sank into a fog. I could feel the severity of each of Batumar’s new injuries on top of my own pain.

“Spirits save us!” I cried aloud.

But instead of relief, I felt every inch of the sword that ran Batumar through, as if the blade had sliced into my own chest.

His shredded fingers let go of the rope then, and the raft splashed into the water, wobbled violently for a few moments, then steadied.

I stared up, searching desperately for sign of life in him. He was still standing, braced against the side of the ship, but only for another breath. Then he was tossed over the side without mercy.

Already the waves pushed the raft away so I could not reach for him as his battered and bleeding body began to sink.

Then I was in the water, swimming down, searching for him.

I was too weak to send my spirit to him without touching.

If I could touch him…
I had one thought only: to give my spirit and my life to him.

I saw the shadow of his great body, a black shape floating gently downward. I swam as hard as I could to reach him.

I couldn’t.

My lungs burned, then threatened to burst.

Water filled my mouth. I was choking. Then I was drowning.

What air was left in my lungs buoyed me up, and I was too injured and shocked and broken to fight harder. My head broke the surface, only to be covered again when a wave slapped me.

The raft washed farther and farther away, the children crying, some screaming for me. I had not the strength to reach them. And even if I could have mustered the strength, I had not the spirit.

A new wave filled my mouth. What did it matter?

I wanted to float down into the deep with Batumar. I was his—heart, body, and soul. I could not leave him here. I
would
not leave him here in a cold, watery grave.

The sea chilled my bones. My limbs moved slower and slower. My eyes glazed over with tears and pain. I could no longer see the raft or the ship. All I could see was the murky depths, Batumar floating away from me.

I did not fight the waves.

Chapter Twelve

(Days of Darkness)

My head was underwater when the tiger splashed down next to me.

She licked my face with her big, raspy tongue, bringing it up, then grabbed me by the collar in the back—as she would with one of her cubs—and began swimming toward shore, her great paws paddling in the water.

My heart was dead, and my body would soon follow, I was certain, despite the tiger’s efforts. I could not feel my feet from the cold. My whole body grew numb.

The port of Ishaf was too far for us to reach. I closed my eyes, waiting to sink again, waiting to join Batumar in the deep. My tears mixed with the sea.

But the tiger would not release me.

She swam for hours that seemed days. I felt as if a lifetime passed while she dragged me through the frigid water. Before that swim had been my life. After it, something else waited that I neither recognized nor wanted.

I had died in that water with Batumar. Some ghost-spirit had been dragged ashore by the tiger.

She dragged me up on rocks that cut into my skin and dug into my thighs. She dropped me and licked my face again. Her tongue felt burning hot compared to the water. She nudged me with her nose, then staggered away on shaking legs.

I shook even harder. I stayed on the hard rocks, shivering, staring up into the gray and dreary sky. I could not feel my body. I could not feel my heart.

Clouds rolled by like marching armies in an endless procession. Eternities passed. Then a seabird landed on my chest, perhaps thinking I was dead. It pecked at my chin.

That sharp cut of pain made me sit up at last.

The bird protested angrily and flew away.

I was on a rocky shore, the point of land that had been closest to our ship. The shoreline resembled that around Barren Cove from where we had sailed—a rocky beach backing to sheer cliffs.

The port city of Ishaf waited a day’s hard walk away across a wide bay. I could see two dozen ships in the harbor, the
Doomed
among them, its tattered red sails rolled up. I could see the red tower and remembered the captain’s warning about the sorcerer within. I had nothing to fear. I had but emptiness inside me, nothing left for the sorcerer to take.

Saltwater spray hit me in the face. I shivered, looking numbly out at the sea that was closer than when the tiger had dropped me. The tide was coming in.

For a moment, I thought about staying where I was. But something, perhaps my mother’s spirit watching over me, perhaps Batumar’s, made me crawl to higher ground at the foot of the cliffs.

I sat with my back against the rock and pulled my knees up, hugged them close to my chest for heat. The wind had dried my clothes, but it had also chilled my body that ached through and through with a vast variety of pain. I still carried Batumar’s and the merchant’s injuries.

The gray sun was dipping into the gray ocean, dusk settling on the rocky shore. I could not think of what I should do next. I felt empty, then suddenly as if I was filled with cold water—a vessel too small to hold its contents—a terrible heaviness and pressure inside my chest. I stared out at the waves, part of me expecting Batumar to somehow walk out of the endless gray.

He didn’t.

The tiger returned at nightfall, bringing half a bloody fish and dropping it by my feet. She sniffed around, first checking the immediate area, then lifting her nose and smelling the wind. Then she padded back and lay down by my side with her back to me.