Heir of Thunder (Stormbourne Chronicles Book 1) (13 page)

The shuddering of the ship and the yells of men woke me the
next morning. The crew spoke in the musical tones of Espiritola, and I didn’t
understand a word, but someone had opened that hatch again, and starlight
filtered in. Instead of total blackness, our holding cells took on the varying
shades of night. I sat up, listening, watching from the corners of my eyes where
I found it easier to make out shapes in the darkness.

Malita’s shadow shifted. Her footsteps swished over the
wooden floor as she crouched and shuffled closer.

“Evie?” she whispered. She reached for me, and I grasped her
fingers. “We stop.”

“Stop? Where?”

Something heavy scraped overhead and Malita flinched. “‘Spritola.”

“But where are they taking us?”

Malita’s shadow shook its head, obviously not understanding
my question, not that it mattered. I doubted she knew the answer anyway.

Several men climbed into our pit with lanterns and ropes and
began the process of removing us from our prison. The pirates pointed the first
few girls toward the ladder with terse instructions to climb. When my turn
came, I fell into line behind them. The ladder brought us to the fresh air of
the deck. I gulped deep cleansing breaths, trying to rid my lungs and taste
buds of the reek of our prison.

When every girl had gathered on the deck, one sailor
separated us and bound us in small groups of two or three, our arms linked
together with iron manacles and short, heavy chains. The idea of jumping
overboard and swimming for my life occurred to me, but as soon as the metal
shackle circled my wrist, the thought disappeared. Cold iron stung my skin, and
I maneuvered my shirtsleeve under the shackle to relieve the irritation.

“The first one to make a sound gets a bullet to her head,
understand?” The captain who had greeted me so eloquently after pulling me from
the ocean now spoke in a low, urgent voice. He issued his warning again in
another language, Dreutchish, and one last time in Gallandic. Malita joined my
chain gang along with Jenna, and she gave me a quizzical look, not
understanding the captain’s instructions. I put my index finger over my mouth
and pressed my lips together. Malita, wearing a grave expression, imitated me
and nodded.

The sailors escorted us onto a gangway lowered over the side
of the ship that stretched to a rickety dock. On land, a large buckboard wagon
harnessed with two big horses awaited us. Our captors trundled the seven of us
into the wagon bed, and one pirate climbed onto the seat next to the driver. We
squeezed close together in the tight space, but the combined body heat chased
away the nip of the ocean breeze, so no one complained. Jenna settled next to
me. Her body trembled, and I wished I knew the words to comfort her, but they
probably didn’t exist.

At least no one wants to kill me right this minute
.
That’s
something, anyway.

My thoughts drifted to Jackie and Gideon. I wondered what
had they thought of my disappearance. Would they look for me or had they given
me up for shark bait? I mourned the loss of my Thunder Cloak. When I wore it, I
felt the presence of my ancestors, and their closeness comforted me. Without
it, I had nothing left to tie me to them except memories, and those seemed as
fleeting and translucent as the ocean breeze in this land so far from home.

The wagon started with a jerk, and Jenna’s head banged into
my shoulder. “Sorry,” she muttered.

“It’s all right.” I smiled in an effort to covey that she
had a friend in me if she wanted it, but she turned away, averting her eyes
toward the disappearing coastline.

Each girl had her own way of coping it seemed. Some huddled
in a tight group with their manacled arms threaded around each other’s waists
and shoulders. Others, like Jenna, stared listlessly. Two girls not attached to
us leaned close and whispered to each other. I tuned out everyone and turned my
gaze to the stars.

Aeolus greeted me—a twinkling asterism forming the vague
shape of a man wielding a sword and shield. The constellation had gained its
name, according to family legend, from the first Stormbourne, the being who
fathered the long lineage of kings who ruled as Lords of Thunder. The same
legend said when the Lords of Thunder died their spirits coalesced with the
celestial realm and formed new constellations. I didn’t know if I believed it.
I had routinely studied the skies after the deaths of my grandfather and
father, but I never saw a flicker of unfamiliar nebula. Maybe that legend ran
its course when mankind’s beliefs in divinity waned.

My stomach growled, bringing my thoughts back to earth.
Malita heard it and giggled. From the folds of her gown, she produced one of
the dry, hardtack biscuits the sailing crew had provided the prisoners. Nothing
about it appealed to me, but I could no longer bear the hollowness in my belly.
I took the offering from Malita and ate it in small pieces to make it last
longer.

I was searching my lap for errant crumbs when several
far-off shouts rose above the clatter of the wagon and horses. Our driver heard
the voices, too. He snapped his whip and urged his horses to run. Behind us,
several small lights, possibly lanterns, bounced about as if jostled by
galloping horses. The volume of pursuer’s shouts increased as they closed the
distance between us, and the shapes of riders solidified into black shadows
against the bright night sky. Our driver snarled and cracked the reins over his
horses’ backs.

Malita grabbed my arm and tugged. “We go!”

“Yes, we go,” I agreed, thinking she was commenting on the
increase in our speed.

Malita shook her head, jabbed a finger at me, at Jenna, and
then back to herself. She pointed to the path rolling out behind us. “We go!”

“Go?” I said, starting to understand. A gust of wind
gathered the loose strands of my hair and dashed them into my face. I looked
up. Clouds had begun to gather and blotted out the brightness of the moon and
stars. Malita nodded furiously. She clearly meant for us to make our escape. Excitement
sparked through me and hope buzzed in my veins.

When Jenna realized our intentions, she shook her head. “No,
Evie. We can’t.”

“Why not? This might be our only chance.”

“But who are those men following us? Maybe they’ve come to
help.”

“No,” hissed the Gallandic girl who had spoken to me earlier
on the ship. “I was a governess for an Espiratolan family, and I know the
language. I know what the men are saying. They are tax collectors from the
port. They only want money and a fat fee. They will be paid off, and then they
will disappear.”

“Then why is the driver trying to run away?” I asked.

“He does not want to pay the fee, of course.”

“See, Jenna,” I said. “They’re catching up, and we’ll never
get away if they do. We have to go now.”

Jenna shook her head again and crossed her arms over her
chest. Instead of cursing her, I smiled, raised my hand, and yanked the chain
that connected her to me. Jenna’s arm jerked up against her will. Before she
could protest, Malita tugged the chain connected to me. “Looks like you’re
outnumbered,” I said.

I rose to a crouch and Malita followed me. We shuffled to
the rear of the bouncing wagon, dragging the reluctant Jenna along with us.

“You may not survive the fall,” the Gallandic girl said.

“What was your name again?” I asked, ignoring her warning.
The girl had a fiery, determined spirit, and a great command of foreign
languages. She’d make a wonderful ally.

“Nathalie. Nathalie Donadieu.”

“Come with us, Nathalie,” I said.

She paused and seem to consider my offer, but her
chain-mates put bracing hands on her arms and pulled her away from the end of
the wagon.

“Last chance,” I said and turned to look at the road rolling
out behind us. The tax assessors had closed some of the distance between us.
Still, if we jumped at that moment, we might make our way off the path before
they noticed. The sky had clouded over and the darkness was almost absolute. I
prayed no one would see us.

Looking to Malita, I held my hand close to her face with
three fingers extended. As I counted down, I lowered a finger and hoped she
understood. “Three—two—one!” On the one, we hefted ourselves over the wagon’s
tailgate, dragging the unwilling Jenna along with us.

We landed hard, each of us groaning with the impact. My
wrist screamed and a blinding bolt of pain shot across my vision. I rolled to
my knees and braced my injured joint against my chest, praying it was only a
sprain as I gritted my teeth and panted through the pain. Malita knelt next to
me, grousing about something in her own language. Jenna lay on the ground
unresponsive, and I couldn’t tell if she had suffered an injury. Malita and I
didn’t pause to find out.

We scooped Jenna up by her arms and dragged her to the ditch
beside the road, ducking into the tall grass as the tax men rumbled by on their
fast horses. When the jangling of stirrups and the spurting breath of the
animals faded, and when the night insects resumed their clicking and chirping,
I gathered the courage to raise my head and inspect the road. The night was
still and the road empty. I exhaled a gusty sigh.

“Jenna, are you hurt?” I asked.

She sobbed, but it sounded more like heartache than
body-ache.

“Jenna?” I asked again. Except for several scrapes, bruises,
and an aching wrist, I had survived our tumble without injury. Jenna rose from
the ditch. The moon had broken through the clouds, and I watched as she
inspected herself for damage.

She wiped away her tears. “Only a bad scrape on my knee.”

Malita patted her own head and stuck out her bottom lip in a
pout. She took my hand and placed it on a spot behind her temple. A welt the
size of a walnut had sprouted there. She patted her head again, shook herself,
and smiled. I took that to mean that she had no other complaints.

“What now?” Jenna asked.

What now indeed. An escape had presented itself, and I hadn’t
hesitated to take it, but the next step in our plan eluded me. Possibly because
there was no plan. And what about the other girls, and their fates? I was so
caught up in escape, I hadn’t considered what it might feel like to leave them
behind. What could I possibly do to help them now?
Survive. You can’t help
anyone if you can’t take care of yourself.

“Now, we walk,” I said.

We could have waited at the roadside for a passerby, but I
preferred not to rely on the kindness of strangers, at least not in our pitiful
state. Besides, at that late hour, who knew how long we would have waited
before someone happened by. More likely, the tax assessors or our pirate
captors would come searching for us first.

“But where will we walk
to
?” Jenna asked.

“Anywhere but here. I don’t know if they’ll come back for
us, but I don’t want to take that chance. We need to find some place to hide,
at least until daylight.”

Malita tugged at my arm. “We go.”

“Yes.” I chuckled. “We go.”

Malita started off in the same direction as the wagon, and I
didn’t object. The driver had a destination in mind, a town or city, certainly.
Although I wanted to avoid our captors, the three of us needed to find
civilization and the food, water, and shelter that came with it. Jenna lagged
behind us as we tramped over the rough road, but she didn’t resist or whine
anymore.

We walked for a while in silence, but a soft melody began to
leak from Malita’s lips, something throaty and deep, and she kept the rhythm of
her song with a steady click of her tongue. I listened for a while and then
found myself picking up the tune and humming along. Her song grew louder, and
her pace quickened to match the beat.

“Someone’s going to hear you,” Jenna hissed. “Sound carries
far at night. You’ll bring the pirates down on us all the faster, and we won’t
hear them coming until it’s too late.

Malita caught Jenna’s tone and ducked her head. Jenna’s
attitude rubbed me like a rough seam in riding britches, but I agreed with her
logic. We gave up singing and walked on, keeping our ears open for approaching
traffic.

I had no ability to judge distances, but I knew something
about the movements of the stars. By the position of Aeolus in the sky, I
figured we had walked for nearly two hours by the time I spied a solid shadow
at the far edge of a distant field. I couldn’t tell if it was a house or
something else, but it beckoned to me.

I paused mid-stride and considered the shadowy structure.
The chain connecting me to Malita yanked at my arm when she continued on, not
realizing I had stopped. The abrupt movement reawakened my injury. I sucked a
breath and moaned when white-hot blades of pain lanced my wrist. Noting my
reaction, Malita said something in a concerned tone. She put a gentle hand to
my wrist and prodded it with her thumb. I hissed when her inspection bothered a
particularly sensitive spot.

She clucked her tongue and patted my arm, then released my
hand and lowered to a crouch. In the darkness, I couldn’t make out what she was
doing, but the familiar sound of ripping cloth answered my question. Malita
rose and took my arm again. She laid a length of fabric that must have come
from the hem of her dress over my wrist. Then she wound it, around and around,
crossing it several times above my thumb and across my palm and up along my
forearm. When she reached the end of the bandage, she knotted it in place with
a flick of her nimble fingers.

“She’s an escape artist and a physician,” I said, wishing I
knew the words to tell Malita how much I appreciated her, and how lucky I was
to have her with me.

My new friend leaned in close and held up her own arm. She
made a show of rotating her wrist joint. She motioned to me, and I raised my
bandaged appendage and showed her how she had wrapped it tightly enough to
prevent easy movement. She nodded, satisfied with her ministrations, and patted
me on the shoulder again. I threw my arms around her, hugging her. She laughed
and returned my embrace.