Scimitar Sun (41 page)

“You pretty now,” she said to him, one brown hand caressing his stern jaw as she smiled sweetly.

On the steps of the keep, tensions also eased among the participants of the morning’s conference.

“Well, that was quite a display!” Count Norris said, looking down from the sun and shaking his head as if waking from a particularly astonishing dream. His hand was still clasped in his son’s: the dream was true. “I think, Lieutenant Garris, that you can order your men to stand down. We can resume this discussion when Mistress Flaxal returns.”

“As you say, milord,” the officer said with a short bow. He nodded to the marine commander, and they both barked orders to their charges. The sailors and marines lining the beaches began boarding their boats, while many of the natives who had opposed them had already wandered away to their huts or the shipyard to begin the day’s work.

“See Lady Camilla about billeting your remaining troops, Lieutenant,” he said, smiling at her in thanks for the offer, then looking down into his son’s beaming face. “What say we go for a little walk, Timothy, eh? You could show me around the — ”

“Sir! Look! A boat from the ship!” They all turned to where the sharp-eyed sailor pointed to see a small launch rowing hurriedly toward the pier. When they were close enough to shout, a young officer stood and cupped his hands at his mouth.

“Sir! Sir! Did you see?”

“Yes, Mister Haran, we saw the eclipse,” the lieutenant responded, relieved that it was nothing important.

“Yes, sir, that, but the other as well! To the south!” The ensign pointed frantically, nearly falling out of the boat.

“What? What is it to the south?” Faces turned, but the ridge blocked their view.

“Fire Isle, sir! It’s exploded!”

“Exploded?” Camilla turned to Ghelfan and exchanged a worried look.

“That is dire news,” he said, shaking his head.

“Why dire, Master Ghelfan?” Norris asked, his eyes flickering from one face to the next, all furrowed in similar concern. “What’s wrong?”

“That’s where Mistress Flaxal went,” Tim said, tugging his hand and pointing to the trail that led over the ridge. “That’s where she took Edan, to Fire Isle. Come on! We can see from the top of the ridge.”

The entire crowd of sailors, marines, officers and half the native population hurried up the trail. En route, Tim explained to his father who Edan was, and why they had gone to Fire Isle. The explanation left him almost as out of breath as climbing did. By the time they arrived, many already lined the ridge top. Murmurs of concern were being exchanged in two languages.

“Oh, my!” Camilla stared wide-eyed at the towering plume of ash that rose from the barely visible pyramid of Fire Isle.

“My, but that is spectacular!” Norris agreed, shading his eyes. “Does it erupt like this often?”

“Nay, yer countship, it puffs and spews occasionally, but I ain’t ne’r seen it like this afore!” Dura squinted into the distance and chewed her lip.

“Miss Dura is correct,” Chula said with a grim smile. “We have watched de burnin’ islan’ for many years, and dis be de biggest eruption any of us ever seen. Even Whuafa never told of one so big.”

“That’s not good,” Camilla said, looking from the huge plume of ash to their guests. “If
Orin’s Pride
was too close to that when it happened, they could be in trouble.”

“Should we send a ship?” Norris asked.

“I don’t think that will be necessary, milord Count.” Ghelfan squinted into the distance. “After all, Cynthia Flaxal is a seamage. Likely she will be able to handle any difficulties. And by the time one of your ships can reach the island,
Orin’s Pride
will have returned or not.”

“Aye,” Dura agreed, “and if they don’t, we’re all in a very deep pile o’ shite, by my reckonin’.”

“And why is that?” Norris asked, his curiosity piqued.

Camilla answered, her tone flat and accusative. “Because the arrival of two warships, and one of them anchoring in coral, has undoubtedly angered the mer, and Cynthia Flaxal is the only person who can even speak their language, let alone reason with them.”

≈

Orin’s Pride
tacked across the wind for the tenth time since the eruption, her bow pointing southeast again, bringing her back toward Fire Isle. They had remained off the northwest corner of the island for several hours, sailing in as close as was prudent, then back out to safety, each time scanning the shores for any sign of Edan.

“It’s gonna be dark by the next tack,” Feldrin said, glaring up at the still spewing volcano, “and this bloody mountain ain’t showin’ no sign of calmin’ down.”

“I promised him we’d pick him up, Feldrin,” Cynthia said, looking up at him from her seat beside the cuddy, her back supported by a pillow from their cabin. She’d found it impossible to sleep despite her fatigue, but had managed to rest for a while and felt much better. Despite Feldrin’s scowls, she had made herself comfortable on deck, and watched for Edan.

“Aye, and we’ve tried.” He looked to the west at the setting sun and scowled again. “I don’t relish approachin’ this shore in the dark.”

“If we don’t see him on this tack, we’ll heave to well to the north and try again in the morning.” She looked up at him imploringly. “We owe him that much.”

“Aye, I suppose we do at that. I ain’t in no hurry, mind ya, but that bloody mountain makes me nervous!”

“Makes
you
nervous! Ha!” She glared at him teasingly, and Mouse chirped in agreement; he knew how she felt about fire.

“Aye, I understand, lass.” He heaved a sigh that would have filled a sail and nodded. “Fine, then. We’ll stand off the north shore fer the night and try again in the — ”

“On deck there!” the lookout cried from above, drawing their attention. “Somethin’ ashore! I don’t know what, but somethin’!”

“Where away?” Feldrin bellowed, raising his own glass.

“Two points starboard, just in that hot spot there!” The lookout pointed to a broad depression between two outthrust points crisscrossed by runnels of molten rock flowing to the sea. “There’s somethin’ movin’ there, but it can’t be…”

“What do you see, damn it!” Feldrin shouted, scanning futilely with his own glass.

“It looks like a man, sir! But it can’t be!”

“Why the bloody hells can’t it be a man?”

“He’s knee deep in a lava flow, sir! It can’t be a man!”

“It’s Edan!” Cynthia said, standing and training a glass on the glowing rivers of lava where the lookout was pointing. “I see him! Just left of that tall rock. We can put a launch in there easily, Feldrin! Quick!”

“Bloody hells!” He fired off orders to maneuver the ship as close as they could and heave to, then put a boat in the water. “Lively now! We gotta get in there before it gets dark or we’ll never find him.”

“Oh, I don’t think we’ll have any problems finding him in the dark, love,” Cynthia said, lowering the glass and sparing him a glance. “He’s glowing about the same color as the lava.”

“Glowing! What in all Nine Hells…”

“Just like that firesprite of his. Oh, and we should probably bring some clothes, too.” She raised the glass again and chuckled. “His seem to have burned away, but he doesn’t seem to be bothered by it much.”

≈

The school dispersed.

The Voice had spoken; the decision had been made.

Trident Holder Broadtail nodded to Eelback and signed, *The planning is yours, Eelback. Your arguments brought us to this decision; your choices will see it through.*

*The responsibility is mine, Trident Holder,* he signed, gesturing with all due respect. *We know the landwalker warships are strong. The scouts say the larger is the greatest ship they have ever seen. The Voice was wise to agree that you must stay here with those who cannot fight; if we fail, none may survive, and the school must have their Trident Holder.*

*I must sign to you, Eelback, that I did not expect this from you. To take our warriors into such a battle, the outcome uncertain, for the honor of the school…* He brought the ceremonial trident down across his body and bowed over it. *I honor you, Eelback, for your sacrifice.*

*I believe we will drag the landwalker warships to the bottom of the sea, Trident Holder!* Eelback signed, stirring up the fervor that had brought the school and The Voice to their recent decision. *We cannot allow the landwalkers to treat us like animals, like
fish
! We will teach them to respect us!*

*I hope this is the right decision,* the Trident Holder signed, swirling his tail in a gesture of worry. *We do not want the seamage disparaged by our actions. You must make sure the landwalkers understand that this is
our
decision, not hers.*

*They will know, Trident Holder,* he signed, turning away to his duties and thinking,
You have no idea how clearly they will see that we are not the seamage’s pets!

≈

The launch sped toward shore under the power of the seamage’s will, moving through the placid waters of the little cove like a duck on a pond — smooth on the surface, all effort underneath. Edan nodded, understanding now how the seamage did it.

“You survived!” bellowed the burly Captain Brelak, his voice and bluster making Edan smile. “We thought you were lost when the bloody mountain exploded!”

“It was…” he paused, momentarily at a loss for words, then said, “interesting. But I must tell you, Mistress Flaxal, that even though I was aware throughout my ascension, I don’t remember much.”

“I thought as much.” She gestured minutely, bringing the boat steadily into the rocky shore. “I felt Odea’s power when it happened, Edan. I assume that she blessed you as well?”

“Yes.” He brought a gust of hot wind down the mountain to swirl around them, delighted by their looks of surprise. He also saw an odd expression on the seamage’s face; she had felt his manipulation, and he idly wondered how his power over the wind compared with hers. “I was told that Odea joined with Phekkar today; they bestowed on me the gifts of both flame and wind. I don’t know why.”

“Interesting,” she said, nodding to a crewman who handed a packet of clothing to Edan. “So Phekkar spoke to you?”

“I…I think it was a servant of Phekkar, not Phekkar himself,” he said, suddenly hesitant to describe some of the things he did remember, but he quirked a private smile as he tickled Flicker to elicit a giggle. He carefully doused his fire, watching his skin shift from a coppery glow to his usual pale hue before accepting the bundle. “But other than that, I can’t tell you much.” He stepped into the trousers and pulled on the shirt.

Captain Brelak extended a hand to him, albeit reluctantly, to assist him into the boat. In fact, the entire crew seemed nervous, subtly shifting in their seats as though he would burn them if he touched them. He couldn’t fault them for that; it wasn’t everyday that they’d see someone enter a volcano and come out alive. But the strangest reaction was from the seamage herself, who drew back when he passed her to take his seat. Not that he minded; he felt himself vaguely repelled by her presence and sat as far from her as he could. He was reminded of the lightkeeper’s actions when she visited the lighthouse, and suddenly he realized — fire and water didn’t mix.

“I would like to discuss your ascension with you, if you don’t mind,” the seamage said. She propelled the boat away from the shore with no more than a thought. He felt her surge of power, and smiled. So familiar, yet so different.

“I would enjoy that, Mistress Flaxal, after a bit of sleep, perhaps.” He smiled and stifled a yawn. “You’ll forgive me, but the day’s been rather…taxing.”

The crew chuckled at his understatement. Grateful that the little boat was so steady, Edan rested his head in his hands. He barely noticed when they arrived at the ship, and became aware only when it was his turn to board. He almost forgot to be afraid of the water as he clambered up the little rope ladder onto the deck, but the seething sea beneath the ship still sent chills up his spine. Despite his blessing from Odea, he didn’t think he would ever come to love the sea.

“Set sail for Plume Isle,” the captain bellowed, drowning out the rumble of the boisterous volcano. “Jibs and reefed main! Let the fores’l fly full and don’t spare the tops’ls!”

The crew cheered, and Edan had to smile despite himself as he eased his way down the steps to his cabin. He stopped at the mess to wolf down a loaf of bread with butter and a bowl of thick stew, hardly tasting a bite. He caught himself staring at the lamp flame, and looked away. He now understood Flicker’s actions; the temptation to let the fire play wherever it willed was almost too great to ignore.

“Not now,” he muttered to himself, or maybe to Flicker, whom he now knew never missed a word he said. “You’re on a ship made of wood, Edan. Now would be a bad time to let the fires rage.” He pushed himself up from the bench, handed the dirty dishes to Cook, mumbled his thanks and stumbled to his door. He tumbled into the tiny space of his cabin and stared, so exhausted that he was unsure if he was even in the right place. Then he saw Flicker’s cage hanging from the ceiling and smiled.

“No cage for you tonight, Flick,” he said, stripping off his clothes and rolling into the bunk. He lay on his back and marveled once again at his feet and legs; all the old scars, vanished. All the old pains, gone. He settled back, breathing a gusty sigh as Flicker lay on his chest, the flames of her hair licking at his chin. “Just don’t catch the bed on fire. Likely I wouldn’t even wake up until the ship started to sink, and then we’d both be in deep water — and that’s no joke.”

She gave him a tired “Eek,” and was asleep. Before he could even think to say goodnight, he drifted into a sleep filled with a million-billion stars burning in a cyclone of fire.

≈

Quickfin and Chaser exchanged a glance and a grin as
Orin’s Pride
turned north and set her sails. The sun had set, and a million stars shone in the moonless night: the track of the gods clear across the sky, their constellations plain for all to see.

*I had not noticed before that Odea and the burning god are so close in the sky,* Quickfin signed, lingering a moment before they turned to follow the ship. *Is that a new star between them?*