Ship of Destiny (85 page)

“Look at that!” Wintrow exclaimed suddenly. The white serpent had surfaced by the Jamaillian ship that was locked with the
Motley.
As if it knew their plans, it roared, and then opened wide its jaws to spray the deck with venom. Men screamed. The serpent was too close for their catapult to be of any use. Their volley of arrows rattled off him harmlessly. He disappeared beneath the waves, then surfaced again off the ship’s bow. He sprayed the ship again, then bent his great head to press his brow against the wood of the hull. He pushed furiously, lashing the sea to cream with his efforts. Wintrow heard the groan of wood. The great timbers, smoking with the serpent’s venom, actually bent with the pressure. On board the
Motley,
men struggled to push their ship clear. Overhead, tangled rigging resisted, but sailors with axes were swarming aloft. They cut themselves free with reckless abandon. With a lurch, the ships suddenly parted.

As the pirates on the
Motley
gave an uneven cheer, the serpent rose once more to spray the other ship with venom. A lone archer, screaming with the pain of his scalds, let fly a single arrow. It struck the white serpent, just behind the angle of his jaw. The shaft plunged out of sight and the serpent screamed in agony. It whipped its head about wildly as if it sought to dislodge the arrow. In horror, Wintrow saw a sudden wound open on the serpent’s neck. It ran blood and steaming white toxins. Its own venom was eating away at its flesh. Vivacia gave a cry of fury and horror.

Paragon suddenly swept past them. With complete disregard for the figurehead, the ship rammed the Jamaillian craft. As his bow caught the other vessel amidships, Paragon screamed in wordless fury. He seized the ship’s railing and tore it loose.

Wintrow had never thought to gauge the strength of a liveship’s figurehead. Before his eyes, an enraged Paragon used the ship’s railing as a club to batter at the hapless vessel. Splinters flew at every blow. Men fled, seeking shelter from the flying pieces of wood. When the railing gave way, he snatched the war axe from his belt. He wielded it two-handed. With every crushing stroke, Paragon roared. Deck planks gave way, and then he reached overhead to tear at canvas and rigging. With his axe and his hands, he reduced the ship to wreckage before Wintrow’s disbelieving eyes. On Paragon’s deck, his own crew darted for cover, shouting with terror.

THE OTHER JAMAILLIAN SHIPS HAD MOVED BACK DEFENSIVELY.
Paragon continued to throw chunks of wreckage at them. An anchor trailing a length of chain crashed into the rigging of one ship. A ship’s boat, flung with wild strength, cleared half the deck of another. In their haste to be out of his range, one Jamaillian ship rammed another. They drifted in a circle, rigging tangled. Paragon’s wild attack had broken an opening for them. Small good it would do them, but Althea watched as the
Marietta
swept through it, followed by the limping
Motley.
They at least would escape.

“Paragon! Paragon!” From the helm, Brashen yelled the ship’s name hoarsely. It did no good. The rage of a dragon burned in him, and with every wild blow, he roared it. Vivacia swept through the gap in the circle. “Follow, follow!” she cried to Paragon as she escaped, but he appeared not to hear. His sails strained to push him on, but he caught hold of the Jamaillian ship with one hand and kept punishing it with the other. The two vessels groaned against one another. A stone thudded against their stern, reminding Althea that the Jamaillian ships were still attacking. Another stone hit the afterdeck and took out a piece of Paragon’s railing. If they smashed his rudder, they were doomed. Another stone struck. Death reached for them.

Kyle Haven had emerged from hiding. In the midst of the chaos, he danced a madman’s jig on the main deck. “Die here, die here!” he chanted shrilly. “Die as you all deserve, every one of you! Serves you right! You brought his body on board! We’ll take it to the bottom with us.”

Etta had been closeted with Mother. Now she appeared and made a determined rush down the deck. As she ran, a small ship swept past, the same one that had harried Vivacia earlier. “Get down!” Althea cried as the row of archers let fly.

Etta heeded her. Kyle did not.

He fell, jerking, with two arrows through his body. Etta did not give him a glance. She picked herself up and ran. When she reached the foredeck, she screamed her words with the force of a sudden cold wind. “Faithless ship! Bear us away! Or Kennit’s child will die unborn, a child he bid me name ‘Paragon’.”

The figurehead twisted back to look at her. His wide blue eyes shone with madness. He stared at her and a sudden silence fell. In one hand, he gripped a timber from the shattered ship. He lifted it high over his head, then flung it into the rigging of an approaching Jamaillian ship. He thrust his axe back into his harness. At last, he seized the battered hulk in both hands and pushed savagely free of it. The impetus aimed them toward the closing gap and thrust the wreckage into the path of two other ships. Suddenly unimpeded, his full sails sent him shooting forward. Swift as only a liveship was swift, he cut past the bow of a Jamaillian ship and into clear water.

Like a blessing from Sa, there was suddenly open ocean before them. Paragon poured himself into it. The wind sped them as they fled after Vivacia. On the deck, Kyle Haven’s blood pooled in standing puddles.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        
SECRETS

THEIR ESCAPE HAD FORCED THEM NORTH, THE WRONG
direction for fleeing to Divvytown.

The day was fading as Paragon caught up with the others. Vivacia moved swiftly and surely to the fore of their little group of vessels. Wintrow had clearly taken over command of the small pirate force. Althea was proud of him. It was a shame his father had never seen his son as Kennit had, she thought.

No one who had ever loved Kyle Haven would have to look at what had been done to him. Amber had silently helped her slide his body into the sea. Althea herself had wiped from Paragon’s deck the blood his wizardwood refused to absorb. She still did not know what she would tell Malta or Keffria. She knew what she would not tell them. She felt sick and bloated with ugly secrets.

Althea lifted her eyes and studied the ships critically. Vivacia led the way, sailing as only a liveship could. The
Marietta,
Sorcor’s trim little vessel, strove to keep pace with her. The battered
Motley
trailed them substantially. Last came Paragon. Althea could feel that he still mourned the serpent. Kennit was part of the ship now, and yet she could not deny her bond with him. A shiver, half shudder, ran up her.

Althea made her way aft to the wheel looking for Brashen. She was not ready to be near the figurehead yet. She excused herself that Etta stood on the foredeck, and undoubtedly wished to be alone. As she walked the deck, Amber emerged from the hatch, carrying a pannikin of stew. The smell of it sickened Althea. She could not recall when she had last eaten.

Semoy was on the wheel. He greeted her with a grin and a wink. “Knew we’d get you back,” he claimed. She clapped him on the shoulder in passing, surprised that his welcome should move her so. Wordlessly, Amber handed him the food. He gave the wheel to her and came to stand beside Althea. Between shoveled mouthfuls, he nodded aft. “They still aren’t giving up, are they?”

Behind them the Jamaillian ships had sorted themselves out from Paragon’s rampage. Some were giving chase. “I don’t think they dare,” Althea replied. “As long as we have the Satrap and he’s alive, they can’t give up. If he isn’t dead, all the rest of their plan falls to pieces. They lose everything.” She watched the enemy ships critically. “We’re right to flee. Some of those ships won’t last the night. I’ve seen the effects of serpent-spittle. What looks like sound canvas will soon split and shred. If we run, we can leave at least some of them behind. Then, when we must fight, we’ll face a smaller force.”

“An even better hope is that we may lose them in the night.” Brashen spoke behind them. “Even if we don’t, Wintrow has hostages now.” A shadow came over his face. “I don’t think he’ll hesitate to use them.”

“Hostages?” Althea asked as Brashen came to join them at the aft railing. His face was gray; he looked as if he had aged a year in a day. Still, he put his arm around Althea and pulled her close. She hooked an arm around his waist.

From his tone, she could not tell if Brashen approved or was horrified. “At the last possible moment, Wintrow pulled a dozen or so men off the Jamaillian ship. Nobles, by their clothing. They should be worth something as hostages. But we’re right to flee until we’re in a position to bargain. There are many places to hide in the Isles, and we follow three ships that know these waters well. We may escape death today.”

Semoy had finished his food. He thanked Amber and traded her the dish for the wheel. It seemed strange that such an ordinary exchange could occur on such a day. Peace seemed foreign to Althea now.

Brashen spoke suddenly, addressing Amber. “Ornamental?” he asked accusingly.

She shrugged, and there was wonder in her strange eyes. “I pegged the axe in place. I never dreamed he’d be able to take it out and use it.” She shook her head. “The more I know of it, the stranger stuff is wizardwood.”

“Lucky for us he could,” Semoy observed approvingly. “Didn’t the splinters fly?”

No one seemed ready to reply to that observation.

Althea leaned against Brashen and watched the distance widen between them and their pursuers. There was so much to tell him, and absolutely nothing to say that was not said better with this simple touch. Clef appeared suddenly. He stood before Althea and Brashen, and shook his head reprovingly. “In fronter the crew an’ all,” he disparaged them with a disrespectful grin. Althea assayed a playful swipe at him. To her surprise, Clef caught her flying hand and held it firmly to his cheek. “Good yer back,” he blurted. “So good yer ent dead.” As swiftly as he had seized her hand, he released it. “How come yer heven’t said nought to Paragon yet? He’s got a new face, y’know. An’ an axe. An’ blue eyes like me.”

“Blue eyes?” Amber exploded incredulously. “They’re supposed to be dark brown, nearly black.” She suddenly spun about and hastened forward.

“Wizardwood is strange stuff,” Brashen reminded her smugly.

“Bit late to change ’em,” Clef observed cheerily. “’sides, I like ’em. They’re kind. Like Mother’s.” He hastened after her.

They were nearly alone now, if one did not consider Semoy. The old sailor considerately kept his eyes forward as Brashen kissed her. Only for an instant did her memory of Kennit’s assault intrude. Then she seized him and kissed him firmly in defiance, refusing any comparison between this and the pirate’s attack on her. She would not let that stand between them.

Yet, when she released him, there was a shadow in Brashen’s eyes. He was too perceptive. He looked into her face questioningly. She gave a tiny shrug. Now was not the time to tell him. She wondered if it would ever be the time to tell him all of it.

He probably thought he was changing the subject. “So, why don’t we go forward and assure Paragon you’re aboard and well?”

“He knows that I am. But for him, I wouldn’t be,” she replied. The shock of seeing his eyes as he caught her had still not left her. Kennit’s eyes. She had nearly shamed herself by screaming as the ship’s big hands had closed on her. She knew Paragon had sensed it. He had not paused, but had set her swiftly into Brashen’s reach. To Brashen’s puzzled silence now, she replied, “I will see him and speak with him in a quiet moment, Brashen. Not just yet.” She made the beginning of an attempt. “Kennit is part of him now. Isn’t he?”

He tried to explain it to her. “Kennit was a Ludluck. Had you worked that out?”

“No,” she said slowly. Kennit was Bingtown Trader stock? It appalled her.

Brashen gave her a few moments to absorb that before he added, “We suspected since Divvytown that Paragon was Igrot’s fabled ship. Bingtown always denied the pirate might have had a liveship. But he did: Paragon. And in Kennit he had a hostage, to keep the ship subservient to him.”

“Sa’s breath.” The pieces were all fitting now. Her mind struggled to encompass it all. “So Kennit came home to die on his deck. To be one with his ship.” A little chill of horror ran up her spine.

Brashen nodded, watching her face. “He always has been, Althea. I don’t think his death on the ship has changed Paragon, save to put him at peace. He is finally one, a complete self. The dragons, the Ludlucks, men and boy, and Kennit are all merged into one.” She turned aside at that but he put two fingers under her chin and turned her face up to his. “And us,” he said almost fiercely. “You and I. Amber and Jek. Clef. All we have put into him became a part of him, too. Don’t turn away from him now. Please. Don’t stop loving him.”

She could scarcely concentrate on his words. She had dreaded telling Brashen about the rape, but had resolved she must. Yet, how could she tell him, without compromising his feelings for his ship? The convolutions of her thoughts dizzied her.

“Althea?” Brashen asked her anxiously.

“I’ll try,” she said faintly. She suddenly didn’t care who was watching. She tugged his arms around her and stepped into his embrace. “Hold me,” she told him fiercely. “Hold me very, very close.”

SHE HAD SAID SHE WOULD TRY. WITH DIFFICULTY, BRASHEN DID
not press her for more than that. Something had happened on board Vivacia, something that kept her apart from him now. He set his chin upon her dark head and wrapped her in his arms. He thought he knew what.

Althea seemed to sense his thoughts, for she changed the subject. “The chop’s getting worse.” She shifted slightly in his arms. He pretended not to see that she wiped tears on his shirtfront.

“That it is. I suspect we’ve got a bit of a squall coming up. But we’ve been through storms before. Paragon’s a good ship for stormy weather.”

“All the better for us to hide in.”

“I think we’re gaining distance from the Jamaillians.”

“They’ve doused their lights. They’re hoping to creep up on us in the dark.”

“They’ll have to find us first.”

“It will be harder for the
Marietta
and the
Motley
to keep pace with the liveships in the dark.”

“They’re running dark, too.”

“Vivacia won’t leave them behind. She’ll protect them no matter the risk to herself.”

An ordinary conversation, discussing the obvious. It spoke too plainly to Brashen. She had been back on the
Vivacia,
and found her heart once more. He could not blame her. Vivacia was Althea’s family ship. With Kennit dead, she had a much better chance of reclaiming her. And unlike Paragon, Vivacia had not embraced the anma of a murdering pirate who had done vast damage to Althea’s family. When she had come back from Vivacia, he had deceived himself that she had come back to him. Instead, she had come to share battle plans. Watching the distracted frown on her face, he knew where her thoughts were.

She loved him, in her way. She gave him as much as she could, without forsaking her ship and her family. He had no right to ask more than that. If he’d still had a family to claim him, perhaps he would have been just as torn. For a fleeting instant, he considered leaving Paragon to follow her. But he couldn’t. No one else knew this ship as he did. No one else had endured alongside him. He could not make Paragon vulnerable to a captain that might not tolerate his uneven moods. And what of Clef? Would he tear the boy from the ship that loved him? Or leave him on Paragon, to be trained by a master who might not have his best interests at heart? And Semoy would not be first mate under any other captain. He’d go back to being a washed-up drunk, and lose whatever years he had left to a bottle. No. As much as he loved Althea, he had responsibilities here. She would not respect a man who abandoned his ship to follow her. Brashen Trell was finished with walking away from his duties. Here he must remain, and if need be, love Althea from afar and when they could.

In that acknowledgment, he suddenly knew that he did have a family again.

ETTA LEANED ON THE RAILING, STARING FORWARD INTO THE
dark. Paragon could feel her there, though her presence was limited to the warm press of her forearms against his wizardwood railing. With no bond with her, he could not sense her emotions at all.

She broke the silence suddenly. “I know a little bit of liveships. From Vivacia.”

He had nothing to say to that. He waited.

“Somehow, I don’t understand how, Kennit was your family. When he died, he went into you?” Her voice tightened on the awkward words. He felt her trembling.

“In a manner of speaking.” His words sounded too cold; he sought to add something gentler. “He was always a part of me and I of him. For many reasons, we were bound more tightly than is usual. It was very important, to both of us, that he come back at the moment of his death. I knew that. I don’t think Kennit realized it until it happened.”

She took a breath. In a strangled voice she asked, “So you are Kennit now?”

“No. I’m sorry. Kennit is a part of me. He completes me. But I am, irrevocably, Paragon.” It felt good to make that declaration. He suspected that it might be painful for her to hear. To his surprise, he felt genuine sorrow that he had to hurt her. He tried to remember the last time he had had such a feeling, and could not. Was this yet another aspect of being whole: the ability to feel sympathy? It would take time to adjust to feeling such things.

“Then he is gone,” Etta said heavily. He heard her take a struggling breath. “But why couldn’t you heal him as Vivacia healed Wintrow?”

He thought silently for a time. “You say she healed him? I know nothing of that. I can only guess at what she did. It is what dragons can do, if they must. They burn the resources of their bodies to speed a healing. If Vivacia did that to Wintrow, he was lucky to survive it. Few humans have such reserves. Kennit certainly did not.”

Her silence lasted long. The night deepened around them. Even darkness was a pleasure to his newly restored vision. Night was not truly dark. He turned his eyes to the skies above, to clouds obscuring and then revealing the moon and stars. Phosphorescence outlined the waves. His keen vision, part of his dragon heritage, picked out the outlines of the ships he followed.

“Would you know something about him—Kennit? If I asked you something, could you tell me true?”

“Perhaps,” Paragon hedged. He glanced back at her. She had lifted her hands from the railing and was turning her bracelet restlessly.

“Did he love me?” The question burst from her, painful in its intensity. “Did he truly love me? I need to know.”

“Kennit is part of me. But I am not Kennit.” Paragon debated furiously with himself. She carried a child, the child promised him so long ago. Paragon Ludluck. A child needed to be loved, loved without reservations.

“If you have his memories, you know the truth,” Etta insisted. “Did he love me?”

“Yes. He loved you.” He gave her what she needed to hear, without compunction.
I have Kennit’s memories, but I am not Kennit. Still, I can lie as well as he did. And for better cause.
“He loved you as fully as his heart could love.” That was true, at least.