Boyett-Compo, Charlotte - WindTales 02 (8 page)

made the decisions for the populace, settled disputes, carried out their verdicts, and, most importantly of

all, and saw that the village was protected from outsiders and citizens, alike. Those who do not abide by

the laws and codes of Montyne Cay were asked to leave and were not allowed to return. The five men

of the council judged those who refused to leave on their merits. If they were found to be undesirable,

they were transported. If they returned, they were imprisoned.

Patrick Kasella sat on the Council of Five.

The populations of Montyne Cay ranged from seventy-five to ninety, depending on how many ships

were in port during the count. Very few of the residents were native to the region, most having ventured

on the seas, either willingly or pressed into service elsewhere, before finally finding their way to the

majestic horseshoe-shaped cove where the ships of the trade docked. Most of the women, with the

exception of two Necromanian warrioresses and one Chrystallusian lady of questionable lineage were

native-born Ionarians. The men sitting on the Council of Five represented the five nations sailing under the

Privateer Brotherhood of Montyne Cay: Ionary, Chale, Serenia, Necroman, and Oceania. Virago and

Chrystallus were not part of that representation.

“We don't trust that damned navy of theirs,” Neevens had explained to Syn-Jern one evening when Sorn

asked why no Viragonian flags flew from any of the ships in port.

“You let one of their so-called pirate ships in here and the next thing you know, you just

gods-be-damned well might have their whole bleeding armada breathing down your neck. That godawful

Tribunal of theirs has been threatening for years to dig us out of Montyne Cay. They would if they could

find us, I reckon."

“What about Chrystallus?” Syn-Jern inquired. “They don't have much of a navy, do they?"

“No navy at all!” Neevens scoffed. “Have you ever heard the like? What kind of kingdom don't have a

navy?” He had shown his contempt of the Chrystallusian rulers.

“Little men, they are; about so high. Weird eyes, funny way of walking and talking. You ever see that girl

of Brod's? She's from there."

Syn-Jern smiled. “She's lovely."

“Hell fire, boy! You been cooped up too long!” Neevens snorted, “if you think Lin See's ‘lovely'!"

“How do you think she views us?” Syn-Jern laughed. “To her, our eyes must look funny; we must sound

strange to her ears; seem out of proportion because of our height."

“Ain't the same!” Neevens blustered, striding away. “Ain't the same, at all!"

Sitting on one of the tallest cliffs, his eyes out to sea, Syn-Jern thought back to his conversation that night

on board the Wind Lass and sighed. Things had been a helluva lot simpler then. Now, they were as

complicated as they could get.

“Want some company?"

“You're a glutton for punishment, Saur,” Syn-Jern remarked, craning his head to look up at his visitor.

The sun was behind Weir Saur and all he could see was the height of the man and a white halo of light

around his head. “I'd have thought you'd had your fill of me for one day."

Weir chuckled and sat down, crossed his ankles and braced his forearms on his raised knees. “I have

these feelings, sometimes,” he said. “They say my mother had the ‘sight'.” He glanced at his companion.

“She was from Oceania."

Syn-Jern nodded. “I've heard it said Oceanian women have such power."

Saur's voice was hesitant when he spoke. “As I've heard, there are some Viragonian men who wield

those same powers.

“It's happened once or twice before,” Syn-Jern said softly.

“And you've never told anyone."

“Who should I have told?” Syn-Jern asked. His tone was sharper than he intended. He tore his gaze

away and returned his vision to the heaving seas.

Weir laid his hand on Syn-Jern's arm. “Was your life really all that bad, Syn-Jern, or is that just the way

you remember it being?"

Swinging his head around, Syn-Jern stared at Weir. “You saw what happened today? If I'd done that

when I was a child, my own mother would have had me burned at the stake as a warlock! She was a

very religious woman. You have to remember: before the Burning War, Holy Dale, where she was born,

was the motherhouse for a group of nuns. She would have lit the faggots beneath my feet had I been

accused of witchery."

“Syn-Jern, you can't believe that. A mother..."

“Maybe not your mother, Saur. Maybe not any woman you've ever known. But my mother would

have.” He pushed himself away from the ground and stood, glaring out to sea, imagining his mother's face

as though it were before him that very moment. “She was terrified of the Tribunal, even more so of that

sect of sorcerers that run the Tribunal."

“The Domination?” Weir had heard tales of the priests of the Brotherhood of the Domination; tales that

had made the hair on his arms stir.

“Aye, them,” Syn-Jern hissed. He narrowed his gaze. “The High Priest who had me condemned to the

Labyrinth is one of them.” He looked down at Weir. “The bastard's name is Demonicus."

Weir flinched. “He was Chief Taxman when my father's estate was sold."

“The one and the same."

“He's on my list,” Weir stated, speaking of the list he had made of men he meant to see ruined for being

a part of his father's murder.

“He should be at the very top!"

“If your mother feared the Tribunal, why did she marry your father? Wasn't your grandfather sitting on

the Judiciary Panel when they married?"

Syn-Jern nodded. “Lexus Sorn, aye. I never knew him, never even saw him, but I was told he was one

of the men behind all the important decisions at the palace."

“He wielded that much power?” Weir asked, astonished that Syn-Jern had been so highly connected to

the royal family.

“He was the power when Nyles Hesar, Innis's father, was Prince. They say Prince Nyles and my

grandfather were lovers. Nyles, I was told, worshipped the ground Lexus Sorn walked; he gave him

carte blanche to do whatever he wished in Virago."

“Until Innis came to power.” Weir grinned nastily. “I've heard his rod is bent the same as his father's."

Syn-Jern laughed and it was an ugly sound. “Aye, I've heard the same."

“What happened then? Didn't I hear somewhere that Lexus Sorn vanished after Prince Nyles’ death?"

He looked down at Weir. “No one knows where he went. Both men had taken wives to squelch the

gossip about their real relationship else Lexus would never have consented to touch a female; he had

been ordained at the Abbey of the Domination. My father was an ‘accident’ just like me: a moment's

drunken stupor that led to calamity."

“Lexus was part of the Domination?” Weir asked, stunned.

Syn-Jern nodded. “Oh, aye. I was told he was one of the higher ranking members of that evil bunch and

had been since his eighteenth birthday."

Weir shivered, drew his legs into the circle of his arms. No wonder Syn-Jern had so shocked everyone

that morning: he was related to the magical powers of the Domination.

“I won't let it happen again, Weir,” Syn-Jern told his companion as though he'd read his mind. “I've

spent most of my life trying to keep that very same thing from happening."

“But why? Can't you control it?"

He shook his head. “No.” His hands curled into fists at his side. “If Patrick hadn't pushed so damned

hard this morning, it wouldn't have happened then."

Weir looked out across the bay, his thoughts on what had happened earlier in the day.

What had started out as a teasing game of one-upsmanship had escalated into a full-scale battle between

the two men who had become very close over the months on board the Wind Lass. Patrick hadn't been

hurt in the fracas, but he had been severely trounced in a way no one could have suspected or

anticipated. After it was all over, no one who knew Syn-Jern Sorn would ever look at the man again in

the same way.

“I could have killed him, Weir,” Syn-Jern admitted, his fists clenching and unclenching. “I've done it

before."

Weir stood, concerned for the man standing beside him. “But you didn't."

“I wanted to!” Syn-Jern spat. He turned to Weir. “I wanted him hurt! I wanted him beaten! If I'd turned

the full power of that vengeance on him, you'd be burying him right about now!"

“I don't understand how you could have kept such an ability quiet. Didn't anyone ever suspect you were

capable of doing what you did this morning?” Weir, himself, had been shocked, shaken to the core at the

morning's events, but he had wondered all day why Syn-Jern had never used his power to save himself

over the years.

“Listen to me, Weir,” Syn-Jern snarled, taking Saur's arm and shaking him, “You don't know what my

childhood was like. You have no conception of how evil people can really be. I was a mistake, Weir, a

slip-up. I wasn't supposed to have ever been born, and my mother never, ever, let me forget that.

Because of me, she was forced to leave her beloved Holy Dale. She never forgave me for that, either."

He held up his free hand, the fist balled tightly closed. “You see this? This is the only touch I ever felt

from my mother. She never held me; she never hugged me; she never kissed me or sang to me or

comforted me. My god! She didn't even suckle me! I had a wet nurse for that. If she could have let me

die, she would have. She tried to kill me before I was even born, but it didn't take. She tried twice, twice,

and both times it failed. By the time she found someone else to try, she was too far along in her

pregnancy and the old woman refused to do it."

There was horror spreading across Saur's face. “What about your father? Where was he when..."

“Did you ever see him?” Syn-Jern shuddered, seeing his father's face flash across his vision. “The man

was hideous! He was grossly fat, obscenely so, and he reeked of body odor. I don't think he ever

bathed. He had a bulbous nose, most of his teeth were missing, and what little hair he had was as orange

as a carrot. He was as uncouth as he was foul.

“To my knowledge, he only slept with my mother the one time. He was visiting Prince Doron McGregor

at Norus Keep. My mother's father, Ruan McGregor, a second cousin to Prince Doron, knew Giles

Sorn would be there. He had tried to foist his daughter Anne off on Sorn once before, but my father

would have no part of it. Angry and with every intention of joining the two houses, my grandfather had

Giles drugged, then ‘found’ his daughter and Giles together in bed. The old man threatened to go to the

Prince for recompense for his daughter's loss of her maidenhood if Giles didn't marry her. My mother

once yelled at me that Giles had raped her while he was drunk, that he had forced her into his bed. I

don't suppose I'll ever know the truth of it. All I do know for a fact is I was conceived that night at Norus

Keep."

“So according to your father, he was blackmailed into the marriage?"

“Aye, and was infuriated by it. Theirs was a marriage neither wanted, but my father couldn't afford a

reprimand from King Drude McGregor, Doron's father, and my mother's great uncle, so he wed her, but

he never stayed with her. When he found out she was pregnant, he packed her off to Tern Keep, his

manor house near Ciona, because he said he didn't want to see how ugly she would become while she

was carrying his heir. He never came to visit."

“Was there no one to champion her, then? What of her mother?"

“My maternal grandmother, Monique McGregor, had no idea how things stood. She did not hear of it

until years later when I was brought to Holy Dale to live. Had she known, perhaps things would have

been better for me; but she was estranged from her daughter and had no great love for her."

“I take it your mother took her anger out on you,” Weir said quietly.

Syn-Jern smiled sadly. “Never did I feel a loving touch, Weir. Not once. The women who watched me

were as cruel as they came. They seemed to enjoy hearing me cry. The least little thing I did wrong

warranted a beating. If I spilled something at the table, I went without food for a day. If I soiled my

clothes, I was locked in my armoire for hours on end. If I dared to talk back to them, and believe me that

was a mistake I made only once or twice, I had my mouth washed out with the foulest-tasting concoction

they could find."

“And your father knew of this?” Weir was stunned that a child could be treated to such abuse.

“What did he care?"

“Had he no feeling for you at all?"

“The only person he ever loved was Alicia Jamar, his mistress. Within a year after he married my

mother, Alicia was carrying his child, a child he wanted to inherit all that was his. He was finally able to

marry her after my mother died and he publicly acknowledged the boy, my half-brother, Trace. He

thought by doing so, Trace could be declared his heir instead of me.” A slow, taunting smile touched

Syn-Jern's full lips. “But Viragonian law forbade it since I was firstborn."

“It's a wonder he didn't try to have you killed."

The smile grew. “Oh, but he did."

Weir flinched. “How old were you?"

“Nine, ten. I don't remember."

Weir let out a long breath. “What happened?"

Syn-Jern was quiet for a moment, his mind going back to that day. He tried not to think about what had

happened on the road to the Serenian capitol at Boreas Keep so long ago, but in his darkest moments,

the memory came back full-blown, a vivid reminder that he wasn't like other men. And never would be.