Diary of a Conjurer (15 page)

He swam toward the vessel without success.
His day’s labor floated out to sea and Ivar was too tired to chase
it any longer. As much as he regretted having to relinquish his
raft, he gave up. The thing wasn’t worth drowning over.

Ivar reversed his direction, all the while
making plans in his mind to construct another watercraft in the
morning. But fatigue was inching into his bones and he quickly lost
momentum. He rolled on his back and floated, expecting the tide to
bring him to safety, but it didn’t. Instead, the current pulled him
toward the ocean.

Ivar panicked when he realized he wasn’t
getting any closer to shore. His lungs tightened, water splashed in
his eyes and up his nose. He had a horrid sense that the ocean was
about to consume him.

While he fought the tide in an attempt to
swim to shore, something thick and slimy grabbed onto his legs and
dragged him beneath the surface. Unable to move his feet, he bent
over to peel the object away and free himself. Nearly blinded by
salt water, sand, and foam that burned, Ivar wrapped his hands
around the scummy mass. It moved. It was alive. He couldn’t push it
away, nor could he pry it off.

His lungs burned for air. Daylight rippled
above an arm’s distance above his head but he was powerless to
surface. He pushed against the creature’s hold but his efforts were
useless. His only hope would be to slither out of its clutches. It
had squeezed so tight his leg was numb, and now the creature
wrapped its massive body around his waist. It would crush him to
death if he didn’t escape. He had to breathe soon or he would
drown.

He stopped fighting and dog paddled toward
the surface. With vigorous strokes, Ivar inched through the depths,
his lungs about to burst, fear the source of his strength. To his
relief, the creature floated to the surface with him.

He gasped air finally, inhaling and wheezing.
Dizzy. After blinking the salt water from his eyes, he saw the hull
of a ship.

“Help,” he called out feebly. He coughed,
treaded water, and wiped hair from out of his eyes. “Help me!”

Seconds later, a rope flew over him from the
ship’s gunwale. The line’s end floated like a golden snake on the
now-dark brine. Ivar grabbed onto the coarse strands of hemp and
let whoever was onboard pull the line taut, dragging him to the
hull. As he was lifted out of the water, the serpent released its
hold, its back curved above the surface and back down again, white
caps splashed onto its scales as it disappeared into the deep.

Ivar was safe.

Someone on the ship laughed as the crew
hoisted Ivar out of the water. A cold wind blasted against his
soaking body as he spun in midair. The rope released, he fell with
its coil, exhausted, on the wet wooden planks of the ship’s
deck.

Coughing saltwater from his lungs, he
focused on the feet of his rescuers as a crowd gathered around him.
Sandaled in leather, clad in furs, with silky balloon pants that
blew in the wind, and breastplates of metal armor, these were not
men that had congregated, but women. The sinister laugh repeated
and its owner stepping in front of the others until he was in her
shadow. Ivar blinked and wiped his eyes, catching sight of her
sandals, slender pale toes draped by the hem of her black, silk
gown. His eyes traveled up past the rapier fastened in a sheath
around her waist, damp smelling furs draped over her shoulders, and
long silver hair blowing in the wind. Her hazel eyes, framed with
long, white lashes, were fixed on him, her thin lips puckered in a
condescending pout.

“So. We have a poor, pitiful human, do we?”
she led the others in a taunting laugh. “Who would have thought our
first man-prisoner would be scooped up from the ocean as easily as
smelt in a basket?”

Ivar scrambled to his feet. He smiled, mostly
from nerves, and his tongue slid into the comfort zone between his
front teeth. She was taller than he was and her body emitted a
strange smell like a mixture of hot ash from a newly snuffed fire,
hinting at a scent of lilac.

“Thank you for saving me.” His voice shook as
he trembled from the cold, and from the trauma he had just
experienced.

She stepped closer to him, returning his
smile with her own. “Aren’t we the gracious one?” She reached out
and touched his cheek with the tips of her fingernails. Her touch
tickled, and made the hair on his neck stand on end. He gently
brushed her hand away. The women turned red, and slapped him,
stinging his cheek. The cold salty wind blew against the wound with
a bite.

She laughed again. “A Man child,” she said.
“Not what I was expecting in these waters. Better, though. Much
better. My senses tell me this is more than what we could have
asked for. I think this little fellow can help us find our
belongings.”

Ivar’s attention turned to the weathered
faces that surrounded him. Young women. Their hair danced wildly on
the wind, their cheeks were rosy from the cold. He was the center
of their attention, but their faces were grim and hostile.

“If you tell me what I need to know, your
death will be short and quick.” The older woman smiled. “A
sorceress is rarely kind to her prisoners. Do yourself a
favor.”

Ivar’s heart raced and he pivoted around,
wondering if he could dash overboard before they caught him again,
but the women drew their circle tighter.

“Promise!” the woman in black called out as
her eyes scanned the crowd. “Where’s my first mate?”

The girl named Promise stepped forward.
Despite Ivar’s fatigue, his legs still throbbing with pain, and his
fear-her beauty mesmerized him. She was a young woman, her hair,
eyes, and skin all the color of reddened bronze.

“Yes, Most Noble Highness,” She held her head
at defiant height though she spoke as a servant.

“Take this human specimen to his cabin and
prepare him for interrogation.”

The woman bowed to her superior and took Ivar
by the arm.

“And, Promise, look into him. I want to know
who he is. He’s not of the Northern Tribe; he’s too dark for that.
See into his past for me, would you?”

Promise didn’t answer, but her grip was an
iron cuff as she shoved him forward. He tripped, but before he
could fall she lifted him to his feet and soon maneuvered him
inboard toward the hatchway. Ivar eyed the gunwale portside
wondering if he could make a run for it, and swim back to shore.
The woman snickered.

“Did you enjoy the clutches of the serpent
enough to return to him? You’re not going back in the water.” Her
smile had a slight twist to it. “Not now, anyway.”

Promise pushed him down the hatchway into a
small cabin. Once at the bottom of the stairs, she tied him with
hemp to a post in the center of the room.

“Hold still Sea Boy. You can’t get away.
Besides, where would you go if you could?”

Ivar stopped struggling. “Sea Boy? You call
me boy? You aren’t any older than I am!” His nervous grin returned
as fear tightened his face.

“Age matters?” she asked as she fixed another
loop around him.

“You’re my equal. Why are you binding me like
this? I’ve done nothing to you or your friends. I have no weapons.
I pose no threat. Let me escape and swim to shore.” Ivar kept his
voice steady so his terror wouldn’t show. “Who would know if you
turned me loose?”

“You’re as naïve as you are stupid.” Promise
said, a wry smile of her own. “I’m the one in the position to ask
questions, not answer them.”

She gave a yank to make his ropes tighter,
looked in his eyes and smiled.

“Ow.” He scowled. The pain turned to dread,
for her movements had stopped, and she consumed him with her auburn
eyes.

“Hacatine is the High Queen of the Island of
Taikus. She’ll make you wish you had never been pulled from the
mouth of the serpent. If you want my advice . . .” Promise’s thick
auburn hair fell on Ivar’s shoulders as she leaned over to tie the
rope. “Let your fear guide you to obedience. You’ll suffer if you
don’t.”

She stood straight. Their eyes locked again.
His body trembled from the damp, and the cold.

“Why would my suffering concern you? Why even
give me advice?”

Her answer was barely above a whisper. “I’m
not like Hacatine. I don’t possess her wickedness. I’m only a slave
to it.”

“What does she want?” The words came from his
lips more intense than he meant them to. He wanted to sound brave.
Had he not been bound to a post, however, his knees would have
crumbled under him.

“Information. Six years ago the Men of the
North did Hacatine a grave disservice, thrusting her dragon out of
the world. She’s been preparing for war ever since. We’ve come to
take your lands and to punish your people. But first Hacatine is
intent on finding her most treasured possession lest she destroy it
accidentally. She thinks your people have the gem, in fact she’s
certain of it.” Promise’s stare was so powerful that Ivar’s eyes
began to burn. He turned his head away.

“And if I’m not mistaken, I can see it in
you. It’s deep, a little hazy but I see a memory of her lost
treasure. It was a long time ago, wasn’t it? What a run of good
fortune! Fate is with us!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Ivar wrestled against the ropes, but the cords of hemp were thick
and tightly wrapped.

Her gaze didn’t falter. She took hold of his
cheeks and pulled his head back around. Never had he seen such
depth in a person’s eyes, and then the burning started again.

“Stop,” he fought to turn away from her
penetrating stare, but he was a prisoner of her hold.

Her fingers squeezed his jaw as she stared
deeper into his mind, touching it with hers. The impact of her
vision meeting his mind stung, as if his head had been pierced with
an iron rod. He held back a cry, but struggled to get away. He
couldn’t move.

“
Je sais qui vous êtes
.
” Her voice was soft, though he had
no idea what she said, still it sounded familiar.

The burning ceased when she released her hold
but the contact had left him breathless. He closed his eyes seeing
only a wall of white light and then blood rushed to his head. He
panted, dizzy.

She brushed his wet hair from his face. Her
touch as a feather to his skin, sending chills down his spine. “You
know too much for your own good.” She curled his hair behind his
ear and whispered. Her breath was sweet smelling. “She’ll drain
you, and then she’ll kill you. Hacatine is ruthless.” A look of
sorrow came across her face, her voice pensive. “You don’t deserve
her wrath either. No one does. I’ve seen it too often.”

When he caught his breath, and the spots in
his eyes disappeared, he looked up and questioned her with his
eyes.

“I’m sorry. I really am sorry for you,” she
whispered. She slipped out the door, but not before the ship began
to sway and toss. He heard someone from outside call out in
panic.

“A squall. Man the sails.” The rise of the
surf sent the craft leaning dangerously portside, rocking on stormy
waves. Water splashed down the stairs of the hatchway as Promise
walked out, soaking Ivar’s feet with cold sea water.

“Haul off,” someone else shouted, and then
the hatch slammed shut.

The ship tossed for nearly an hour, creaking
and groaning under the weight of the waters. Ivar, still tied to
the post, pondered the words Promise had spoken, and of the burning
in his mind when she looked into his past. The violent motion of
the ship made his stomach queasy. Thankfully, he hadn’t eaten much
that morning.

Screams came from above deck, followed by a
loud crack of splitting wood.

“Let me out of here, I can
help,” Ivar called. No one responded. “Help!” he cried again. His
heart pounded frantically.
This is my
fate? The winds would have me drown while bound to a pole in a
sorceress’s ship? That’s it? That’s my Crossing?

The ship rocked violently when the hatch
door flew open and Hacatine, her rapier in her hand, stumbled down
the stair. A flood of water gushed into the cabin behind her.
Holding onto the walls as the ship jolted, she directed her wrath
at Ivar.

“This is your doing?” she accused, pointing
her weapon at him. “What makes you so special that your cursed
Kaempern Wind defends you? We didn’t come here for this. I’ve
better things to tend to than fight the gale over you!” Several of
her warriors fell into the cabin behind her.

Hacatine stumbled toward him. He shut his
eyes and held his breath, certain it was his end, but when her
blade fell, it slashed only his ropes. His body sprung forward as
the ship bolted again.

“Throw him overboard, and stop this tempest.
Feed his flesh to the wind he worships.” she commanded her
soldiers.

Two women seized Ivar. The ship rolled as the
three of them tossed against the walls of the hatch. They staggered
up the stairs onto the upper deck. After the women gained their
balance, they dragged him forward as if he were an anchor, pulling
him across the flooded deck, grabbing onto lines that swung freely
from a fallen mast. With bodies bent toward the gale, they bucked
the storm until they came starboard. When a wave pulled the ship
high on its crest, Ivar’ captors, now hanging on to ratlines,
released him. The motion of the rising surf thrust him into the
waters. He had only enough time to take a breath before he sank
into the depths of the angry sea.

Beached

Despite his long silver hair reflecting the
rays of the moon, Silvio remained hidden in the shadows, observing
the small gig that vaulted on the surf. A woman wrestled with her
oars as the tide sucked her craft into the oncoming wave. The ocean
refused to let her shore. After several futile attempts, she jumped
out of the boat and dove into the water, pulling the vessel from
the suction of the hungry sea.