Harbinger: Fate's Forsaken: Book One (37 page)

Sam Gravy he turned on the wheel with a tug,

And threw his harpoon at the heart of the thug.

The serpent, he roared and with one final gasp

Drew up his tail and made such a splash,

That Gravy, his boat, his love and his pride

Were swept onto land by the force of the tide.

Sam Gravy she ran

Aground in the sand

Though he swore ‘twould never be broken,

The ship he so loved

She never comes home

And his heart now belongs to the sea.

Yes his heart, it belongs to the sea.

It was a
horribly sad tale, but Kael never got tired of listening to Kyleigh sing. She
carried the notes so beautifully, so effortlessly, and it made him wish he
could do the same. But all he had to do was think of singing and his ears would
threaten to leap off his head and fling themselves into the ocean.

He left when the
dancing started. There was no point in sitting around and watching everyone
else do the jig.
Tales of Scales
sat
under his hammock, still mostly unread. He always had every intention of
reading it, but the moment he fell into bed, his eyes got heavy and the
sentences drifted further apart:

Long have the race of men warred with the
dragon, long have they envied him. Though the King bears his image upon his
heart, he knows not the dragon's strength. He is Fate's first child and the
most ancient of all beasts. His life stretches into the thousands of years,
sword nor arrow can pierce his skin … the fire that boils in his belly is more
fearsome than the core of flame ... burns in his heart, sets fire to every drop
of blood. The dragon loves most fiercely ... protects ... only once...

*******

He woke with a
start.

He dreamed of
Amos again — only this time he’d been holding onto his arm, trying
desperately to haul him back over the edge of a bottomless pit.

Let me go
, Amos had said, his voice
unusually resounding and deep.
Let me go,
child. It’s time to let go
.

He didn’t want
to let go. He tried to say as much, but his lips wouldn’t move. Slowly, his
strength failed and Amos slipped out of his grasp. He went plummeting, falling
end over end for a thousand years, until the darkness finally swallowed him.
Kael stood up and prepared to leap in after him when a strong hand gripped his
shoulder.

A man held him
back. His tunic and breeches were pure white and Kael thought he might have
recognized his face. Just when he was about to ask the man who he was, a loud
growl startled him out of his sleep.

Now there was a ring
of cold sweat around his neck, and Jonathan was snoring too loudly for him to
go back to sleep.

Long ago, Roland
taught him how to see meanings in his dreams. And the meaning of his first
dream was clear: Amos was still alive, but he thought the pit might have meant
that worrying wouldn’t help anything — that his fear would drag him down
and under, if he let it.

The second dream
was much more disturbing. Roland had warned him that Death often took the form
of a man dressed all in white — and when he appeared, it meant danger was
not far behind.

It was that
worry that drove Kael to put on his boots and climb to the deck, just to make
sure
Anchorgloam
wasn’t about to run
aground.

The night air
was hot and sticky. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to the weather: it was
like wearing a cloak of steam everywhere he went. He’d intended to take a quick
walk and go back to his hammock, but then he saw a cloaked someone standing at
the mainmast, wielding a lantern.

He thought it
might be Morris, so he made his way over. Then the person turned and he saw
Lysander’s teeth glinting in the lamplight. He tried to make a hasty escape.

“Kael, so good
to see you,” he said, beckoning him closer.

He realized that
Lysander wasn’t alone: there were three boatfuls of pirates bobbing on the
waves, catching the sacks that two more pirates tossed down to them. Tiny
lights blinked on the horizon and the dark, jagged edges of rooftops grew along
the hills. He realized they were anchored less than a mile from a village.

“You’re going to
raid them?” he guessed.

But Lysander
shook his head. “Not quite. Can you keep a secret?”

When he nodded,
Lysander waved to one of the pirates, who tossed him a sack that he passed off
to Kael.

When he opened
it, he could hardly keep the surprise off his face. A loaf of bread, six apples
and a handful of copper coins was not at all what he was expecting to find.
“You mean there’s real food somewhere on
Anchorgloam
?”

Lysander
laughed. “Yes, but it isn’t for us.” He retied the sack and sent it down to the
boats below. When they were full, the pirates rowed away, slipping into the
dark quiet of the sea.

“You’re sending
it to the people,” Kael said, even more shocked now than he’d been a moment
before.

“Yes. No doubt
you’ve noticed how the Duke keeps his subjects from earning their bread? It’s
wrong to try and keep us from the sea.” Lysander’s voice was dark, darker than
Kael ever thought he could make it. “Saltwater flows in our veins, our hearts
thump with the beat of the surf. We live by the turns of the tide … it’s as
sickening as trying to keep two lovers apart.”

Kael knew how
the people of the High Seas felt. Those few weeks when he wasn’t allowed to go
into the forest were torture. To be able to see the trees and not walk among
them made him want to drive a dagger through his heart. He thought death might
have been a kinder sentence.

“We do what we
can,” Lysander continued. “We sneak in rations and coins small enough that the
guards aren’t likely to notice, but I wish we could do more.” He took a deep
breath and when he turned around, his smile was back. “Look here —
there’s something I want to show you.”

He held the
lantern up to the mainmast. The light chased the shadows away, bending them
backwards until he could see the fresh words carved into the wood.
Kael the Wright — twelve turns
,
they read.

“I had Noah cut
this in yesterday. I told him to put your name just below our previous
champion,” Lysander said.

He raised the
lantern a little higher, so that he could the name carved above his:
Kyleigh — twelve turns
.

Kael was more
than a little shocked. He thought the number next to her name would have been
much more … infinite. “Wait, does that mean someone actually beat her?”

Lysander smiled.
“It does, clever lad.”

“Who was it?”

The light
climbed higher, stretching into the shadows above Kyleigh’s name. Another
carving came into view, so faded that he had to squint to read it. But when he
did, his heart nearly stopped beating.

“Who else?”

Setheran
the Wright
.

There was no number carved next to
his name, no explanation at all. And it wasn’t needed. For the one thing every
historian seemed able to agree on was that Setheran the Wright was the greatest
warrior who ever lived. So of course he’d been able to defeat Kyleigh …

Hold on a moment. “That isn’t
possible.” Kael did the sum quickly. “Setheran died seventeen years ago, which
means Kyleigh would have been an infant.”

He thought it was some sort of
joke: that the pirates were saying the only one who could ever have a hope
against her would have been Setheran.

But Lysander just smirked.
"Kyleigh is no ordinary woman. She hides her powers well: there are few
who know her for what she truly is, and none who know her story. But believe me
when I say that she’s not at all what she seems.” He stepped back and gestured
around him. “I was only eight years old when Kyleigh and Setheran fought on
this very deck. I wasn’t there, but my father told me all about it. He said it
was the greatest battle he’d ever seen.”

Kael wasn’t sure
he believed him. He couldn’t imagine Kyleigh being twice his age. She didn’t
look older, and she certainly didn’t act like it. “That isn’t possible,” he
said again. He searched Lysander’s face for any hint of a joke, any whisper of
a lie. But there was only calm assurance.

“She’s a
powerful woman,” he said quietly. “Perhaps one day she'll let you see her other
side."

“Why can't you tell me?”

“And betray the trust of a dear friend? I think not."

“Only a dear friend?” Kael didn’t know why he asked that question. He
could have kicked himself for changing the subject.

At any rate, it seemed to amuse Lysander. "Yes. Does that surprise
you?"

He made his face serious. He had to know for sure — for Aerilyn’s
sake. “It does, actually. The two of you seemed very ... close."

Lysander laughed, and the light bounced with the movement. "You
flatter me, but no — Kyleigh and I were never more than friends. It would
take a better man than me to
tame
her,
as you put it,” he added with a grin that made Kael want to punch him. “Any man
who chased after Kyleigh would have to charge in fully-armed. He'd have to be
her match in every way: strong, cunning, and dangerous."

"And handsome," Kael muttered.

Lysander looked at him curiously. "Do you think so? Perhaps, but
then again she’s never been much interested in treasure — which is why
I've often said that she makes a horrible pirate.” He touched two fingers to
his forehead. “I’m afraid I must take my leave. I’ve got to make sure the
weather doesn’t stay too clear. If anyone were to spot my good deeds, it might
tarnish my ruthless reputation. Ah, don’t worry — it’ll be rain, not
fog.” He clapped him on the shoulder. “Sleep well, for danger lurks on the
'morrow."

He glanced at the mast, and the lantern barely caught the curved edge of his
grin. Then he disappeared in the direction of his cabin, leaving Kael alone and
baffled in the darkness.

*******

A few hours
later, he’d stumbled back downstairs and fallen into his hammock. He knew from
the forlorn cry of the watchman’s bell that it was three o’clock when he
finally drifted back to sleep.

Two bells later,
Morris jostled him awake.

“No, it’s too
early,” he groaned. He tried to roll over and temporarily forgot that he was in
a hammock. The result was that he wound up on the floor, his nose inches from
Jonathan’s boots. He didn’t know if it was the fall or the stench that cleared
the sleep from his eyes.

“Come along,
lad. We’ve got a lot to do today,” Morris whispered, which made his voice even
more croaky and broken.

“What could we
possibly have to do that I need to get up an hour early for?” Kael muttered as
he crammed on his boots.

“Not we,” Morris
jabbed an arm at him, “
you
. You’re
the one who’s got to steer us through the tempest. I would, but,” he held up
his nubs, “I can’t make the turns so sharp anymore.”

An icy feeling
twisted in the pit of his stomach. “What tempest? Are we in a storm?”

“Nah, not yet.
Now quit your fussing and let’s go!”

An hour, a stale
biscuit and cup of warm water later, Kael stood alone at the ship’s wheel. It
only took him a few minutes to understand how to turn it, and a few minutes
more to order the sails into position. He found he’d absorbed most of what he
knew through watching Morris.

“There you are,
now you’ve got the hang of it,” Morris said approvingly. “Keep her on course.
I’ll be back in a while.”

“Where are you
going?” Kael said after him.

He turned and
grinned through the gaps in his teeth. “To catch a little shuteye, of course.”

He was lucky
Kael needed both hands to steer.

The sea was calm
and the weather was fairly pleasant: the sun wasn’t high enough for things to
get too hot. He was actually enjoying the peace when Lysander skipped up and
ruined it all.

“Are you ready?”
he said.

Kael glared at
Thelred, who sneered back from over Lysander’s shoulder. “Ready for what?”

“To pay off your
debt, of course. We’re leagues and a bit from Wendelgrimm. I think it’s time to
give the Witch a knife in the ribs. Or two.”

In all of the
excitement of the past few weeks, Kael had nearly forgotten about his debt. But
now that he was reminded of it, he wanted nothing more than to settle it. “All
right, I’m ready.”

Lysander nodded.
“Good.” He made to turn, and then turned back. “Ah, I may have forgotten to
mention this earlier, but there’s a bit of an obstacle we’re going to have to
get through
before
we can actually
sail into Wendelgrimm.”

“What is it?”
Kael said warily.

Lysander combed
a hand through his hair, making it stand on end for a moment before it fell
back in waves. “Oh, nothing much. Just a bit of rain and wind — nothing a
Wright can’t handle.”

“It’s a
tempest,” Thelred said, his sneer growing wider. “A spell that the Witch of
Wendelgrimm cast to keep trespassers out of her realm. It’s a fury the likes of
which few sailors have ever seen … and even fewer live to tell about.”

Lysander gave
him an annoyed look. “It isn’t all that. Stop trying to make an ocean out of a
raindrop.”

“I don’t
understand. If you can control the weather, why can’t you just make it sunny?”
Kael said.

Lysander’s smile
faltered. “Because, my dear boy, the Witch gives my curse no power in her
realm. Ironically, it’s the one place in the Kingdom I can go without putting
anyone in danger. Now,” he clapped him on the shoulder, “let’s meet this thing
head on, eh? No hesitation — not like the last time, when we let Morris
steer. I don’t mind saying that we all very nearly perished. But I’m sure a
fellow of your talents and, ah, appendages won’t have a problem.”