Into the Wind (12 page)

I
AN
SWAM
back to the
Phantom
with a knot in his belly and a pain in his chest. He’d taken no joy in his transformation, found no relief from his anxious thoughts in the warm waters. He’d spent the better part of the past few hours swimming around Cera, hoping to find some trace of Taren. He’d found nothing. If he was honest with himself, he’d admit he hadn’t expected to find Taren on the island, just as he hadn’t expected to find him at the scene of the battle with the humans. As distant as Taren’s presence felt to him, he knew Taren was on another island.

At least he knew Taren was alive; their otherworldly connection was still strong. He thanked the goddess that they were soulbound, so that he might sense Taren’s well-being. But as days passed and Taren did not return, he began to fear that Taren had been taken captive or, worse, that he’d been so injured he could not return to them. Ian had paced the decks, waiting for word from Barra and the men he’d sent into town dressed as merchants. Their primary task was to procure supplies for the
Phantom
and her crew, but they’d also been told to listen for news of Taren.

“Fine time to abandon your crew,” Renda said as Ian climbed to the top of the rope ladder and boarded the ship. Ian bristled beneath his cutting glare. “The men have been asking after you since the ceremony to commend Crian to the goddess. What would you have me tell them?”

Ian said nothing as he retrieved the clothing he’d left by the railing, then began to dress. The memory of the funeral ceremony the day before and the loss of a good man had left him feeling more adrift than he cared to admit. First Crian, whom he’d known since he was a young boy. Now Taren.

No. Taren’s alive.
There was hope, he’d told himself as he’d watched Renda commit Crian’s body to the afterlife. He felt the zest of Renda’s power, saw the cool blue light flicker from the tips of his bony fingers before touching the water and stirring it. Crian’s body was wrapped in thick kelp leaves and lacelike seaweed and adorned with a multitude of shells, each chosen with care by the
Phantom
’s crew. As it floated away from the
Phantom
and out of the harbor, it dipped beneath the surface and vanished. Ian knew Crian would continue his final journey until he reached the open ocean, where he would finally sink to the bottom and find his rest in the goddess’s arms. His heart ached for Crian’s loved ones. It was far too easy to imagine the immense loss he’d feel if Taren’s soul were to leave this world.

“Captain?”

“I heard you.” Ian came back to himself and tucked his shirt into his britches.

“I know you’re worried about Taren, but—”

“Don’t patronize me,” he snapped. “I know all too well what my duty is.” He glanced up at the shattered mizzen in disgust. “Tell Barra to gather the men at sunrise. We’ll need to repair the ship ourselves.”

Renda nodded his approval. “Aye, Captain.”

“Send word to Vurin. A messenger. Durat’s a strong swimmer. If he rides the eastern current, he might make Raice Harbor in a fortnight.” Ian turned, stormed down the stairs to his cabin, and slammed the door behind him before Renda could respond.

Damn Renda to hell for being right.

Ian closed his eyes and drew a long breath. None of this was Renda’s fault. None of it was anyone’s fault but his own. It was his responsibility to keep the
Phantom
and her crew safe. He should have realized the Council was keeping a close watch over him. They’d stranded Seria and his men. They’d stolen the Council’s fastest ship. He was a spy and a traitor to Ea’nu. The Council would want revenge.

The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes again was Taren’s jacket, still on the bed where Taren had tossed it days before. Ian hadn’t used the bed since they’d limped back to land and hidden their damaged vessel behind Renda’s enchantments. The only sleep Ian had gotten—if you could call it that—was a few minutes when he’d closed his eyes as his men boarded the launch, headed into Gate Town. He’d nearly gone himself; only Renda had made him see the impulsiveness of his actions.

“It’s one thing to take to the water to look for him. It’s quite another to wander around in town. If the humans truly are in league with Seria and the Council,” Renda told him, “they’ll be looking for you. They’ll know the ship is here somewhere. And if they find you—”

“I can’t stay here,” he said, cutting across Renda. “If Taren is injured… lost… I’d never forgive myself for waiting and doing nothing.” He spoke the truth. He grieved Crian’s death and blamed himself for the loss. He found it too easy to imagine himself grieving Taren’s death, too easy to imagine what Crian’s family might feel when they learned his fate.

“You’re hardly doing nothing. You know he’s well—you sense his presence. But if the enemy knows you’re looking for him, you could risk the very thing you wish to protect. Your actions might reveal him.”

Taren.
Ian lifted Taren’s jacket from the bed and brought it to his lips. Taren’s scent lingered on the wool. Ian inhaled deeply and conjured the image of Taren smiling as he splashed about in the waves.
Be safe. Come back to me.
He didn’t know how he’d survive if Taren didn’t return.

When had the walls around his heart crumbled?

He sat down on the edge of the bed and breathed Taren’s essence in once again. The temptation to dive from the ship, transform, and look for Taren again was more than he could bear. But he wouldn’t leave again. He couldn’t. Thirty-nine—no, thirty-eight souls, now—depended upon him. His crew had left their families behind on Ea’nu and returned his ship to him. They’d risked their lives to mutiny. They’d given him their loyalty, and he owed them at least the same. He couldn’t leave them for one man, even the one man he’d willingly die for… again.

Damn duty.

The knock on the door to the cabin startled him back to himself. “Come.”

“I was wrong to speak so harshly to you,” Renda said as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

Ian shook his head. “No, you weren’t. You reminded me of my duty. My responsibility.”

Renda sighed. “I don’t envy your lot.”

“I chose this,” Ian said evenly.

“He will return to you. But not because you hold his leash.” Renda shook his head and laughed. “Much as I know you might be tempted to put a collar on him. He’ll return to you because he loves you.”

If the goddess wills it
, Ian added silently.

That night, for the first time since Taren left, Ian slept. In his hands, he clutched Taren’s jacket. He imagined Taren lay beside him as the warm breeze blew through the open aft windows. The familiar sensation of the ship rocking beneath him gave way to dreams.

Ian walked along a deserted beach. The sand felt warm beneath his feet. Flowering vines scented the air as the breeze caressed his face.

“Ian.” Taren’s voice sounded like a whisper from afar, but when Ian turned to look, he saw Taren running toward him, barefoot in the sand.

Ian didn’t hesitate. He opened his arms and sighed as Taren accepted his embrace. “I’ve missed you… feared for you,” Ian said in a whisper. He pulled Taren’s head against his own, felt the silk of his hair between his fingers, and let his eyes drift closed so that he might better appreciate the weight of Taren’s body against his and Taren’s enticing scent. What did it matter if this was just a dream? Taren felt real.

“You needn’t fear for me.” Taren pulled away and clasped Ian’s face in his hands. “I’m safe. I promise I’ll return to you soon.”

“Swear it.”

“I swear it.” Taren kissed him, then took his hand and motioned him to sit before joining him on the warm sand.

The breeze from the ocean surrounded and enveloped them. Ian imagined Taren’s fingers ghosting over his skin, caressing him, reassuring him. “The wind,” Ian said, overcome by his emotions, unafraid to speak them here, in the safety of his dream. “It reminds me of you. Every time I feel it on my skin, it’s as though you’re here. Touching me. Binding me to you.”

Taren smiled. Another gust—warmer this time—wrapped itself around Ian. Like gentle vibrations, a thousand tiny kisses, the wind shimmered over Ian’s body. A lover’s touch. Welcoming, familiar.

“Come back to me,” Ian said again. “Do what you must, but don’t you dare leave me!”

Ian woke to the feel of the breeze from the open windows.
Taren. Be safe. And know that you hold my heart in your own.

Twelve

“D
ON
’
T
MOVE
,”
a deep voice commanded. “Hands over your head.”

Taren felt the sharp point of a weapon against the skin of his back. He’d found a waterfall not far from where he and Brynn had slept and had been bathing. He hadn’t heard the newcomer approach over the sound of the water. Taren wasn’t concerned. He figured Odhrán’s men would find them—he’d counted on it, especially after Brynn’s admission that he didn’t know the way to Odhrán. And although he knew Ian would think it imprudent of him to seek the pirate out without arming himself, Taren believed Odhrán would be more inclined to listen if he did not feel threatened.

Taren lifted his hands and asked, “Who are you?”

Before the man could answer, two men appeared from behind a rocky outcropping, one of them dragging Brynn by the scruff of his neck.

“Samuel! Tell this”—Brynn tried to kick his captor in the shin, but his leg was too short to do much harm—“
beast
who I am!”

Samuel just laughed, his sword still touching Taren’s back. “Little runt. Odhrán told you he’d find you if he needed you. You can explain to him yourself why you brought a stranger to his door.” Samuel nodded to the third man, who pulled out a length of rope and proceeded to bind Taren’s hands, then Brynn’s.

“Wait! I told you! I was trying to help. Odhrán will be angry with you if you don’t—”

Brynn kicked and squirmed until Samuel said, “Gag him.” The hint of a smile played on his lips.

“May I put my trousers on?” Taren calmly asked. Not that he was particularly embarrassed to be presented naked to Odhrán, but he’d be more comfortable if the white skin of his ass didn’t burn in the hot sun.

“Help him, Ralph,” Samuel told the man who was not occupied with the squirming Brynn.

A few minutes later, Odhrán’s men led a blindfolded and gagged Taren and Brynn away from the waterfall. From the feel of the sun on Taren’s face and the retreating sound of the surf, he guessed they were headed toward the center of the small island, where he’d spotted several large rocky outcroppings. He suspected the entrance to the caves where Odhrán and his men hid might be there.

The men walked them for nearly an hour, around and around until Taren was no longer sure where they were. Finally, Taren heard a scraping sound and the rustling of leaves, and he guessed that the men were uncovering the entrance to a cave. From there, they descended what felt to Taren’s feet like carved stairs. The air grew cool around them and the stone was at times slippery from water. Though Taren’s feet were cut and swollen from the climb up the cliff with Brynn the day before, Taren was thankful he was barefoot. The wet rock was much like the slippery wooden decks of the ships on which he’d served, and he was far more agile without the smooth leather soles of his boots.

The stairs ended, though the rough-hewn feel of the stone under his feet was the same. A passage, Taren guessed, also carved out of the rock. How long would it have taken to carve the stairs and the tunnel? Years, perhaps longer. After a few more minutes, they stopped. Taren immediately noticed the change in temperature and the feel of the air itself—warmer and less damp than the tunnel or stairs.

Someone pulled Taren’s blindfold off. For a minute, maybe two, he could see nothing as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Then, slowly, the reality of what he was seeing became clear: they were standing in an enormous cavern, easily several hundred feet high and several times longer than any ship he’d ever seen. Nearly as big as the entire island town he’d stumbled upon two days before. And “town” was an appropriate choice of words, for Taren realized with surprise that small wooden huts dotted every ledge above them. Taren marveled to see dozens of huts that seemed to have sprouted from the cavern floor as well. A rough mixture of wood and stone, they nonetheless appeared sturdy and well cared for.

More surprising still was that in spite of the darkness, Taren could see the houses quite clearly in the strange light emanating from the stone walls and ceiling of the cave. The light radiated from the rock itself, not from torches or lamps. When he looked closer, Taren realized the light was comprised of hundreds, perhaps thousands of tiny crystals embedded in the rock. The effect was stunning, the light warm, much like the sun.

How long had this settlement been hidden here? How powerful must Odhrán’s hold on these people be that they’d not shared this secret with the outside world? Now more than ever, Taren wondered if some of the stories about Odhrán were true.