Into the Wind (8 page)

Taren’s head pounded and the muscles at the back of his neck ached. He reached up to discover a sizeable knot on his skull just behind his right ear. “I said, go away.” His mind seemed blurred, his thoughts scattered. He remembered diving into the water and nearly being hit by a volley of cannon fire. He remembered the wind shifting and then a sharp pain from behind.

The memory of the battle returned, jarring him back to his senses.

Ian!
He remembered he’d been unable to do anything but watch the mizzenmast as it snapped. He remembered feeling Ian’s pain as keenly as if it were his own as Ian was injured by a falling beam. His gut clenched, his head spun, and he fought back a wave of nausea. His body seemed to float, carried away on his fear like driftwood battered by the waves.
Goddess, please don’t take him from me again!
He struggled to clear his mind; he knew he’d accomplish nothing if he panicked. He drew several long breaths as Vurin had taught him, and felt the sand beneath his body once again, familiar and reassuring. Grounded once more, he reached out for Ian’s presence.

Thank the goddess Ian was alive! On another island or at sea, but alive. No, more than alive. Ian was whole, powerful. If he’d been injured when the mast fell, he was now healed. Taren gazed out at the water, knowing Ian and the
Phantom
were too far away, but hoping nonetheless that he might see them.

“Where are your clothes?” the boy asked.

Taren had nearly forgotten about him. His mind felt mired in fog, although he no longer felt the fear stab at his gut. The hot midday sun was beginning to burn his skin. Of course. If he was naked, he must have transformed after he’d been separated from the
Phantom
. Again he struggled to remember. If he’d been injured before he’d transformed, why hadn’t his body healed?

Ian is safe
, he told himself once again, clinging to that truth as if by thinking it he might rein in his meandering thoughts. He needed to find Ian and his crew. But first he needed something. He rubbed his eyes. What was it he needed? Something that the boy had said…. Why did he keep forgetting? Instinctively, he reached for his waist. There was something he’d had in his belt? A weapon. Sharp.

The dagger!
He was naked. If he’d transformed, he’d probably broken the belt he’d worn. “Did you see it?” he asked. “The silver dagger.” He needed that dagger, although he wasn’t sure why. It was special.
Sacred.
The word came to him as if someone else had spoken it in his ear to remind him.

“No.” The boy looked at him with obvious suspicion. “Perhaps it’s in the same place where you lost your clothes. Do you know where they are?”

Taren looked around to get his bearings. In the far distance, a few dozen shacks hugged the rocky coastline. A village, perhaps? He remembered the sweet scent of flowers mingling with the tang of the surf, and the crumbling, centuries-old foundation of a house on the bluffs overlooking the ocean. The house he and Ian had begun to rebuild.

Ian. Where was Ian?

“Did you hear me?” the boy asked. He appeared irritated, his hands firmly planted on his hips, his face set in a scowl.

“What?” Taren frowned and tried to remember what the boy had said before.

“I asked where your clothes were.”

“I don’t know.” Taren honestly couldn’t remember.
I must have transformed.
This thought was quickly followed by the realization that he’d had that particular thought before. “I… I don’t remember.” Whatever had hit him in the water had hit him hard enough to jumble his thoughts. He’d seen that happen once before, when he’d been aboard another ship. Someone—a boy?—had hit his head on one of the masts. He struggled to remember the name of the ship but could not. And he needed to find the dagger.

“We should find you some, then.”

“Some what?” Taren asked, losing his train of thought once more.

“Clothes.” The boy offered Taren his hand. “I can help you.”

Taren considered the offer. Even as strange as he felt, he figured the boy could do him no real harm. He was smaller even than Aine, built far more like a girl. He was thin—thinner than a boy of his age should be—his ribs prominently visible since he wore no shirt. Taren wondered when he’d eaten last. He reminded Taren of himself a scant few years before, when he’d begged Cook to let him lick the pot before washing it.

Taren wondered vaguely how he could remember his time at the inn so clearly, when he could recall only some of the events that had brought him here. “I… yes. Thank you.”

The boy laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Taren asked.

“It’s rare I meet someone as polite. Usually it’s ‘get ye gone, boy!’ and nothing more.” The boy smiled to reveal a set of white teeth with a small gap between the two largest. An endearing smile. This too reminded Taren of something. Someone. Red-haired. Freckled. Someone Taren cared for. Taren struggled to remember his name but came up empty. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. His head still ached.

Best get some clothing.
Until his head cleared, he doubted he’d be able to find his way back to the
Phantom
.
Eat, rest, then….
His thoughts clouded once again, and he rubbed his face with his hand in a vain attempt to think clearly.

“Clothing?” the boy prompted. He scrunched up his face, then added, “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine.” Taren managed to get to his knees before the pain in his limbs asserted itself with a vengeance. He cried out as his muscles seized, protesting the movement, so he rested on his hands until the worst of it had passed. It struck him as odd that his body was so battered, yet he had no broken bones, or at least none that he immediately recognized as being broken.

“You don’t seem well.” The boy eyed him with concern.

“Fine.” Taren spoke the word between clenched teeth. The last thing he needed was a mother hen half his age.

“Stay here. I’ll get you some clothing.” The boy waited until Taren nodded his assent, then took off at a trot down the beach.

Taren closed his eyes and breathed in the crisp air. He remembered a walk along the beach and how Ian had pulled him into the surf. He remembered making love beneath the waves, and how Ian had felt….

Ian.
Taren reminded himself that Ian was safe and his racing heart calmed once again. Why did he keep forgetting things?
I need to get back to the ship.

“Here you go.”

Taren looked up, surprised to see the boy standing there holding a bundle of fabric.
Clothing. Yes. He was going to find me clothing.
“Thank you,” he said.

“Do you need any help?”

“No. I can do it.” Taren took the clothes from the boy’s arms and tried to stand up. He swayed, then promptly sat back down again as the world seemed to tilt on its axis. The boy huffed and extended one arm. Taren ignored the offer of assistance and managed to get to his feet on the third try. He hadn’t felt this out of sorts since he’d been pulled from the water by Ian’s crew nearly six months before.

“You must have hit your head,” the boy said. “If you need some help, I can—”

“I’m fine,” Taren snapped.

“Suit yourself.” He watched in silence as Taren dressed in the gray linen trousers and slipped the simple tunic over his head.

“What’s your name?” Taren studied the boy a bit more carefully as he pulled his long hair from his face and knotted it at the base of his neck.

“Brynn.”

“I’m Taren.” He no longer used the name he’d taken from his former master. Borstan Laxley had never owned him, never loved him as a son even though Taren had wished he had. He’d once asked Vurin his parents’ family name, but Vurin had explained they had none: only Ea who lived amongst humans took a second name. Perhaps if he and Ian handfasted, he might take Ian’s family name, but for now “Taren” was good enough for him.

Ian.
Why was it he remembered Ian and the
Phantom
so clearly but nearly everything else seemed to blur in his memory?

“Taren. What kind of name is that?”

Taren shrugged. “The name my parents gave me.”

“You’re not from here. Do you come from the Eastern Lands?”

“Raice Harbor.” Taren chuckled. The thought that the boy might think him exotic amused him.

“You sailed here, then.” Brynn seemed pleased to have come to this conclusion.

“Aye.”

“Where’s your ship?”

A fair question. “I don’t know.” Taren wondered if Brynn might have news of the
Phantom
, but he decided to wait until he was sure of the boy’s intentions to ask.

Brynn raised a pale eyebrow. “Why are you here?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“Does that bother you?” Brynn’s eyes shone with a silent challenge.

Taren couldn’t help but smile. The boy had twice the gall of Fiall and none of his self-control. “No. It’s refreshing.”

“But you haven’t answered my question,” Brynn pointed out.

“I’m looking for someone.” He’d remembered this and saw no reason to withhold the truth. He might learn something to help them find the rune stone. And if Vurin was correct….

“A woman?” Brynn’s smirk was charmingly naïve.

“A man.”

“Oh. I see. You prefer men.”

Perhaps not so naïve
. Taren laughed at the boy’s audacity. “I’m interested in speaking with him, not bedding him. Perhaps you’ve heard of him? The pirate Odhrán?”

“
Him
?” Brynn raised his chin and smiled outright. “Of course I’ve heard of him. I know him well.”

Taren chuckled. “Indeed. And you must be one of his trusted crew.”

Brynn’s expression was one of obvious indignation. “He prefers to remain hidden, so I run errands for him from time to time. There are plenty of men around these islands who would like to see him dead.”

“Another reason to be skeptical of your claim,” Taren said as he sat down on a large rock and crossed his arms over his chest. “How do you know I’m not here to kill him?”

The boy shrugged. “You have no weapon.” He pulled a knife from the waist of his pants and pointed the blade at Taren. “For a man who is here to kill a dangerous pirate, you’re far too trusting. I could have killed you ages ago.”

“You watched me when I was asleep?”

Brynn ignored Taren’s question. “I can take you to him.” He stood up and brushed a few strands of hair from his eyes.

“Take me?” Taren hadn’t considered that the boy might actually know the location of Odhrán’s hideaway. He’d intended to return to Ian and the
Phantom
as quickly as possible, but now he hesitated.

“You worried about your shipmates?” Brynn asked.

Taren jumped up, excited by the thought that Brynn might know of his crewmates’ fate. “What do you know of them?” he demanded, knowing he sounded desperate but too worried to care.

Brynn swung his arms at his sides and pressed his lips together. “I know there was a battle not far from Cera. One of the ships sank. The other, the
Phantom
, is in port near Gate Town, on the main island.”

“And her crew?” Taren’s heart pounded against his ribs and he swallowed hard.

“Safe, I hear tell. Her mizzen was destroyed, but the crew survived.”

Taren released a long, slow breath, then sat back down heavily. He’d never been so relieved. “Thank the goddess,” he muttered. No doubt Ian would have undertaken repairs as soon as possible, but with damage such as that, the
Phantom
wouldn’t be able to sail for several months.
Time enough to look for Odhrán.

“You will take me to him, then,” Taren said. If he knew Ian was safe, perhaps Ian knew the same was true for him. Delaying his return to the
Phantom
by a few days would change nothing. Ian might be angry with him, but he’d also forgive him.

“But you will have to pay me.”

“Pay you?” Taren would have gladly shared any coins he had if only the boy could eat. As it was, however, he had nothing of value to offer. “If I could pay you, would I have borrowed these clothes?”

“You can pay me with something other than coins. Your necklace would do nicely.”

Taren put his hand to his neck and felt the familiar rugged stones and colorful bits of shell strung there. He’d forgotten he still wore his mother’s necklace. Of course he’d never willingly part with it. Then again, he was pretty sure Brynn had no idea where Odhrán was. And if by some chance the boy wasn’t full of bluster and led him to Odhrán, Taren would figure out some other form of payment once he met up with the
Phantom
and her crew.

“All right.” Ian would have called him a fool for following the boy, but Taren reckoned it was a risk worth taking. Brynn certainly had been capable of injuring him, even if he doubted the boy would have killed him. And if there was a chance he was telling Taren the truth….

Brynn’s eyes lit up with pleasure as he held out his hand.

“You’ll not get paid until you deliver on your part of the bargain.”

Brynn frowned but did not protest. The boy was a quick study. “He lives on an island to the west of here. We will need a boat.”

“And where did you expect I might find a boat?” Taren asked.

“Borrow one?” One corner of Brynn’s mouth curved upward and his eyes sparkled with humor.

Six