Into the Wind Read online

  His mother nodded, then kissed his father one last time. Another crash sounded from above decks, and the ship began to list to one side.

  “Hurry now.” His father smiled. “Know that I love you and that I’ll find you both if I can.”

  TAREN AWOKE some time later, shivering as his mother dried him and wrapped him in blankets, then smiled down at him. In the moonlight, he could barely make out her features, but she looked pale. He tried to touch her face to reassure her, but she was too far away, his hand too small to reach her. Overhead, laundry hung from ropes. Taren remembered nothing of swimming, but he guessed she had jumped from the burning ship and swum to land.

  “I’ll come back for you as soon as I can, my brave Taren,” she said as she reached up to her neck and unknotted something from her throat. The necklace she had left with Borstan. She wrapped it in one of the blankets near his feet, then picked him up and began to run. She stumbled and nearly dropped him, but she didn’t stop until the sounds of the town—Raice Harbor?—had faded into the night.

  Taren struggled to see as she clutched him to her breast and rapped on what he guessed was a wooden door.

  “Please,” she begged as the door creaked open. “Please help me.”

  “I don’t have nothin’ for beggars,” said a familiar voice. Taren couldn’t see him, but he knew it was Borstan.

  “I don’t want money,” his mother said as she leaned on the side of the shack.

  “What d’ye want, then?”

  “My son….”

  Taren felt her body shake with the effort to speak. He remembered what Borstan had told him when he and Ian had confronted him: “She was sickly. Hurt. I dunno.” For the first time, he understood that she must have been injured after she’d transformed—that she couldn’t have healed her wounds unless she transformed again.

  She didn’t transform again because she wanted to get me to safety.

  “I have money,” she told Borstan. She set Taren down gently on the grass, and he saw her unbuckle a belt from her waist. Attached to it was a drawstring bag. “Here.” She shoved the money at Borstan, who opened it and stared at it, openmouthed. “There’s plenty of gold to feed him.”

  “Feed him?” Borstan stared at her in obvious shock.

  “You must keep him safe.”

  “Woman, I don’t want no boy—”

  “Please.” She was in tears now, barely holding herself upright. “Taren’s special. He’ll be smart and a hard worker, just like his father.”

  “I don’t need no—”

  “I’ll come back for him. But you must keep him safe. Don’t tell anyone about me. I promise I’ll be back. Just take care of him until I do. Please, I beg you!”

  “All right,” Borstan said. Taren thought he saw his former master’s eyes light up at the realization that the gold was now his. “But this…?” He palmed one of the coins as if he didn’t believe what he saw.

  “Keep it,” she said. “It means nothing to me. But swear you’ll protect him from harm. Swear you’ll tell no one.”

  “I swear it.” Borstan shoved the gold into his pocket.

  Taren’s mother bent down, catching herself with one hand as she nearly fell. “Taren,” she said, her face so close that he could see the beads of sweat on her brow and hear her shallow breaths. “The goddess has a plan for you. Be well, my brave Taren, and know that you’re loved.” She kissed him on the forehead and he began to cry.

  THE DREAM faded and, with it, the feeling of dread that threatened to suffocate him. My father was a sea captain, he thought as he struggled to master his emotions. Pride mingled with his overwhelming sense of loss. His parents had loved each other. They’d wanted him in their lives. They gave their lives for me. And for what? That I might sulk about my fate?

  He’d run away from Ian like a child. Yes, Ian had been wrong not to trust his judgment. But Ian was right to fear Odhrán’s power. Even if Ian trusted him, should he trust the safety of his entire crew to Taren’s faith in Odhrán’s good intentions?

  He realized he still clasped his mother’s necklace in his hand. The necklace! His mother had left it with him all those years ago. Perhaps she’d wanted him to have something to remember her by. But what if she’d left it with him for more than just a sentimental purpose? Odhrán had recognized the stones and shells as found only in the Eastern Lands. If Taren’s mother had wanted to leave him with a reminder of her, would she have left him with something so unique or foreign?

  The Eastern Lands. His parents had been sailing for the Eastern Lands when their ship had been attacked. Vurin had to have known this. He knew, but he said nothing. Why?

  Because he wanted you to learn this for yourself. Vurin had understood that Taren must make his own decisions. He’d understood that until Taren did so, he would not move on from his servitude. If Vurin had told him to sail to the Eastern Lands, he’d have done so without protest. Vurin had given him a choice.

  Twenty-Five

  TAREN SAT atop the foremast, naked after swimming, his eyes closed, the wind painting his cheeks with ribbons of cool air. He’d been up here for hours, unwilling to return to the cabin to face Ian. His anger felt much like the wind on his face, fleeting. His heart knew that his love for Ian was lasting, that forgiveness would cleanse the traces of hurt left behind. Time, like the wind, was powerful that way.

  His mind strayed, and he imagined the wind blowing in circles around him, easing the tension in his body, calming his mind. He liked the way the breeze felt on his cheeks, on the back of his neck, his shoulders, his arms and legs. He opened his eyes, and as he did, he became aware that the wind had done exactly what he’d imagined it would.

  He remembered praying to the goddess that the wind would change as the Phantom fought the brigantine near the Gateway Islands. He remembered Seria and the Ea prison and how the storm that raged outside had mirrored the turmoil in his heart. Vurin’s words—“There are also stories of Ea priests who could control the elements.”—echoed in his thoughts.

  Was Vurin right?

  The breeze abated. He closed his eyes and waited until he felt it blow over his face once again. He focused his thoughts as Vurin had taught him when they’d explored his healing abilities. He thought of nothing but the wind. The sweet scent it carried from the water. The warm air it stirred. The way the gulls rode its currents and eddies. When his mind filled with thoughts of the wind alone, he imagined it changing direction. Imagined himself pushing it, pulling it, coaxing it, cajoling it to follow his whim, his desire.

  For a moment nothing happened. And then he felt a thin band of warm air brush the back of his neck. Tender, like the ephemeral touch of a lover, it danced on his skin.

  His heart began to beat faster, and with it, the wind grew stronger, picking up the ends of his long hair and brushing his upper back with the strands. Was this what Vurin had suspected? He longed to ask him, but he knew it might be months before he had the opportunity.

  Why ask him what you know in your heart to be true? a voice in his mind said. A whisper of Treande? Or his own thoughts? Or were they all that different?

  He came back to himself to the sound of the creaking of the foreyard. He didn’t need to see Ian to sense his presence. Ian offered him a tight smile, then sat beside him.

  “Are you all right?” Ian asked, his forehead creased with obvious concern.

  Taren guessed his face appeared flushed from his excitement. For a moment he considered telling Ian what he’d just discovered, but then thought better of it. He didn’t want to trouble Ian—he knew how much Ian already feared for his safety. He wasn’t ready to contemplate the meaning of this newfound ability and whether Vurin had been correct in guessing that he was meant to wield the rune stone.

  “I’m fine,” Taren said, hoping to reassure Ian. “Just enjoying the breeze and the smell of the water.”

  “I loved to spend time up here years ago, when the Phantom was in port,” Ian said wistfully. “During the war, she had a twin siste
r, the Vela. When the officers weren’t looking, some of the men would string ropes between the two ships and we’d climb on them. Dive from them and transform.” He chuckled, then added, “I think the captains knew well what we were doing, but they allowed us the childish play, understanding the toll the war took on us.”

  In spite of himself, Taren smiled to imagine a young Ian acting foolish, carefree. He was just about to speak when Ian wrapped his arms around his shoulders and drew him against his chest.

  “I’m sorry.” Ian’s voice was once again serious. “I was wrong to treat you like a child. You’ve asked me to trust you, and I’ve been my usual stubborn self. I shouldn’t have told Odhrán to leave. The only excuse I can make is that I’m a selfish bastard—I fear I’ll lose you, and I don’t know what I’d do if that happened.”

  Taren sighed and relaxed into Ian’s embrace. “If you were to lose me,” he said, “you would survive and do what the goddess demands.” He inhaled slowly, knowing he must tell Ian the truth. Ian deserved to hear it. “I know the grief of losing you.”

  “The visions?”

  “Aye.”

  Ian held Taren tighter, brushed the hair from his cheek, and kissed it sweetly. “I know you saw Owyn’s death—that you believe you are responsible for it.”

  “I…. Treande killed Owyn.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Ian said. “There’s something you haven’t told me. I’m sure of it. This has something to do with the stone, doesn’t it?”

  Taren nodded. “The rune stone can exist in two forms. Solid”—he glanced down at the stone hanging around his neck—“or as a physical part of the wielder.”

  “Physical?” Taren heard a note of distress in Ian’s voice.

  “The stone and the wielder become one,” Taren continued as he repressed a shudder. “And if the wielder dies, the stone dies with him. There’s only one way to free the stone. The dagger….”

  Ian kissed Taren once more. “Treande did what he had to do. I don’t doubt Owyn knew that as well.”

  Taren couldn’t argue with that. In his vision, it had been Owyn who’d insisted Treande retrieve the stone, even though he knew it would cost him his life. “Treande paid dearly to claim that stone for our people. He lived nearly two hundred years after Owyn’s death.”

  Ian drew a stuttered breath. “This is what you wouldn’t tell me before.” He gently turned Taren’s head so that Taren couldn’t help but meet his gaze. “This is the pain you haven’t shared with me.”

  Taren nodded and clenched his jaw, hoping to dispel the powerful wave of emotion that threatened to cleave his heart in two. “I feared you would worry more. Later, I feared you might refuse to look for the stone.”

  “I can do nothing about the past,” Ian said in a tender voice. “Nor can you. Forget about the stone. Vurin sent us to find it. Well, we’ve found it. He can have it.”

  “But if Odhrán is right…. With the stone, we might be able to keep our people safe.”

  “No.” The cold tone of Ian’s voice made Taren shiver. “I won’t have you risk your life when you don’t even know what powers it imparts. Surely Vurin’s a powerful enough mage that he can master the stone.”

  Taren shook his head, then pulled free of Ian’s embrace and stood, one hand on the mast. “You say you want to trust me. That you were wrong to act impulsively.”

  “I was. I—”

  Taren didn’t let Ian finish. He’d speak his piece and suffer the consequences if need be. “Then you must trust me now. Please, Ian. There’s a reason for all of this. There’s a reason I found you again. You know it as well as I.”

  Ian nodded.

  “I am the wielder.” Only now did he accept the truth.

  “Taren….”

  “Please,” Taren pleaded. “Just listen.”

  Ian nodded again and Taren saw how he struggled not to speak. His heart warmed at the knowledge that Ian loved him enough that he feared for his safety, but also respected him enough to allow him to choose his path.

  “The stone is our people’s salvation. But there is only one wielder. One Ea who can unlock its secrets.” He took Ian’s hand in his own and kissed it. “I have no intention of leaving this life—my life with you—sooner than I must. I want my life to be a simple one. I want to remain at your side. I want your protection. I want to feel safe.”

  Taren took a deep breath, then said in a voice he hoped would convey his resolve, “But I cannot continue to allow Vurin, or you, or anyone else to show me where I must go. You’ve told me I’m not a slave. But I haven’t truly believed it myself. I haven’t wanted to believe it. Because if I did believe it, that meant I’d need to make my own choices.”

  Ian smiled at him. Taren saw the pride in his eyes and knew what that pride had cost him. Ian had always wanted him to understand the value of his freedom, even though Ian knew Taren’s freedom meant he could not always keep Taren safe. In that moment Taren loved Ian more than ever.

  “The goddess has shown me the way,” Taren said after a moment’s hesitation. “The stone is part of her plan. I’m sure of it.”

  “Go on.” Ian pursed his lips and furrowed his brow. “I will try not to judge based on my heart’s desire alone.” He smiled, but Taren saw sadness in his eyes.

  This is as difficult for him as it is for me. The thought comforted Taren. He knew Ian truly wished him to lead rather than follow. He needed to trust Ian as well. “I had a vision. The necklace my mother left me… I was able to touch her memories and understand.”

  “What did you see?”

  “The night she and my father died,” Taren said as he struggled to rein in his emotion. “They were aboard a ship bound for the Eastern Lands.”

  “The Eastern Lands?”

  “Aye.” Taren nodded. “My father was a ship’s captain. On the night they left to sail for the Eastern Lands, they were ambushed by one of the Council’s ships in the waters near Raice Harbor. Their ship was badly damaged, but my father stayed with his men, hoping to join my mother later.” He shook his head, pressed his lips together, and blinked away his tears. “My mother took me and swam to land, but she was mortally wounded as she swam. She transformed into her human form. She could have transformed again and saved herself, but she knew she’d risk my life as well if she did. That was the night she entrusted me to Borstan.”

  Ian brushed Taren’s tears away with his thumb, then kissed him sweetly on the lips. “I’m so sorry you had to witness such a thing.”

  “You mustn’t be. It truly is a gift to have known them,” Taren said.

  “Aye.” Ian kissed Taren again. “But why the Eastern Lands? Did your vision reveal the reason?”

  “No,” Taren admitted. “But I think I know the reason.” He glanced down, afraid to meet Ian’s gaze.

  “I trust you, Taren. Tell me what we must do. I promise I will follow you this time.” When he looked up again, Taren saw that Ian’s smile was genuine, the encouragement in his eyes obvious. “You are meant to do this. I know it in my soul.”

  “I think there are others of our kind there. Before we left for the Gateways, Vurin showed me something. A cave near the water at Callaecia, with carvings of Ea swimming through buildings. As though they lived beneath the water. I think those carvings are a record. Meant to remind us of our past. I think there are others of our kind, Ian. Merfolk who live beneath the waters of the Eastern Lands. I think Vurin wants us to find them, to reunite with them. Perhaps he believes that with their help we can make peace with the islanders.”

  “And what of the stone?” Ian asked.

  Taren exhaled slowly. He wouldn’t tell Ian what he now knew: that sooner or later he, like Owyn centuries ago, would need to join with the rune stone. That the goddess would demand it of him. “I don’t know. Not yet. The goddess will reveal her plan for it. And for us.”

  Twenty-Six

  IAN FOLLOWED Taren as they climbed the ladder from the launch to the Sea Witch. Rider waited with Bastian at his side. It
surprised Ian how good it felt to see the Witch and her crew put in to the harbor where the Phantom was anchored. Even hidden from humans as they were, thanks to Renda’s enchantments, he knew the Phantom and her crew were vulnerable. He was sure the attack by the humans had been the work of the Council. If the Council’s mages were powerful enough, they’d eventually find his damaged ship. The Witch and her crew provided his men with a modicum of protection. And although he would hardly admit it, Ian was happy to see Rider again.

  “Welcome aboard,” Rider said, his face set in a grin.

  “Jonat.” Ian clasped Rider’s arm. “Thank you for coming here.” Out of the corner of his eye, Ian saw Taren smile at Bastian. “May we speak in private?” he asked. He’d give Bastian and Taren some time together while he and Rider discussed plans.

  “Of course.”

  Ian nodded to Bastian, then Taren. He repressed a smile at the surprise on Taren’s face. Taren no doubt realized Ian was making good on his promise to trust him. Ian wondered if he’d feel as confident should they meet up with Odhrán again. And if what Taren said was true—that Odhrán was nearly a thousand years old and more powerful than any Ea—it was far safer to be wary.

  Once inside Rider’s cabin, Ian took a seat across the table from Rider as Rider poured them both some whiskey. Ian lifted his glass. “To old friends.”

  “Friends,” Rider responded with a nod, and they both drank. “But this isn’t just a friendly call, is it?”

  “I wish it were.”

  “I guessed as much. When Vurin asked us to sail to the Gateways, I knew he must be concerned for your safety.” Rider leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin.

  “We discussed it before setting sail. I told him we didn’t need a nursemaid.” Ian shook his head. “I guessed he’d asked you to follow when we heard you were in the area.”