nearby, on a poor hard bunk, her body stilled in sleep, her pale lashes resting against her hollow tanned cheeks. . . .
“ M’Lord, are ye ill?” said the husky voice of an old sailor, anchoring Varian back in the present reality.
Varian turned, a slim dark-haired youth of slight build—pretty as a maiden, probably thought the old sailor. “I am fine,” he said haughtily, his eyes narrowing with irritation that someone would notice how he floated, how disembodied he was. . . .
“ Ye don’t look it, m’Lord. The wind is cold today, and it bites. Ye’d best go inside. . . .”
Varian reached out with his mind and sent a finger of anger to prick the old man just behind the ear. The sailor reacted by stiffening sharply and, scratching his neck in that spot, instantly forgetting whatever else was on his mind. He turned and went back to his shipboard task nearby.
The ship lurched with a sudden ocean swell, and Varian felt it necessary to grab the railing, so as not to go plummeting overboard. Immediately, from a few feet away the captain approached.
“ Careful, Varian,” she said, pausing at his side. Her face bore the shadow of a smile. “The deck is newly scrubbed and slippery.”
Varian blushed angrily. “No need for your concern, captain, I can stand on my own.”
“ On land maybe. But it takes quite some time to find the balance of the sea. It took me months, when I first started, before I could run upon the deck with disregard to the swaying.”
Unable to avoid it, he stared into her eyes. With a pang of vertigo he surely saw laughter there, a mockery.
“ I am different,” he said. “And it would do you good to remember that.”
“ And so I see.” With that, she turned away lightly, was once again on her way.
He stared at her back, seeing in it the shape of an insult.
T he Lord’s son has turned out to be more of a nuisance than I originally thought. He hides in his cabin all day, or else comes out and sulks, standing at the railing, staring off into the distance. I am constantly distracted with worry that the next swell and lunge will send him overboard, for the stubborn pup refuses to take any reasonable precaution. I’ve informed the crew to watch him closely, to care for him as though he were the child I never had.
For in some ways, he is. Not quite a man yet, scowling with pride, trembling with secret fear of the waters all around us, when no one is looking. And yet no longer a child, for he watches me in a certain way. . . .
He watches me in a way that I do not like. Maybe because I understand it so well, see what beginning thing it portends, see his eyes intense and deep upon me when he thinks I’m not looking.
Only another week upon the open sea. And then we come to the Southern shores, and we are rid of him once and for all. Already the men are whispering, looking at him and then making signs of warding if his shadow falls in a place where it may cross their path. Indeed, there is something heavy, a burdensome dark presence that has been with this ship ever since he stepped on board.
As though we carry an invisible cargo of a giant with us.
Even now, I can feel the ship straining under his weight. It pains me, for as always I feel everything. As the breeze stirs the sails, I can feel with my very mind the canvas unfurl heavily, just as I inexplicably feel the pressing of ocean upon the very fibers of the wooden panels that form the ship, its arching convex spine of antique cedar straining beyond all limit underneath a strange presence.
And today, of all days, as this pressure mounts in my mind, the wind too is rising, cold and serpentine. It is a bad sign for us. For today my wooden love is swaying far too precariously upon the growing waves.
H igh noon filled the upturned cloudless bowl of the sky. All around the Eye of Sun, the ocean blazed cerulean, with razor fragments of sun sprinkled upon the waters, their surface stirred by the cool wind. The ship
“ M’Lord, are ye ill?” said the husky voice of an old sailor, anchoring Varian back in the present reality.
Varian turned, a slim dark-haired youth of slight build—pretty as a maiden, probably thought the old sailor. “I am fine,” he said haughtily, his eyes narrowing with irritation that someone would notice how he floated, how disembodied he was. . . .
“ Ye don’t look it, m’Lord. The wind is cold today, and it bites. Ye’d best go inside. . . .”
Varian reached out with his mind and sent a finger of anger to prick the old man just behind the ear. The sailor reacted by stiffening sharply and, scratching his neck in that spot, instantly forgetting whatever else was on his mind. He turned and went back to his shipboard task nearby.
The ship lurched with a sudden ocean swell, and Varian felt it necessary to grab the railing, so as not to go plummeting overboard. Immediately, from a few feet away the captain approached.
“ Careful, Varian,” she said, pausing at his side. Her face bore the shadow of a smile. “The deck is newly scrubbed and slippery.”
Varian blushed angrily. “No need for your concern, captain, I can stand on my own.”
“ On land maybe. But it takes quite some time to find the balance of the sea. It took me months, when I first started, before I could run upon the deck with disregard to the swaying.”
Unable to avoid it, he stared into her eyes. With a pang of vertigo he surely saw laughter there, a mockery.
“ I am different,” he said. “And it would do you good to remember that.”
“ And so I see.” With that, she turned away lightly, was once again on her way.
He stared at her back, seeing in it the shape of an insult.
T he Lord’s son has turned out to be more of a nuisance than I originally thought. He hides in his cabin all day, or else comes out and sulks, standing at the railing, staring off into the distance. I am constantly distracted with worry that the next swell and lunge will send him overboard, for the stubborn pup refuses to take any reasonable precaution. I’ve informed the crew to watch him closely, to care for him as though he were the child I never had.
For in some ways, he is. Not quite a man yet, scowling with pride, trembling with secret fear of the waters all around us, when no one is looking. And yet no longer a child, for he watches me in a certain way. . . .
He watches me in a way that I do not like. Maybe because I understand it so well, see what beginning thing it portends, see his eyes intense and deep upon me when he thinks I’m not looking.
Only another week upon the open sea. And then we come to the Southern shores, and we are rid of him once and for all. Already the men are whispering, looking at him and then making signs of warding if his shadow falls in a place where it may cross their path. Indeed, there is something heavy, a burdensome dark presence that has been with this ship ever since he stepped on board.
As though we carry an invisible cargo of a giant with us.
Even now, I can feel the ship straining under his weight. It pains me, for as always I feel everything. As the breeze stirs the sails, I can feel with my very mind the canvas unfurl heavily, just as I inexplicably feel the pressing of ocean upon the very fibers of the wooden panels that form the ship, its arching convex spine of antique cedar straining beyond all limit underneath a strange presence.
And today, of all days, as this pressure mounts in my mind, the wind too is rising, cold and serpentine. It is a bad sign for us. For today my wooden love is swaying far too precariously upon the growing waves.
H igh noon filled the upturned cloudless bowl of the sky. All around the Eye of Sun, the ocean blazed cerulean, with razor fragments of sun sprinkled upon the waters, their surface stirred by the cool wind. The ship
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