drove forward powerfully, and the sails swelled full, with the almost living dilated eye bulging on the main sail, surrounded by the sun corona of gold.
“ Ah . . . Strong wind and not a cloud in the sky,” the First Mate said, raising his ruddy hand to shield his eyes.
Captain Lero neared him as he stood at the wheel. She was silent, and did not want to put into words the sense of unease, the wrongness, that plagued her on this perfect day.
“ Captain!”
Behind her she heard the young Lord’s son. He stood watching her like a hawk, while the wind swelled and gathered about him, sudden and possibly contrary to the wind billowing the sails.
“ Captain, I would speak to you!”
“ What is it, Varian?”
She spoke flatly, and did not turn to him, continuing to observe the approaching horizon.
Varian stared at her through a haze, a lightness, floating high above deck, on par with the topmost sail, watching each fiber of the canvas and the highest point of the mast, watching—
But no, he was here, standing on deck before her—she an emotionless post, a thing of wood, an extension of the timbers, a weathered silent entity—
He reached out with his mind and became the sea spray, the microscopic droplets that hung all around them in the violent air and clung to the hollows of her cheek, or sunk into the fine escaped tendrils of her pale hair.
He did not expect it, but Captain Lero shuddered, somehow impossibly feeling the mind touch, and turned directly to him.
“ What are you doing?” she said. And then she moved away from the wheel. She came forward, taking him by the shoulder, and with a firm pressure (at which he felt tongues of flame strike him) led him away to the far side of the deck, past staring sailors.
“ Now,” she said, when they were out of reach of anyone’s hearing, “I would like to know what it is you’ve done. You’ve touched me somehow, I know .”
Varian stared up into her cool condescending eyes, and then sneered. “It is true what they say about you, you are insane. I’ve done nothing.”
And suddenly Captain Lero laughed. “Good,” she said. “It’s good you have a brave tongue. I’ll let it go this time. But the next time you ‘do’ such a nothing, I’ll have you put below deck for the rest of the trip. Your father warned me about the untamed powers you wield. Have you forgotten your promise to him not to attempt anything?”
Before he even understood what he was doing, Varian struck her on the cheek. Some madness had prompted him, a violent impulse, a reflex. Maybe because she’d laughed. Maybe because she reminded him of that one thing. . . .
The next thing he knew, he felt an excruciating force against the side of his head, felt pain crack him asunder, and was down, falling under the force of her blow.
No longer was she laughing but towered above him, her face stark like the cold wind. He, meanwhile, scrambled on all fours, feeling the coarse wood of the deck, and hearing from all around the harsh guffaws of the sailors.
He heard Lero give orders to the men, orders to mind their own business—while the world spun around him with shame and incredulity, while below him, the deck rolled with the strong motion of the waves.
Shame was so violent that he dared not even move, only stared at the regular pattern of seams on her boots, felt the rolling below him. . . .
Dissolving, he was the wood itself, the old weathered deck. And then, he was the ship. Finally, seeping through, past the wood, he entered the cold moistness, the great expanse below, reaching out to fill himself with water, with the steady homogeneity, the cool flowing force. . . .
The endless force rebounded in him, filling him like a sail with air, filling him to the brim with urgent energy that must have an outlet. He stood up slowly, and there was a crackling at the tips of his fingers. Sparks landed on the floor of the deck, hissing.
The sailors’ laughter died as they watched him,
“ Ah . . . Strong wind and not a cloud in the sky,” the First Mate said, raising his ruddy hand to shield his eyes.
Captain Lero neared him as he stood at the wheel. She was silent, and did not want to put into words the sense of unease, the wrongness, that plagued her on this perfect day.
“ Captain!”
Behind her she heard the young Lord’s son. He stood watching her like a hawk, while the wind swelled and gathered about him, sudden and possibly contrary to the wind billowing the sails.
“ Captain, I would speak to you!”
“ What is it, Varian?”
She spoke flatly, and did not turn to him, continuing to observe the approaching horizon.
Varian stared at her through a haze, a lightness, floating high above deck, on par with the topmost sail, watching each fiber of the canvas and the highest point of the mast, watching—
But no, he was here, standing on deck before her—she an emotionless post, a thing of wood, an extension of the timbers, a weathered silent entity—
He reached out with his mind and became the sea spray, the microscopic droplets that hung all around them in the violent air and clung to the hollows of her cheek, or sunk into the fine escaped tendrils of her pale hair.
He did not expect it, but Captain Lero shuddered, somehow impossibly feeling the mind touch, and turned directly to him.
“ What are you doing?” she said. And then she moved away from the wheel. She came forward, taking him by the shoulder, and with a firm pressure (at which he felt tongues of flame strike him) led him away to the far side of the deck, past staring sailors.
“ Now,” she said, when they were out of reach of anyone’s hearing, “I would like to know what it is you’ve done. You’ve touched me somehow, I know .”
Varian stared up into her cool condescending eyes, and then sneered. “It is true what they say about you, you are insane. I’ve done nothing.”
And suddenly Captain Lero laughed. “Good,” she said. “It’s good you have a brave tongue. I’ll let it go this time. But the next time you ‘do’ such a nothing, I’ll have you put below deck for the rest of the trip. Your father warned me about the untamed powers you wield. Have you forgotten your promise to him not to attempt anything?”
Before he even understood what he was doing, Varian struck her on the cheek. Some madness had prompted him, a violent impulse, a reflex. Maybe because she’d laughed. Maybe because she reminded him of that one thing. . . .
The next thing he knew, he felt an excruciating force against the side of his head, felt pain crack him asunder, and was down, falling under the force of her blow.
No longer was she laughing but towered above him, her face stark like the cold wind. He, meanwhile, scrambled on all fours, feeling the coarse wood of the deck, and hearing from all around the harsh guffaws of the sailors.
He heard Lero give orders to the men, orders to mind their own business—while the world spun around him with shame and incredulity, while below him, the deck rolled with the strong motion of the waves.
Shame was so violent that he dared not even move, only stared at the regular pattern of seams on her boots, felt the rolling below him. . . .
Dissolving, he was the wood itself, the old weathered deck. And then, he was the ship. Finally, seeping through, past the wood, he entered the cold moistness, the great expanse below, reaching out to fill himself with water, with the steady homogeneity, the cool flowing force. . . .
The endless force rebounded in him, filling him like a sail with air, filling him to the brim with urgent energy that must have an outlet. He stood up slowly, and there was a crackling at the tips of his fingers. Sparks landed on the floor of the deck, hissing.
The sailors’ laughter died as they watched him,
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