watched the electricity transform his outline with a faint bluish edge.
Only Lero remained impassive, standing before him, looking directly at him with her unblinking eyes.
“ You’ll regret this, Captain,” he said softly in a different voice, one so unlike his childish earlier outbursts.
“ Oh, I regret this already, insolent whelp,” Lero said. “Allowing you on this ship. But I coveted your father’s gold. Not for myself, but for my ship. And I had given my word.”
But Varian smiled. And for the first time there was something terrifying in that smile.
An end to childhood.
“ Ah, Lero,” he said. “I would have you call me by another name. And I would have you covet something else. . . .” And he reached out with crackling fingers, and boldly drew them down her cheek.
At his touch, Lero froze. She was immobilized; not a muscle could she move, only a low grunt escaped her as she attempted to speak. At the same time the First Mate and three other men lunged in her direction, coming to her aid.
And were frozen also.
With the barest flicker of his mind he had reached out, not needing to turn his head to see them coming, knowing all along that they were there, that two had drawn long curving scimitars of steel.
A bluish faint crackle came from his fingers, came to fill the whole ship with stillness—with wax figures of men, living and breathing, yet frozen like puppets. Some were still swinging high up on the mast, marionettes, balanced precariously many feet above. Several were bent from the waist, tying knots, or climbing the stairs down below. Three more were straining under the pull of rope. And another was stuck like an old comical albatross up in the crow’s nest.
The bluish force enveloped all of them, all of it, permeating with angry unreleased fury the Eye of Sun.
Varian continued to smile, sensing them—their heartbeats, their straining lungs, their diaphragms rising, the pump of their blood—feeling through his pores the whole ship like one being, and at his fingertips, feeling her skin, her. . . .
Somehow, unbelievably, she managed to speak, croaked in a bare whisper, “Varian. . . . You must not . . . do this . . . stop. . . .”
And then, with a mere thought he brought her frozen stiff form to its knees.
She did not crumple like he had done at her feet only moments ago. Rather, she sank on her knees slowly, with odd grace. Her head remained upright, unyielding, in an invisible stranglehold, while her wise defiant eyes continued to follow him.
He stood with a ringing silence in his mind. Looking down into her eyes. Watching her upturned face, the wind dancing in the cobweb tendrils of her pale sun-washed hair. And then he came to lean closer, and his mouth touched her dry motionless lips.
They were frozen, those lips, frozen like all the rest under his touch. And he felt an irrational stab of anger at that, forgetting that it was himself who was holding her immobile thus, unable to resist him or to respond. . . .
“ I’ve wanted you so, Lero,” he whispered then, kissing her lips again clumsily, “I—”
But he was kissing a wax doll with dry windblown lips.
And when he released her mouth, there was a fury in her steady eyes. Seeing it, he knew suddenly she could never be his. Because she had given herself already, was taken by a thing of old cedar wood and cypress, was swallowed, and had relinquished her very soul to this ship.
And within him the cold blue lightning suddenly exploded.
Varian was no longer one entity, but the whole cerulean expanse for leagues around, and he swelled below the puny wooden husk, thrust angrily against it from below with his homogeneous liquid mass.
A sudden swell of ocean came to rock the Eye of Sun. The frozen immobilized figures of the crew strained with silent cries, the wild expressions on their weatherbeaten faces clamoring for outlet, eyes brimming with emotion, with terror, striving against the force that held
Only Lero remained impassive, standing before him, looking directly at him with her unblinking eyes.
“ You’ll regret this, Captain,” he said softly in a different voice, one so unlike his childish earlier outbursts.
“ Oh, I regret this already, insolent whelp,” Lero said. “Allowing you on this ship. But I coveted your father’s gold. Not for myself, but for my ship. And I had given my word.”
But Varian smiled. And for the first time there was something terrifying in that smile.
An end to childhood.
“ Ah, Lero,” he said. “I would have you call me by another name. And I would have you covet something else. . . .” And he reached out with crackling fingers, and boldly drew them down her cheek.
At his touch, Lero froze. She was immobilized; not a muscle could she move, only a low grunt escaped her as she attempted to speak. At the same time the First Mate and three other men lunged in her direction, coming to her aid.
And were frozen also.
With the barest flicker of his mind he had reached out, not needing to turn his head to see them coming, knowing all along that they were there, that two had drawn long curving scimitars of steel.
A bluish faint crackle came from his fingers, came to fill the whole ship with stillness—with wax figures of men, living and breathing, yet frozen like puppets. Some were still swinging high up on the mast, marionettes, balanced precariously many feet above. Several were bent from the waist, tying knots, or climbing the stairs down below. Three more were straining under the pull of rope. And another was stuck like an old comical albatross up in the crow’s nest.
The bluish force enveloped all of them, all of it, permeating with angry unreleased fury the Eye of Sun.
Varian continued to smile, sensing them—their heartbeats, their straining lungs, their diaphragms rising, the pump of their blood—feeling through his pores the whole ship like one being, and at his fingertips, feeling her skin, her. . . .
Somehow, unbelievably, she managed to speak, croaked in a bare whisper, “Varian. . . . You must not . . . do this . . . stop. . . .”
And then, with a mere thought he brought her frozen stiff form to its knees.
She did not crumple like he had done at her feet only moments ago. Rather, she sank on her knees slowly, with odd grace. Her head remained upright, unyielding, in an invisible stranglehold, while her wise defiant eyes continued to follow him.
He stood with a ringing silence in his mind. Looking down into her eyes. Watching her upturned face, the wind dancing in the cobweb tendrils of her pale sun-washed hair. And then he came to lean closer, and his mouth touched her dry motionless lips.
They were frozen, those lips, frozen like all the rest under his touch. And he felt an irrational stab of anger at that, forgetting that it was himself who was holding her immobile thus, unable to resist him or to respond. . . .
“ I’ve wanted you so, Lero,” he whispered then, kissing her lips again clumsily, “I—”
But he was kissing a wax doll with dry windblown lips.
And when he released her mouth, there was a fury in her steady eyes. Seeing it, he knew suddenly she could never be his. Because she had given herself already, was taken by a thing of old cedar wood and cypress, was swallowed, and had relinquished her very soul to this ship.
And within him the cold blue lightning suddenly exploded.
Varian was no longer one entity, but the whole cerulean expanse for leagues around, and he swelled below the puny wooden husk, thrust angrily against it from below with his homogeneous liquid mass.
A sudden swell of ocean came to rock the Eye of Sun. The frozen immobilized figures of the crew strained with silent cries, the wild expressions on their weatherbeaten faces clamoring for outlet, eyes brimming with emotion, with terror, striving against the force that held
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