he knows little about us, he’s hardly naïve. He survived a difficult life amongst the humans. Even Seria and the Council failed to break his spirit. He’s far stronger than you give him credit.”
Aye. He is. Perhaps I’m the one who isn’t strong enough to bear this.
“You may both survive this yet,” Renda replied with a chuckle. “ Now let’s see if we can find a clue as to where he may have gone. I’m afraid I may not survive your damnable pacing if we don’t.”
Five
T ARENSPATthe sand from his mouth, rolled onto his back, and looked up to see a boy of twelve or thirteen staring down at him. He was blond, with eyes the color of the ocean. As he met Taren’s gaze, the corners of his mouth turned upward in something resembling a smirk.
“Go away,” Taren said as he struggled to remember where he was and how he’d come here. Maybe if he just closed his eyes….
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
Aye. He is. Perhaps I’m the one who isn’t strong enough to bear this.
“You may both survive this yet,” Renda replied with a chuckle. “ Now let’s see if we can find a clue as to where he may have gone. I’m afraid I may not survive your damnable pacing if we don’t.”
Five
T ARENSPATthe sand from his mouth, rolled onto his back, and looked up to see a boy of twelve or thirteen staring down at him. He was blond, with eyes the color of the ocean. As he met Taren’s gaze, the corners of his mouth turned upward in something resembling a smirk.
“Go away,” Taren said as he struggled to remember where he was and how he’d come here. Maybe if he just closed his eyes….
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
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