Accidental Sorceress (Hardstorm Saga Book 2) (11 page)

Then suddenly the pirates ran, all toward the hatch that led below deck, some still with sword in hand, beating others out of the way, some of their mates tossing their swords and cowering.

I stood still, my limbs frozen by the sight of the giant monster in the sea, my mind furiously churning. I had reached out to the little fish. Could I reach this one?

I tried to feel what it felt, see what it saw, think what it thought. I tried to feel the cold water that half submerged its great body, as if I was submerged myself. I tried to feel the intermittent, slight breeze on my back, tried to see our ship the way the monster saw us as he stared blankly at us.

Since I was in the prow of the ship, I was closest to him. Batumar stood with his sword drawn next to me. On my other side, the merchant came up with the children, his rapier in hand.

I sang silently in my heart to the monster.
Oh great lord, forgive us for disturbing your kingdom. Great lord, please let us pass in peace.
I sang and sang, putting my very heart into every word.

I could heal men and animals with my spirit, but I could only reach animals with my spirit songs. Animals were pure in spirit, knew no hate or treachery. They wanted to eat, and they wanted to live. For the most part, their hearts were quiet. Not so with men drawn forward by all the things they endlessly wanted. They wanted those things so much and so loudly, they could not hear my spirit songs.

I hoped and prayed fervently that the great monster could hear me.

And maybe he did, because he suddenly sank into the sea, splashing up a wave so tall it nearly overturned our ship. We all fell to the planks and hung on to each other, Batumar to me so I would not be swept overboard, while I clung to some of the children, and their master hung on to the others.

By the time we scrambled to our knees, sopping wet and freezing, the great monster had vanished.

And the other fish went with him.

But that night, we had some rain, enough to fill a handful of water barrels when poured together.

For many days, our fortunes were restored and peace ruled the ship. But the wind would not rise, and soon days of hunger came again. Men were fighting, arguing night and day.

“They will turn against the captain soon,” Batumar said as we lay in our cabin one night, starved again and weak. “If there is a fight and something happens to me, stay close to the merchant.”

This I did not promise. Nothing was going to happen to Batumar. If he was injured in a fight, I would heal him, even if I had to give my very life for his.

And I would never put myself under the power of the merchant.
Never.

In any case, mutiny was averted. The next morning, the hardstorms returned. We were once again all too busy, from one day to the next, fighting for survival.

I prayed that the spirits would let us see the end of our journey.

Chapter Nine

(Back into the Storm)

Days passed, nights, sometimes with Batumar, sometimes without. Once again, he helped abovedecks as much as he could. We were all weak from hunger, but at least his shipsickness diminished.

I lost track of time. Most days were as dark as the nights. The roar of the storms was near constant. In the rare pauses, sometimes I could hear the tiger roar or a child scream.

I feared the children were sick, so while Batumar was abovedecks, I tripped and rolled myself to the merchant’s cabin one day, banging on the door until he opened it.

I had heard the children call him Graho up on deck, so I greeted him as such.

He gave a small bow. “My lady.”

“Mistress Onra.” Courtesy demanded that I give him my name.

His head was uncovered at last, and, for the first time, I could see his face, although not much of it. Barely any light came through the porthole, but I saw enough to know that he had a terrible face, all hard lines, his eyes rimmed with dark circles, his chin too sharp, his nose too big.

The front of his shirt was covered in vomit, although what he or the children could heave up, I did not know. All we had was rainwater we had collected, but we were running out of even that, back on water rations.

“Do you need my help?” I asked. “I freely give it.”

“They are frightened,” he said after a tense moment. “They cannot sleep from the hunger and the storm. And when they can sleep—” He looked away. “They sleep poorly.”

I looked at the missing ears and the cut-off fingers, the burn scars. A little boy of seven or so was missing an eye. The children had plenty of material for nightmares. I blamed the merchant for all their afflictions, which, in the interest of him letting me stay with the children, I did not say.

Even in my miserable state, I was so angry at him, I could barely look at him.

I wanted to step by him with my head held high, but as I stepped inside the room, the ship rolled and tossed me to the floor. I did not bother to rise.

The children gathered around me, some even close enough this time so their arms or legs touched against mine. I was sure they missed their mothers. I was a grown woman, and I missed my mother still.

“Do you have a candle?” I asked the merchant.

He shook his head. “We had tallow candles. We ate them.”

I nodded. We had eaten ours when we had found them at last. Tallow was animal fat. During the storms, the ship tossed by waves and battered by winds without stop, the candles could not be lit anyway.

“Do you have a water flask?” I asked next.

He nodded and handed it to me.

I added the right herbs to settle stomachs, then handed the flask back to him. “Warm it against your skin.”

The medicine could infuse in cold water, but it would infuse faster with some heat.

Graho lifted his black shirt, and, even in the dim light, I could see the odd-shaped tattoos crisscrossing his skin.
Owner’s marks?
I’d heard they were used by some slave masters. I looked away. Maybe he had been a slave before he became a master. Some continued the trade they knew the best, after they were freed.

I knew the slave trade was so, but I could not understand why. He knew what the whip felt like. How could he do it to others? How could he have these children harmed so he could sell them to the beggar lords on the mainland?

My jaw clenched. I fervently prayed for our arrival at the port, but I dreaded it too. On the ship, the tiger and the children were still safe, still near me. What could I do to save them once our journey ended?

I set that despair aside and turned my attention to helping them in the present moment. I could not feed them; I could not bathe them; I could not give them back to their mothers. But maybe I could take away their fear, even if for a short while.

“Have you ever heard the tale of the wise beggar and the foolish prince?”

They all snuggled closer, little faces turned up, listening.

“In a faraway kingdom were once two brothers. When their father died, he left them all his wealth and all his houses, and all his vineyards and fields, but one brother soon stole the other’s inheritance by treachery. So that the betrayal could never be avenged, he had his hired swords cut out his brother’s eyes. Then he used his brother’s wealth as a gift to court the king’s daughter. In good time, he married her and became a prince, while his blind brother became a beggar.

“Soon, hard times came to the kingdom,” I said.

“War?” one of the little boys asked.

“War,” I told him. “While the treacherous brother, the new prince, moved into the palace, the beggar brother went from town to town. The good people fed him; the bad people beat him. As he journeyed through the land, he met many men, lords and lowly shopkeeps, craftsmen and servants, and got to know their hearts.

“If he got two heels of bread in one day, he gave away one to someone who was hungry. If he passed an old woman whose donkey couldn’t pull her cart, he helped. Because he could not see, his other senses grew sharper until he could hear as well as an owl.

“Once he came to a village where the people were in great sorrow, for they had lost a child. But as the beggar listened, he could hear the child call weakly from the bottom of a narrow well.

“Nobody could go down to help the little girl, but since the beggar was always walking and rarely eating, he was lean indeed. Even though he could not see, he told the people to tie a rope around him and lower him. And he saved that little girl.”

The girls all seemed very happy with that outcome, but one of the boys put in, “What happened to the prince?”

“The prince lived lavishly, ate stuffed pigs, drank wine, and gobbled up cake.” I made a gobbling sound.

Some of the children smiled for the first time.

But the oldest of the boys frowned. “There is no cake in war,” he said with great certainty.

I supposed none of them had seen much food in a very long while. Certainly not in the slave pens, and definitely not here on the ship.

I went on with my story. “His people saw the prince day after day, eating and drinking while they fought and starved, and the people began to hate him.”

The children nodded.

“Even the king despaired. He was old and sick. He hoped the prince would lead his army, but the prince refused to leave the palace. He did not become prince to be killed on a battlefield, he said. He did not become prince to starve. So he stayed home and feasted while the country and its people fell into despair.

“Even the king’s best friends began to betray him, knowing that soon his kingdom would fall. The palace was full of spies. Some men tried to poison him. The king fell into such dark sadness that he walked out of the palace, down to the edge of the water, and he fell onto his knees to beg the spirits.

“‘This man I chose for my daughter, this man I chose to be my son,’
he cried.
‘I did not choose wisely. Oh merciful spirits, send me a hero to save my country. I do not know who to trust. I have not been a good king. But for my folly, do not let my people perish. Send me a man who is worthy, and I shall give my whole kingdom to him
.
’
”

I had to raise my voice to continue as the storm grew louder around us. We all clung together so we would not be tossed around the cabin.

“The blind beggar walked by just then,” I said, “and heard the king cry about not knowing his people and not knowing who to trust. At once, the beggar strode up to the king and fell onto his knees in front of him.

“‘Your majesty
,
’
he said.
‘If it pleases your grace, I can tell you who the good men are and who are the ones you can trust.’
And then he told the king about how he had lived year after year, what lords had been kind to him, what lords had tried to force him into slavery. Many people do not even see a beggar. He had heard much that he had not been meant to hear. He knew what lords were thieves, what lords were cheaters, what lords talked treason.”

“Did he tell the king that he was the prince’s brother? Did he tell the king that his brother was a rotten egg?” the littlest girl asked.

“No,” I told her. “Even after all those years of suffering, the beggar did not want his brother to come to harm.”

“What happened next?” One of the older boys spoke up, impatient with the interruption.

“The king invited the beggar into his chambers. That night, the king himself wrote letters, all night, for he could not even trust his scribes. And in the morning, all those letters were sent to his trusted lords with the last of the king’s trusted soldiers. And those trusted lords hastened to the king’s side. And do you know who was invited along with the lords to the war council?”

“The blind beggar!” a couple of the children shouted.

I nodded. “The blind beggar was a wise man indeed. Once, he had managed his father’s vast holdings. When he gave advice, the lords saw his wisdom and accepted it. They could see that he was a man blessed by the spirits in some regard, even while cursed in another.”

“Did they defeat the enemy?” Another little boy piped up with the question.

“Indeed they did, and after the war, the king had his people gather in front of the palace. He took the prince and the beggar with him to the palace balcony that overlooked the crowd.

“First, he addressed the lords who waited in the front row, sitting on their prancing horses.
‘I have grown old,’
he told them.
‘I ask you to choose a new king. Who do you choose to rule this country, the beggar or the prince?’

“‘The beggar!’
the lords shouted. They remembered that he was the one who vouched for them with the king. They remembered his wise advice at the war council. They remembered how the prince cowered, caring only about his own comfort and safety. Better a king without eyes than a king without wisdom and courage, they murmured amongst themselves, and shouted again,
‘Let the beggar be king
!
’

“Next, the king turned to his people.
‘I have grown old and sick. If a new enemy comes, I fear I might not be able to protect you. Who do you choose for your new king? The beggar or the prince?’

“
‘The beggar!’
the people shouted. They all remembered the beggar walking among them, helping when he could, sharing what little he had with those less fortunate. They remembered his stories that gave them hope, and they remembered his kindness. They remembered the child he saved from the well.
‘Better a king without eyes than a king without a heart,’
they murmured to each other, and shouted again,
‘We choose the beggar!’

“The blind beggar was crowned the next day. But when he sent for his brother so his brother could sit by his side at the feast, the prince and the princess could not be found. They had run away in the night.”

The children pressed even closer, smiles on nearly every face. Whether because they had not heard a tale in a long time or because they liked the idea of a maimed beggar becoming a king, I did not know.