Sons of the Falcon (The Falcons Saga) (27 page)

Fiala put the bottle back into the medicine
box, her hands quick and shaky. They returned to sweep the hair from his eyes, but
he batted them away. “What did Grandma do about … being … ?”

“Nothing!” Fiala hissed. “Sure she
never told anyone outside the family, and we never let anyone know. I was your
da’s wife
five years
before they trusted me enough to tell me, and only then
because she was dying and she wanted to warn me that you might … well.”

He jumped from the chest and paced.
The tight room allowed him only a couple of steps before he had to turn and go
the other way. Giving up, he sank into a chair under the window, dropped his
head into his hands, and groaned. The sailors would break into the inn sooner
or later and no monstrous weapon hiding inside him could stop such a mob. He’d
hang for sure.

“You should leave,” his mother said.

“Hnh, right,” he replied, sarcasm
all too comfortable in his mouth.

Fiala knelt before him. Her hands
rested heavily on his knee. “Sure I thought you’d flee Sandy Cape long before
now.”

“But I can’t leave you
here
—”

“Of course you can. The inn’s not
ideal, but it’s a roof and company. And don’t lie to me and say you’ve no
longing to leave this place.”

Rhian stammered, feeling pinned
between the mob and a great gaping gulf. “But where? Where will I go?”

Ma smiled, and for an instant she
glowed again, young and full of laughter. “
Anywhere
, Rhian.” Such an
enormous word, full of nothing and everything. She patted his knee and tucked
the hair from his eyes. “And maybe, in some far-off land, you’ll find a lovely girl
and marry well. Like Grandma Raysa’s sister.”

“Mother, she married a
pirate
.”

“But it’s a duke’s brother he was
first.”

“He was still a
pirate
. His
family disowned him. That’s why we’re stuck in this hellhole and not living in
a palace.”

“But out
there
,” she argued,
waving at the window, “you never know what might happen. All our girls have
been passed around, and we’re all practically inbred anyway.”

“Mother!” he cried. “Breeding is
the least of my concerns! All I care about is dodging a rope.”

Fiala shrugged as if his concerns
were marginal and picked herself off the floor. For a long while she stood
staring at him. He read affection on her face, and sadness. It was more than he
could stand. He lowered his head and stared at the floor between his feet. Fiala
reached around him and forced up the window to let in a fresh sea breeze. “I’ll
let you think about it,” she said, heading for the door. “Sounds like Shark needs
help shutting up those madmen.” She stopped with her hand on the latch but didn’t
turn around. “Son? Don’t forget your mother.”

Forget her? Before Rhian could argue
that he wasn’t going anywhere, she slipped out the door.

How in all the great black Abyss had
this disaster happened? Maybe if he made it happen again, he could scare off that
mob. But who would come to eat Vella’s chowder then or stay in Shark’s flea-infested
rooms? There had to be some way to convince the roaring crowd that he meant no
harm.

A rhythmic thudding shook the wall beside
his bunk. A woman squealed. Business as usual, despite the threat downstairs. Wasn’t
she scared? Didn’t she care if he lived or died? Rhian ground his teeth and hammered
a fist into the wall. “Shut up! Goddess, Vella!”

The wall stopped shaking. “Goddess
Vella, that’s me, Eyes.” The wall was so thin that it barely muffled her voice.
The thudding resumed, joined by grunts and laughter.

Rhian smashed his hands over his
ears. He had to get out of here. He tiptoed into the hallway and peered over
the balcony railing.

“The authorities are coming to sort
this out … ,” Shark shouted over the mob’s demands. Fiala helped the kitchen
wench nail boards over the broken window.

No good, Rhian decided. If he tried
sneaking into the kitchen, the mob would see him. Men likely kept watch on the
backdoor anyway. Trapped. And tomorrow he’d be dead, his neck several inches too
long.

He retreated to his room, shoved a
chair under the knob and fell into it. For a long, forlorn moment he stared out
the window before he realized the depths of his stupidity. “Eejit!” he hissed
at himself and ran to the window. What Sandy Caper had ever needed to escape an
enraged mob before? It wasn’t as if he had tales of his neighbors’ daring-do to
learn from.

Below, Prince’s Street lay empty.
The mob had gathered at the main entrance, around the corner on Flood Way. The
window was small, but he managed to wedge his shoulders through. Sitting on the
sill, he paused to consider if he needed to take anything, but he owned nothing
of real or sentimental value. He’d be back in a few days anyway. By then, the
Evaronnan merchanter and its angry crew would be long gone.

The beach. He’d go to the beach and
think a bit, plan … something. If nothing spectacular came to him, he’d walk
the rest of the night and hide out in Rystia.

Carefully, he lowered himself to
the street. The sea wind had blown out half the lamps along Prince, and the
flames in the rest burned too low to cast a decent shadow or light up his face.
Without a backward glance, he raced away through the alleys.

T
he squall flung a jagged
net of lightning across the horizon. The tide echoed the low roar of the thunder.
South of town, a pair of sand dunes shaped a deep bowl that tilted toward the
night-black sea. Rhian slid down the ribs of sand and crouched among the
broad-leafed dune flags and blue-flowered sand whips. The stems of the whips
scored whelps on flesh during strong gales, and the wind began gusting
ferociously ahead of the squall. Fine sand lifted off the dunes, like spray off
the billows, and lashed as painfully as the whips.

Rhian didn’t notice. Despite the tumbling
surf and whistling wind, he found peace. Amid the chaos of the storm, a sense
of order. It calmed him. Helped him think.

Avedra! Avedra? Admit it to
yourself, eejit. It makes sense.
The diving, the unnatural ability to
withstand the depths, even the ease with which he knew exactly where the
oysters would be. Earlier that afternoon, when Bones said he’d felt the
pressure dropping before the storm, Rhian had felt more than that. He could’ve
told Bones precisely when the storm would arrive. When the lightning would strike.
Now. And now.

The energy tingled along his arms
and fingers, even across his eyelashes. These sensations were as natural as
breathing; he’d never thought to question them.

Had his father been avedra, too,
like his mother? How many other people in Sandy Cape had the same secret
lurking inside them?
Practically inbred anyway
, Ma had said. Maybe his
neighbors had considered this as well. Maybe that’s why they were so quick to
band with the sailors in their demand for Rhian’s neck. They were afraid they
might be accused of possessing the Old Blood, too. By shaking a noose, they
distanced themselves from the probability and the blame.

Abnormal. Impure. Mixed. Elvish.
Dangerous.

Once he returned to his people, how
many would spit on him, shun him, because he forced them to look at themselves
with different eyes. No wonder Grandma Raysa had chosen silence.

Ah, damn it, what am I to do?

Sunrise. Seek
.

The words whirled through his head.
He reeled, felt the dune slap him in the back of the head and found himself sprawled
on his back and staring up at the roiling clouds. The dizziness was the same
he’d felt that morning when the seal spoke.
When the seal spoke
. He was
certain of it now.

He sat up and searched the billows
hammering the shore. In the next blue flash of lightning he glimpsed a pair of
eyes and a round, wet head bobbing with the tide.

Swim. Seek. Sunrise. Seek.

“Seek what?” he shouted into the
wind.

Them.

Rhian scrambled to his feet and slowly
approached the seal, but rather than flee, it splashed and dived excitedly among
the waves.

“Them
who
?”

Swim
. The seal darted away,
northward along the shore, gradually taking to deeper water.

Rhian ran alongside, kicking up clouds
of sand. “Wait! Tell me!”

Swim!

Like hell he was swimming in that enraged
water. Ahead, the
Harlot’s Hand
lay moored inside her stone slip. Rhian
untied her and shoved her into the sea. The wind was too wild for a sail, so he
undocked the oars and rowed with all his might to pull free of the rolling
breakers. Beyond them, the sea was hardly calmer. The skiff rocked with the
billows, and Rhian came to his senses. “What am I
doing
? Madness!”

No. Seek. Swim,
the seal
insisted. Her slick, round head popped out of the sea beside the boat, her
black eyes so certain.

“You’re crazy,” he accused the seal.
“I’m crazy. I’m turning around.” He worked the oars in opposite directions to
turn the skiff, but before he could aim the bow for shore, a wave lifted the
Harlot
onto her side. Something struck the planks below his feet, sending the gunwale
spinning over his head. The
Harlot
dumped him into the cold, black sea.

He surfaced spitting salt water and
gasping for air. A wave bashed him atop the head, rolled him over, and flung
him back into the darkness. His swimmer’s legs and arms fought to find the
surface, but the sky and the sea looked the same, black and cold and angry. The
waves pitched him down and down again, giving him no time to suck down a gulp
of air.

Gonna drown, just like my da,
he thought. Panic urged him to breathe despite the sea in his mouth.
No! Ma
needs me. Can’t. Breathe.

Swim,
said the voice in his
head. Warm, luxurious velvet filled his flailing hands. He clenched onto the
seal’s fur, wrapped his arms around her neck. With strokes of her flippers, she
propelled him upward. They broke the surface just as the rain began pelting the
sea.
Breathe. Swim. Sunrise,
the seal said. Her body expanded as her
lungs filled, and down she dived, carrying Rhian with her.

Surfacing more often than she
required, the seal seemed to sense her passenger’s need for air. Still, she
pushed Rhian to his limits, rising only when he was certain he couldn’t go
another second. He cast dazed eyes over his shoulder, and in the instant before
he was submerged again, he saw only blackness. The storm-churned ocean seemed
to have swallowed the beacon lanterns of Sandy Cape. The rocks spiking over the
oyster beds flashed blue in the lightning, but they too lay far behind. On his
left, the lighthouse at Westport beamed steadily. Ahead, nothing but darkness.

Down they dived and on they swam.
Forever they swam. So cold. So dark.
Oh, stop. Let it stop. Let me drown.

No. Swim. More. Swim.

At last, Rhian felt solid rock
under his left foot. The seal rolled and dumped him like an oyster from a creel
basket. Her nose nudged him in the ribs, urging him up the rock.

Hand over hand, he climbed the
slope while the surf tried to suck him back down. The rock sliced his hands and
shins, and the seal urged him higher still. About the time he decided he
couldn’t move another inch, sand gave way under his fingers. Still sand, dry
sand. Rhian collapsed face first, hugging the sand, curling his fingers around
it so that it filled his fists.

Rest,
he heard on the edge
of consciousness
. Rest. Seek. Them.

Then all was wind and wave and
silence.

~~~~

I
n 997 After Elves, Rhian,
Son of the Sea, woke upon a foreign shore. He spat sand from his mouth and
scraped it off his face and shook it from his hair.

He found himself on a high
promontory with the sea swirling below on three sides. Torn kelp and sea foam
and other flotsam swirled in the eddies. The seal was nowhere to be seen. He
squinted toward the western horizon. Where the Isle of Rávalin should be, a
hazy, gray smudge divided sea from sky.

A fit of conscience slapped him with
the force of a whale’s tail striking the sea. “Bones is gonna skin me for
losing his rake … and his
Harlot
. Sure he won’t press Ma too hard for
payment. He won’t risk her tray atop his head.”

He heard a scuffing on the rocks
and turned to find a bent old man in rough homespun approaching. Driftwood and
broken planks filled his arms up to his unshaven chin. He eyed Rhian with
suspicion. “I ‘eard o’ shipwrecked sailors talkin’ to theyselves. Where’d you
come from, lad?”

Rhian strained his ears to
understand the man’s speech. Only a few leagues of water separated the Islands
from the continent, but Rhian could barely make sense of the words. He rose
slowly, stiffly, bones and muscles aching as if Shark had beaten him with a
table leg. “Not a ship. ‘Twas a seal.”

The old man frowned and chomped
toothless gums. “Mmm, you’d best come wi’ me. Get some food and fire in ya. And
grab that plank there on your way.”

Rhian retrieved the broken plank
that the storm surge had pushed halfway up the promontory, then hurried after
the man. Despite his age and rickety legs, the man scuttled over sand and stone
with the steadiness of a crab.

“Am I in Evaronna?” Rhian asked,
catching up.

“Aye.”

“Is Westport far?”

“Nope. ‘Bout three leagues
north’ard, ‘long the Highway up top these cliffs.”

“Where can I find an avedra?” Rhian
didn’t know what the seal had meant by “seek them,” but he did know he needed
to find someone who could tell him a thing or two about the power sleeping in
his hands.

The old man stumbled and dropped
his armload. “You
did
suck down too much seawater. What you want one o’
them for?”