The Scourge of Muirwood (13 page)

She walked across the crowded deck, feeling the leers and grins surround her. He shoved past several rude sailors who hung so close there was hardly room to pass. Lia followed, uncomfortable by the press of bodies. A few whispers reached her ears that she had been purchased by the captain to sport with on the journey. Greedy eyes stared at her hungrily and a spasm of panic nearly threatened her composure. She trusted the Medium implicitly, but she felt she was in real danger. Guarding her fears, she kept her face solemn and resolved as she walked, remembering her courage when she had faced Almaguer’s men in the Bearden Muir.

Another man stepped in the way, one with hair as black as midnight and a wary look. “Who is this, Malcolm?”

“The captain is expecting her,” replied her escort.

“Do your work. I will take her from here.” He gazed at Lia with confusion and distrust.

“Sorry, sir. I must bring her to the captain.”

He spoke the words softly, almost too soft to hear, but Lia felt the spark of the Medium. The black-haired man started, looking confused, and then railed on the crew to get back to work. His gray-eyed gaze met hers and then he led her under the bulkhead into the narrow passage back to the captain’s quarters. He did not knock, only twisted the handle and pushed the door open.

“The Aldermaston will see you now,” he said, nodding to her.

Lia startled at the word, then gave him a thankful bow and proceeded. Upon opening the door, she saw the lushly furnished quarters and smelled the strong scents of breakfast lingering in the air. The captain was older, probably in his fifties, with streaks of gray in his reddish hair and beard.

Lower your hood.

Lia obeyed and entered the quarters, shutting the door behind her.

The noise drew his attention and his eyes lifted to her face. The effect of seeing her was unmistakable on his countenance. He paled instantly, his eyes widening with startled shock. His mouth parted silently, gaping. Sweeping the hat from his head, he crushed it against his leather tunic. She had never seen him before in her life, but he stared at her as if he had known her all the while.

Say nothing
.

Lia stared at him, guardedly, feeling her hair fall about her shoulders as she shook it loose from the cowl.

“No,” he said with a moan, shaking his head. He rubbed his eyes, blinking furiously. There were tears glistening there. He wiped his mouth and beard, staring at her, struck by so many conflicting emotions that she pitied the haunted expressions. Never had she had such an encounter – been the source of so much distress at meeting a man for the first time.

Lia stared at him, waiting for him to speak.

His chest heaved with emotion, his face tortured with regrets. When he spoke, his voice was half-strangled. “How you do look…like…her.”

“Do you know who I am?” Lia asked.

He nodded slowly. His teeth were bared like a wolf’s. “How can I forget the face that has been my demon these many years.” His lips quivered, tense as leather stretched over drums. “By Sheol, look at you!” He swallowed and started to cough.

“I seek passage to Dahomey,” Lia said firmly. “You will bring me to Dochte Abbey.”

“The serpent’s lair,” he whispered. “What…seek you…amidst the Dochte Mandar?”

“My own errand,” she answered. “How do you know me?”

“I cannot say.”

She cocked her head, challenging him with her eyes.

His mouth twisted into a snarl. “For many years I have not been able to speak of it. My crew has changed, save one. He who brought you to me. Malcolm was the only one left.” The captain walked around the edge of his table and approached her. His breath stank of decay, but she willed herself not to flinch. She had gutted enough wild boar in the woods surrounding Muirwood not to lose her stomach so easily. His hand lifted to her cloud of wavy hair and he touched it gingerly, his eyes closing with a memory that obviously pained him. “My mouth must be silent on certain matters, lass. I cannot speak of them, for I am cursed by Sheol for what I did. Do you know who I am?”

Lia shook her head slowly, feeling the menace of his presence so near to her.

“My name is Tomas Aldermaston.” He sneered at her. “A jib, my lady. A mock. I was born in the northern Hundreds, a wretched of Dun Pharlain Abbey. After serving my time, I went amidst the shipbuilders of Dun Pharlain town on the mouth of Firth River. There I learned to be a crew. They called me Aldermaston instead of Tomas Crew because I was a wretched. But I learned the trade well. I served under several captains and had a gift for turning a profit. But the greatest profit I ever earned was arresting the king’s cousin on a voyage to Bridgestow. She was marrying a prince, you see, against the king’s wishes. We caught her cog easily enough and my men did their work well. We only killed the Evnissyen left to protect her. The rest…we spared.” His eyes bore into hers. “I shall never forget that lass. I shall never forget her, though I live to be a hundred and forty.” He turned away from her and walked back to the table, staggering as he did. His voice was muffled, but she could still hear him speak.

“I was paid two hundred crowns. Two hundred. A ransom greater than any I had earned. I would give every farthing of it back. I would give ten-fold back and drown in Sheol if I could bring back the tide and do it again.” He looked back at her, his eyes full of suffering. “She was held in Pent Tower for three years. She was kept from her husband for the first three years of their marriage.” His teeth chattered. “And she died in the birthing chamber. Snuffed out, like a golden wax taper.” With a sweep of his arm, he scattered everything off the table. Lia started as the sacks of coins, the tuns of spice, the flagons all crashed and spilled on the wooden floor. He slammed his fist down on the table, so hard she wondered if he broke his hand. Whirling at her, he approached again, his finger fixed in the air.

“I can say no more of what I know. My tongue cleaves to my mouth when I try to speak more of it. These many years have the memories tormented me. I would recognize your face anywhere. I know who you are. You bid me take you to Dahomey? We were departing to Dahomey this very morn. You bid me take you to Dochte? Then you shall go there and torture those fools and haunt them instead of me. I have a shipment of cider due thereabouts.” He scratched his cheek roughly, staring at her with anguish. “I am yours to command. If you bid me sail you into the great Deep, I will do it. Most captains fear to sail beyond the outer island, but I fear it not. There is a stirring in me that says I will sink into Sheol, or else brave the seas beyond those islands ‘ere I die. This ship was built to ride the high seas. There is no distance too great. It lures me. It whispers to me. If you bid me sail you there, I will, lass. I fear it not.”

“I do not doubt it, Tomas Aldermaston,” Lia said, her heart wrestling with the implications of what he had revealed. If her heart was telling her true, she was standing before a man who had known her mother. “Is your ship very fast?”

A crooked grin met her in reply. “She is big and fast, my lady. Nothing outraces the Holk of Doviur.”

To spare Lia any further indignities from the crew, Tomas Aldermaston offered her his quarters while he went up on deck and made ready to sail. Lia opened the bolted shutters and watched the port of Doviur recede from sight as the giant ship lumbered away. The wind was gusty and the ship had an odd sway that made her nervous and queasy. The sound of shouting, the creak of floorboards, the whine of ropes all flooded her with sounds and sensations. The captain’s chamber was decorated with fine workmanship, the furniture fashioned with wooden pins to lock the pieces to the ground and keep them from shifting with the vessel’s swaying.

Lia grew weary of waiting and so went to the door and slowly opened it. A mass of bodies moved about the deck, but there was a man stationed at the door. It was the one she had met earlier coiling the rope. He looked at her and shook his head slowly. “Stay hidden, lass. Best if the crew do not see you.”

She realized that he had taken to guarding the door to prevent other members of the crew from harassing her while the captain was distracted with other duties. He nodded to her to go back in and she obeyed.

With nothing to do, Lia cleaned up the mess spilled about the floor and then sat by the edge of the bed. The lurch and roll of the ship made her drowsy.

She awoke when thunder boomed overhead and sat up straight. The chamber was dark, though it was still daylight, she reasoned. Rain came slanting down through the open windows, which she hurriedly fastened shut. Enormous storm clouds filled the skies and the ocean was a cauldron of boiling water. Lia lost her balance as the ship suddenly pitched forward and she had to grab the table to keep from falling. She was grateful she had not eaten in a while. Her stomach was horribly upset.

The floor contained puddles of seawater which had sloshed in from under the door. Another violent pitch the other way made Lia desperate for a handhold to brace herself. Each rise and fall made her stomach giddy and then sick. Thunder boomed overhead and lightning flashed like silver daggers. Shouts from outside the cabin were full of rage and even the keen of fear. Lia managed to get to the door again and opened it. Her protector was no longer there. Water sluiced through the passageway and soaked her boots. Foamy waves breached the high walls, crashing onto the wet crewmen who struggled to tame flapping ropes and sails.

Railings were nailed into each wall, so she gripped them carefully and forced herself out of the dim corridor to the main deck. There were only a handful of crew about. She reckoned the rest were below deck to spare them from the storm’s wrath. Lia’s eyes bulged as she watched the sea drop perilously in front of her and the nose of the great boat went down at a steep angle. She gripped the rods hard, using her feet to brace herself between the two walls as the ship sliced down the trough and up the other side. Seawater submerged the prow when it struck the valley of the wave. Hand over hand, she pulled herself forward. The wind was thick with salty water and soon her hair hung in clumps.

A body appeared in the corridor. It was the black-haired sailor, the one who had scowled at her when she first boarded. The look he gave her was lethal. “Go back to the room, foolish girl! Sheol is punishing us because you are on board. Go back at once!”

Lia cowered from the fear in the man’s eyes. His words were angry, but his countenance was terrified. The ship plunged again and Lia started to slip, so she used both hands to grip one rod.

“Go back!” he roared at her.

Lia obeyed, fighting against the slick flooring to make it back to the captain’s quarters. After shutting the door, she staggered to the captain’s bed and thrust herself on it. Each pitch of the waves terrified her. The storm blew with fury and rage. Something inside nagged her that it was because of her somehow. The shutters rattled and thunder continued to explode overhead. Lia squeezed her eyes shut and trembled.

* * *

The storm raged for days. Lia was sick, exhausted, and frightened by the ferocity. In all the gales that struck Muirwood, she had a sturdy roof overhead and though there were leaks, they were not the kind that threatened her life. The crew worked furiously bailing water, mending cracks and fixing spars, their actions continually compromised by the dashing waves and violent pitching of the Holk. Tomas Aldermaston was rarely in his quarters, retiring there only when exhaustion overwhelmed him, sleeping a few short hours, then rushing back to the helm to battle the storm’s fury.

He entered the cabin again, his face wretched with fatigue and despair. “She cannot endure much more of this pounding,” he said, conflicted. Then he stared at her. “My crew say the storm is because of you.”

Lia looked incredulous. “They think that I brought the storm?”

“Aye, and many seek to throw you overboard to prove it will cease. It is unlucky to sail with womenfolk. Others say you are cursed. A crewman’s fear yet they are angry. I have never suffered a storm as great as this one. Not in all my years at sea.”

Lia moved slightly, adjusting her legs around the edge. Her stomach was taut with hunger, but she dared not eat with the general queasiness. “I did not bring this storm, Tomas. Surely you believe that?”

He leaned back against the door, as if holding it closed to protect her. “Are you aware of sailors myths? Do you know of the kingdom of Ilkarra in Sheol?”

Lia shook her head, though a shiver ran through her at the word. She understood the language through her Gift of xenoglossia. Ilkarra was the representation of the underworld, the land of the dead.

The ship pitched again, nearly throwing Lia off the bed. She clutched at the rails and held on. Tomas wedged his boots against a post and held on. He grimaced with anger. “We will break apart. I have lost three men to Sheol already. Maybe we will all perish.” His eyes narrowed when he looked at her. “Your journey must be important if you bring a storm upon us.”

Lia frowned. “I brought no storm with me.”

“Not you yourself – but your thoughts. What seek ye in Dochte Abbey?”

“I am only a messenger,” she said. “As I told you last night, I warn them about the Blight.”