The Sleeper Sword (14 page)

“Just dandy,”
Marcus muttered. Despite his tone, his mood improved appreciably
with the adventure underway. There was no turning back - may as
well accept it.

Larkin
clattered down the steps and strode into the cabin. Ol’ Sparks was
no more. He stood tall and wiry, and his grey head and beard had
been washed and trimmed by his wife before she waved him off. In
his sailors’ garb his true calling was revealed. Larkin was a
creature of the ocean.

“We’re passing
Emleth Isthmus and will be in open water soon. I need from you your
destination to plan a route through the storm.” Larkin sat at his
desk to pull charts closer.

Until this
moment Marcus cautioned against revealing their destination; now he
wished he was more forthcoming. He liked Larkin - the man deserved
the opportunity to have denied them.

Byron glanced
at his friend, reading there the quandary, and said, “The Western
Isles.”

Larking looked
steadily from one to the other. “That follows,” he said and drew a
different chart from a cubby-hole behind him, spreading it upon the
expanse of his desk.

Byron pulled a
chair closer. “Would you explain that, please?”

Larkin looked
up. “A few nights ago I was visited by an orb of light - my wife
saw it too, so I know it wasn’t my imagination.”

He paused to
give them a chance to ridicule him, but all he saw was
concentration. That confirmed everything.

Larkin
shivered and went on, “The orb spoke to me in my mind. It told me
to make haste for the Sound, to find someone called Samuel. It said
I’d know him by his silver-grey eyes. I don’t know exactly why, yet
I listened and heeded, and you were unmistakable, young Samuel,
even without your illustrious companions.”

As Larkin
returned to his task, bombshell delivered, both Byron and Marcus
turned to study Samuel, who sat as if turned to stone.

“It appears
you’re integral to this misadventure and not merely a messenger,”
Marcus murmured. “What secret do you carry, Samuel?”

“I’d like to
know about the orb of light,” Byron remarked. “What do you know
about that?”

Samuel roused
and pushed his hood back to look at his companions. He noted Larkin
listened as well. “I’ll say this, my father died and I went to
Menllik, but I went deliberately and I went to Torrke first. Why
I’ll not reveal, for you won’t believe me. I did hear the voice
inside Linir, as you conversed with the shadow in Moor, and believe
the two are the same. I don’t know of the orb personally, yet I
sense it’s separate to our visitations.”

“You said he
was sent,” Byron murmured. “Good call.”

“It was a good
entity,” Larkin spoke up.

Byron stared
at Samuel. “Opposing sides, would you say?”

Samuel
nodded.

Marcus
blurted, “Why are you integral to this craziness? Do you even know?
Did you hear something in Torrke as well?”

Samuel shifted
his gaze to the Electan. “I’m beginning to see my place.” He would
say no more. His set expression dared them to ask; he would not
answer.

Larkin drew
their attention. “Which island specifically?”

Byron replied.
“Valla Island.”

Larkin’s eyes
widened. “Is that so? You’re going to see the Vallorin? Well,
strange times …” and again he bent to his task.

“You seem
unfazed, Larkin,” Marcus remarked.

The seaman
smiled. “Well, if you mean your destination, tourism has done much
to dispel the myths of the great Western Ocean, Electan. We now
know there are no monsters and such out there, and before the
Valleur settled the Isles ships from the mainland would take
adventurous offworlders that way. We have charts and maps and they
make the journey doable.”

He rose,
rolled the chart and tucked it under his arm.

“As to whom
you aim to visit? Well, I believe the Valleur will always be
protectors of Valaris and that makes them okay in my book.”

Marcus mouthed
like a fish and Samuel and Byron both nodded.

“Sit tight,
the storm will be upon us soon, but it won’t be that dangerous.
Stay calm while we ride it out.” Larkin strode for the door,
pausing as Byron asked,

“How long to
Valla Island?”

“Five, six
days, maybe more if we’re blown off-course tonight.”

Samuel shook
his head. “We have four days, Larkin. Anymore and we may as well
have stayed home.”

Larkin sucked
at his teeth. He stood for a while deep in thought and then, “I can
do four, but that will be dangerous.”

Byron looked
to the intent Samuel and turned to Larkin again. “We must ask that
you take the risk.”

Larkin looked
from one to the other and his gaze rested a moment longer on
Samuel.

Finally he
nodded. “Very well, we take the chance.”

The storm
found them within the hour and plunged everything into a
nightmarish world of heaving movement, howling winds and torrents
of rain.

While bad, it
was not life threatening. They battled through the night, with the
three passengers assisting where able, and broke through into calm
and sunny waters the next morning.

A drawn Larkin
entered the cabin and a crewman slipped into the galley to brew
coffee. Larkin eyed the three pasty-faced men.

“You’ll make
good seamen, yes.” It was high praise.

“We’re still
recovering,” Marcus sighed.

“I’ll have my
man put a shot of rum in the coffee,” Larkin grinned.

Samuel
stretched and then sniffed as the smell of fresh coffee pervaded
the ship. “Goddess, I’d kill for that,” he murmured and went
searching.

Byron looked
the seaman over. “You need to rest.”

“Soon,” Larkin
said. “The Pentac Current lies ahead and we’re to swing into it to
gain the time you require.” He paused as if wondering how much to
say. Evidently he reached a decision, for he went on. “Ships have
foundered trying to cross it. Swinging into it the way I intend - I
won’t lie to you - is hazardous.”

“What is this
current thing?” Marcus asked. His hair curled wildly, but he was
too tired to care.

“The waters
are warm in this region and getting warmer all the time, but
running in a wide south-westerly curve is an icy, very strong
current. We know it as the Pentac. If we breech it safely, it will
certainly aid our speed and our voyage will be more direct in not
having to give it a wide berth. Usually a mariner worth his salt
steers away.”

“How do we get
out of it?” Byron asked, not liking what he heard.

“Ah, the next
hurdle. Shall we leave that one until later?” Larkin said. “If
you’d rather change course for the safer route, I need to know
now.”

Byron glanced
at Marcus and said, “Samuel must make the decision.”

“Since when?”
Marcus snapped. “He’s not in charge here.”

Byron glared
at his childhood friend. “This isn’t about who’s in charge. If it
were, Larkin is. This is about a threat to our world and while we
can’t judge how dire, we can’t ignore it either. Samuel is … I
don’t know what exactly, but trust his instincts.”

“Byron …”

Byron put a
hand up. “Listen to me, old friend. You know what I do and I tell
you I’ve used my abilities to probe him. He’s on the level and he
has latent power to aid his instincts. Samuel needs to get back to
Linir before Nemisin’s Star and there’s a very good reason for
that. We’ll follow his lead.”

Marcus sighed.
“How do you think we’ll get back to the Valleur city in time to
meet that deadline, Byron? When we’re using the time to get to
Valla Island?”

Byron gave a
mirthless grin. “And who are we going to see? How long does it take
a Valleur to travel between two places?”

“Oh,” Marcus
said in a small voice.

Samuel entered
bearing a tray filled with steaming mugs. With a flourish and a
grin he placed it on the desk. Then, “What is it?”

“Last
opportunity to take the long way to Valla Island,” Larkin said.

“No, time is
too short.”

“Danger lies
ahead,” Marcus said.

“I assume so,”
Samuel murmured. “If we fail, however, there’ll be worse
catastrophe.”

Larkin
inclined his head. “Very well, decision made.” He took a mug and
sipped appreciatively. “In less than two hours we’ll be at the
Pentac; get rest while you still can.” Larkin left.

“Pentac?”

“Very likely
our nemesis,” Marcus muttered. He took coffee to one of two bunks
opposite and sat there sipping in deep thought.

“Don’t mind
him,” Byron sighed.

It was not a
physical place seen with the naked eye - it was a point on a chart
and to reach it depended on instrumentation and experience, and
Larkin had both.

It was over
two hours before his natural mariner’s nose told him the Pentac was
a sal to starboard, and he called for the sails to be furled.

The ship
drifted and Larkin let her go to determine which direction she
would take. The strong current began to push her away and he told
his crew to unfurl the two small sails fore and aft, and commenced
turning the wheel, small degrees.

He had not
attempted the Pentac before and he had not sailed this far west in
many a year, but he always wondered about the possibility of using
the current for speed. Theory, however, was never the mistress of
reality.

The ship
jerked sideways under him and the wheel spun free in his hands.
Trouble. He needed stronger hands. He was about to call to a young
man to assist when Byron’s huge hands gripped the spokes.

“Just tell me;
I can hold most things longer than most men.”

Larkin nodded,
happy to see those hands. Holding a navigational device, he went
closer to the rail to watch the ocean and called back degrees to
Byron.

Gradually the
ship turned to starboard.

Byron fought
the wheel, but he was a big man, healthy and as strong as he
looked. He held it. The vessel shuddered and then bounced like a
rubber ball on the ocean.

Marcus and
Samuel baled onto the deck, preferring to see doom coming.

“Mainsail!”
Larkin shouted.

Crew climbed
the roped like monkeys and moments later the huge sail
unfurled.

“Turn her,
Byron! Hard!”

Byron turned,
but she jammed. He fought and bit through his lip to get her to
budge, and Samuel’s hands joined his. Together they wrestled the
wheel. The little vessel rattled and then began to respond,
gradually spinning into a whirlpool motion.

Larkin
returned, pushed the other two out of his way. He allowed the wheel
to spin back and attached himself to it. “Watch the water, tell me
when you notice parallel grey streaks.”

Both Samuel
and Byron ran for the rail.

“All
sails!”

The sails were
released and the ship listed first right then left, but her
twirling motion lessened, then more, until she faced generally
west. Larkin continued to grip, grinding his teeth with effort,
feeling her fight him.

Samuel stared
at the ocean, not certain what he was meant to watch for, yet
seeing nothing that suggested streaks. The ship shuddered, began to
bounce again, the sails flapped taut, then hung limp … taut … limp
…

“Streaks!”
Samuel roared. “Diagonal to us!”

Larkin swore,
turned to port.

“Streaks
almost parallel!”

Larkin
nudged.

“Too much! Go
back a little!”

Larkin nudged
gently to starboard.

“Parallel
streaks!”

The grey
streaks were unmistakable, floating miasmas that appeared akin to
seaweed.

“Hold her,
Byron.” When the big man had the wheel, Larkin ducked under his
arms to race to Samuel at the rail. “Yes, that’s it.” He started,
stared, and then shook himself into the business at hand. “Now we
must lock her in.” He ran back to the wheel.

The ship
settled, then lurched forward so hard most of the crew stumbled
face down onto the planks. Samuel nearly flailed overboard.

The sails
tautened and the vessel seemed to shiver in anticipation and
lurched forward again and then raced onward to settle into a fast,
shivery rhythm.

A resounding
cheer sounded.

Larkin leaned
against the wheel-deck banister. “Gods, that was close.” He lifted
a lined, ashen face. “I’ll never do that again - that would truly
be tempting the gods.” He straightened and shouted, “Coffee and
rum, folks! Well done!” Smiling, he turned to Byron. “You may let
her go now, and thank you. Are you sure you didn’t miss your
calling?”

Byron grinned.
“Thanks, but I’m happy with my lot. You need to rest now, my
man.”

“Agreed, and
as soon as I have a roster in place. You, my friend, need to see to
that lip.”

Byron touched
his bleeding mouth in surprise and went below to find Marcus joking
with two crewmen in the galley. He lifted his brows, and headed
further in to the medical supplies.

On deck Samuel
and Larkin looked at each other.

“That was a
near thing, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Larkin
murmured.

“Did you see
it?”

They stared at
each other and Larkin nodded.

The orb
returned, a huge globe under the surface of the ocean, which, at
the crucial moment, gripped the keel of the vessel to push her
safely onto the Pentac Current.

Chapter
17

There is a
legend of a Sleeper who will one night awake to claim the sword of
previous awakenings. We await.

~ The final
words in the tale of the Enchanter, Ancient of Days

Fay murmured,
“Nemisin’s Star shines tomorrow night.”

“I know,”
Caltian replied.

The last few
days were wonderful. Caltian felt reborn and rejuvenated and ready
for anything. He and Mitrill had not spoken as much over two
millennia of marriage as they had in the preceding days. Until this
morning they absconded to one of the guest cottages on Lifesource
Island for privacy.