Treasure So Rare (Women of Strength Time Travel Trilogy) (3 page)

The ship listed to starboard side and the sun disappeared.
Erik felt the sharp drop in temperature as a chill mist settled on his bare
shoulders.

"Captain, look-ee off the starboard bow!"

Erik saw what lay ahead as the excited shout came from the
main masthead. A wide funnel of water shot up toward the sky.

He tossed his cigar into the suddenly gusting wind, the
expensive cylinder sucked into wildly churning water. "Jock!" he
called out. "Man, do you see what lies ahead?"

"Aye, Cap'n, I see it at that." Jock’s full
reddish whiskers bristled with agitation, his blue eyes focused on the murky
fog swirling ahead, a sphere-shaped phenomenon funneling into the water. It
reached from the sea to the heavens. Even as they watched, a second spout of
water leapt upwards.

Erik strode across the deck to the binnacle. With narrowed
eyes on the compasses, he saw the needles twirling in their cards to the right
and then the left. The ship seemed on a direct course for the swirling water,
the sea a sudden tremendous downward flow rushing them toward the mouth of an
ever-widening hole.

Erik jerked his head around to his chief mate. "Swing
away from it, man!" he barked, then took a flying leap and slid over the
bulwarks toward the man. Erik grabbed the man's arm and flung him backwards.

"Are you deaf man? Steer clear." Erik gripped the
ship's steering oar in his hand. Speechless, the chief mate turned an ashen
face toward his Captain. In confusion, the man stuttered, "I-I cannot,
Cap'n. The ship -- it's as if she has a course of her own. The sea, she will
entangle us, surely we will all go mad." Indeed, they were being sucked
voraciously toward swirling mists, pulled into the whirlpool's center. The wind
bit at them ruthlessly. A great roaring fury of sound rose and the lash of
water leapt hundreds of feet, striking the stunned crew and whipping across
salt-bleached decks.

His hands fell away from the stiffness of the steering oar.
Erik stood fast, his mind working furiously. "Men, lash everything. The
wind rises and she is no fair wind. Lash everything, I say." The crew
scrambled to shorten sail, hanging precariously as the wind tore at them in the
rigging. Something was determined to have them. The ship lurched beneath them,
the erupting wind like breath from Lucifer himself. They pitched helplessly
from side to side, mesmerized by the maelstrom they were surely about to be
drawn into.

"Mother of God! What beckons us nearer? Surely it is a
freak of nature," Erik muttered. "Stand fast men!" he shouted.
"Be brave, lads." Howling winds pulled his words away. Salt spray
flailed them, burning eyes as they entered the heart of the funnel and were
surrounded by a grey void, entombed within the storm's eye, the likes of which
they had never before witnessed. Each man held fast to whatever would hold him
as the bawling fury raged and screamed. Erik squinted his eyes against the
sea's wrath, and of a sudden, all was deafeningly quiet. He shouted to the
first mate, but could not hear his voice. Jock stood as if turned to stone, his
eyes blank. Each of the crew seemed equally mesmerized, as if forever frozen to
blocks of stone.

Despite the complete absence of all sound, the wind
continued to flay them, flinging wave after wave as they were hurled forward.
Looking up, Erik could see the sails flapping wildly, yet still he was deaf. In
that instant the main sail ripped apart and flew toward them like a great
winged creature, surged upwards, only to dive again and be sucked into the hole
opening up in the sea. Surely, Erik thought, they too would be torn asunder,
flung aside like so much sea debris. Holding fast to anything nailed down, Erik
was amazed to see blue skies behind them, the sea an emerald greenish blue from
whence they had come -- then it was gone, as if a curtain were dropped, and
their vessel was totally engulfed, drawn into the grey void where sky and seas
were one. It was difficult to tell which was up and which was down as the
dizzying apparition of reality twirled them like a top.

In the next instant the ship stopped pitching, the sea
calmed beneath them with the same suddenness the tempest had come upon them.
Gently, the ship rocked like a baby's cradle, and Erik could hear once more as
her boards creaked and they glided forward, as if an invisible crew charted a
known course. The sky became blue, and what was even more incredible, an
unfamiliar land mass lay directly north, dead ahead. He was a seaman well
seasoned in his years at sea, but he was totally flummoxed by this play of
Mother Nature. His reasoning told him there should have only been open sea
around them for the next several days. His amazement was mirrored on the faces
of his crew. Thankfully, as he looked around, he saw none had been washed
overboard. Not a man was at his post, yet the ship glided smoothly, the sails
billowing and flapping urgently, with a complete absence of even the slightest
breeze.

Jock spit upon his forefinger, then held it up before him.

"What do you think, Jock?" Erik asked.

"I have heard tales, admittedly wild ones, of holes a
ship could fall into, never to be heard again." Cautiously, Jock lowered
his voice, "'Tis the Devil's Sea of which I speak."

"Aye," Erik admitted. "I gave the stories no
credence, until now." He pivoted on his heel, jerked his head toward the
land. "Do you recognize where we are?" Jock brusquely ordered the
crew to man their stations. After the men were dispatched, Jock turned to his
captain, eyes slitted with worry. "Captain, a word with you if I might.
Needs be the charts must be consulted, for I know not what course we
sail."

"My sentiments also," Erik said grimly. "Come
to my quarters." They went below stairs and once inside his quarters, Erik
reached for several rolled charts.

Anxiously, Jock perused the same. After the briefest moment,
he looked askance at his captain. Looking upwards, Erik stared at the needle of
the tell-tale as it swung from a beam in the ceiling. Flatly, he said, "we
sail east-sou-east."

"The devil we do!" There was a sudden pounding on
the cabin door. "That canna be right."

"Captain!" Erik yanked open the door. Larkin,
their youngest seaman, stood there, his face a-fright. "Come aboveboard,
sir."

Erik and Jock bolted back up on deck.

Larkin pointed urgently at the horizon. Slowly, Erik turned
his head and looked directly at the landmass they were all the time drawing
closer to. Pulling his eyeglass from its leather pouch, he looked through it.

Wordlessly, Erik held out the eyeglass to Jock.

"Holy Mother," Jock muttered, lowering the glass.
"What place have we landed in?"

Erik ran a hand over his jaw, eyes narrowed on the structure
rising so majestically against the heavens, its turrets visible beyond jagged
cliffs.

"The sight of land is unsettling, to be sure," he
muttered. "But that -- against the horizon I find very unsettling. A
medieval castle in its first youth." Erik gripped the smoothly turned deck
rail. "We're off shore of England, man, of that there is no doubt."

Date:  A.D. 1228,  The British Coast

"The queen seeks your land; indeed, fair one, she lusts
after it. You are a prized jewel to be added to an already rich coffer. This
fortnight past the queen sends one of her favorites to act in her stead."
The old woman paused, a slight widening of withered lips showing black and
broken teeth. "You have been betrothed upon edict of Queen Eleanor, Fair
Maid of Brittany. All the necessary papers have been signed, you will be joined
henceforth when the newly knighted lord arrives. It will be an important
alliance to settle the dispute of lands and ensure the queen keeps what is
surely hers."

Iliana drew in her breath, turning away so none could see
her face, which must surely be white. She remained perfectly still, fists
clenched tightly within the folds of her gown lest anyone see them tremble. She
would give them no pleasure in the telling of this news. Carefully, she
arranged the gemstones upon her stone mantle. First by size, then by shape,
then by color and clarity.

"Is that all?" she asked coldly, her voice low and
measured.

A second old crone stepped forward, bringing with her the
stench of unwashed flesh. In a voice laced with relish, she whispered,
"'Tis not all. Do you not wish to know the name of your betrothed?"

Iliana's insides tightened with dread, knowing the news to
be dispatched would not bode well for her. This clutch of hens, the sorcerer
Mandrak's witches, delivered only dire news. They seemed determined to
undermine her confidence, her authority in her own keep, and there was nothing
she could do about it.

Calmly, Iliana lifted a lovely, clear sapphire, holding it
up to the light. Finally, she said, "I see you cannot wait to impart this
tender morsel, so be done with it." Her voice maintained its steadiness,
as did her hands as she replaced the sapphire upon the rough material covering
her mantel. Unwavering, she stared at the hills outside her window, keeping her
back to the old crone. The woman hesitated and Iliana hoped her apparent
indifference robbed the crone of her earlier zest.

"You may do well to remain calm now, but were it my
daughter --" the old woman’s voice trailed off.

Iliana swung toward the woman. "Be hasty, I have work
that awaits me."

The old woman reared her head back at Iliana’s sudden
fierceness, and the cowl resting upon matted white hair fell to her shoulders.
"The queen sends Weinroof of Camdork, lately of Sturthwick, to wed
ye."

Iliana knew now the reason for the unknown dread which had
dogged her steps this week past. Her most abhorrent fears were rising up and
coming to pass. Bile rose to the back of her throat, threatening to gag her.
Shaking, her flesh begin to crawl. It could not be so! Any man in Queen
Eleanor's kingdom save that one! He was truly a beast, of nature and heritage,
wheedling his way into the queen's circle with his deceit and ill-placed
favors.

Showing emotion for the first time, Iliana turned fierce
eyes on the old woman and seized her arm. The old woman drew in a frightened
breath and tried to back away. The entire group of vultures seemed to retreat
as a whole, perched by the door as if ready to take flight. Iliana narrowed her
eyes at their air of expectation. She could almost feel them wetting their
lips. Surely they did not think she would physically harm the old woman? Did
they think she would stoop to the level of Mandrak? It was rumored he ripped
young girls apart for pleasure.

Iliana pulled the old crone closer until their eyes were
mere inches apart.

"How come you by this knowledge?" she demanded.

"I have seen it as I cast the runes. And yea, we know
what goes on about, what is whispered. Needs be, it is he who comes, you may count
upon it. He has come to claim ye. First Graziela, and now you."

When Iliana released the old woman, the witch scuttled for
the door.

"It matters not what news you bring," Iliana said.
"I shall wait to see if it is the truth or another falsehood." She
turned back to her contemplation of the hills outside, unwilling to let anyone
witness the utter devastation which engulfed her.

A moment of whispering followed at her back, and then her
heavy chamber door closed. The harbingers of ill news had finally left. Never
had she felt so alone in this godforsaken life. Numbly, Iliana walked forward,
reached up to draw the heavy iron bolt she had had the smith fashion for her
door. Moving back to her window enclosure, Iliana allowed her shoulders to
slump. With eyes hot and dry, she stared at the valley below. Her land, her
holdings, her people -- a deception to be sure. After all this time, was she
destined to let them down? She took in the flat, endless expanse of barren
ground which tried in vain to sprout new green grass.

The previous winter months had been an especially hard and
desolate time. Mandrak's presence had made it doubly so. People were frightened
of the magic he and his clutch of witches conjured. The sorcerer had appeared
as if from the air. Attempts by her men-at-arms to capture him and end his
campaign of terror had proven fruitless. Perhaps the sorcerer really did know
magic, Iliana mused. How else had he managed to continually evade her men? How
could one man so effectively poison the soil and cause even the birds in the
forest to fall out of the sky to their deaths?

Iliana longed to escape the turmoil ... yet knew her quest
was not yet at an end. Her fears could not take precedence over her mission.
She must continue her search for the green gem, and once she found it, then and
only then would there be freedom. Freedom from the scourge of the like of
Mandrak. Personal freedom for herself. Freedom for the people of this realm.
Many times she had longed to give up. She had been on this quest for almost
four summers, but she knew she couldn't give in to despair; too many depended
upon her. If only Sir William, Desryn and Aisyn had survived the battle,
perhaps then she could be free of this responsibility. If they were here, there
would be no dispute over the land. There would be no queen clutching at the
lands in her greed.

Iliana squared her shoulders and shook her head to clear it
of such despairing thoughts. Sir William and his sons were long gone, therefore
it was up to her to do what was necessary, at
almost
any cost to herself.

Falling to her knees, Iliana bowed her head and whispered
fervently, "Angel of mercy, I pray to thee, show me the way to avert this
blow. I vow I cannot fight the queen and the scurrilous beast in the same
moment." Iliana lifted her head, trembling fingers thrusting her hair over
her shoulders as confusion and fear battled for control. She felt so cold, so
bereft, the knowledge of her aloneness seeping through her bones in actual
physical pain. "There must be a way," she implored. "I beg of
you to help me find it."