Seeker of the Four Winds: A Galatia Novel (15 page)

“Holy crap,” she said in wide-eyed wonder.
“I’m the Incredible Hulk!”

“Don’t get too excited,” Lars said dryly. “A
Gargo could do that too, and there’s six of them on deck, not to
mention dozens of armed humanoids.”

She put the plate back into the wall, but it
was nice to know she could pull it out at a moment’s notice.
Despite the fact that they had to delay their escape until the
right moment, she felt optimistic. An important threshold had been
crossed. She had purposefully called upon the charisma’s strength
and it had come. The possibilities were staggering.

(Prince Loyl of the House of the White
Rose)

The curse had made its way up to Loyl’s
elbows. His skin felt like it was being eaten away by insects, just
as Hogard had described. He grimaced with every bump of the horse.
Part of him just wanted to stop riding, curl up in a ball, and
whimper like a baby, but a good leader sat straight in the saddle,
no matter the discomfort. At least the sensation was confined to
his hands and forearms. He couldn’t fathom what the poor Bulwark
must be going through. The boast ring had already eaten one of
Hogard’s horns down to the nub. The wound had spread over his face
and filled his eyes, blinding him.

Loyl chastised himself for not recognizing
the magic in the artifacts. Witchcraft and sorcery had been
outlawed long before his birth, so his firsthand experience with
magic was scant, but he still should have recognized the signs. The
bones, the dust, the images in the fire—how could he have been so
ignorant? At least he had tossed the cursed candy.

Rolf had tethered Hogard’s horse to his own
and was guiding him through the forest. Insects landed on the poor
Bulwark’s thinning fur, biting him without mercy. But Loyl was just
as worried about Lindsey. Raging red blisters had spread had
traveled up her arms and now covered her neck and chest.

Maintaining a confident persona was getting
more difficult by the hour. He and Dante had gone downriver to
search for Lars and Josie, but their own affliction had forced them
to abandon their efforts. Unable to swim, Lars and Josie had little
chance. Even if the missing pair had made it out of the Kalida’s
raging waters, towns in these parts where they could take refuge
were sparse.

Despite his growing despondency, Loyl pressed
on, leading the squad into Blue River Junction. The town had
started out as a haven for fur traders and gold prospectors, but it
had grown into a respectable place with merchants, families and
outlying farms. Close to five thousand people lived within its
borders, but visitors were still a curiosity. If they didn’t find a
magic slayer there, the Bulwark was going to die for sure, but
sooner or later, the curse would eat all of them down to the
bone.

The brick archway displayed words formed in
iron,
Welcome to Blue Junction
. Dark wooden buildings with
thatched roofs lined the main road, which circled around the
community well. Women were there now, drawing up a large wooden
bucket. An inviting two-story inn with a saloon on the ground floor
waited at the end of the road. Loyl had stayed in this town many
times on his way to conduct his father’s business, but always with
an honor guard of the finest Regalan archers. Today the townsfolk
took one look at his Bulwark companion, with the black goo
spreading over his face, and fled, covering their faces with
whatever fabric they had handy.

Doors lining the dusty road slammed shut as
the townsfolk scattered. Window shutters were closed. By the time
Red Squad reached the well, a mob of villagers brandishing shovels,
pitchforks, swords and rocks had coalesced about twenty feet from
Loyl and his squad, shouting epithets like
go home, let the
devils get cha, do your dying someplace else!
The mob parted to
allow a greying Commoner in silky blue tights and a maroon tunic
speak for the town across the imposed divide.

“Plague or curse?” the old Commoner
asked.

“Will my answer make a difference?” Prince
Loyl shot back.

“Nope. Three retired magic slayers live due
east, two day’s walk by foot, faster on horseback. We’ll ask you to
continue on your way. Now.”

“Please, my Bulwark friend won’t last that
long on the road. Let me set him up in an inn, while one of my
companions fetches the slayer.”

The mob behind the old Commoner surged
forward.

Dante and Rolf drew their swords. Lindsey
lined up her pistol.

Prince Loyl held up his hand and straightened
in his saddle. Although Regalans took pride in remaining civilized
no matter the situation, his hands shook with rage.

“We will leave.” His eyes hardened to steel.
“Pray that I never ascend the throne because I give you my solemn
word, now and forever, Blue River Junction is no friend of Regala
D’Nora.”

Prince Loyl spat on the ground at the foot of
the crowd’s spokesman, turned his horse around, and rode out of
town with the squad following behind him, leaving the residents of
Blue River Junction glancing nervously at one another. “Uh-oh,” he
heard one of them say as they rode out of town. “I think that was
one of King Doyl’s sons.”

For the next mile, the members of Red Squad
were eyeing Prince Loyl almost as nervously as the people in town
had, so he decided to give them a history lesson.

“One hundred and twenty years ago, an army of
Regalan soldiers, the best Regala D’Nora had to offer, died
defending Blue River Junction from the Slivens. One of them was my
great-great-uncle. And this is how they repay us? My father will be
even more furious than I.”

“Commoners are a lot like humans. They tend
to have a short collective memory,” Dante said. “Not that I’m
excusing their actions, but the people of Blue River probably don’t
remember what happened back then.”

“Their memory is long when it suits them,”
Prince Loyl spoke through clenched teeth, “but the truth about what
happened is eternal.”

(Josephine Rose Albright)

Josie, Lars and the other prisoners on the
slave ship were given two bushels of peas to pop out of their pods.
As they shelled, she felt the barge slow down. The slaves went
quiet, nervously eyeing the light-filled grate on the ceiling.

“Look!” Lars pointed excitedly to the pendant
floating above Josie’s wrist. The Seeker was shifting to
starboard—directly east. Since boarding the ship, the homing stone
had always pointed southeast, slightly right of the bow. “We’re
passing it!” she cried out with excitement. “We’re passing the
map!”

As she yanked at her metal collar, the Seeker
continued to arc back toward the stern. “Holy crap, Lars! Look at
it! It’s tugging in the opposite direction. Quick, somebody,
anybody, what latitude is this?”

Of course, nobody knew. Lars stood, eyes
boring holes through the grate toward the skies as if he were
contemplating making a break then and there.

“Where are we?” Josie cried out to the
slaves, shaking the girl next to her. “What’s the closest
town?”

“Probably Tectonia, but I don’t know where we
are any more than you do.” The girl pushed Josie’s hands away, face
expressing her annoyance. “Now let go of me.”

Josie let go, giving a frustrated sigh.

Just then three crewmen, burly Commoners
covered with primitive black tattoos of naked ladies and skulls,
came down the ladder. Her heart skipped a beat when they unhooked
her chain from the wall. She looked to Lars for direction—had they
lost their chance or was this the opportunity they were waiting
for? One of the crew pushed Lars down onto the bench. “Stay back,
slave,” he growled.

Lars’s face had turned an ashen color as he
watched them take her away. Josie’s knees felt weak; could the
guards be taking her up to be sold? Usually, they were all brought
up together.

Instead of taking her up the ladder, they led
her like a dog through the galley, where the smell of cooked
cabbage hit her nose. The group squeezed past the two cooks at the
stove. The blazing fire made the galley even hotter than the slave
room.

The sailors shoved her onto a stool by a
thick butcher block top covered with dents, scratches and dark
stains. Two other crewmates were standing beside it, one of them
with a machete. A large bucket of squirming rainbow fish sat on the
floor near the table. Uneasy and confused, Josie wondered if they
were going to make her gut the fish.

“Gimme your arm,” one of the sailors ordered.
“Selon Trel is on board and he wants the bracelet.” When Josie held
her wrist protectively to her chest, he impatiently flicked his
fingers. “I said gimme your arm. Shore leave don’t come around
every day, so let’s get this floating bucket docked, and we can be
on our way.”

When she refused, he grabbed her forearm and
forced it flat against the table. The man with the machete moved to
the edge of the table. She squealed like a wolf cub caught in a
trap, realizing what they were going to do.

“Orders is orders,” one of the sailors said,
holding up his own arm which ended in a stump. “Lost mine to a
Sliven. The worst part was learning to wipe my ass with the other
hand.”

“Anybody want to go to the Saucy Gal Saloon
when we’re done?” another sailor asked.

“That’s clear on the other side of Tectonia!”
a Commoner with rotten gray teeth complained. “No snatch is worth
that long of a walk when there’s perfectly good ones waiting at the
gate.”

Tectonia? Josie’s ears perked up. She could
almost feel the map clutched in her hot little hands. If only she
could escape with both of them intact.

Open the Excito...
a voice inside her
head advised. Like flexing a muscle, she willed the portal over her
heart to open. Immediately, her body responded. She felt the warmth
flow under hear breastbone.

The sailor raised his machete, lining it up
between her elbow and wrist.

The charisma exploded in the center of her
chest. A lightning storm traversed her nervous system. In a flash,
she yanked her arm free just before the machete embedded itself in
the table. Everything she learned in combat training, and from
Lars, came together in an instant. She flipped the table over into
two sailors. Cartilage crunched beneath her palm as she crushed one
sailor’s nose. A man rushed her from the side. Her elbow found his
ribcage.

In the chaos, aided by the clarity the
charisma had given her, she pulled a sword out of a man’s scabbard.
In one swift stroke, the sailor with the machete lost a forearm.
Instead of feeling bad about it, she thought the bastard had
deserved it. Pointing the swiped sword at her tormentors, she eased
her way back through the aisle, between the stove and a shelf full
of crockery. The crew stared balefully at her from the other side
of the narrow galley.

“Look at the light in her eyes,” one of the
men said, backing away. “She’s bewitched.”

The cooks put their hands in the air. She
gestured with the blade for them to join the other sailors hovering
at the end of the prep counters. The doors between the slave room
and galley swung open. There was Lars, broken chains dangling from
his wrists. His eyes had a glow about them, eerie and dazzling at
the same time. Is that what the sailors had seen in her eyes when
they said she was bewitched?

“Josie,” she had never heard his voice so
deep and tinged with danger, “are you okay?”

“I am stuck on a slave ship, everything
smells like piss, and these bastards just tried to cut off my hand.
I’m definitely not okay!”

As she backed toward Lars, she slid the end
of her sword into the pot handle to pull it off the stove. Its
boiling contents poured onto the floor with a splash. Hot splatters
hit Josie’s legs, but the majority of it landed on the men.
Steaming chunks of carrots and potatoes, shreds of meat sprayed
across the floor as the men were scalded in a tidal wave of broth.
Josie did the same thing to the other three pots, while Lars guided
her backwards into the slaves’ holding room. Slamming the doors
closed, he wrapped his loose chains around the handles, broke them
from his body, and pinched shut a broken chain link to secure the
doors.

“Let’s see them get through that,” Lars said
smugly as they backed into the slave quarters, while pounding and
swearing came from the other side.

Both of them looked up to the escape grate
above them. The other prisoners looked up at it with wide-eyed hope
tinged with fear. John held up his chains, silently requesting
liberation. Since time was of the essence, Josie and Lars broke the
other prisoners’ chains, but left the cuffs.

Josie climbed the ladder to the grate first,
noting a padlock held it closed. The charisma was ebbing, so she
closed her eyes and flexed the mysterious Excito Fortitudo like a
muscle, pushing the energy deeper into her body. Warmth flowed
through her chest again, warming her limbs. Reaching her hands
through the grate slats, she yanked the padlock. With a satisfying
clunk, the lock broke free. Her hands fumbled to unthread it as the
other slaves huddled impatiently below the ladder. With a heave,
she lifted the grate off of the opening, climbing onto the wooden
deck in her bare feet.

The sunlight burned her retinas. Shielding
her eyes, she heard the others scrambling up the ladder. Men
shouted in the distance. As her eyes adjusted, she saw that popcorn
clouds filled bright blue sky. Canvas sails drooped in the calm
air. The biggest people she’d ever seen, the Gargoes, were poling
the ship through the doldrums. Nearly fifteen feet tall, with thick
gray skin, and massive shoulders—she understood why Lars had been
so reluctant to risk a confrontation.