Ship of Magic (18 page)

“Perhaps you do not know that only a blood-family member may quicken a liveship?”

It was as if he stood in an open field in a storm and called the lightning down on himself. Anger convulsed Kyle's face, and he went redder than Althea had ever seen him.

“What gives you the right to speak here, dog? I'll see you off this ship!”

“That you will,” Brashen affirmed calmly. “But not before I've done my last duty to my captain. He spoke clearly enough, for a dying man. “Stand by her through this,' he said to me. I do not doubt that you heard him. And I shall. Give the peg to Althea. The quickening of the ship at least belongs to her.”

He never knows when to shut up.
That had always been her father's strongest criticism of his young first mate, but when he had said it, an awed admiration had always crept into his voice. Althea had never understood it before. Now she did. He stood there, ragged as any deckhand was at the end of a long voyage, and spoke back to the man who had commanded the ship and likely would again. He heard himself publicly dismissed, and did not even flinch. She knew Kyle would never concede to his demand; she did not even let her heart yearn for it. But in making that demand, he suddenly gave her a glimpse of what her father had seen in him.

Kyle stood glowering. His eyes went around the circle of mourners, but Althea knew he was just as aware of the outer circle of crew-members, and even of the folk who had come down to the docks to see a liveship quicken. In the end, he decided to ignore Brashen's words.

“Wintrow!” he commanded in a voice that snapped like a lash. “Take the peg and quicken the ship.”

All eyes swung to the boy. His face blanched and his eyes became huge. His mouth shook and then he firmed his lips. He took a deep breath. “It is not my right.”

He did not speak loudly, but his young voice carried well.

“Damn it, are you not as much Vestrit as Haven? It is your right, the ship shall be yours some day. Take the peg and quicken it.”

The boy looked at him without comprehension. When he spoke, his voice teetered and then cracked high on the words. “I was given to be a priest of Sa. A priest can own nothing.”

A vein began to pound in Kyle's temple. “Sa be damned. Your mother gave you, not I. And I hereby take you back. Now take this peg and quicken the ship!” As he spoke, he had stepped forward, to seize his eldest by the shoulder. The boy tried not to cower away from him, but his distress was plain. Even Keffria and Ronica looked shocked by Kyle's blasphemy, as well they might.

Althea's grief seemed to have stepped back from her, leaving her numbed but oddly sensitized. She watched these strangers who shouted and squabbled with one another while an unburied man slowly stiffened at their feet. A great clarity seemed to have come into her mind. She knew, with abrupt certainty, that Keffria had known nothing of Kyle's intentions regarding Wintrow. The boy obviously had not; the shock on his face was too great as he stood staring in confusion at the silky-gray peg his father thrust into his hands.

“Now!” Kyle commanded, and as if the boy were five instead of on the brink of manhood, he turned him and propelled him down the deck. The others drifted after him like wreckage bobbing in a ship's wake. Althea watched them go. Then she crouched down, to clasp in her own her father's cooling hand. “I am glad you are not here to see this,” she told him gently. She tried unsuccessfully, to close the lids of his staring eyes. After several attempts, she gave up and left him staring up at the canvas canopy.

“Althea. Get up.”

“Why?” She did not even turn to Brashen's command.

“Because . . .” He paused, fumbling, then went on, “because they can take the ownership of the ship from you, but that does not excuse you from what you owe the ship. Your father asked me to help you through this. He would not want the
Vivacia
to quicken and see only strangers' faces.”

“Kyle will be there,” she said dully. The hurt was coming back. Brashen's blunt words had wakened it again.

“She will not know him. He is not the blood of her family. Come.”

She looked down at the still body. Death was working swiftly, sinking her father's features into lines and planes he had never worn in life. “I don't want to leave him here alone.”

“Althea. That's not the Captain, it's just his body. He's gone. But the
Vivacia
is still here. Come. You know you have to do this; do it well.” He leaned down, putting his face near her ear. “Head up, girl. The crew is watching.”

She rose reluctantly to his last words. She looked down at her father's sagging face and tried to meet his eyes one last time. But he was looking past her now, looking into the infinite. She squared her shoulders and held up her head. Very well, then.

Brashen offered his arm, as if he were escorting her into Bingtown's Presentation Ball. Without thinking, she placed her hand lightly on his forearm as she had been schooled and allowed him to guide her to the bow of the ship. Something about the formality of his walking her there restored her. As she drew near and overheard Kyle's savagely low tones of anger, it touched a spark off in her as if it were flint against steel. He was berating Wintrow.

“It's simple, boy. There's the hole, there's the peg, here's the catch. Push the catch to one side and shove the peg in the hole and release the catch. That's all. I'll hold on to you. You needn't fear that you'll fall into the bay, if that's what's cowing you.”

The boy's voice rose in reply, too high still, but gentle, not weak. “Father. I did not say I could not. I said I would not. I do not feel it is my right, nor proper as a servant of Sa, for me to make this claim.” Only a slight tremor at the end of this speech revealed how difficult it was for the boy to keep his aplomb.

“You'll do as I damn well tell you,” Kyle growled. Althea saw his hand lift in the familiar threat of a blow, and heard Keffria gasp out, “Oh, Kyle, no!”

In two strides, Althea was suddenly between Kyle and the boy. “This is not a fitting way for any of us to behave on the day of my father's death. Nor is it a proper way to treat the
Vivacia.
Peg or no, she is quickening. Would you have her awaken to quarreling voices and discord?”

And Kyle's answer betrayed his total ignorance of all a liveship was. “I'd have it awaken, in any way it can be managed.”

Althea took breath for an angry retort, but then heard Brashen's whisper of awe. “Oh, look at her!”

All eyes swung to the figurehead. From the foredeck, Althea could not see that much of her face, but she could see the paint flaking away from the wizardwood carving. The locks of hair shone raven under the peeling gilt paint, and the sanded flesh had begun to flush pink. The silken fine grain of the wizardwood still remained, and always would, nor would the wood ever be as soft and yielding as human flesh. Yet it was unmistakable that life now pulsed through the figurehead, and to Althea's heightened awareness, the entire ship rode differently on the quiet waves of the harbor. She felt as she imagined a mother must feel the first time she beholds the life that has grown within her.

“Give me the peg,” she heard herself say quietly. “I'll quicken the ship.”

“Why?” Kyle asked suspiciously, but Ronica intervened.

“Give her the peg, Kyle,” she commanded him quietly. “She'll do it because she loves the
Vivacia.
”

Later Althea would recall her mother's words, and they would rouse hate in her to a white-hot heat. Her mother had known all she felt, and still she had taken the ship from her. But at that moment, she only knew that it pained her to see the
Vivacia
caught between wood and life, suspended so uncomfortably. She could see the distrust on Kyle's face as he grudgingly offered her the peg. What did he think she would do, throw it overboard? She took it from him and bellied out on the bowsprit to reach the figurehead. She was just a trifle short of being able to reach it safely. She hitched herself forward another notch, teetering dangerously in her awkward skirts, and still could not quite reach.

“Brashen,” she said, neither asking nor commanding. She did not even glance back at him, but only stayed as she was until she felt his hands clasp her waist just above her hips. He eased her down to where she could rest one hand on Vivacia's hair. The paint flaked away from the coiling lock at her touch. The feel of the hair against her hand was strange. It gave way to her touch, but the carved locks were all of a piece rather than individual hairs. She knew a moment of unease. Then her awareness of the
Vivacia
flooded through her, heightened as never before. It was like warmth, yet it was not a sensation of the skin. Nor was it the heat of whiskey in one's gut. This flowed with her blood and breath throughout her body.

“Althea?” Brashen's voice sounded strained. She came back to herself, wondered how long she had been dangling near upside down. In a sleepy way she realized she had entrusted her entire weight to Brashen's grip as she hung there. The peg was in her hand still. She sighed, and became aware of blood pounding in her face. With one hand she pushed the catch to one side; with the other she slid the peg in smoothly. When she released the catch, it seemed to vanish as if it had never been. The peg was now a permanent part of the figurehead.

“What is taking so long?” Kyle's voice demanded.

“It's done,” Althea breathed. She doubted if anyone but Brashen heard her. But as his grip on her tightened and he began to pull her up, Vivacia suddenly turned to her. She reached up, her strong hands catching hold of Althea's own. Her green eyes met Althea's.

“I had the strangest dream,” she said engagingly. Then she smiled at Althea, a grin that was at once impish and merry. “Thank you so for waking me.”

“You're welcome,” Althea breathed. “Oh, you are more beautiful than I imagined you would be.”

“Thank you,” the ship replied with the serious artlessness of a child. She let go of Althea's hands to brush flecks of paint from her hair and skin as if they were fallen leaves. Brashen drew Althea abruptly back up onto the deck and set her on her feet with a thump. He was very red in the face, and Althea was suddenly aware of Kyle speaking in a low, vicious voice.

“. . . and you are off this deck forever, Trell. Right now.”

“That's right. I am.” Somehow the timbre of Brashen's voice took Kyle's dismissal of him and made it his own disdainful parting. “Farewell, Althea.” Courtesy was back in his voice when he spoke to her. As if he were departing from some social occasion, he next turned and took formal leave of her mother. His calm seemed to rattle the woman, for though her lips moved, she spoke no farewell. But Brashen turned and walked away lightly across the deck, as if absolutely nothing had happened. Before Althea could recover from that, Kyle turned on her.

“Are you out of your mind? What is wrong with you, letting him touch you like that?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again. “Like what?” she asked dazedly. She leaned on the railing to look down at Vivacia. The figurehead twisted about to smile up at her. It was a bemused smile, the smile of a person not quite awake on a lovely summer morning. Althea smiled sadly back at her.

“You know very well what I speak of! His hands were all over you. Bad enough that you look like a dusty slattern, but then to let a deckhand manhandle you while you dangle all but upside down . . .”

“I had to put the peg in. It was the only way I could reach.” She looked away from Kyle's face, mottled red with his anger, to her mother and sister. “The ship is quickened,” she announced softly but formally. “The liveship
Vivacia
is now aware.”

And my father is dead. She did not speak the words aloud, but the reality of them cut her again, deeper and sharper. It seemed to her that each time she thought she had grasped the fact of his death, a few moments later it struck her again even harder.

“What are people going to think of her?” Kyle was demanding of Keffria in an undertone. The two younger children stared at her openly, while the older boy, Wintrow, looked aside from them all as if even being near them made him acutely uncomfortable. Althea felt she could not grasp all that was happening around her. Too much had occurred, too fast. Kyle attempting to put her off the ship, her father's death, the quickening of the ship, his dismissal of Brashen, and now his anger at her for simply doing a thing that had needed doing. It all seemed too much for her to deal with, but at the same time she felt a terrible void. She groped inside herself, trying to discover what she had forgotten or neglected.

“Althea?”

It was Vivacia, calling up to her anxiously. She leaned over the railing to look down at her, almost sighing.

“Yes?”

“I know your name. Althea.”

“Yes. Thank you, Vivacia.” And in that moment, she knew what the void was. It was all she had expected to feel, the joy and wonder at the ship's quickening. The moment, so long awaited, had come and gone. Vivacia was awakened. And save for the first flush of triumph, she felt nothing of what she had expected to feel. The price had been too high.

The instant her mind held the thought, she wished she could unthink it. It was the ultimate in betrayal, to stand on this deck, not so far from her father's body, and think that the cost had been too high, that the liveship was not worth the death of her father, let alone the death of her grandfather and great-grandma. And it was not a fair thought. She knew that. Ship or no, they all would have died. Vivacia was not the cause of their deaths, but rather the sum total of their legacies. In her, they lived on. Something inside her eased a bit. She leaned over the side, trying to think of something coherent and welcoming to say to this new being. “My father would have been very proud of you,” she managed at last.

The simple words woke her grief again. She wanted to put her head down on her arms and sob, but would not allow herself to, lest she alarm the ship.

“He would have been proud of you, also. He knew this would be difficult for you.”

The ship's voice had changed. In moments, it had gone from high and girlish to the rich, throaty voice of a grown woman. When Althea looked down into her face, she saw more understanding than she could bear. This time she did not try to stop the tears that flowed down her cheeks. “I just don't understand it,” she said brokenly to the ship. Then she swung her gaze back to her family, who like her lined the railing and looked down at Vivacia's face.