Tides of Faith: Travail of The Dark Mage Book Two (86 page)

Sailors blocked the
hatchway.

“Out of my way,” James hollered as he
headed in that direction.

Ever the helpful pair, Scar and
Potbelly beat him to the congestion and threw sailors aside as they
made a hole for James. He took the steps down and found the lower
three to already be submerged. Captain Anyn stood at the
bottom.

“We have to abandon ship,” Captain
Anyn said.

“We do that and we die,” Scar
said.

“The hole is too big,” he said.
“Sinking is inevitable.”

“No,” James said, “it isn’t.” To Scar
and Potbelly, he said, “Come on.”

“You’re going to die if you don’t get
off this ship!”

Hopping down into the water, Jiron
turned to the Captain. “Get back to the wheel, Captain, and keep us
heading to safety.”

“But…”

“If the hole is patched,” James asked,
“will we be okay?”

“Be heavy in the water with all this
flooding,” he replied. “But we might make it.

“Then get back to the
wheel.”

Captain Anyn eyed James skeptically,
but nodded.

“Let’s get this patched,” James said
and headed into the dark cargo hold. Jiron and the Pit Masters went
with him.

He summoned his orb and eyed it
carefully for several seconds. Once assured that Miko’s magic was
in fact shielding his from the effects of the shimmering fields, he
hurried forward.

Water poured in through a four-foot
gap in the port side. Horses were panicking and pulling at their
tethers. A few were down and raised their heads above the surface
to keep from drowning.

James sent his senses to the gap and
formed a shield to plug the leak.

“Tell Miko that the horses need
attention,” he said to Scar. “I think a few broke their legs when
that thing hit us.”

“Will do.”

“Jiron, make sure the hatchway is
clear,” James said “and I’ll see about getting this water out of
here.”

“Come on, Potbelly,” the knifer said.
They returned to the hatchway and once it was clear, James
formulated a spell and water shot from the hold, up through the
hatchway, and over the side. In a few minutes, the water level had
dropped to ankle deep at which point James ended the
spell.

Back on deck, he gazed out to where
the specks continued to spark and arc in ever greater frenzy. “Hold
on,” he mumbled to himself. They needed to put as much distance
between them and the specks as quickly as possible.

Azhan had a light breeze going into
the sails, just enough so the main mast wouldn’t crack the rest of
the way. James reinforced it with a shield and told him to increase
the force of the wind.

“Yes, Master.”

The ship picked up speed.

He then went to where Captain Anyn
stood at the wheel.

“How long to the nearest
land?”

“Less than an hour I think,” the
captain replied. “We’re not far from the mainland.”

“Good.”

The sky shimmered from horizon to
horizon. At the focal point where the trio of shimmering fields had
converged the water was a frothy tempest of crazed fish twisting,
leaping and fighting one another. The intensity of the prickling
sensation assailing him continued to increase though they were
moving away.

He eyed Jiron. “We’re not moving fast
enough.”

“Doing the best we can,
considering.”

“I know,” he sighed.

Lightning lit up the sky; some flashed
among the clouds, others struck the water. Each was followed with a
thunderous crash that rolled over them and resonated deep within
their chests.

James felt a, sudden, sharp increase
in the prickling.

Whump!

As one, the specks detonated
simultaneously. A good portion of the water beneath was vaporized;
steam shot to the sky in a massive cloud.

“Well,” Shorty said, “that wasn’t so
bad.”

Then the concussion wave hit; the ship
shuddered.

Men were thrown to the deck, timbers
cracked and a loud snapping sound foreshadowed the main mast
tipping to the side. Ropes snapped, men scrambled to pull those
unconscious out of the way and all watched as the mast hit the
deck. For a second it balanced precariously on the rail, then the
jagged, lower end rose as the top dipped into the water. The
railing snapped under the weight and the main mast slid into the
ocean.

Jiron got to his feet and looked
around. He saw Scar and Potbelly helping Father Vickor to his feet.
Father Keller hovered around Eddra who looked to have fared better
than most.

“James?” he asked, when he failed to
see his friend.

The ship started listing again to
port.

“James!”

“Over here!” Kip hollered.

He sat against the forecastle with the
Dark Mage’s head cradled in his lap.

James’ hair was matted with blood; his
face was very pale.

“What happened?”

“He,” began Kip as Miko rushed over,
“Reverend Father, he hit the wall pretty hard.”

Miko was at his friend’s side in an
instant.

“How is he?” Jiron asked.

Concentrating for a moment, Miko
turned to Jiron and replied, “Not good.”

Jiron grabbed onto the railing to
steady himself as the deck tilted to a precarious level.

“The hold!” he cried. With James
unconscious, that means the hole… “Azhan, Hikai!”

The two apprentices were there in a
flash.

“Come with me,” he said.

“But our Master?” Hikai
asked.

“Will die if we do not move fast,”
Jiron replied. “Now come.”

Propelling the two apprentices toward
the hatchway leading the hold, he said, “The barrier he put up to
shore the hull vanished when he fell unconscious. You two have to
put up another.”

Azhan paused at the hatchway. “But we
have never before done that.”

“I don’t care,” Jiron said. Grabbing
both by the shoulders, he pushed them down the steps. “Fix it or
your master dies.”

The water was higher than it had been
before. The hold was almost flooded and the horses were neighing in
stark terror. Less than half the heads of what there should be were
visible. Jiron couldn’t worry about that now.

“Fix it in your mind,” Jiron said,
thinking of how James had described how he did it, “and then have
the magic make it happen.”

“It’s not that simple,” argued
Hikai.

Jiron pulled a knife. “Do it, or I
kill you right here!”

Azhan rapid fired a string of
Empirical words to Hikai, who glanced to Jiron, licked his lips
nervously, then nodded. The two apprentices worked their way deeper
into the hold.

“Shorty!” Jiron hollered.

When the knifer appeared at the top of
the steps, he said, “Be ready to abandon ship if this doesn’t
work.”

Nodding, Shorty said, “Scar’s already
working on it. Captain figures we’ll go under in less than ten
minutes if they can’t fix the leak.”

“See about organizing a bucket line
when they have the leaks plugged.”

“Will do.”

The two apprentices were lost in the
dark of the hold. Jiron could no longer see them. A minute ticked
by and the water continued to rise.

“We better get off this ship,” Shorty
said when he returned. “It’s listing badly.” Now listing nearly
twenty degrees less than true, it was necessary to lean or brace
against something in order to remain upright. “They aren’t going to
fix it.”

Jiron gazed up at him, then back into
the hold.

“Azhan!” he hollered.
“Hikai!”

Several seconds ticked by then he
hollered again. “Azhan!”

Then there was motion from the dark
recesses of the hold. Hikai swam back to the steps.

“Azhan has done it!” he exclaimed
jubilantly. “The main hole is fixed.”

“Well done,” praised Jiron.

“But he says there is much damage to
the hull in general.”

“What does that mean?” Jiron
demanded.

“It means he is unable to create
patches for every leak,” he explained. “The damage is too
extensive.”

“How bad does it remain?” Shorty
asked.

Hikai shrugged. “I do not
know.”

“If the main hole is plugged, we might
be able to limp to land. Shorty, tell the captain we need every
available bucket and man to carry them.”

Jiron laid a hand on Hikai’s shoulder.
“Well done. Now, go help Azhan.”

Hikai bobbed his head and pushed
himself off the steps and swam back to Azhan.

Leaving the hold, Jiron returned back
up to the deck.

“I tell you the ship is lost!” Captain
Anyn yelled at Shorty.

“They have the hole plugged, Captain,”
Jiron said. “All we need to do is bail the water until we get to
land.”

The captain rounded on Jiron and shook
his head. “You don’t understand,” he said. “We have no main mast,
no secondary mast. Coupled with the way she’s listing we aren’t
going anywhere. Don’t you understand? We are dead in the
water!”

Jiron grabbed a bucket from where it
laid on the deck and forced it into Captain Anyn’s hands. “Have
your men start bailing.” When the captain hesitated, Jiron yelled,
“Now!” At his elbow stood Tinok. “See that they are diligent in
their work.”

“
You got it.” Taking Scar,
Potbelly and Shorty in tow, Tinok escorted the captain to round up
his crew.

“He’s right, you know.”

Turning to Father Vickor, Jiron
shrugged. “Perhaps.”

“Then why make them do it?”

“Because he irritates me.”

Father Vickor searched the knifer’s
eyes a moment, then laughed.

Jiron grinned. “Well, maybe in part.
Mainly it’s so that the ship will be as seaworthy as possible when
he awakens.” As one, they turned to where Miko continued
administering to an unconscious James.

The long dusty road wound
through the foothills. Trees grew densely along the way allowing a
traveler to see little more than up to the next bend in the road.
There was a touch of coldness to the air, like a chill one would
find early on a crisp, spring day.

Frist a turn to the right,
then another to the left, he made his way along the road. Rays of
the midday sun would intermittently pierce the thick canopy
overhead creating surreal beams of light contrasting the shadowy
dark.

A breeze gently wafted
along the route, ruffling his hair. An errant strand slipped its
position which he absentmindedly brushed back into
place.

His feet were sore and his
stomach was empty. Drifting along with the breeze came the odor of
sausages cooking over an open fire. Stomach cramping, he quickened
his pace.

As he rounded the next
bend, an old-timey country church came into view. Dating from the
eighteen hundreds, the once white structure had seen better days; a
good portion of the paint had stripped away. The old steeple sat
tilted, and where a bell had once hung was now the province of a
bevy of fowl.

A wisp of smoke rising
from behind the church brought the mouth-watering aroma that he
sought. Walking through the long grass, he made his way around
back.

Standing at a grill with
tongs in hand stood someone he hadn’t seen in several years and had
in fact hoped to never see again. Four and a half feet in height
with skin that’s a dark greenish color, he wore a blue apron that
had the words “Kiss the Cook” embroidered across the front. A crazy
felt hat sat atop its head and he smiled as James
approached.

“Want a dog?”

Using the tongs, he turned
the four brats so they wouldn’t burn.

James nodded.

Igor nodded to the wooden
picnic table nearby. “Have a seat,” he said. “Be ready in a
minute.”

On the table was a two
liter of Diet Pepsi, a couple glasses filled with ice, and the
standard set of condiments and sides one would expect at a picnic
where brats were the main course. The potato salad looked
especially good.

Filling a glass with the
soda, he drank it down. It felt so good after not having any for so
long. “Man, that’s good.”

“Drink it all if you
like,” Igor said. “We have plenty.”

James refilled his glass
then glanced around the church’s backyard. “We?”

“You and I.” He motioned
toward the buns. “Get yours ready and help yourself to whatever you
fancy.”

“Thanks.”

His mind reeled with the
ramifications of this meeting. Readying two buns, he put a line of
ketchup down a single side of each, spooned a healthy portion of
the potato salad on his plate and then grabbed a bag of chips. The
fact that Igor was here couldn’t bode well; no, not well at
all.