Tiger's Voyage (50 page)

Ren stuck his head into the wheelhouse. Soaked through, rivulets ran from his hair down his neck and into his sopping shirt. “He’s on top of the wheelhouse,” he shouted over the storm. “We need to tie him down! He’s not responding to me, and he won’t hold onto anything!”

“I’ll get the Scarf! It’s in my room!” I hollered over the noise of the storm and headed toward the door. A wave hit the ship, and I slid on some water right over to Ren.

“No. I’ll get it.” Ren shoved me back inside and disappeared.

I bit my lip, worried about Kishan. After another wave tilted the ship, I scurried out the door and up the ladder to check on him. The top of the wheelhouse was slick with cold rainwater. Kishan still stood, not holding onto anything. I slid over to him, grabbed him around the waist and locked my other arm around the railing.

He didn’t look at me or acknowledge me in any way. The ship leaned precariously to the right, and I braced my feet on the metal bar used to tie off ropes and held onto Kishan. His body was stiff and my arms screamed in pain as I kept us both upright. The ship finally straightened, and I was able to rest for a second.

Just then, I felt Ren’s arm wrap tightly around me and heard a very angry voice in my ear. “I thought I told you to stay put. Why do you always have to do exactly the opposite of what I ask?”

“He was going to fall off into the ocean!” I shouted back.

“Better him than you!”

I rammed my elbow into Ren’s stomach, but he just growled in my ear, and a second later I felt the wispy threads of the Divine Scarf wrap around Kishan and secure him to the railing.

“There. Now let’s get you back inside.”

“No!” Rain dripped off my nose, and my bare arms trembled from the cold. “Someone has to watch over him!” I yelled over the torrential rain.

“Then
I
will. But let me take you back first.”

“Can’t you just lash me to the rail like Kishan?” I sneezed loudly and looked up sheepishly from behind wet eyelashes, knowing I was going to lose this battle.

Ren stared at me furiously and growled, “This is nonnegotiable! You’re going back to the wheelhouse now if I have to carry you in a bag slung over my back! Come on!”

He took my hand and we climbed down the ladder together, cocooned on the descent. After I entered the wheelhouse, he closed the door, gave me a dark look, and headed back up again.

The storm gathered speed, and the cresting waves became walls of water. Now I was worried about
both
my tigers. The storm was violent. Mr. Kadam and Nilima were busy, but there was nothing for me to do except pray that the men above would be safe.

A sodden Ren appeared at the door a half hour later. He shot me a cursory glance. Satisfied that I was staying put, he said, “We’re to follow the path of the lightning.”

He left and almost immediately the inky purple view was lit up with twin lightning bolts that shot from just overhead and hit the ocean to our right. Thunder boomed, echoing through the wheelhouse so loudly that I covered my ears. Mr. Kadam veered right, and we started up an immense wave. Seawater splashed the windows and ran off the open decks of the ship. I’d never heard of a cruise ship this size being sunk by a storm and sincerely hoped it was very uncommon.

Lightning shot out again. This time the crackling bolts veered slightly left. We pressed on following the path the lighting showed us. About every fifteen to twenty minutes it would adjust our path. I stopped looking out the window when they lit up the ocean. The waves were so high and the clouds so dark and violent that it scared me. Not so much for my own life—I felt fairly certain Mr. Kadam knew what he was doing—but I was scared for the men standing in the open overlooking the terrifying storm surrounding us. How helpless it must make them feel, how vulnerable, knowing one slip could snuff out their lives in an instant.

All that long, dark, terrible day and through the early evening, I sat quietly, whispering prayers that Ren and Kishan would be safe, asking that the storm would calm, that the sun would appear again, and that we would all live on through this horrible tempest. I wondered what those early mariners must have felt like on their small ships, battling storms such as these. Had they made peace with the idea that they would likely be laid to rest in a watery grave? Did they avoid connections to other people knowing they’d probably never see their loved ones again? Or did they just close their eyes and hold on like I was doing?

The ship began to settle as the rain slackened. “What’s happening? Is it over?” I asked Mr. Kadam.

He peered out the window, studying the clouds and listening to the wind. “I fear it isn’t. We’re in the eye of the storm.”

“The eye? You mean we’re in the middle of a tsunami?”

“No. A tsunami is a large sea wave, usually the result of an underwater volcano. We’re in the eye of a hurricane or a typhoon, depending on exactly where we are. Hurricanes occur in the western north Atlantic, but in the western Pacific or the seas of China, they are called typhoons. Incidentally, the word
typhoon
originally came from Greece. The word
Tuphǒn
represents the father of the winds in Greek mythology and—”

“Mr. Kadam?”

“Yes, Miss Kelsey.”

“Can we discuss typhoons, hurricanes, tropical storms, tornados, tsunamis, and cyclones later?”

“Of course.”

The boat started shaking as we cleared the eye and moved back into the thrust of the storm. Mr. Kadam and Nilima were kept busy as the lightning bolts started striking again. Several hours later, the rolling of the ocean lessened, and the rain became lighter and then disappeared altogether. The clouds stopped roiling and moved away, leaving wispy fingers in their wake. I heard a noise just as the door slid open. Ren stood there supporting the limp form of his brother. He stepped through, and both men collapsed onto the floor.

Nilima helped me drag them into the wheelhouse and began vigorously rubbing Kishan’s head and arms with a towel. She threw one to me so I could dry off Ren. They shivered violently.

“It’s no use. We’ll have to get them out of their wet clothes.”

“But they’re too heavy,” Nilima said.

Ren had wrapped the Scarf around his arm. It hung there dry despite the fact that the rest of his clothes were completely soaked through.

“Nilima, I have an idea. Scarf, can you remove their wet clothes and replace them with dry ones? Something warm like flannel? And don’t forget warm socks and long sleeves.”

The Scarf twisted on Ren’s arm and slid up to his sleeve. The threads of his sleeve began to unravel, moving faster and faster as the Scarf absorbed them. In a few seconds his shirt was gone, and the Scarf moved on to his jeans. Nilima giggled at my embarrassed expression, put her arm on my shoulder, and turned the both of us to look at the ocean while the Scarf continued.

We listened to the soft whisper of moving threads for a few more minutes and then peeked at their feet. Seeing their toes safely encased in wool socks, we turned back to the brothers. The Scarf had created flannel shirts right down to the imitation fabric buttons. I picked up Ren’s cold hand and tried to warm it in mine. Kishan’s hand too felt like ice. I instructed the Scarf to wrap them in warm blankets and asked the Fruit to make hot apple cider, figuring a warm drink plus some sugar would do them good.

I lifted Ren’s head and slid behind him to help him drink. Nilima did the same with Kishan. Kishan was delirious. He mumbled of prophecies and dragons. Ren was slightly more alert. He sipped the hot cider but kept his eyes closed. His body trembled under the blanket.

“So cold,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to do.” I started rubbing my hands over his, mentally willing him to warm up, and something happened. My hand symbols glowed, and a warm layer of heat radiated from my palm. There was no lightning bolt, and the heat didn’t burn his skin, but his hand didn’t feel as icy. I focused my energy and thoughts on warming him. I could actually feel the heat penetrate the layers of his skin and drift lower until his muscles became warm too. I moved up his arms and down his legs until his limbs stopped trembling. Unbuttoning his shirt, I pressed my hands against his chest, feeling the heat move layer by layer. I slid my hands down to his muscled belly and back up to his neck.

What started off as a means to warm him actually became something more. Something intimate. I’d never touched him like this before, and I found that the heat reflected back into my body and warmed me also. I blushed finding Nilima scrutinizing my efforts, and I moved from his neck up to his face and pressed my hands against his brow. The heat was so intense his hair began to steam as the water evaporated. Sliding my hands to his cheeks, I held very still and closed my eyes as I concentrated on warming him. I blinked, startled when I felt a caress on my cheek.

Ren had opened his blue eyes and was watching me with a tender expression. He swept his fingers across my cheek again and trailed them down a strand of hair.

“How do you feel?” I asked.

“Like I’ve died and gone to heaven,” he said with lopsided, gentle smile. “What are you doing?”

“Giving you a deep-body heat massage. Did it hurt? Was it too hot?”

He raised an eyebrow and grinned. “It hurt in a good way. I wouldn’t have minded it a little
hotter
, actually.”

My eyes widened and I tried to subtly send him a nonverbal message to shut up. Puzzled, he peeked under my arm and noticed for the first time we had company. I cleared my throat and said, “If you feel sufficiently recovered, I need to work on Kishan now. Can you sit up?”

He nodded. I rewarmed his unfinished cider with my hands. “Drink this.”

He shifted and frowned at the sweats he was now wearing. I teased dryly, “I know it’s not designer, but it’s warm.”

I moved over to Kishan, who was no longer thrashing in delirium, but he looked blue. He breathed shallowly, and Nilima had been unsuccessful in getting him to drink anything. We traded places, and I began with his limbs. His body was cold, colder even than Ren’s had been. I was able to warm his hands and arms, but by the time I got to his legs, I was out of juice. Ren had been watching my progress silently while sipping his drink. He set the cup aside and knelt next to me. Reaching out a hand, he stroked my shoulder, down my arm, and took my hand in his, rubbing it between his palms.

“Try again.”

I summoned the heat and let it trickle out of my palm and into Kishan’s thigh. It soon sputtered again but Ren moved closer and rubbed my back and cupped my shoulders with his palms. Golden warmth surged down my arms and began to warm not only Kishan but also the entire wheelhouse. I heard Nilima gasp behind us. The heat actually became visible like there was a tiny sun hidden under my palm.

I heard Mr. Kadam’s intake of breath as he peered over our shoulders. “Fascinating,” he murmured.

Ren stayed near me as I moved to the other leg and then to Kishan’s upper torso. I pressed my palms against his stomach and chest, and then his face and ears. His chest heaved as he sucked in a deep breath and seemed to settle into a relaxing sleep. Ren rose and picked up his brother. Mr. Kadam assured us we were out of danger and that he and Nilima would take turns keeping watch. He wanted us to sleep.

I said goodnight and followed in their wake. We tucked Kishan into bed, and then Ren escorted me to my room. I was exhausted. I felt numb and cold, like all the heat had been sucked out of me. After I collapsed on the bed, Ren came over and tucked me in the way I liked.

“Thanks for keeping me warm,
iadala
,” he whispered in my ear.

I smiled and drifted off.

The next day was bright and sunny. Kishan woke me exuberantly. His vision was back; his pirate-gold eyes sparkled once again. He spun me in a circle and told me he was starving. Then he headed upstairs to take over for Mr. Kadam and Nilima. We ate breakfast together in the wheelhouse, and he talked about how strange it felt not being in charge of his own body. He could hear me and feel me touching him, but couldn’t respond. The lightning bolts had apparently come from his eyes. He said his eyes still itched from the experience.

Ren showed up and kept looking at me meaningfully as Kishan held my hand and kissed my cheek or put his arm around me. I could have sworn I heard the phrase “
hands off
” quietly mumbled as Ren turned a page in a book. Kishan didn’t notice Ren scowling, or if he did, he didn’t care.

Kishan threaded his fingers through mine and leaned closer as he demonstrated some instrument on the panel, and Ren abruptly stood, handed me the Scarf and the Golden Fruit, and asked me to stow them away somewhere. I was about to protest that it was probably smarter to keep them in the wheelhouse when I realized his motivation was to get me away from Kishan.

I sighed, agreed, and left the wheelhouse, but instead of heading to a lower deck, I climbed. I went to the very top of the ship where Ren and Kishan had stood bravely during the storm. Looking out at the ocean, I couldn’t imagine what it must have felt like. A soft breeze swept back my hair, and I leaned over the railing, twisting the Golden Fruit in my hands as I thought about what I should say to Kishan.

I loved him. I loved
both
of them.
Kishan would understand, wouldn’t
he? If I said I needed time to think, he wouldn’t hate me forever, right?

The Golden Fruit sparkled in the sunshine throwing rainbows in every direction like a disco ball. I held it by its stem and spun it, thinking about what Mr. Kadam had once told me about diamonds. He’d said that cutting and polishing them is how they become brilliant. “Huh, with all the cuts in my heart, it should be about as sparkly as you are by now,” I said as I twirled the Fruit.

I saw a twinkle in the water below, a flash of gold that grew brighter. I stared transfixed and gasped as a large golden head emerged and rose up toward me. Flashing white teeth gleamed in the sun, and a voice with the sound of clinking coins said in my mind,
What a fancy bauble you
have there, my dear. Would you be interested in a trade?