Voyage of the Fox Rider (30 page)

Jinnarin scratched an eyebrow. “Neither of us are.…Perhaps we will never know.”

A soft knock sounded on the cabin door. Aylis opened it and found Aravan standing there. The Elf saw the Pysk. “Oh, I did not mean to interrupt—”

Jinnarin stood, stretching, yawning. “No interruption at all, Aravan. I was just saying that it was off to bed for me.”

As Jinnarin jumped down to the chair and then to the floor, Aravan said, “In that case, Aylis, wouldst thou care to take some fresh air with me?”

Aylis turned to fetch her cloak, and Jinnarin smiled to herself, noting that where Aravan stood, his shadow was lost in the darkness of the corridor.
Indeed, I do believe that Jatu was right about the captain losing his shadow to the Lady Aylis
.

Riding at anchor, the ship slowly rose and fell as long swells passed under the hull. Aylis and Aravan strolled the length of the main deck, their way dimly lit by a single lantern astern. Overhead the sky was yet clouded and neither stars nor Moon shown down. A chill drift of air flowed over the ship, but neither Aylis nor Aravan seemed to note its passage, comforted as they were by each other’s presence. They stopped and leaned on the forward rail and peered at the dim silhouette of Rwn in the near distance looming against the dark sky. From somewhere below there drifted the sound of a concertina and Men singing, as well as the rhythmic clack of Dwarven batons striking against bucklers, measuring out the music’s gleeful beat. Laughter washed up as the song ended, but then another began.

“You have a good crew, Aravan.”

“Aye. Worthy in all respects.”

Elf and seeress listened as the chorus rose up and fell back, the piping and clacking momentarily drowned out.

Aylis turned to Aravan. “I have something to ask you.” Of a sudden her heart began thudding in her breast.

Aravan straightened up from the railing and turned toward her, waiting.

“When Ontah, when I—” She took a breath and began again. “When I awakened from my last dreamwalk, you called me by an Elven word—”

“Chieran,”
said Aravan, his eyes lost in shadow.

“What does it mean?”

Aravan took her by the hand. “It means, my love.”

Aylis’s heart raced.
“Chieran?”

Aravan raised her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm. “My love.” He pressed her hand against his cheek. “All my life I knew that something was missing. I did not know what it was until I saw thee.”

With her free hand Aylis reached up and took his face in her hands, pulling him to her.
“Chieran,”
she whispered, then kissed him full on the mouth, gently at first but then with exploding passion. His arms went ‘round her, and he crushed her against his breast, fire flowing between them, lips burning, hearts hammering, souls soaring, her arms clasping him, their bodies pressing together.

Slowly, gently, he pulled back, shadowed eyes gazing into shadowed eyes. Then with a shout of elation he lifted her up and spun ‘round and ‘round proclaiming
“Chieran!”
to the sky, Aylis laughing in unfettered joy.

On the stern, Jatu leaned against the taffrail and peered down into the waters, a smile creasing his face.

Flux

Winter, 1E9574–75

[The Present]

A
ylis wakened to the sound of rustling paper. The surroundings were unfamiliar, but she knew precisely where she was and she smiled. Unclothed, Aravan stood at a table, his frame lean and firm and showing no scars. Maps were scattered before him, and he intently studied a chart then cast it aside, selecting another. In silence Aylis watched entranced, as if she were observing some beautiful, enchanted creature, a creature that might fly from her were she to speak. She lay and reveled at how the light played across his body, at how his black, black hair framed his face and fell ‘round his shoulders, black hair in one other place as well. Memories flooded her, and she languorously stretched. Aravan turned at the whisper of her movement, smiling to see her awake.

“Chieran,”
he said, dropping the parchment and stepping toward her.

“My love,” she responded, her heart quickening. And as he came to the edge of the bed, Aylis lifted her arms and pulled him to her, kissing first his hands and then his lips. His arms went ‘round her, and passion again flared. They made slow, gentle love.

Spent, they lay side by side, Aravan on his back, his arm around Aylis, she with her cheek upon his chest, Aylis taking in the clean scent of him, of salt and leather
and something elusive but undeniably masculine. After a while she raised up and gestured at the littered room. “Quite a mess you’ve made, love. Why so?”

Aravan turned his head and looked at the scatter of maps. “I was searching for an archipelago in a green sea. I found many chains, but there is no note as to the color of the waters. Yet Jinnarin speaks of it in no other terms but that of a pale green sea.”

Aylis shivered, and drew down against Aravan, clasping him tightly, her thoughts returning to the nightmare sending. “Adon, but I wish that there were no hideous dream.”

Aravan kissed the top of her head and stroked her light brown hair, wild-tossed and fine. “Ah, but were there no dream,
chieran
, then I would not have met thee, at least not this soon.”

Aylis clutched him tighter.

They lay without speaking for long moments, Aravan finally breaking the silence. “I would have thee move thy things herein, for I would not live away from thee now that we are discovered of one another.”

Aylis raised up and looked down at him, saying nought, as if she were searching for some truth.

“
Vi chier ir
, Aylis,” he said. “I love thee.”

At last she smiled and nodded and then kissed him. “I will move in this very moment,
chieran
.” And growling, she slid astraddle him, but as he reached up for her, she laughed and slipped away.

As Aylis stepped from the stateroom, Jinnarin and Alamar looked up from the game of tokko they played, the Pysk sitting at the edge of the six-sided board scribed with black and white hexagons, red and green coin-shaped pieces scattered thereon, other, taller, carven shapes ranged ‘round the edges ready to assault the center.

Jinnarin smiled as Aylis nodded then walked toward the corridor.

Alamar called after her. “Not that you need it, Daughter, but you have my blessing.”

Then the eld Mage peevishly shouted, “No, no, Pysk! You can’t move an eagle that way! Here, let me show you—it’s up and over two hexes and down front left or
right on the third…unless, of course, there’s a storm in between, in which case the eagle is deflected rightward or leftward two, unless there’s a storm there as well.”

“You didn’t tell me about the storms, Alamar” came Jinnarin’s tart reply.

Minutes later, when Aylis came back through the captain’s lounge, Jinnarin was standing in the middle of the tokko board, pieces scattered about as if she had kicked them aside; her fists were on her hips, and she glared up at the Mage. “What do you mean locusts? Where did
they
come from? You’re making this up as you go along, Alamar.”

“Argh,”
growled Alamar, huffily crossing his arms and turning his back to her. “You never listen, Pysk.”

Laughing, Aylis kissed her father in passing, and bore her bundle into the stateroom. Aravan was by this time dressed, and again he stood at the table and pored over the maps, yet looking for an archipelago in a pale green sea.

As Aylis returned on her second and final trip, Alamar and Jinnarin were intently studying the tokko board, the pieces in disarray, Jinnarin grinning wickedly, Alamar muttering, “You blew up my eagle.”

Rux came trotting down the passageway, his tail held high, a dead rat in his mouth. He proudly looked up at Jinnarin, then dropped the rat on Alamar’s foot.

Aylis surveyed the scene and burst out in ringing laughter, her heart free and soaring in joy. She was, after all, utterly in love.

In late morning the overcast began to clear, faint patches of blue gradually showing through, as if the sky were carving down through the clouds from above, shaving away the vapor. Soon, long streaks of azure rived the overcast, splitting it, gaps growing. A westerly wind drove the remnants before it, and the Sun appeared, winter-low in the southern sky. When evening fell, the vault above was crystal clear.

Jinnarin stood on the foredeck and marvelled, “It was just as Aylis said, Alamar. Her seer’s casting held true.”

“Of course,” snapped Alamar, the Mage yet smarting from his loss at tokko. And to a rank beginner, no less!
No doubt it was the rat dropped on his foot that had caused him to lose his concentration. No doubt.

“And you can’t cast seer’s spells, you say?”

Alamar glared at the Pysk. “I could, had I the inclination…and, of course, the training.”

“How many different kinds of Mages are there, Alamar?”

“Why, we’re all different.”

“No, no. I mean, how many different
types?
Aylis is a seer. And you are…
hmm
…just what
are
you. Alamar?”

Alamar glowered down at Jinnarin. “Still fishing for secrets, eh, Pysk?”

“Well, if you don’t wish to tell me…”

“Oh, all right. It’s no secret. I shape the elements: earth, air, fire, water, aethyr. Bend ’em to my will.”

“How does it work, Alamar? How do strange words in a special language cause things to—to
happen?
”

“Pah, Pysk. Things just don’t ‘happen.’ Instead, a Mage has to spend energy, astral fire, to bring about an effect. Look, it’s like finding a special leverage point and using a small bit of force to cause a big thing to occur. Rather like tipping over a huge balanced rock with nothing more than a slender prying pole, or causing a massive rockslide with but a small pebble.

“The astral fire within each thing can be manipulated with an expenditure of the Mage’s own astral fire. Usually it takes but a small amount—such as for magesight. At other times it requires a great deal of astral fire to bring about the effect—for example, causing the collapse of a well-built castle would claim much .”

“But Alamar, how do mere words bring this about?”