I’m so excited to announce that my latest novel is coming out within the next few months. I just got my copy so that I could check for mistakes. It all looks good and the cover is beautiful. Keep an eye out for the latest! (and the next chapter of Sailing the Astral Tides is below.)

Sailing the Astral Tides Chapter 13

By Jane Carver

For the next seven-days, he avoided Vangee. He hurt her but didn’t explain. The truth being, if he stayed close, they would eventually make love. He left the cabin early and returned after the lights went out. He ate his meals at odd times. He avoided her and everyone else. If he acted grumpy, no one mentioned it.

Jacon often stopped to talk but never for long. Gambrel seldom spoke. After giving Vangee another hard glare, a hard hand whacked him on the back. When he turned to snarl at Jacon, he saw the older man shake his head. Did he realize some great truth? What did it matter what he thought?

Pessios appeared more astute than Jacon. Gambrel never mentioned Vangee, but the man picked up on his thoughts easily enough. Pessios led him from one task to another, both learning about ropes and ratlines, spars, and masts. Captain Merlo gave them permission to act as crew once they learned how to do those things necessary for sailing the ship.

Gambrel took pleasure in standing at the bow of the Fenix, admiring the masthead. True to the name, the figurine represented resurrection. The makers carved a brightly colored woman stretched along the spar, arms reaching ahead. Her long blue hair covered both breasts while blue feathers curled around the mast itself and covered the junction of her legs. Brilliant orange and blue wings—individually carved feathers carved of bonso wood—flared out from the spar. The figure appeared to fly.

One sailor took a fancy to Pessios and Gambrel. Domas looked too old to be an active member of the ship’s crew, but he moved over the rigging like a young one. The wizened sailor explained the sails and ropes; the square-rigged sails catching the astral winds always from the same side. He drilled the men on mast names: fore, main, and mizzen, as well as the names of each sail: course, topsail, topgallant and royal, a small sail riding so high in the invisible wind a man got dizzy looking at it. The delicate curves on the jib at the bow and the spankers at the stern. Day after day he drilled Gambrel and Pessios, asking questions at unexpected moments.

“Why the great hurry to learn, Domas,” Gambrel asked one eventide after the old sailor worked them all day like the green deckhands they were.

“So’s you know. When the big moment comes.” Domas scratched his wrinkled cheek where dark beard grew.

“What big moment?” Pessios asked as he hopped down from a ratline, his grip on the outer shroud firm in case he took a misstep.

“There come a time in every voyage when disaster hits, and the crew steps lively in order to save the ship. It’s then you knows the sails and rigging in order to follow orders. Or we perish.” Domas cast what he called a weather eye topside. “I feel sumpin in my bones, men.” He cast a quick glance at the captain then resumed his work with a belaying pin.

Neither man was experienced enough to doubt or confirm the old man’s feelings. Gambrel itched for a good fight…anything to relieve the tension building in him. But for the ship to weather a storm? That he did not want. The magnificent vessel now seemed like home.

The ship’s bell peeled eight times, a tradition Captain Merlo explained carried over from the centuries when ships sailed the oceans of the home world, Earth. For the most part, being illiterate, sailors neither owned a time piece nor could tell time if they acquired one. So, ships rang bells at each watch, a time period of four hours. One bell indicated the first half hour while eight bells and the cry “All’s well” marked the end.

That eventide Gambrel waited for the dog watch to end before taking up his position at the bow for his turn at duty. He rested against the rail, foot propped on a roll of rope and hand wrapped around a shroud. Peace stole over him.

“Gambr…” A tiny voice near his knee warned him Dara stood close, expecting him to speak, perhaps lift her for a view of the night sky. Her fragile tone tugged at his heart, but he ignored her. He took the steps to the upper deck, cursing himself for being a coward.

“Gambrel?”

When he cast a quick glance over his shoulder, he saw Vangee rise with Dara in her arms. The tiny one cried softly against the woman’s shoulder as if her heart were broken. Vangee’s hood lay far back on her head so her face showed clearly. She cuddled the child, whispered in her ear, perhaps assuring her he still loved her. Her sorrow and confusion ate at him, but he growled and continued to the stern.

Love. He cursed. He cared for the little one as much as he did Vangee. But life never gave him anything without snatching it away at the most precious moment. No sense getting caught in that desirable net. A tear somewhere in it could dump him back into the sorry existence he once lived.

“You, sire, are unmercifully cruel to those who care for you.” Pessios stood behind him, disapproval in his words. “It is unnecessary.”

“And why, if it’s any of your concern?” Gambrel didn’t bother facing his accuser.

“Because you are strong. Strong enough to do what must be done. Strong enough to resist what you most desire. Your cruelty is unneedful. And unlike you, I think.” Pessios took four determined strides away before turning back. “You drive yourself to exhaustion. For what? To avoid what you most desire?”

Gambrel flinched at the truth of his words. “What makes you think I desire her?”

“My race senses these things. But you resist her for some reason of your own creating. Perhaps you cannot resist her body or charms. Your strength is in protecting those you love, even if it is protection from yourself. She suffers, Gambrel. As does the little one. Neither understands. Explanation is not necessary. Dara cares not, and, I think, neither does the lady. They want your company.” Pessios rubbed his scaly head. “Though I understand that not.”

When Gambrel glanced in surprise at this rather scalding comment, he found his friend smiling.

“I caught your mind, did I not?” Wiry arms crossed Pessios’ lean chest. “Make peace with the women, old and young. Life is too short to be so unhappy.”

“What do you know of short lives, Lazzardian?” Gambrel slapped him on the shoulder. Eight bells tolled the end of one watch and the beginning of the next. “I am for the bow and duty.” He grinned. “Perhaps I will think over what you said.”

When the eighth bell rang boldly relieving Gambrel of his watch, night held the Fenix in deep slumber. By now the dying Ancade sun lay far behind, and total darkness engulfed the fleet. For four 60-brace, Gambrel had wrestled with his conscience, that thing many men would say he gave up long ago. But the sight of Dara’s tears and Vangee’s sorrow revealed his still worked well enough.

His plans laid, he stretched and turned the watch over to Stavin, a burly sailor of few words. He entered the cabin quietly, sensing the woman lay deep asleep. He pulled off shirt, boots, and foot covers. A large pile lay on the bed. A tunic and pants lay neatly folded along with new foot covers. Where did those come from?

Soft material beneath his hands, he realized how tired he was of wearing leather. If Vangee were responsible for these new clothes, he could implement his plan naturally. A smile creased his face for the first time in a seven-day. Vangee, not only beautiful and intelligent, but kind as well.

Knowing she would rise early but not bother him, Gambrel shed all his clothes. Cool bed covers against his bare skin soothed him. Sensitive to the feelings of two ladies and comfortable enough to sleep raw, he marveled at how his life had changed.

* * * *

Gambrel encountered Gastrojan and his friends the next day. The men lounged around the last table standing in the large room below deck. Mugs of ale filled their palms while women cleaned. Gambrel didn’t need a guiding thread to know they wanted to put the table away but dared not bother the trio.

“Sarjean. Come join us,” Gastrojan called.

Gambrel held a large roll of food and a mug of ale. Making peace with these men would be a smart thing, he decided, so moved to the table. “You sit late at the board. These women,” he looked around the room, “wait to clear.”

“We have nothing to do but talk, and here is good enough on this scrap of flying machine.” Gastrojan didn’t favor the ship, it seemed. “Join us.” He indicated a stool next to him.

“Thank you, but I have duties to perform. I must eat quickly.” He pointed to his meal. The other man’s attitude bothered him.

Gastrojan acted shunned. His face distorted with rage. However, when Gambrel took a wider stance, he let the imagined slight pass. “Another time perhaps.” Pharlie said something to him, and he turned his shoulder away.

Gambrel joined Pessios and Domas on deck, prepared to review the riggings for each sail. Domas explained the use of braces for turning them, halyards for hoisting them, and downhauls for lowering the upper sails. “Ye want to be sure to stand firm on the ratlines when taking in sail and securing the gaskets.” He showed the two a gasket—a short section of rope used to secure the material to the yardarm once they were furled. “The hardest thing—securing the gaskets—when all about you is wind and weather. And you only want to get below where it’s safe.”

“What’s the worst you’ve survived, Domas?” Pessios stood with one foot on the rail prepared to run the ratlines to the course yardarm.

“Wasn’t astral tides almost got the Fenix. Waters of Ancade hit us when the winds blew out of nowhere. Nearly took the main mast. Tore the jib sheets right off the spar. The royal flapped so hard it shredded. The only thing didn’t get twisted be the lower spanker. The gods of the universe looked for me that day when the gaskets let loose on the main upper topgallant.” Domas pointed. “About knocked me off the lines. But I hungs on til the captain brought her through.” The old man rubbed his nose as if embarrassed. “Kissed the deck I did when my feet hit it.” He harrumphed. “But you didn’t hear that from me.” And he marched off to do whatever an embarrassed sailor did.

Gambrel set foot on the lower ratline, paused then looked up. Pessios noticed immediately.

“What, my friend?”

A flush colored Gambrel’s cheeks. “It still seems strange going up into space above decks. Air surrounds us, but it’s hard to remember when we are so high. The atmospheric burble, as Jacon calls it, seems closer to deck than the royals.” He placed a hand further up the lines. “That’s not to be danced around either.”

The other man grinned, and Gambrel groaned. Pessios would hold his concern though. The first man he was ever close to, he considered Pessios a friend. Jacon too. Darkin Windrum would have been another if he had lived. Of course, if he had lived, Gambrel wouldn’t be on the Fenix now.

“Come, friend, I will reach the yard first.” Pessios set foot to the lines and hurried up.

“Not if I get there before you,” Gambrel called as he hastened after him.

* * * *

That eventide Gambrel entered the cabin well before Vangee. Several vid-squares lay on the table. He placed the one she had been reading across from him so she would be led to sit with him.

Vangee opened the door and paused in surprise. She came further into the room, went to her bed, and ruffled the covers. She looked for the vid-square.

“I think you left it on the table,” he offered. He kept his eyes on his reading but gave her a quick glance to see what she would do.

For a moment, she hesitated then moved closer. When she picked up the vid-square and turned to her bed, he stopped her.

“Sit, Vangee.”

She paused but came no closer.

“Please.”

His solemn plea convinced her to sit. However, she refused to look at him or remove the wide scarf covering her face. She sat with her head down and hands folded calmly in her lap.

He sighed. This making of a sorry statement would be harder than he realized. To give himself time and perhaps soothe her, he crossed to the replicator built into the small space between personal facilities and the drawers that she used.

He returned carrying two clear-cuts of what Jacon called Ancade’s finest ale. One he put in front of Vangee. When he sat, he took a sip, found it a bit sweet for his tastes but pleasant enough. Its bouquet rose to mingle with the womanly smell of his companion. A scent he recognized even in the dark.

Tonight she seemed to shrink in on herself. Had he done this? Confused and disconcerted the woman? Once again, he examined his life. He never met anyone as fine as Vangee. To cause her pain was not to be tolerated.

“Drink. The flavor is pleasant.” He raised his clear-cut and saluted her as he took another swallow.

Her head turned in surprise. Clearly, she did not understand his intentions after so long a silence. Gambrel prayed the right words to make peace between them would come.

“You must remove your cover in order to drink properly.” He let a hint of humor color his comment.

Hands lifted and laid the smooth pink cloth on her shoulders. Only then did she face him, eyes full of questions, a slight frown of concern between her brows. She raised the clear-cut and sampled the ale. Nodded at the sweetness she evidently enjoyed more than him.

“I want to make a sorry statement, Vangee.” Now he had her attention. She gazed at him with wide eyes and tight fists.

“These past seven-days I took my anger out on you. And Dara.” He swallowed more ale and found the courage to finish what he started. She would feel better—he hoped. But he would live with the idea she considered him a friend while he treasured her as more.

To his way of thinking, this peace didn’t mean he relied on her. Rather it was a means to an end, a way to abide without discourse while using her knowledge and resources to find Handid. If he sailed in the fleet. This was not a compromise. Making up with Vangee was merely business.

“I wish us to be friends again. I must make up my anger to Dara as well.” Too agitated to sit, he paced in front of the darkened windows. “I am a rough man. You knew this from the beginning. If I am unable to live as comfortably as you in these confines, that is my concern.” Here he stopped, remembering he still owed her thanks for the clothes he now wore.

“I am in your debt for this tunic and pants, I’m thinking.” A glance over his shoulder showed she hadn’t moved since he began talking. Did he offend her? Was she too shocked to speak? What?

“Well, lady?” He left the next move to her as he faced her full front for the first time in a long while.

Her nervous glances and hasty sip of ale said she knew he wanted an answer. Yet she put off saying anything. So many minutes crept by he feared she would not accept his words.

At last, she lifted her eyes and searched his gaze. Whatever she read in his countenance must have reassured her for she smiled. Her body relaxed in her chair. The frown lines across her forehead smoothed. Hands unclenched, and shoulders straightened.

“I am so glad, ‘Brel. So glad. I feared I made you angry. I had no words to offer, no way to tell. We can go on like before?” She clasped her hands together, ready to welcome his presence back into her life.

“We will go on.” Not as before. I will not seek to take you, as I once would have. But I will stand by you and be there if needed. Though you can certainly handle yourself if necessary. All this he debated and settled in his mind as she sighed, sipped, and smiled.

“Sit, and let us talk of what Domas taught you.” Her request stunned him. She knew what he did each day?

“First, I have to make a sorry statement to Dara. My words will mean little to her, but I do not leave her to stand alone anymore.” He stood but paused, waiting for her permission.

“Go and blessings to you both. The child missed your strong arm these past seven-days.” She grinned and waved him on.

* * * *

The ale’s flavor and Vangee’s particular scent followed him through the door. He strolled the deck looking for Effie. Where the mother was, Dara should be.

When he spied the girl, she sat near a group of youths. For the most part, they ignored her. She played with her dollet. Rather than barge into the gathering, he took up station not far away, leaned against the railing, his thick arms folded over his chest and one ankle crossed over the other. Sooner or later, she would spot him. Perhaps she might come to him on her own. If not, he would coax her to his side. After all, Dara was female. Attracting one never presented a problem.

This small female surprised him however. She saw him standing near and gave him a rather frigid glance. Then she turned her back. He sucked in a tiny breath of air and wondered why she ignored him.

Long minutes passed before he understood. Dara treated him like he had her. But before that revelation, he suffered. Perhaps the child forgot him. Maybe she didn’t care anymore. Her young mind would not hold memories long, would it? All these things raced through his thoughts while she held the miniature replica of herself.

Hope rose when she cast furtive glances over her shoulder. While the ropes creaked and the sails above his head slapped, this tiny woman toyed with his heart. A wide smile creased his face then slipped because she moved no closer.

At last, she stood, her back still to him. Maybe now she would forgive him? No, she wove her way through a maze of legs, singing to her dollet. Female fickleness! His mind wandered while he contemplated her as a grown woman looking for a mate. Some poor shagmister would suffer before she relented.

When his attention came back to the deck, the child was nowhere to be seen. A sigh of disappointment thundered through his massive chest. His arrogance in thinking she might forgive him left him leaning weakly against the rail, sorry the little one didn’t come as he hoped.

He determined to be early to morning rise meal. He’d win her affections back then.

He started to move but felt a warm weight against his leg. His eyes and a prayer of thanks to the gods, he glanced down to see Dara leaning on his tall boots as she did when they first met. She raised her head far enough to catch his gaze, but did not smile.

Slowly Gambrel moved his foot and straightened his arms. With care, he lowered so he squatted before her. “Dara,” he began. Then he ran out of words. So very young. Anything he said she would not comprehend. His heart fell.

She watched him with childish deliberation, her gaze never leaving his. She must have seen the sorrow that rode his heart. With a small sigh, she stepped forward into his ready embrace. Nestled in the curve of his arms, she softly chattered in his ear.

Heart to heart they stood for a long time. Though she might not understand, he gave her his sorry statement anyway. Both spoke. Both listened. Both understood. Real caring did not abide distance. Such detachment would never separate them again. A promise given. A promise accepted.

When Gambrel lifted Dara, he hugged her tightly then went to find Effie. “She is tired.” Before he relinquished the child to her mother, he placed a small kiss on her soft baby cheek. Dara curled her arms as far around his thick neck as possible and squeezed. Her way of saying good eventide.

Effie repeated Vangee’s words. “I am so glad, Gambrel. So glad.”

He handed the child over and nodded to the woman, indicating he heard and understood.

As he left, she added, “She missed you so.” A wave of his hand acknowledged her words.

Far into the night, Vangee and Gambrel talked. Of her world and history. Of his travels. But never of Vangee and Gambrel.