My latest novel is hot off the press and ready for you to read! I’m excited about this one. I’ll add some pictures I used as inspiration. I’m calling this one my arm-chair novel. Read the introduction, and you’ll see why.
Enjoy!
And Chapter 15 of Sailing the Astral Tides will be posted in a few minutes after this one is.
An old soldier. A medieval knight. Together in the wrong place and the wrong time.
Jake Border leaves the Civil War battlefield behind as he marches toward a certain death. The unnamed knight has waited for centuries for someone to release the curse. But when these two meet, they stand shoulder to shoulder in a strange fantasy world that is hard to accept.
Release Date: April 20, 2026 Genre: Time Travel / Historical Romance
Excerpt
Chapter One
The sergeant staggered forward. At least it seemed so to him. Blood ran down his face and despite his feeble attempts to wipe it away, still flowed steadily.
Jacob Border feared he might be dying. Would die if he couldn’t find his way out of these infernal woods. He stumbled, went down on one knee, his arm braced against an oak. Using the sturdy tree, he pulled himself up but leaned against the damp truck, gathering his waning breath and fading strength.
“One foot in front of the other, Jake,” he mumbled, his sight narrowing to black then returning. That’s what he told the men in his unit when they fought. They followed him despite his distance. He didn’t want to know about their wives or kids or fears. He heard their whispers in the darkness of night or carried on the smoke of a warming campfire. He didn’t want to know because he had nothing to share in return.
He’d always looked for challenges. That’s what drove him forward. With no family and living on the streets of grubby towns, joining the army seemed like a reasonable challenge when he was sixteen or so.
Years later though, this war was a challenge he couldn’t figure out. Why were men in the same country fighting each other? Men from the North. Men from the South. Men wearing blue uniforms. Men wearing butternut brown uniforms.
Jake stumbled again, his vision blurred. His hearing came and went. Did he hear drums? Gunfire? Was that the smell of smoke from discharged rifles? All the horrors he’d endured—and lived through—in the last three years ran together in his foggy brain.
His legs trembled now, and he fell, hitting the ground hard enough to elicit a deep groan. He reached out to a fallen log next to him but had to try several times before he actually had a firm enough grip on it. Even then, he wondered if he had strength enough to get up again.
He managed to pull himself up so his back sagged against the log. His gaze swept the area—a skill that often saved his unit from surprise attacks. He didn’t trust his eyes or ears right now though.
“Maybe it’s time to rest, Jake. Looks like a good place for that. Nothin’ here but me and a bunch of damn trees.” Saying the words aloud helped him feel alive, but he realized he wouldn’t last much longer.
Jake never gave into regrets. If he made a decision that turned out bad, he took the consequences on the chin and moved on. Right now, though, he regretted not thanking the kid who beat the drums for them when they moved into battle.
A long hard day followed by a night filled with meetings with officers planning a surprise attack meant he got only a few hours of sleep last night. He woke feeling old and grumpy. He no sooner pushed back the flap of his tent and stepped out into the thickest damn fog he’d ever seen than the drummer appeared at his side, using two hands to hold a full cup of coffee.
“Real coffee, sir. Cobbed it from the captain’s tent when the cook was distracted.” The kid held out the cup and grinned—a grin that told the sergeant the boy created the distraction so he could snatch this cup of precious liquid.
Too busy holding the cup to his mouth then savoring the taste of actual coffee beans, Jake never got a chance to thank the boy. The youngster had no reason to bring him anything, but the kid was sharp. Must have realized Jake needed something strong to get through this next big push.
“Not dying here. I’ll rot like this log.” He patted the log as if it were a friendly dog then rolled over and pulled his worn-out body up onto his stomach. By dent of sheer will, the hardheaded fifty-year-old sergeant finally stood.
“You fall again, you damn fool, you’re not getting up,” he warned. His rational thinking played out about then. He banged from one tree trunk to the next. “I never moved like this even when I was stinkin’ drunk,” he told the next tree he reached for.
Too bad his next move was to a sapling not stout enough to hold his weight. The tree bent, and Jake fell face first at the base of a massive tree, its base covered with ivy.
A breeze moved over his body, cooling the aches, the insistent pounding in his head. His hands lay buried in the bright green ivy, the dirt beneath rich, refreshing. Pink flower petals lay atop the greenery. Two fingers reached for one pale petal, its softness like nothing Jake had ever felt. He held that delicate blossom as if it might break. He moved his hand, reaching for another, but the effort took more strength than he had.
His hand fell forward, resting on something hard. Not natural. Not a tree trunk. Metal? His fingers explored. That’s all he had energy for now—wiggling his fingers, using them to make sense of what he’d discovered.
A shoe? A metal shoe? His declining strength—boosted by natural curiosity—surged momentarily so he could push his fingers higher, feeling what might be an ankle. Metal still encased whatever this was. A statue? In the middle of nowhere?
He was dying—no getting round that reality any longer, but he’d be damned if he left before he uncovered what he found.
Gathering what strength he had left, he pushed his hand against the metal shoe, shoved, then screamed in excruciating pain, to lie on his back facing what he reasoned was a sight intended only for those who had finally drawn their last breath.
His arm lay propped up against a leg—one covered in plates of metal. Moveable pieces lay across the knees and elbows. Metal armor covered the body up to the head. A round helmet protected the neck and face. A cape fell from the shoulders down one side of the figure, pulled up to lie across the lap.
It sat, head down, slumped against the broad tree trunk, its hands clasped together in the lap atop the cape. Something about those hands seemed out of character. Not quite what he expected from this—this person.
Or was this a statue tucked away by some eccentric in a forgotten forest?
Person or statue, Jake recognized a warrior. Someone like himself. A warrior who gave all and succumbed to the one thing no one could defeat—death.
His arm moved so he could turn one last time. Even in death, Jake wanted to be closer. He laid his head across the foot, his hand resting on the other. Blood trickled from his head onto the metal. A hot tear trickled down his dirty cheek to drop softly on the shoe.
He thought the shoe moved, but he was dead. What did he care? His last breath came as a soft glove touched his unshaven face.
The picture of the knight is off of Facebook and yes, that picture of the man is Pedro Pascal as seen in The Last of Us. That picture is what gave me the idea for this entire novel. :-
While Gambrel donned his new trousers and bonso-colored tunic the next morning, he saw a green dress slung over the dressing panel. The color matched his pants. Did Vangee select that particular dress on purpose?
He escorted her to the morning rise meal. Gastrojan sat with Effie. The thought of that sweet lady talking with someone he didn’t like soured his stomach. Vangee didn’t notice.
Dara scampered off her stool to give his leg a vigorous hug. He leaned over and gave her an affectionate pat then glanced at her plate. She hadn’t finished her meal so he took her back to her seat where she resumed eating without a fuss. He nodded to Effie but ignored Gastrojan.
Gambrel served on the forenoon watch. When eight bells rang at noon, he sauntered below decks for a meal. Almost everyone aboard ship must have been there. Too crowded for his taste, he took his plate and drink above deck where he sat on a cask and ate. Pharlie, Gastrojan’s less objectionable friend, approached while he ate.
“Good nooning, Sarjean.” He took a seat on a cask next to Gambrel. “You don’t eat with the others. Wise move, sire. You intimidate them.” Pharlie acted like a best friend, reassuring the other.
For his part, Gambrel ignored the man. Anything said would irritate him so he chose not to listen. The man lingered, and his words grew more exasperating.
“The women talked last eventide. You scare many. Were you aware of that?” Pharlie pulled one knee up and wrapped his hands around it, rocked back as if telling a story. “It would be best, don’t you think, to leave the ship when we make port. Your presence is not welcomed by many,” he counseled.
“Can you not see how they fear you?” Pharlie’s attempts to undermine Gambrel’s confidence might have worked on a man of less character. His ploy, however, backfired in an unexpected way.
Gambrel’s eyes lit up. Pharlie appeared confused at his reaction to the needling. All became clear when the sound of running feet sounded across the deck. Like a miniature phaser, Dara blasted her way into Gambrel’s arms. He caught and swung her on to his lap all in one easy move. Her giggles and cuddles plainly denied Pharlie’s words.
She stopped snuggling and looked at the smaller man. A frown marred her angelic expression. “Go!” Her stubby arm shot out. Obviously, she did not like the man. “Go!” she repeated. When he didn’t move, she gave Gambrel a dark look. Did she expect him to do something?
He couldn’t help it. A bubble of laugher welled up inside and burst full born into the morning. His deep belly laugh caught the attention of those on deck. They moved closer to enjoy the merriment.
When several adults and four or five youth stood around the trio, his laughs tapered off to chortles. Dara didn’t join his laughter because Pharlie still sat too close. She once more motioned him away.
In the midst of his chuckles, Vangee walked up. “What is so humorous this morning rise, sire?” She smiled at the girl as she stood with one hand on Gambrel’s broad shoulder.
“Dara is not fond of the company I keep.”
Pharlie flushed deep red at being the center of attention. Unwanted attention. “We will speak another time.” He slid off his cask and walked away. He barely avoided stomping.
After everyone left, two youths, Flustos and Herion, lingered to visit with Gambrel. They seemed fond of him, appeared comfortable in his presence. For no reason he could name, their trust pleased him.
While Dara played on his knee and Vangee visited Mirril and Bassik, his mind wandered to the “what ifs” of his life. What if Xantis had not died? What if that phaser blast had missed Lindan? What if he had never met Handid and his men? So many things might have been different.
The infinite number of stars scattered across the sky reminded him of the numerous choices he’d made in his lifetime. His latest one? Ridicule Pharlie. Perhaps it, like other decisions, seemed less than wise, but it pleased him to discomfort the other man. All paths led to this moment in time, here on this vessel, the child in his lap among those who called him friend.
Speaking of friends, the first such person aboard the Fenix, besides Vangee, was Pessios. The man himself strolled toward them at the moment Gambrel thought his name.
Dara clapped her hand and held up her arms when he stopped in front of them. Pessios swung her into the air just to hear her delightful laughter.
“I think I have lost my place in her heart.” Gambrel grinned as she hugged Pessios. His smile grew wider when the child almost flipped out of the Lizzardian’s arms and back on his lap. He accepted Dara and nodded to a nearby empty cask. “Sit. Pharlie won’t be needing his place.”
“Yes, him.” Pessios spoke as if something bitter hit his reptilian tongue. “Below just now, he complained to Gastrojan that you seemed immune to cruel jabs. Pleased he was not.” His dour and mocking expression gave way to a grin, and his eyes sparkled. “No one listened to his sorrowful tale.” Pessios’ hissing sounds represented reptilian laughter.
“Is it not a shame when one taunts and gets no pleasure for the effort?” Gambrel joined his friend’s mirth. Many years ago, he shared high spirits with friends, but the memory lay far away.
He was learning to laugh again.
* * * *
At Vangee’s suggestion, Gambrel cornered Pessios and his friend, Canfanto, one day after meal. She reminded him the two men had been free merchants on Ancade, meaning they traveled through the country selling, buying, and trading. If anyone knew of Handid, perhaps those two might.
Pessios recalled several men who came to Ancade in the time frame mentioned. None carried the name Handid, but he pointed out, if a man wanted to avoid detection, he might change.
Two of the men were mated. Gambrel wasn’t sure if that meant anything. After discussing the facts that Pessios and Canfanto knew, he left. He did not answer their questions regarding his interest in this man.
* * * *
“We have been remiss when looking for names in these logs.” Gambrel shuffled the vid-squares around on the table. “Likely Handid changed his name. He might have mated since I last saw him.” He picked up one square, turned it on, and scrolled to the passenger list. “I must go through these again with a more open mind.”
Vangee sat across from him, writing in an old-fashioned journal. “Why do you seek this man?”
He ignored the question.
But she did not let it rest. “Why, ‘Brel?”
“Better you are unaware of what I did and why I seek this man. My life before I met you would displease you.”
“I sense hate.” She seemed surprised. “Do you hate him so much?”
When he remained silent, she persisted. “You hate him. Your hate radiates outward like heat.” She rose and went around the table but did not touch Gambrel. For long moments she studied him. “Other emotions seethe beneath the surface, feelings you hide well from all but me.” Leaning against the table’s edge, she tilted her head to one side. “Despair, fear, grief, guilt, loneliness, shame.” She leaned forward. “Even more than hate, I sense resignation.”
He caught her honest gaze but confirmed nothing.
“Why the resignation? You are alive, well fed, sheltered. Friends care for you. I think years have passed since that happened.” When he said nothing, she touched him. “Tell me. Please.”
Gently pushing aside her hand, Gambrel walked the length of the cabin several times before stopping in front of her. “Do you know you uncover your head only when you are with me? You get that little line between your brows only when you worry about me.” He touched one long finger to a spot on her forehead.
In a sudden turn around, he left her and paced some more. He decided to answer her questions as best he could without revealing his deepest desires. “Resignation comes when one accepts what life has given. No regrets. No pity. No ‘what ifs’.” He stopped beside her, leaned his rear against the table, and tucked his hands into his pockets.
In his mind, he looked far back into the past. “I would change a few things in the past, but not many. I lived a hard life, and the gods of the universe led me here. If I cannot have what I most desire, I must be content. That’s the way life is.”
“But resignation means you do not fight for what you want. Take the risk to change the day-to-day way of life. You are a fighter.” Her voice rang with conviction and challenge. “Will you not fight now? Battle for what you want?” She now paced. “You want this man Handid. I know not why, but it is for no good, I think. But his finding will settle something in your heart. Your very soul burns.” She stopped in front of Gambrel and held her hands out, palms up. “And then what? You drift through meaningless twelve-months resigned to what the gods give? Is there nothing you want more than life itself?”
When he nodded, she took a firm stance in front of him and fisted her hands. “Then fight, Gambrel Sarjean! Fight!” Her face flushed with determination. Her passionate voice deepened, and her words slowed so their effect impacted his heart. “Fight for what you want!”
Their world stopped. The two stared at each other. Tension tight enough to coil a spring vibrated in the air. For the first time in his life, Gambrel let hope flare and settle into a steady, albeit small, flame. She wanted him to seek that which he desired. He desired Vangee for his mate. He was not worthy of her, but he would struggle to win her love. She would be the one to say nay to his hopes. But first she must be aware of them.
Go slowly. Go slowly.
He unfolded his long length from where he sat. He didn’t want to scare her, but he had to do this or die on the spot. He towered above her. One large hand skimmed the air between them, palm open. Gently his palm settled around the back of her head, pulled a tiny bit.
Caught in an invisible web, Vangee stepped forward, letting him guide her closer to his hard body. In slow motion, he lowered his head, stopped, and waited for her reaction. When her eyes grew wide and her breath hitched in her chest, he reasoned the time would never be better.
His lips touched hers, retreated. He kept his eyes open so he could see her. She blinked and licked her lips, tasted him there. One small hand moved up his chest until it rested over his pounding heart. With a sigh, she stood on her toes and reached for his next kiss.
Warm damp lips touched him and sent shivers down Gambrel’s spine. Tightened his stomach muscles. Heat consumed him. The air around them sizzled. Her scent filled his nostrils. He turned his head, and settled his mouth more comfortably on hers. Leaned in. Pressed harder. Did she know to open her lips? Did she know the pleasures to be had, tongue meeting tongue, in an erotic dance?
No, she must not have been aware. His tongue caressed the seam of her closed mouth. In sudden understanding, she opened for him. Rather than swoop in, he invaded slowly, inch by inch, until his tongue tickled hers. Her shudder told him she liked what he did.
The kiss stretched into eternity. On and on they touched, tasted, taunted, and treated. They shared breath, heat, and emotion. One hand on her head, all he allowed himself. But it was enough.
His fingers sank deeper in her purple locks, but he pulled her body no closer. He couldn’t stand the touch of her softness against his without stripping her. Without making love. If she wanted him to fight for his desire then this battle opened the war. His tiny spark of hope rose to staggering heights before settling into a steady blaze.
Gambrel burned. He thought she did too. They pulled apart. separating slowly, reluctantly. Time. Time favored them. He smiled uncertainly. How would she reaction when he no longer touched her? He breathed a sigh of relief when her smile answered his. She might not understand where he led, but she seemed willing to follow.
“Let’s look through these vid-squares,” Gambrel whispered. “We have lots of time.” If she realized he meant more than he said aloud, she didn’t indicate. But she willingly followed his suggestion. At this moment, all felt right in his world.
* * * *
Captain Merlo touched the screen resting on a pedestal in front of the helmsman. The large wheel held steady while the man checked the scanned images of the astral tides that flowed against the hull. “When the ancestors created the atmospheric burble, they also invented this device. It gives the tides a form that we can see. Like watching waves on this vid-square screen instead of along side the ship.”
Gambrel nodded. The concept made sense since there was nothing but empty space visible beyond the ship. The helmsman navigated through the images.
“In open space, can anything harm the fleet?” He still worried something might penetrate the atmosphere around the vessel.
“Yes, but not many things. Even pirates do not destroy the burble. They merely intimidate the passengers. If they can do that well enough, a captain will surrender. Most often pirates take the cargo and leave the ship alone.” Merlo frowned as he studied the current guide and another readout close by. “I can’t speak for the space we sail to, but pirates rarely entered the area where we once traded.” The captain walked around the helm to stand beside him.
“Of course there is the occasional rock shower. Those can be dangerous.”
“How so?” Gambrel wanted to know the worst in order to be prepared.
“They are often so large, we can not sail around them. We maneuver as best we can, but if we can’t miss a storm completely, we sail through as quickly as possible.” The ship’s bell clanged five times marking the middle of the first dog watch of eventide. Merlo pointed up to the mizzen royal sail. “During a rock shower, the crew hauls in and lashes sails. Everyone clears decks until we pass through the rain of burning rocks. The engineer charges the propulsion engines that we use to clear a planet’s atmosphere and hurls us forward, shortening our time in the chaos. If we depended on sail, we’d…” The captain’s words trailed off.
“No sails. Engines only. What happens if the atmospheric burble fails?” Gambrel didn’t want to hear the answer, but knowing the truth would ease his mind.
“If the burble fails, we remain below while the engineer attempts to restart the machines. Most often they start up again because thick shielding protects them. If, however, the engines cannot be started then it’s a matter of time—a short time—before the air below decks goes. As do the souls waiting there.” Merlo’s grim expression said he knew about such things.
With a nod, Gambrel swung down to the deck, deserted at this time of day. He made for his watch station. As he walked, he paid attention to the polished deck and neatly hauled ropes. The lack of clutter. The deck hands’ efficiency. Orders passed quietly from man to man though technology would speed the process. An occasional sail snapped crisply overhead. The air smelled… he couldn’t describe how it smelled. Not like sterile bottled atmosphere yet not like a ship’s normal salty tang he’d heard about.
All around, the odors, the sounds, the appearance soothed him. Much like the memories of home once did. Home. After countless seven-days spent aboard, this ship felt like home. Once again, an elusive sense of satisfaction washed over him.
Into his peaceful moment came Pessios. The lizard man’s tongue snapped in and out of his mouth in an agitated manner. Something bothered him. Gambrel sighed. So much for contentment. The feeling slipped sideways as his friend neared.
“Friend Gambrel. Walk with me as we talk.” Pessios glanced over his shoulder, seeking any who watched.
“What bothers you?”
“You seek a man? One who came to Ancade at least five years ago?” Pessios didn’t ask so much as confirm what he’d been told. “Canfanto and I talked about such a possibility. There are two men; one mated, the other not. Describe this man.”
Gambrel rubbed his bristled chin. “I have not seen Handid in years. He would rather not…speak to me.” He left the interpretation of his words to the imagination of the other man. “He’s tall, half between you and me.” He raised a hand to show the height. “His muscles are long and lean. His bulk is less than mine.” Gambrel patted forearms bulging with thick bundles of taunt muscle. “When last I saw him, his hair rode straight down his back, deathly pale. His eyes blaze a brilliant indigo blue, an unusual color among his kind. Most have light green eyes. He can change few things about himself but his name, I should think. What say you to a man like this?” He propped a foot against a keg and leaned forward.
“I’ve seen such a man. The mated one. That makes no significance either way, I suppose.”
Gambrel shook his head once.
“His name is Haggin, and he deals off world for unusual merchandise. I suspect him of selling bodies.”
A frown deepened the lines on Gambrel’s forehead.
Pessios explained. “Abducting men, women, and children then selling them off world is a profitable business. The taken one never sees his family again. This Haggin mated with a woman whose father owned an astral sailing ship. Ancade also has ships that sailed only the world’s watery tides. Canfanto and I often wondered if part of his cargo included women and young boys.” Again, that narrow red tongue flicked in and out.
“Sounds like something he would do. In the old times, he took what he wanted despite others’ complaints. He came and went with no boundaries. He ruled his men by intimidation. The more fear, the more power, the greater his success.” A sigh escaped Gambrel before he could contain it. So many years and so far to travel to find one man. “Does he sail with the fleet?”
“I’m sure of it. His mate’s family is counted among the original ancestors of Ancade. He owns a worthy ship. Escaping with the others serves his best interests. In this massive fleet, what would he fear?”
“Me.” Gambrel gave Pessios a hard stare. “He has me to fear until the day he dies by my hand.” For the first time, he told someone his intentions. Pessios would not share the information with anyone—like Vangee. Without so many words, the lizard man understood how he felt.
“Do you know the name of this Haggin’s mate?”
“Zorkin, I think.” Pessios strode at his side as he walked down the deck.
“Haggin and Zorkin. I will find their names on the vid-squares and learn what ship they sail on. Then I must plan.”
While Vangee searched for the name Handid, Gambrel scoured the records for Haggin and his mate, Zorkin. When he found them in the seventh section of the fleet, he made no outward show of good cheer. Rather he settled deep in his chair and pondered his next move.
*******
Once again, I hope to entertain you with Gambrel’s adventure. As for my latest novel, I suspect it will be out and available by the time I post the next chapter. How exciting is that!
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 VangeeandGambrel.
A Story Begins Now 