By Jane Carver

The gods apparently didn’t hear him. A fist pounded at the panel of their cabin door. An authoritative voice rang out, “Mistress Windrum, Captain Merlo needs you immediately. I will accompany you.”

Silence fell within the room. Would murder right now be justified, Gambrel wondered? Caught in this situation, his body lay in a state of readiness not soon to be eased, it appeared.

He had forgotten the circumstances under which they sailed. The lives of all aboard ship and those of the fleet might be in danger, and Merlo wanted Vangee for some reason. Though his mind accepted the truth, his body refused to acknowledge the end of their tryst.

The man in the passageway pounded again. “Mistress Windrum, you are needed now.”

“’Brel, I must go.” To belie her hasty words, she kissed his rump and ran her tongue along the base of his spine. Bumps of anticipation rose over his skin. One hand fondled the sweet curve of his ass. She stretched out until she lay on her back at his side.

Did she recognize the raw need in his gaze? Evidently, she did. She pressed a quick but hot kiss on his stubborn lips. “This is not over, Gambrel Sarjean.” She whirled around until her feet thumped the floor. But before she left his bed, she gave him one of Dara’s coquettish flirts. “I promise. This is not over.”

“I am coming.” Her words rang out to the man in the corridor, sounding like the every day Vangee. Not like a woman who almost seduced Gambrel in his own bed.

“Rest while I see what the captain needs. Do you think you can do that?” Her voice teased him, her words saucy and tempting.

Wicked woman! Of course he could not rest properly. She had filled his body with need and now planned on leaving. His soul demanded completion, but Gambrel knew in the sensible part of his mind that duty called.

“I will lay here, woman, but rest is not possible.” His words came out in a fierce growl intended to frighten her.

Instead, she giggled. She brushed his hair to one side and whispered softly. “I know nothing of loving, and yet my body vibrates. Rest? I know I could not rest either. I shall hurry.”

Her gray clock wrapped around her and the hood concealing her face, Vangee left. The high his body’s need eventually drained away. Gambrel waited but not graciously.

* * * *

Gambrel became aware that Vangee returned to the cabin because she woke him. Her restless pacing sent her careening into a chair. She came back from her meeting in a far different mood than when she left.

When she acted so agitated, he grew concerned. “What did the captain want?” Rest had stiffened muscles weakened by injury. He found it difficult to watch her while lying on his stomach.

She paced, lost in her own thoughts, heedless of his question.

Apprehension growing, Gambrel swiveled until he sat at the edge of the bed, pain riding him hard. The cover lay loosely over his lap. The medicine across his back no longer soothed because the long swath of torn skin again tortured him. Vangee had been gone a long time.

“What is the matter?” He pulled himself straighter, ready to help if needed though his body protested every movement.

“The fleet is in panic. Rather, the souls aboard are. Riots have broken out. Many of the ships’ crews have been through rock showers. Land passengers from Ancade have not. They fear…with good reason. Nevertheless, their terror threatens the fleet’s safety. Danger comes from within the ships as well as out. As fleet commander, Captain Merlo asked for my help.”

When Gambrel pulled his brows together in a frown, she reminded him of a fact he conveniently forgot. “Do you not remember what I am? A Radiant, ‘Brel. Remember? I project and control emotions.”

“Why does the captain want you?” When he tried to stand, she waved him down then sat beside him. Her woebegone expression stressed him.

“Captain Merlo expects me to calm the fleet. Project tranquility and hope.” She wrung her hands, one over the other in repetitive moves that caught Gambrel’s attention.

“So? You can do this. Can’t you?”

“I can. Yes, but…” Her words trailed off.

“There’s a problem?”

She nodded and twisted her hands harder. He seized them in one of his and held them pressed to the bed.

“Tell me.” His strength was limited at the moment, but he would help if possible. Meanwhile his back and rear burned. He slumped in discomfort.

“Lie down. You have been hurt badly, and won’t get over it soon. Rest.” She tried to push him on to the bed, but he resisted.

“Something’s wrong. Tell me why Merlo’s request distresses you so.”

“I just can’t.” Her face set in a stubborn grimace, she turned her back to him.

“You can’t? Or you won’t?” Her attitude surprised then infuriated him. She, of all people, held life most valuable. Why did she refuse to help those in panic? When she didn’t answer, he slid his hand onto her thigh. Using subtle pressure, he squeezed, seeking her attention.

Finally, she relented. “All right. I won’t project.” She jumped off his bed and ran across the cabin to her own bunk where she flung herself down and began to cry.

Her actions surprised Gambrel so much his jaw dropped. Like an aged one with brittle bones and aching limbs, he struggled off the bed, the sheet held in one massive fist. Across the floor he shuffled until he stood next to her bunk. His body pressed against the wall, he worked his way through what he had learned since joining the fleet.

“You project emotions. I’ve seen this. Been part of it. Your aura seems limited. Big enough for both of us, if I recall from that fight on Ancade when we met. Yet you control crowds. Merlo told me so. Now the captain wants you to communicate peace and calm to a fleet of five hundred ships?” Thoughts tumbled through his mind. The mechanics of how she did what she did escaped him.

“How do you send emotion to and control a crowd, like those on a single ship or perhaps in a meeting on Ancade?” He let the question hang. For a minute, he feared she would not answer.

While he waited, he smelled her fear. A sharp bitter stench. Here in this room where she should feel safest, she was afraid? Of what she did naturally?

She rolled on to her back, and he saw her eyes. Those golden spots inside the gray held such sorrow he now feared her answer.

“When I am by myself or with one other like you, I draw power from myself. When I control a large group, I draw power from those around me. With so many, most feel tired, but remain unharmed. Definitely not aware of what I do. The minute amount of power I use amplifies my own. Do you understand?” A tear slipped down her cheek to soak into her hair. Her explanation apparently did nothing to calm her fears. Clinched muscles and her head tossed side to side reflected her mounting tension.

He understood the mechanics of her ability now. And her fear. “If you project to the fleet at such a distance, you will require many. The harm will increase?” Her nod confirmed his guess.

He shifted his stance, his back throbbing. The cover rode low on his hips, his fistful of cloth at his manhood. He should dress, but other things took priority over modesty.

“Have you ever tried such a long projecting before?”

Vangee shook her head. She looked at him with something akin to hope.

“If someone big and strong helped, could you reach the fleet? At least a greater portion?” Gambrel offered his body and soul, knowing he might die.

In an instant she realized what he did. Off the bed she shot, like one of the fire rocks still bombarding the ship. Their noisy rattle and bang provided the background to an intense argument.

“I will not endanger your life for this.” She pounded both fists against his chest, her words intimate, raw, desperate. “They do not need my help to survive.” Again, she hit him, fighting both him and his offer. Tears coursed down her cheeks. “Your injuries… Your strength is not …” Her words trailed off. “What if you die?”

He held her away. She wasn’t hurting him, merely bruising her hands against his chest muscles. He allowed her a moment of rage before shaking her—hard.

“Listen to me. You can prevent these souls from harming themselves and others. If Pessios, Effie or Dara were out there—as indeed they are—would you hesitate? No! By the gods, you can do this. We can do this. You project, and I will fuel your power.” He left the next thought unspoken—he would assist as long as possible.

“No! I will not do this!” She whirled away, her eyes wide like a frightened animal trapped in a small space. When her frantic pacing brought her close to Gambrel again, he grabbed and held her in his embrace with one stout arm, fully against his body.

“Listen to me, woman,” he hissed. “We have seen happier times aboard this ship. Song and laughter rode the tides as surely as we did. That time is past, and these souls have lost the memory. Give them peace. Hope.”

When she wiggled and shook her head, her tears falling in messy drops on his chest, he jerked her hard. “I love you. With every fiber of my heart, body, and soul. We almost had it all not long ago, and you promised me an ending.” He pulled her closer yet, hurting her even as he proclaimed his love. “You promised.”

His embrace eased a bit. “But if you do not help those in need, you are not the woman I think you are. The woman I love. And,” he paused for effect, “you are not the woman you know yourself to be. You would never get over the damage done this day if you do not act—and soon.”

He eased her feet to the worn planks. “You project, and I will help. The gods of the universe set this before us.” He pushed her away. She stood on her own. “Will you do this?”

Frozen in place, her face told him so many things. Anger, in the heavy silence she gave him. Longing. One hand rested, fist closed, over her heart. Finally, she broke her self-imposed stillness. “I yearn for an earlier time, before our sun came to die. I mourn that cannot be, for I wish to have met you then. Loved you then.”

She spoke as if saying farewell. “You tell me that you love me. I know no love other than a daughter for a father. Your kind of love I want to learn. So many emotions, so conflicting. Soaring joy one minute, vast despair the next. I want to be consumed by the emotion a mate has for her chosen one. Love will shine through me, eat me whole, and leave nothing behind but my feelings for you. But…” Her anguish turned to humor. “I suppose this must be done first if I have any chance of keeping my promise.”

Her weak grin brightened when he pulled her into a real embrace and kissed her. Once. Hard. “We will keep that promise, sweet one.” Gambrel rested his chin on top of her head, his smile gone in the face of the reality that awaited them and the pain he suffered already. Vangee’s fear and hopelessness showed him how dangerous this undertaking was. The possibility existed one or the other—perhaps both—might not survive the projecting.

His attempt at humor prepared the stage for their task. “Perhaps I should dress more appropriately but, in honest words, my rear hurts too much to put on clothes.”

“Oh, I don’t know, ‘Brel.” She stood with hands on hips, head tilted first one way then the other. “I think the cover quite seductive.”

Her light words masked her worries, he sensed. “Come, love. Let us do what needs to be done this day.” He moved her next to his large bed. “In case I turn unmindful. I want to land on something soft.” He turned his back to the bed. “How do we proceed?”

“I will call on my power then draw from you. You will feel strange. Perhaps lose your senses. I’m not sure. I’ve never spoken to anyone I used.” She turned so that her shoulders rested against his chest. “Once before you guarded my back. Move in close, hulking one.” Her words reminded him of the first time they met when all she saw was a huge man in need of protection. She stretched out her arms and widened her stance.

As soon as her eyes closed, he matched her posture. His thicker arms surpassed her length, and his height overshadowed hers. The bed cover fell at his feet.

Vangee pulled in deep breaths, released each slowly, deliberately.

In order to aid her to the best of his ability, Gambrel imitated her. He closed his eyes and aligned his body to hers. As her back expanded and fell against his chest, her head rested against him. Her arms gravitated to his so they stood pressed firmly together. The seam of her rear cradled his manhood which now lay docile. Lust and desire had no place in their cabin at that moment.

By degrees, the very fragrance of the air around Gambrel changed. Grew sharper, like the flavor a perfume might have if it were food. Pressure bore down on him. For an instant, he swayed, light-headed, and wondered if he would go mindless. But he drew a steadying breath and let his muscles go limp. A buzzing rang somewhere. He located the annoying sound—in his mind. Was Vangee drawing on his power? His life force?

Brightness filtered through his closed eyelids. He opened them to slits then snapped both open. A glow emanated in front of him, touched him.

 Vangee glowed, shimmered with radiants of power. Brilliant streaks of light flared from her. Brighter still and longer did the colored stripes grow. She drew on Gambrel’s life force, no question now. Flares of radiant luminosity expanded as she demanded more.

For a minute, his sight faded. He fought to remain in his senses while his breathing labored. Individual thumps interspersed by intermittent spaces of time became his heartbeat. Air became hotter, thicker. His skin prickled as if the moisture in it were being drawn out. As she pulled away his energy, his monstrous frame seemed to shrink and diminish.

Shallow draughts of stifling air filled his lungs only because Gambrel intentionally expanded then contracted his aching lungs. Nothing worked as usual. His back arched so rigidly that the burned flesh crinkled. Blood ran down his spine to splat on the deck in noisy drops. Even the chaotic pounding of the rock shower receded as Vangee reached for the fleet. His skin seemed to shrivel. Taunt muscles bulged so tight his body hurt.

Pain pounded between his ears, behind his eyelids. Muscles stretched to the limit of endurance, and still he supported one who literally used him to hold her upright. Did her skin burn? Did her eyes feel like they were pushed out of her head? Was she aware of an overpowering sweetness or hear the clattering of a thousand night flyers in her imagination?

Blackness threatened Gambrel. He would not—must not—fade, or she might be lost. No one knew what consequences would come of this eventide’s work. The pain that once shouted its presence no longer seemed important. When his legs grew too weak to stand, he sank to the edge of the bed. Not for the world though did he release Vangee. He grabbed her by the hips and held fast while he rested his head in the small of her back. Stay awake, he repeated over and over. Do not leave her alone.

Lungs begged for air, and his body grew numb. Though he touched Vangee, he no longer registered the sensation. For the first time in his life, Gambrel knew himself to be more than he imagined.

The cabin glowed. He thought the Radiant still sat on his lap but wasn’t sure. Sight faded then returned, teased him. A roar filled his ears so even the thud of the rock shower fell away. With little conscious awareness, Gambrel slipped from the world.

* * * *

Jacon and Captain Merlo leaned over the couple. Only the shallow movement of each chest attested to their being alive. When the two entered the cabin at morning rise, they found Gambrel flat on his back, Vangee sprawled on top of him. Even moving him to one side, turning him on his stomach, and gently pulling off the bed covers stuck to the dried blood of his back did not wake the man. They lay Vangee next to him.

Modesty and convention were long past, Captain Merlo pointed out, when they left the pair sleeping side by side. Enormous power had surged from both. Reports indicated all was well throughout the fleet. Did the couple simply need time to recuperate? Or would they remain in this sleep-like state forever?

“Someone must sit with them until they wake.” Sorrow lined Jacon’s face. Deep furrows crossed across his forehead. “But I have no idea when that might be.”

* * * *

 Two seven-days later, Vangee told Gambrel what happened after they collapsed. She entertained him with her tale while friends came and went. Considering her tale, he knew the gods had favored them in their task.

“We finished the projecting and collapsed on your bed. Jacon and Captain Merlo found us the next morning rise. We appeared mindless though alive. From reports back to him, we calmed those who panicked.”

Merlo added more when he visited Gambrel. “By nooning of that day, the Fenix sailed out of the rock shower. By eventide, all ships cleared the phenomenon. Two vanished in fiery blasts when flamers disabled the atmospheric burble then crashed into the propulsion engines. Over two hundred souls gone. The first loss of our voyage. The last, I pray, though I know others will die along the way.” 

Once clear of danger, Effie, Jacon, his wife Mirril, the grower Wangon and his wife Chiffro sat with them. Mirril sat with the pair when Vangee opened her eyes.

Vangee brushed a fall of hair off Gambrel’s forehead as she continued the story. “The first thing I saw was the back of your head, the long thick hair laying on your shoulder. Not realizing anyone was near; I curled my body against your side and lifted a handful to smell. When I sighed, someone beside the bed coughed. Diplomatically, I might add.”

She giggled. “My heart almost stopped, I was so frightened. I repeated one of your favorite bad words and embarrassed Mirril.”

Gambrel laughed, and she swatted him.

“Once I awoke, I grew concerned when you remained unmindful. I stayed with you though others checked every day. I dressed your wounds, bathed you, but did not try to feed you. I feared anything going down your throat might kill you if not swallowed properly.”

“On the fifth eventide, Pessios sat with me. You shifted in bed then tried to turn on your side. Pain prevented that, so you wiggled around into a new position. Though you never woke, your sleep seemed more natural than before.” All aboard the Fenix, with a few exceptions she pointed out, rejoiced.

“Last morning rise as the fourth bell rang, Effie visited. Dara played quietly on the bed covers next to you. Effie earlier showed her your mending back and hip and warned the tiny one not to touch. Thanks be to the gods, this time Dara ignored her mother’s warning.”

“While we talked, she crawled over you until she sat by your arm—the one cocked up before your face. She wound up sitting astride your upper arm, one set of foot digits near your nose. I spotted her at that moment. Without saying anything, I caught Effie’s attention but cautioned her to silence. The child teased your nose, using her foot. She tickled then stopped. When you didn’t respond, she tried again. Several times she tapped you and all but wiggled her digits inside. I covered my mouth to keep from laughing aloud.”

“She tired of playing with you. You would not wake up, you see. On her stomach, down on your arm, she rested her chin on her crossed hands. For the longest time she must have pondered your sleepiness, I think. I supposed she wondered why you ignored her. She must have decided that you had slept long enough. First, she patted your cheek. On you slept. Finally, she hit you under your eye.”

Gambrel rubbed his cheek. “I remember coming awake with a roar. I rose up on both hands, and sent Dara flying across the bed to land against the wall. She rebounded with a shriek of delight I first took for pain. I think she was happy I awoke at last. Her short legs churned as fast as possible to me. She threw herself into my arms even though I moved not well. The child babbled like her stored tales needed to come out at one time.”

He laughed. “I wasn’t awake well before being bombarded by one child, two women, and many questions. Long minutes passed before I made sense of what had happened.”

Dara had refused to leave and kicked up a fuss that scandalized her mother and entertained Gambrel. When he had convinced the poor woman he was awake and feeling as well as could be expected, Effie had departed to spread the news of his recovery. Dara remained. Entrenched in the curve of Gambrel’s arm, she didn’t seem to mind when he ignored her. She chattered though he seldom answered. All was as it once was.

Amazed by her tale, he reached for Vangee’s hand and laid it beside him on the bed. She knelt next to him. One hand ran through his hair, turn after turn. Both locked gazes, happy to be awake and in their proper senses.

By early eventide, Gambrel knew the full story. Dara fell asleep next to him. Effie took her to bed while friends welcomed him back from the other side.

***What do you think of Vangee and Gambrel so far? –J Carver

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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.

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