The Juskaran looked between them. “She was an adherent—a druid—for Wori’ri?”
Celestine glanced at Archer who was sunk into a morose, thoughtful silence. “No. At least, we don’t believe so. She never mentioned to the Admiral that she had been. But given the events of the last week, and what you’ve told us of Isle Devala’s magic, I believe it’s safe to conclude she was endowed by her god in some way and has passed that magic on to her son.”
Taliah snorted indelicately. “Fealty to the gods is not hereditary. Either one is pious or one is not.”
“Perhaps that is not so for this Wor’ri,” Celestine said, wishing Archer would rejoin the conversation about his own child. “Perhaps, with the druids, the god bestows its magic through the bloodline. And in any event, Connor is extremely loyal and reverential to the god and yet it does not Hear him. If piety alone were enough, he’d be a Paladin by now.” Celestine shook her head. “This god, Wor’ri, must have already claimed him for its own.”
Archer turned and the despair in his eyes pained Celestine’s heart. “He is going to leave us, like you said. To Isle Devala. Where his true heritage lies.”
Taliah shook her head; the delicate chains connecting her earrings to her nose rings clacked with her ire. “No. We cannot lose him too! The Aluren need him. The Shining face of the god needs a warrior such as him.”
“The god doesn’t Hear him,” Celestine said wearily. “He can’t—”
“Then turn his training over to me! Who instructs him now? Brogan?” Taliah waved her hands as if the elderly Paladin were in the room and she were dismissing him. “I will do what Brogan could not and help Connor’s voice reach the god.”
“And what of the storm?” Celestine said. “What of the Vai’Ensai who walks with him? What of the lightning? There is nothing I want more than for Connor to join our thinning ranks, but it might not be up to us.”
“And so we give him to a lesser deity? One who pales in comparison to the Shining face of our god?”
“He is not ours to give or keep,” Celestine said, aiming her words at Archer who had retreated into silence. “We must learn as much as we can to help Connor in whatever paths the gods have chosen for him. Now then. You said that Wor’ri was primarily a storm god. What other magic does it grant to its devout?”
A shadow passed across her desk; a peliteryx or large gull had flown by outside.
Taliah fumed but started to answer the High Reverent when another shadow crossed the desk. Then another. Outside, there was a cawing of a raven, and then a scream of a gull.
“What is this?” Archer murmured.
The three of them went to the window. The sky was filled with birds. Cormorants, gannets, gulls, little sparrows and large pelicans; peliteryxes, their brass armor glinting in the afternoon light. The birds swarmed down from every part of the sky, toward a single focal point. Celestine sucked in a breath and Archer’s hand gripped her arm, hard. Taliah swore in the Juskaran tongue.
Connor was in the archery yard, a small figure standing next to the larger Kyre. Connor’s arms were outstretched and the birds converged, circling him, landing on his shoulders, or waddling at his feet.
“They’ll tear him apart!” Archer said in a strangled voice.
Panic had frozen Celestine but then she watched as the birds, perhaps a hundred of them settled around Connor. Kyre didn’t move; his weapon remained sheathed. He sees no danger because Connor called them. I know he did… She was too far away but in her mind’s eye, Connor was smiling.
“The other domain of the Wor’ri god,” Taliah whispered, “is the ability to command animals.”
Celestine nodded slowly. She flinched as the birds took off in the same instant, all spooked by the same sudden movement. Connor collapsed to the ground, writhing and convulsing, in the grips of another episode.
Above, storm clouds began to gather.
Sebastian Vaas checked his wrist compass for the hundredth time. North by northeast, steady and with a full wind. The sails above strained at their rigging; a sight that the captain ordinarily would have been mighty satisfied with, especially when being dogged by such relentless pursuers. They had a following sea as well; Sebastian had no doubt that his ship would outrun the merkind—if those creatures could still be called that—and be spared the same fate as the crew of the Seven Swords. But the sea was driving north, as was the wind that bit at his face in cold drafts; he’d had to don a leather vest under his long coat for this early morning watch at the wheel.
It’s only going to get colder if we stay this course.
Selena had thought they were safe from the merkind who had likely killed the crew of the Seven Swords. Sebastian had suspected the danger wasn’t over and hours after leaving that deserted schooner behind, his suspicions were proven correct. More than two-dozen merkind churned in the waters behind the Black Storm. Six merkind had scaled the aft hull and had nearly hauled themselves over the gunwales before Selena, recalled from her sleep, had repelled them with shards of light. Sebastian ordered the crew to run with the wind, as it was the only way to keep ahead of the cursed creatures. A northern course into cold, northern waters was their only option. Sebastian had thought it wouldn’t take more than a half a day’s sail to evade the merkind.
That was three days ago.
The captain glanced behind him. Niven was watching for merkind. The adherent was a Healer only and couldn’t weave light, and so to Sebastian’s thinking was about as useful as a boil on his arse. But since coming aboard, the young man had been intent on proving his worth to the captain. His only redeeming qualities, as far as Sebastian was concerned, was that he jumped at orders like a green hand, and could vomit his sea sickness over the side without splattering the gallery windows of Sebastian’s cabin. Watching for merkind made Niven feel better. Having Whistle watch for merkind made Sebastian feel better.
The boy was perched high on the mainmast, his sharp young eyes watching for any sign of their pursuers. This very morning, one had gotten close enough to the Black Storm’s hull, Selena had sent a blinding burst of light into the water. The scream of the cursed mermaid still scratched at Julian’s eardrums to remember it. That was before dawn. It had been quiet ever since and Selena had gone below to warm herself over Cook’s oven.
The northern course is on our side, Sebastian told himself. Only the madness that infected the merkind who attacked them compelled them even this far north. The merkind can’t take the cold, but neither can Ilior and neither can Selena.
“Might make things easy,” Sebastian muttered to no one, his words torn away by the biting wind. He checked his compass again. Helm climbed up the ladder to the quarterdeck.
“Wind pushing north,” he signed. “Keep to?”
Sebastian rubbed his chin. Keep to and let the cold kill his mark? Or tack east and return to warmer climes…and merkind?