Flood and Fire Page 11

  Alamar opened the door and peered at me. “Cara mia! You look marvelous.” He let his gaze sweep appreciatively over me.

  Stiffening, I kept my expression indifferent and held out the robe. “I’m returning this. Thank you for allowing me some dignity.” He took the robe, and I hurriedly turned and strode for the side of the deck. I tipped the dirt into the water and then with a rope lowered the empty bucket into the ocean. The hold would be so much more bearable once scrubbed with soap and water. I didn’t dare turn around. I could feel the eyes of a dozen pirates searing me. The nauseating, weedy scent from their pipe smoke loomed in the air, and I held my breath. A pair of eager hands grasped the rope in front of me. I stepped back and prepared to defend myself.

  Alamar flashed me a smile. “Let me help you.” He raised the rope before it reached the ocean and handed the empty bucket back to me. I narrowed my eyes, wondering what game he was playing.

  He scooped his hand in the air. A stream of water defied gravity, rose from the sea, and formed into a transparent sphere above his cupped hand.

  I unwillingly smiled. His powers were impressive, even without training. The crystal orb of water hovered like molten glass in the air. I lit a flame in my hand and held it to the water until it boiled hot enough to kill any disease on the dungeon floor. Alamar slid the water into my bucket and hot vapors rose like fog from the surface.

  His bright blue eyes swirled in waves of a hundred shades of blue. They were nothing like Azrael’s smiling, star filled eyes, but they were still beautiful. We’d worked together with our powers, and it gave me hope that eventually, I might convince Alamar to join the Watchers at the sanctuary.

  His face softened, and his voice echoed a surprising gentleness, “Your eyes glow like the sun when you use your powers.”

  My face flushed and I looked away. “Thank you for the water.” I forced formality into my voice before retreating below the deck. I rolled up my sleeves, pulled my hair into a tight bun, and rubbed the wet brush against a thick bar of soap. I scrubbed at the floor and ground my teeth together in fury. The bristles of the brush scraped along the floor, pulling up years of oily grime.

  What a confusing man. One moment he was cold and irritating and the next, warm and generous. If only that hard-headed man could see the truth about his origins. He belonged with the Watchers. We could use his amazing powers in the war against Erebus. I poured my frustration and annoyance at Alamar and my situation into the rough strokes of the brush, scouring the floor and cleansing it of the pirate filth.

  “Eyh,” a gruff voice bellowed in my direction. Two pirates stood at the base of the ladder. “‘Ow ‘bout doin’ our laundry.” The burly pirate chuckled at his own joke, making his enormous gut bounce. The scrawny pirate that accompanied him laughed in unintelligent, quick bursts of bubbly snorts.

  I ignored them and went back to my cleaning.

  “’Ow about cookin’ us somethin’, wench.” The thin pirate smirked, making his high cheekbones more distinct and outlining his skull through his skin.

  “Or cleanin’ our quarter.”

  “You’d like to get ‘er in our quarter.” They laughed hoarsely at each other.

  I scowled up at them, rising to my feet and preparing a lecture on manners for them when a fat spider climbing down the beam next to them provided the perfect opportunity for an object lesson.

  “Spider!” I pointed and forced myself to sound worried. The arachnid ruptured into flames, leaving nothing but a faint puff of black smoke and a mark on the beam.

  The pirates’ eyes widened and their jaws gaped. They scrambled over each other to return up the ladder to the deck. If I had been in a better mood, I would have laughed.

  I waited for nightfall before I emerged from my sanitary refuge, exhausted from a day of working with little sun energy. The stars gleamed overhead, and I searched for Venus and Mars. Looking at the stars reminded me of Azrael, and every time I thought about him, my heart shook with pain and urgency. I gathered my courage and leaned against the railing to stare down at the water slipping around the boat and trailing off in waves that joined the endless sea. The wind caught the skirt of my dress and tossed it as if yearning to fill a sail.

  I pulled my hair from the tight bun and let the wind flutter it around my face. Azrael had used the wind to play with my locks by sending it into my hair as if running his fingers affectionately through it.

  I scanned the dark horizon, hoping to see any sign of land. What I really wanted to see was Azrael’s ship sailing to my rescue, putting the speed of Alamar’s ship to shame. I would even love to catch sight of a ship flying a blue flag from the mast, signaling a message from the druids saying they would take Alamar and I could go to the Celtic war.

  What harm had befallen Azrael since I had received his letter? Had he already been killed in battle? I clutched at my heart as it lurched in my chest at such a thought. Emotion strangled me as I stared out at the vast ocean and the miles and miles that separated me from him. I wrapped my arms around my waist then dropped to my knees and muffled a sob.

  Alamar cleared his throat behind me.

  I immediately regretted my moment of weakness and scrambled to stand up and square my shoulders. I wiped at my eyes, but it was too late to hide the tears.

  He approached with cautious, rhythmic steps. When he had come within a few steps, he leaned against the railing. He quietly watched the rolling waves around us, not meeting my eye. “I went down below and didn’t see you there. I knew that you must have come up here. You seem to favour the upper deck.”

  Of course I favoured the upper deck. It was private and the stars shone brighter, making me feel closer to Neviah and Azrael. I pressed my lips tightly to repress anymore embarrassing emotion.

  Alamar didn’t look at me as he muttered, “I hate seeing women cry.”

  I didn’t reply. There was nothing to say and I wasn’t about to pour out the worries of my immortal heart to him.

  “When I was a boy,” Alamar started. “I would hear my mother crying into her pillow at night after she thought I was asleep.” His voice was gentle, full of memory. “I wished to protect her as she had me. To comfort her. To make her life easier, but I never could. To hear a woman cry reminds me of all the ways I failed her.”

  My heart ached for him, and to my surprise, I reached out to lay my hand on his arm.

  He continued, “Fights often broke out at the tavern where she worked.” Alamar swallowed so hard I could hear it as he fought back his own emotion. “She would grab my hand and race me upstairs so I didn’t witness the violence. She begged me to leave that place when I grew up and forced me to promise that I would never come back.”

  Immortal pain welled in my body. More tears flowed as I thought of Alamar’s mother struggling to raise her child in a tavern.

  “I told myself that when I grew up, I would find away to get rich then go back and take her away.” He sighed to himself. “Piracy was the fastest way I could think of to get rich. Before I seized this ship, I watched my crewmates take what they pleased and kill anyone who stood in their way. When I saw the frightened faces of the women and children, I turned on my own and drowned the whole crew.” His voice broke, and his despair rippled through me. He broke my gaze and faced the sea.

  I clenched my arms and feebly held back the empathetic throbbing inside me. When Watchers killed humans, they carried that pain with them for the rest of their time on Earth. I couldn’t begin to imagine the agony Alamar lived with day after day.

  I struggled to gain control over my own emotions. I took several short breaths. It took all my strength to keep my voice from trembling “Where is your mother?”

  Alamar shook his head. “I returned with enough money to buy the tavern, not that I intended on keeping it, my mother was gone.”

  By the way his voice flooded with emotion I knew that “gone” meant “gone forever.” I reached out and put my hand over his. “I’m so sorry.”

  He still didn’t make
eye contact with me. “Now I use piracy as a means to support my quest.”

  “What is your quest?” I asked.

  The waves around the boat grew violent and shook the ship in unsteady currents. Alamar pulled away from my touch and gripped the side of the boat. “My mission is to hunt down and kill the bastard who raped and murdered my mother.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Accident

  Alamar seemed to find comfort in confiding his past to me, and since it allowed me to avoid speaking about my own sorrows, I listened attentively. One clue had guided him over the years on his search to find the man who killed his mother. From his own investigation into it, he knew the murderer sported a tattoo on his forearm of a snake coiled around a human skull.

  His story stayed with me as I worked on my dress. The woman it had been intended for was taller than I by several inches and wider as well. I had plenty of free time on my hands to tailor the dress to fit me. My small room in the hold was almost a haven to me as I hummed to myself, sewed, and pondered on Alamar’s plight.

  I had misjudged him as nothing but a common, heartless pirate. If I were in his situation, I might be on my own personal crusade as well. There was much more to him than his callous, pirating facade. When we’d talked on the upper deck, all his walls of anger, fear, confusion, and defensiveness that he had spent years building crumbled. I saw the real Alamar when he smiled. Well, at least when he wasn’t smiling in that devious way.

  I ran my fingers along the newly stitched hem of my dress. I leaned my head against the bars of the hold and set the sewing needle next to the pile of makeshift thread and a pair of dull scissors.

  I was beginning to understand who Alamar was, but he still had no idea who he was. I had to convince him we were truly Watchers and not just mythical demigods. Whatever I did, I couldn’t reveal my immortality. Zacaris said people who sought for immortality lost it. Immortality came to those who made the right decision in the spur of the moment, as if instinctual. That instinct came when one made hard, but correct decisions over time.

  Obviously, Alamar, the pillaging pirate, the boy who’d grown up in a tavern, the man whose mother had been used and murdered, had a skewed sense of right and wrong. I couldn’t use the prospect of immortality as an incentive to join the battle against the Dark Rebellion or Alamar might search for immortality instead of earning it. Immortality corrupted those not ready for it. If he knew about that kind of power, he might be tempted to turn to the Rebellion for the “easy” immortality they promised. The memory of the witch, Hazella, writhing in flames, her skin rotting and falling from her bones as she became a Shadow Spirit still gave me nightmares.

  I couldn’t let the same thing happen to Alamar. His water elemental abilities were invaluable, especially since the high druids had foreseen Erebus preparing for an upcoming naval battle.

  It was hard to predict what Erebus would do. Before he had fallen, Erebus was supposedly the greatest tactician in the Kingdom of Neviah. I bit my lower lip and twisted my hair around my shoulder. Why did he choose a naval battle instead of a land war? Did Erebus know about my weakness—water? What if he was trying to take Alamar’s powers so he could destroy me?

  I wrung my hair in my fists and stared at nothing in particular. The Rebellion had one advantage that I was envious of. They still had a perfect memory of Neviah. They remembered each warrior and our powers. For us, our memory of Neviah started to fade after we were born into our human bodies.

  Whether Alamar believed he was a Neviahan Watcher or not, the Rebellion knew who he was and hunted him. The horrible image of Erebus sucking the life and power out of Alamar’s body blazed across my mind. I pressed my hands over my eyes, but I still saw it.

  I kicked the hold door open and slid out of the cage. I had to convince Alamar of the truth behind his Neviahan origins and his purpose here on Earth. My feet hit the ascending stairs swiftly, yet so lightly I made no sound. Even if he refused to believe me, I had to protect him. Alamar had no idea what hunted him. He was like a lost child in a world full of predators. Perhaps that’s why I was sent to find Alamar. Not only could his powers counter my bursts of uncontrolled fire, but he needed the protection only an Immortal could give him.

  I stopped on the deck just outside Alamar’s door and took a deep breath to prepare myself for this conversation. I would have to be convincing. I couldn’t relent. I knocked on his cabin door and hoped he hadn’t gone to bed yet. Footfalls approached from the other side of the door. The latch clicked and the salt stained hinges screeched open. Alamar stood there, obviously surprised to see me. I must have awoken him. He wasn’t wearing his shirt. I dropped my head and looked to the ground, but not before I noticed the bandage around his arm where I had injured him with my sword at our first meeting.

  Alamar hadn’t complained about the injury, which made me feel even guiltier. I tried to convince myself he deserved it.

  “Come in,” he offered with a hint of concern and opened the door wide.

  I stepped into the dark cabin, waved my hand, and lit the lamp on the other side of the room. Alamar pulled a chair out from under the square table we had dined at just the evening before and motioned for me to sit.

  “Thank you.” I sat and laid my hands in my lap, trying to gather my thoughts into an epic speech that would convince him to throw away his revenge quest, dock his ship, and go to the druids he loathed, to receive the training he didn’t want.

  “What else can you do?” he asked, breaking into my thoughts and rescuing me from my quickly wavering confidence.

  “Hum?” I looked up. What did he mean?

  “The fire?” he prompted.

  “Oh, my powers.” I forced a nervous chuckle, looking away when Alamar raised his eyebrows at me. “That. Well…” There were more important things to talk about, so I took the opening and tried to weave my speech into the answer. “All Watchers have gifts.”

  He smirked like a bandit and folded his arms over his chest, his expression saying here-we-go-again, but I continued anyway. “We use our gifts to help humans and protect them against the Dark Rebellion. One of my Watcher powers is to control fire.”

  Alamar scoffed. “Yes, my love, I am aware of your ability to light candles and kill spiders.”

  “It’s more than that.” How could I tell him about the massive arsenal that ran though my veins without letting slip my immortal secret? “Recently … my powers have been affected by a change in my life.” I bit my lip, wondering how much Alamar would question me on that change.

  He didn’t disappoint. “Change?” His demeanor perked and I knew I had his attention. If only I could steer it to helping him realize his potential, rather than discussing mine.

  “Yes…” A dagger lying on a wooden chest next to his bed helped me weave together an explanation. “A traumatic event,” I said, careful not to lie. “My powers have been harder to control, so I’ve limited myself to small exhibits of power, like lighting candles and making sparks, when I’m around mortals.”

  Alamar narrowed his hard eyes and focused on me as if attempting to stab through my soul. His hand unconsciously skimmed along the bandage on his arm and he winced, in spite of his concentration.

  “How bad is your arm?” My question broke his attempt to penetrate my soul. He shrugged. I stood and approached him. “May I?” I motioned to the bandage.

  He leaned slightly away from me, but curiosity flickered in his eyes and he nodded his assent. I unraveled the bandage from his arm. The inflamed gash stared at me, a brutal reminder of my carelessness. It was deeper than I thought. The bandages smelled of rum, probably what he had used to clean the wound. Zacaris once said that I had a greater ability to heal that I had not discovered. Did I dare experiment on Alamar?

  “You asked of my other powers?” I said quietly. I took a deep breath. “I can heal myself … and maybe … I can heal you. I don’t know. I’ve never tried it on another person and I’m not sure what would happen.”

  “It’
s fine.” Alamar waved me off and reached up to take my hand. “I’ll keep the scar to remind me of you.” He raised my hand to his mouth, but I tugged it away before he could lay a kiss there.

  “Go put a shirt on,” I said, backing away from his advances.

  He smiled, and hesitated before following my instructions. I held my stern expression until he retrieved his black shirt from where he had hung it on the bedpost. He tossed it over his head without tucking it in or tying the strings before returning and plopping into the chair opposite of me.

  “Do all Watchers have elemental gifts?” He asked and leaned back in his chair, put his feet on the table, and crossed his legs.

  I ignored his rude behaviour. “There are many different kinds of gifts. My friend, Korban, has a gift with weapons. Eva’s gift is to connect with her posterity.”

  “I see.” He grinned at me, showing a glint of gold-capped teeth toward the back of his mouth.

  “Come with me to the sanctuary,” I said, leaning toward him, pleading with clasped hands. “You will be able to learn more about your gifts.”

  He tensed and stood, pacing away from me. “Enough, Auriella. You will not convince me to trust the druids.” He waved a dismissing hand at me, and followed up with a speech in Italian, and by his expression, I guessed the words were less than proper.

  “Watch your tongue,” I said evenly. “I may not understand you, but I will not permit you to speak so.” I sighed.