Chapter 12 - Breakthrough

The sea of this world is more beautiful than I’d ever thought possible. Back home, I never had the patience for travel by boat, or even airplanes, really. But now that I’m actually out here, I can understand what it is that so many sailors sing about. The water stretches out as far as I can see, in every direction, like... well, an ocean. An ocean of sparkling blue diamonds. I don’t even mind that this is a pirate ship. I probably should, but the way that it’s been explained to me (admittedly the interpretation was probably a bit biased) it doesn’t seem all that bad. There are certain ‘rules of engagement’ to piracy, and as long as they are followed, nobody gets hurt. Usually, the cargo of the vessels they pursue is insured, and so there isn’t any point in the crew risking their lives for it. I haven’t been called on to fight at all thus far. The entire experience has been considerably less loathsome than I’d expected... Well, except for the turnips. Some of the pirates are even teaching me a little about sailing. It’s so invigorating! Pulling on the ropes, with the wind whipping my hair... it makes me wonder why I never did anything like this before. My current task, unfortunately, is nowhere near as thrilling. I’ve been charged, to my great annoyance, with mending one of the sails damaged in last night’s storm. I hate sewing. I’ve never been fond of any mundane tasks, but ones where I end up stabbing myself every five minutes are definitely among my least favourite. I could, theoretically, expedite the chore with a cantrip, but I’m afraid I might end up dying of blood loss...

It isn't so bad after a while, I suppose. After about the nineteenth pinprick, my beleaguered index finger is more or less numb, and my mind begins to drift to other things... Out here, my head is clearer than it has been in a long time. The poems have come back. For years, I haven't written a thing. When I first retreated into my freehold, I was too obsessed with sorcery and self-pity to compose; and when Duke Oliver finally forced me out into the mundane world to stabilize myself, my occupation hardly lent itself to epiphany or inspiration. But today alone, I have blackened my page. The poems creep into my pen and speak of everything and nothing: the moonlight shattered by the ocean's waves, the scintillating stars casually strewn across the velvet of the night... but most of all, of Schala, the queen of my heart.

She has taken up residence in my soul, touching everything that I do. I see her every time I close my eyes, smiling shyly, full of mystery. My feelings for her grow exponentially each day, crowding out the lingering doubt, drowning my rational side's need for caution. She lives in my veins; she is my heart. I'm not sure what it is that has made me so bold, but I don't think I can hold back my confession much longer... a kind of joyous insanity has overtaken me, I fear. I am now committed to this venture, perilous though it may be. With Rhea's words echoing in my mind, I will lay my soul bare on her altar. Or I would, if I could only steal just a few moments alone with her! There always seems to be something in the way. The Captain drives us mercilessly, and there are days when I hardly see her at all. When, by chance, we do happen to be free at the same time, it's nigh impossible to escape the prying eyes of the rest of the crew without arousing suspicion. Nonetheless, my spirit remains curiously undampened. I'm caught in the tide of her beauty.

I anticipate the moment with every beat of my heart. It will be as perfect as she. Perhaps, when we reach our destination... As everyone disembarks, I'll sweep her into my arms, and...

"Hey, Gwydaine! Wake up!" Daydreams shattered, I look up, stunned, into a swarthy pirate face. It's Caro Murain, my mentor of late, easily identifiable by his overgrown mustache, gleaming shaved head, and the bizarre growth on his left eyebrow, which looks vaguely like a meatball. "You do realize you're sewin' that there sail to your pants, eh?"

"Huh? Oh, damn!" He chuckles lowly as I attempt to pull out the last few stitches, which have maliciously bound me to the sail's heavy canvas. "Why do we have to do this now, anyway?" I wonder out loud, sounding just a little bit peevish. "There isn't a cloud in the sky!" Murain stops laughing abruptly, and stares at me with sudden gravity.

"You can no sooner read the sea than you can a woman's mind, son," he intones grimly. "It can turn on you just as quickly. I've seen storms blow out of skies just like this one, in less time than it'd take me t'find a rotten turnip in the galley!" Ugh, turnips, don't remind me. I nod mutely, suitably humbled.

"They say the first pirates were brought to this world by just such a storm," he continues after a moment, reflective. "Sailin' off an island called Jamorca, so the story goes, they ran into a storm so fierce it made even the cap'n quake and shiver in his breeches. The winds howled like the most vicious of wenches scorned, and the rain fell in sheets so thick the men couldna see a handspan past their faces. The waters swirled about the hull, and the boat creaked and moaned like an eighty year-old whore! Then there came the lightning, like none they'd ever seen; blue, and so bright it lit up the whole deck... But with it there came not even the softest rumble of thunder. When the skies finally cleared, they were in waters uncharted on any of their maps, and even the stars were unfamiliar." His gaze drifts seaward as he concludes his tale.

A bright flash of light from the upper deck catches my eye, the sun reflecting blindingly off some reflective surface. Blinking away the afterimage, I glance up towards the source. It's a pair of sunglasses, and Daniel Graves. An involuntary scowl pulls at my lips. I don't like him. I don't like how he's always wearing those sunglasses, even at night, so that nobody can see what he's really looking at. I don't like how he strolls around the ship as though he'd chartered it for his own personal use. And I definitely don't like the fact that he seems to know so much about me. But there's something beyond even that which disturbs me about him. An entirely separate and more fateful level of wrongness. He is banal to a degree which I have never before encountered, cold and heavy... Just standing next to him during our brief conversation the other day was enough to make me ill. What is he? I don't think I even want to know. We'll be off this boat soon enough, and then with any luck, I'll never have to see him again.

"Well, if it ain't the ill-ow-stree-ous Mister Graves," my companion mutters. "You're none too fond of him, are you?" I shake my head. "He's an offworlder... You are too, aren't you?"

"Mm-hm." I follow Graves with my eyes as he disappears into a cabin.

"And Ivan... Yeah, I can always tell. Oh, that reminds me!" he adds, "I ran into 'im earlier. Wanted to know if I could send you along when you're done here."

"Ivan?" Graves is gone, like dust in wind. "Where was he?"

"On his way to the hold, I think... gathering more turnips, I s'pose." Murain contorts his face in a grimace which echoes my own. "I don't know why we couldn't, just once, plunder a ship loaded with gingerbread..." He reaches into a pocket and pulls out a purplish strip of dried seaweed, and looks at it wistfully before tearing off a chunk in his snaggled yellow teeth. No, Caro Murain is definitely not the class of person I would be associating with under normal circumstances... but I think I rather like him. I like most of them, actually. There is an air of camaraderie aboard this ship that I haven't experienced in a long time. I wonder if I might even miss it.

"Well, I s'pose we'll be in Ahren soon enough," he muses, chewing thoughtfully. Bits of the seaweed attempt to escape his mouth, but are conveniently trapped by the bristly barrier above his lip. "There's plenty o' things tastier than gingerbread ta munch on there! Har, har, har!" He claps me soundly on the back and walks away, laughing at his own innuendo. Although I'm not exactly up on my pirate slang, I'm reasonably certain I get it. With a slight involuntary shudder, I repress the disturbing mental picture, and get back to the task at hand. The incentive of seeing Schala, maybe even getting to talk to her for a while, speeds my fingers, and I'm able to finish the chore with time to spare before lunch. I decide to try and slip away quietly before someone can think of any more busywork to assign me...

The hold is dark; the lantern at the bottom of the ladder is cold. Feeble strands of sunlight stream in through gaps in the ceiling, interrupted periodically by pirates passing overhead. The air is damp, and smells of turnips. It's hard to imagine Schala lurking about such a place, let alone arranging some kind of secret rendezvous here.

"Ivan?" I whisper tentatively. Privacy is at a premium on a pirate ship, and I don't want to reveal her secret.

"Back here, Janus." Her voice from the darkness, small, timorous. Something isn't right... Something in her tone recalls that awful night back in Nova Libertalia, the night Schala was attacked, the night she lay weeping in my arms, clinging to me like a desperate prayer. I must go to her. I stumble forward into the musty blackness with outstretched arms. I manage to grope my way around a grouping of crates, moving towards the sound of her voice. My heart beats an anxious rhythm against my ribcage. Has something happened? Did one of the pirates discover her identity and try to... No! I shake my head. I won't even think about that. Maybe it was Graves. He was looking at her strangely... maybe he said something to upset her. That bastard, I'll--

Eyes emerge from the darkness, illuminated by a tired glimmer of yellowing light. Glistening sapphire eyes, eyes that hold my world, my soul...

"Schala, are you alright?" She's sitting on the floor, her knees clasped against her chest, childlike.

"More or less, I guess," she sighs, not altogether convincing me. Her eyes meet mine briefly before she looks away to gaze intently into her lap.

"What are you doing down here?" I hope I don't sound too parental, but I *am* worried.

Another sigh.

"I just wanted to be alone, to think about some things..." Alone, in the dark?

"Do you want me to leave?" I hope not, because I don't think I could.

"No," she lifts her head and turns to look in my direction. "I hoped you would come." My feelings are mixed... I'm happy that she wants to see me, but still I sense the weight of her sorrow, stooping her shoulders, pulling down the corners of her mouth. I sit on the floor beside her, waiting for her to continue.

"I had another nightmare," she says, after a moment of nervous silence. Another? I feel my brow furrow with concern. This is the first I've heard of nightmares, save perhaps a passing mention of a dream she'd had in Mantarin. Of course, why should she confide in me? My behaviour towards her has been erratic at best, and mood swings are usually not what one looks for in a confidant. But she's talking now, isn't she? I should stop second-guessing myself for a change, and just shut up and listen. "Actually, I've had rather a lot of them, but I didn't want to alarm you. This one, though..." She looks up at the light, blinking away a tear. The crystalline droplet traces a silver path down the delicate line of her jaw. Without thinking, I start to reach towards her. I want to take away her tears, take away her pain... But I'm too late; she's already wiping at her face with her sleeve. I draw back, and the darkness covers my bad timing. "...This one was worse." Her voice cracks a little, but she continues. "I dreamt about what happened back in Nova Libertalia that night... and about... my home." This is the first time I've heard her mention her past life. Neither of us have really shared anything about our lives before we came to this world. I simply felt that my mortal history wasn't relevant here; but perhaps the omission was deliberate on her part... "You're really the only person here I can talk to at all," she adds. Her hand flutters at her temple, distractedly trying to brush away a nonexistent lock of hair; her wide, high forehead is corrugated with distress. "And even you... I don't even know if you care at all, really." Her arm flops limply to the ground, her knuckles knocking dully against the damp wooden floor.

I'm shocked... I haven't been that much of a ass, have I? My first instinct is to retreat, but I know that isn't the answer. Not this time. I gather up all the courage I can muster, and try to sound comforting.

"Of course I do, Schala. I told you before... remember?" I try once again to catch her eye, but she looks away, into the darkness.

"Well," she sniffs again, "how do I know that you really mean it?" Mean it? Confusion mixes with a slight feeling of foreboding. "I mean... a crying girl... what else were you going to tell me then? Or now?" She lets out a hollow laugh, full of self reproach. Her words are stinging nettles; she chides herself, but torments me. I sense that she is once again trying to place a distance between us. This is the second time she has pushed me away. Why must she draw me close, only to be battered against the wall of her irresolution? I feel there is something more to it than that... There is a hard centre, a proud spirit within Schala. Although I know little of her background, I feel we have that pride in common. I can tell that she worries about others' perceptions of her... A realization settles over me, heavy and uncomfortable as a soaked wool cloak. She thinks that I pity her. My stomach feels as though it's turning inside out, trying to devour my entrails. I know how I would feel in her place, and it kills me.

How could I ever look down on her, when I've placed her on the highest throne my heart can offer? How can I tell her than when I look at her, pity is the farthest thing from my thoughts? I don't know what I could say that wouldn't hollow and false... these words I cannot master. My resolve falters, and silence grows between us like a tumour.

Schala heaves another tired little sigh, closing her eyes. She leans back to rest her head against a crate, and suddenly I'm assaulted by her beauty... The single silver thread of light traces her prefect profile; from the soft fringe of blue hair at her forehead down to the graceful curve of her neck, rising and falling with the rhythms of her breath, and disappearing into the ruffled collar of her blouse. I'm helpless as the image sears my eyes and floods my heart... As quickly as it had fled, my courage returns, bringing with it another revelation. There is only one thing to say: the thing I've been wanting to say since we first walked together in the Wastelands...

Through the clammy darkness in the pirate ship's belly, I reach for her hand; soft, smooth, and warm as sunlight. She starts forward at my touch; her eyes fly open, but she doesn't pull away...

"Schala..." My heart beats in cut time as she turns to look at me. She leans forward, her head tilted slightly to the side. Her sapphire eyes question me. I'm amazed they can't read it all in my face "I really did mean it. Then... and now." A deep breath, to steady my nerves. Now, there is no turning back. I have crossed over the line between friend and travelling companion, and whatever uncertain status lies beyond... "I do care about you, and... and I've been meaning to tell you just how much."

Her brows lift, her lips part in an expression of surprise. She looks up at me, her eyes seeking mine, and I'm suddenly terrified, appalled at what I've done. It's too soon; it wasn't the right time; I should have known better! I'm deflating, my heart is a balloon in ice water... until I realize that she's squeezing my hand. I blink, then blink again, to make sure I'm not dreaming. She's smiling now... She leans forward, and her jewelled eyes become my world, shining like the rising sun.

"Thank you," she whispers, placing a hand over my heart. I can taste her breath, a summer breeze. I close my eyes as a wave of euphoria ripples through me. My reverent fingertips trace the side of her face as we draw closer together. "I didn't think you liked me..."

"Schala," I breathe, "I'm in love with you..." Without preamble, the words slip out before I realize what's happening. For a brief, panicked moment, I'm afraid; but then my mouth finds hers, and all conscious thought is burned away by a flame of passion such as I've never felt before. I feel only her body, pressed against mine; her fingers caressing the back of my neck... She tastes like the Dreaming; her kiss is an epiphany. Here there is no darkness, for my heart has grown incandescent, and I am laid open, my body blown away by a blinding explosion of love.

--fin

wh

--

Love is a fire it burns everyone it disfigures everyone it is the world's excuse for being ugly

LC