Elemental Ascension, page 6
“You wanted me to have plausible deniability. It was a long time ago, Ash. I'm over it.” Deerbolt met his gaze. “I still appreciate the risk you took. I think about it all the time.”
“We got lucky.” Ash wrung his hands together, then held them out to warm them on the firepit. “I couldn't do it again if I wanted to.”
“You're sure?”
Ash cleared his throat. “Never happened before that. Hasn't happened since. I attributed it to my body's early reaction to the curse. I've outlived it, somehow—who knows what I can still do because I didn't mean to kill Lehana Hazel, but I did. I wanted to keep her away from Kite and Reverie.” Ash added, “Deerbolt, you can't tell anyone what you saw me do ten years ago.”
“You can trust me,” she whispered.
“And your men?”
“Your secret is safe here. But, I have to ask you something.”
“You want to know how I'm still breathing ten years past my expiration date?” He shrugged. “If you figure it out before I die, let me know.”
“Whatever the reason, I'm pleased. We owe you our lives.”
Ash blinked slowly and smiled. “You gave me sanctuary. Twice. I'm owed nothing. What you and Sarronious are doing for Kite and Reverie is very brave.” Ash swallowed hard. “What I'm trying to say is thank you for taking such a risk... again.”
Deerbolt beamed and nodded at Sarronious from across the deck as he appeared on the top step to attract her attention. She handed Ash her tankard, refilled it for him, then set off walking towards the tradesman.
“Duty calls?” he said.
Deerbolt smirked as she peered back at him. “Aye, and now I have that thank you I was waiting for, there's no reason for me to stay and chat, is there?”
Ash watched her disappear through the firepit's smoke, and into the night.
Chapter Five
Slave to the Undine
It was Sarronious's narrow eyes and straight lips that caused Deerbolt to leave Ash's side and follow the tradesman to the Cerulean Grace's wooden figurehead. Their mascot was a painted blue depiction of the female Goddess of the Senses, with her long golden hair, rotund bosom and dark, watchful eyes. Deerbolt and Sarronious often shared confidential words here where the Captain felt safe beside the Goddess's guiding gaze upon the Tradeway. Here they could tell their secrets and know they'd be kept.
She knew that perturbed expression. Something important was on her friend's mind. The pair said nothing to one another until they were alone beneath the foresail at the opposite end of the ship, where Sarronious grabbed Deerbolt by the shoulders and turned her away from Ash's watchful eye.
“Don't look back,” he said, “because you're in danger, Captain.”
Startled, Deerbolt allowed his strength to ground and comfort her. Against his white shirt and the flickering glow of a nearby lantern, Sarronious's skin turned bronze and shimmered, illuminating the intricate tattoos decorating his chest and arms. She was safe with him even though the restraint was forceful; he posed no threat. Her parents were long dead, leaving her without siblings or any other living relatives. Sarronious became her only family; he cared deeply for her welfare and happiness as a surrogate brother.
“Ash the Elemental,” he continued, glancing across the ship. Her crew were busy elsewhere. He exhaled with relief. “He's going to extinguish the Dragonborn flame, isn't he?”
Deerbolt's brow furrowed. “He's not interested in the flame, Sarronious.”
“I think he's dangerous and unpredictable—he could, he's capable. He's reckless with his life.”
“He's a drunken, angry fool, but he'd never do anything to put me in danger.”
“He refused my invitation to join us on deck and said he'd rather be alone.”
Deerbolt unclasped herself and tidied her shirt. “Ash is a sworn Guardsman; they accused him before and they were wrong. He's not strong enough anymore, Sarronious, and he's not a Tetrad.”
“He had a tone,” Sarronious said.
“A tone?”
“Aye, Captain.”
Deerbolt rolled her eyes. “He's always had a bad attitude. Should I make him walk the plank?”
“Captain, we have cause to suspect him of plotting to commit treason and if he does, he'll drag us all to the gallows with him. Reverie's baby, according to the song, is a way to bring down the Order. If Ash is a Tetrad, he will rid the Land of magic through revenge on the Guard and with it, his curse. He can live.”
Deerbolt cut him off and dragged him aside. “He's too weak. We have nothing to fear.”
Sarronious sighed and folded his arms. “Your love is blinding you. Ten years is a long time, Captain. Ash the Elemental is not the man he once was if you indeed truly knew him then. Did he ever reveal the exact accusations against him?”
Deerbolt raised her hand to halt his objections. She leaned against a wooden rail and peered over the edge, staring into the oil-coloured Tradeway as she considered her friend's observations.
“You didn't know him, Sarronious. He was a good man. You and I have been together for eight years.”
“Nine, Captain,” he corrected. “I joined you the year after your final trip to Dragonborn; the year your parents died.”
“Aye, nine. Long enough to have trust between us. People change, and how dangerous is he, really? Ash is a Salamander Elemental but any threats he makes right now are futile. As we speak, his magic withers. Though he has outlived his life expectancy, it's clear his strength is fading. Ash is incapable of executing the most basic of fire incantations correctly.” Deerbolt sighed and shook her head. “Other than his tone, whatever you think he's plotting, Sarronious, I'm sure there's another explanation.”
“Perhaps you're right,” he said, relaxing his stance, “but you will be careful?”
Deerbolt slapped his shoulder and winked. “Aren't I always? If it'll make you feel better, I'll speak to him; he can keep some facts from me, but I'll see right through any facade.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
“It's too late now. We'll worry about it in the morning when the drink has worn off.”
“And you won't mind if I keep a close eye on him?”
Deerbolt nodded. “Ash is a mystery, but I believe in him. I have to.”
“Aye, Captain,” he said, then wished her goodnight and retired to his hammock.
◆◆◆
Deerbolt woke early with a pounding head and heavy limbs. The evening's conversation was still fresh in her mind, niggling at her composure and her trust in Ash the Elemental, even after his expression of thanks and obligation to their journey.
She walked the length of the Grace, sipping her weakly brewed tea. Occasionally, she covered it with her palm when the slap of the bow against the unsettled ocean threw back a cooling spray. She didn't mind the shower. It kept her alert to ponder the implications of confronting Ash; accusing him of plotting to commit treason after she promised to keep his secrets was surely in poor taste.
The Grace was now far enough out in the Tradeway's wide channel to see the First Watchtower's spire through a spyglass, dominating the hillside at the edge of Open Country several miles on their left. From this distance, it looked like the spike of a Dragon's tail. In reality, from land, it was an impenetrable fortress, engrossing the coastline to protect it from overseas threats. Its strategic location also allowed a clear line of sight to the Northern Trading Post and parts of the nearby abandoned, nameless island in the east.
Firstly, the Cerulean Grace would stop temporarily at the Watchtower, perhaps overnight, for the crew and their guests to disembark, unload supplies for the fortress, trade with locals or travellers and, of course, restock on consumables. Most thought it to be abandoned, but Deerbolt knew otherwise. She was anxious for the day to go smoothly and without incident. Though the fortress could protect Kite and Reverie indefinitely from the Order, her ship was going to be vulnerable in the small harbour there. Without it, she and her crew would be homeless and lost to the Land, not to mention unable to assist their friends any further.
“Something on your mind?”
Deerbolt startled, spilling her tea down her shirt. It sloshed onto the recently mopped deck, forming a dark brown stain. Ash chortled and set the cup on the side of the ship for her as she dabbed her chest and stomach, dampening the corset beneath.
“As a matter of fact,” she grumbled.
The ship lurched forward, tipping the teacup over the edge and knocking Ash off balance. Deerbolt sighed at his pathetic sea legs and shoved him aside, heading for her cabin to find a clean shirt and pour another drink.
Struggling to stand, Ash stumbled after her.
“Want to talk?”
“About how you lost my favourite cup?”
Deerbolt rocketed down the stairs from the quarterdeck to her cabin and threw open the door, leaving Ash stranded at the top, calling her name. When she emerged a few minutes later in clean clothing, she grabbed Ash by the forearm and guided him, forcefully, to the ship's stern.
“I don't want to talk about this, Ash, but I fear it can no longer be avoided.”
Ash scowled and braced himself against a flagpole displaying the Grace's trading flag. The brightly coloured yellow material, embroidered with three diagonal parallel lines in black, symbolised the cargo's status. When travelling the Tradeway, Deerbolt only ever flew the 'cargo removed' identifier to avoid being a target for Open Country pirates looking to steal food and jewels. Whether the flag was true or false, she deemed it irrelevant. A 'carrying cargo' status, in her opinion, was more trouble than it was worth and acted as an invitation to criminals with faster ships.
“I think there's a storm brewing. We should talk inside,” Ash suggested.
He cringed as angry waves thrashed and crashed against the Cerulean Grace's rickety body. Deerbolt's crew seemed relaxed, however, and while the skies were dull, it wasn't yet raining.
Deerbolt shook her head and hummed. “A storm indeed.”
Ash straightened his back so as not to lose face, but remained close to the flagpole. Deerbolt clutched her second cup of tea as though the heat and scent were the only thing grounding her temper.
“What's going on, Deerbolt?”
She sighed. “Why are you really here?”
“I told you, other than to guide the couple, I don't know. My curse has been unpredictable.”
“That's not what I meant.” Deerbolt sipped her beverage and closed her eyes. “Why are you aboard my ship? When you reach Dragonborn, what are your intentions?”
“I told you that, too, last night. I'm keeping Kite and Reverie safe.” He knotted his fingers.
“So they can get the help they need, or to fulfil your prophecy?”
Ash groaned and shrugged. “I think they are the same. The Cartomancer—I mean, the Oracle—said I had to help them get to Dragonborn because the fate of magic depended on it.” Then, realising her suggestion, he rolled his eyes. “I'm not a Tetrad, Deerbolt! What happened to me all those years ago was a freak accident, and what they accused me of wasn't true, either. How can I prove it?”
He lowered his head and swallowed hard, fighting both seasickness and butterflies as the ship bounced over a towering swell. It dipped hard at a sharp angle and without warning, throwing Ash against the side with enough force to trigger his stomach. When he'd finished throwing up, he blinked to get his bearings and slid down the pole to rest.
“Does this have something to do with your conversation with Sarronious?” he asked, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “I saw you talking. He seemed upset.”
“Aye.” She offered him a helping hand, which he declined. “After all this time, you still can't handle a few choppy waves?”
“Some things never change,” he said. He peered up, inhaling deeply through each dip and sway. “Is he worried about me, or about us?”
“I'm sorry?”
“I see the way he looks at you,” Ash said, grinning.
Deerbolt blinked and turned away. “Sarronious and I have never—”
“Perhaps he wishes to adjust the boundaries of your relationship. He's your First Mate, though you tell others he is a marketplace tradesman hitching a ride home.”
“His role is unofficial. He just needed a job, but had no experience. I did him a favour, and we became friends. That was nine years ago.”
Deerbolt gave his legs a firm kick with the side of her boot. Ash scowled and tucked his knees in as she paced back and forth.
“Stop changing the subject. I just want to know... are you going to betray us?”
Ash shivered beneath the sails as they dripped sea water down the back of his collar, dampening his doublet and trousers. He figured the stress was causing the curse to ignite the remaining adrenaline in his system, simultaneously blurring his vision and kick-starting a painful jitter in his fingers, so he took a few deep breaths. Suddenly, he no longer felt sick, but faint and confused, and his legs throbbed where the Captain's boot had been. Needles prickled his limbs, too, weakening his grasp on the flagpole and intensifying the sensation in his fingers to violent quaking.
“I will not betray you.” He gasped.
Deerbolt crouched and wrapped Ash's arm around her neck, hauling him up in one swift motion. They shuffled together, zig-zagging with the sway of the ship to the top of the stairs where she called for two of her deckhands to abandon their duties and aid Ash to a bench on the quarterdeck. Deerbolt thrust Ash's head down between his legs and told him to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth. If he was having a panic attack, from guilt or the curse, someone needed to stay with him. If he did something stupid or took a nasty turn, Deerbolt would blame herself. She instructed the men to box him in and keep him still, then waved Sarronious over from his stock-taking duties.
He hurried across the wet deck and skidded to a halt at Ash's feet. “Is it the curse?”
Deerbolt smiled indifferently. “Now is not the time, Sarronious.”
“You questioned him, then?”
Hearing this, Ash's head snapped up. His eyes were unfocused, causing him to crash sideways into one deckhand who, infuriated by the inconvenience, shoved him back. Deerbolt kneeled at Ash's side, relieving the deckhand, and gripped Ash's shoulders to steady him.
“No threat,” Ash repeated, scowling. “Not now. Not ever.”
“Can you explain the fireball?” Sarronious asked. “I saw you light another one. Why, when you're so weak?”
“Practising,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. Deerbolt was unsure if he'd wiped away tears or sea water. “No use... without power. Cannot... protect... you.”
“That's what you think, that you're no use to us without your powers?” Deerbolt repeated.
Ash nodded. She sat him upright, resting his back against the mainsail's post. She gestured he take some deep breaths with the motion of her hands.
“Lighting unnecessary fireballs won't help your condition. Save your energy for Dragonborn.”
Sarronious shook his head. “He's still hiding something.”
Sheepish, Ash brushed through his hair with shaky fingers, using the ocean's spray to slick it back. Opening up his face, it allowed Deerbolt to examine his waxy complexion and the dark circles outlining his usually bright eyes. He wasn't sleeping well and most of what he'd consumed recently had been rejected by his body, too. At this rate, Ash wasn't even going to make it to the First Watchtower.
Sarronious placed a comforting hand on the Elemental's shoulder, taking him by surprise. He stiffened, fearful for what might come next.
The tradesman said, “I know you're suffering in many ways. We can help you with them all if you tell the truth.”
Ash nodded, so Sarronious gave him a consoling pat.
He cleared his throat. “Aye—”
The ship was thrown sideways, cutting Ash short and tipping him off his seat. He smacked into both Deerbolt and Sarronious and they rolled in unison across the deck, clattering against crew members and loosened items. Deerbolt scrambled to her feet and sprinted up onto the poop deck to survey the damage.
Did we hit something?
Sarronious hauled Ash up by his collar, throwing him forward.
“I want a damage report!”
Ash fumbled along the edge as it lurched back the other way. The mess slid in the opposite direction, wiping out more of Deerbolt's crew—some of it scattering overboard, lost to the waves. Less than a mile behind them towards Blackheart Dock was another merchant-looking ship. It was twice the Grace's size and build and ignoring Deerbolt's trade flag.
It fired its cannons. Once. Twice. They missed, but gained speed. With each near hit, the splashes and waves that followed dramatically rocked the Cerulean Grace, almost flooding and capsizing her. Ash struggled to the poop deck as fast as his legs and stomach would allow.
“Deerbolt, we're under attack!”
Her eyes widened. She snapped her head, flicking her soaked hair across her face.
“We can't outrun them. Take Reverie and Kite to my cabin and keep them safe.”
“It's the Order, they found us! They must have figured out who killed Lehana Hazel,” Sarronious cried as he studied the ship through a spyglass.
“You're in no condition to fight, Ash.” She pointed to the crew's quarters where Kite and Reverie were currently hiding. “Go, we have little time!”
Ash staggered, dodging falling items and crashing waves. The couple were sitting on the floor with their backs to an over-packed chest, anchoring their bodies to its weight. He stumbled and fell beside them, scrambling for an upright position.
“What's happening?”
“We're under attack,” he told Reverie. “They've figured it out; they know the Grace is harbouring murderers.”
Kite asked, grasping and squeezing his wife's hand, “How could they know?” Before Ash could answer, he added, “If the Grace sinks, so does our baby. Do something; I know you can!”
