“Good, you let me know if you need a good waking up,” Rosh offered. He smiled, but to Xander it seemed threatening.
The wizard nodded and managed a weak smile in return, then excused himself and hurried off to another part of the deck.
Jenna worked with Bekka, helping her with the sails as the sorceress used her talent at sewing and her understanding of the magical fabric to mend it. Jenna had no such talents, but she could move the heavy fabric and provide whatever the bald half-elf needed.
“Bekka?” Jenna asked her after several long minutes of silence. “You said you’ve seen this before, what is it?”
Bekka shivered at the memory and took a deep breath before responding. “I lived in a small colony of exiles… people like me that were banished or unwelcome among the Elven Empire.”
Jenna closed her eyes for a moment and sighed. She would not deny it, she knew such things happened. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“It was not you that did it, feel no shame.”
Jenna shrugged. “Maybe, but the elves who did make you feel that way will never apologize, so I shall do it for them.”
Bekka smiled her appreciation. “The Captain wears off on us all, I think.”
Jenna smiled in return. “Yes, it’s irritating at times.”
Bekka’s hands worked of their own accord, mending the sail while she returned to her story. “A ship crashed on the mean near where we lived. We search for survivors, figuring the Elven Navy had damaged a smuggler and anyone who had been an enemy of the elves was a friend to us. All we found was an urn.”
“Those that opened it never returned, instead they unleashed a fog much like that one,” she said, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “Anyone that was caught in it ended up like that man did, driven mad and lusting for flesh and blood.”
“And those they bit turned too.”
“Once we knew what was happening, we ran. The fog eventually disappeared, either returning whence it came or dispersing on the wind. That was when we met the living zombies.” Bekka stopped sewing and took a deep breath.
“They could be stopped, but they were so many,” she whispered. “Friends and family, brothers and sisters…”
“Their bodies lived, but their minds were gone.” She stopped and looked at Jenna, her eyes focusing as she blinked away the painful memories. “Kill them as you can, they will die and be no more. Already they are dead to the world.”
“How did you get away from them? Did enough of your people escape to kill them all?” Jenna asked, caught up in the tale and the painful way she told it.
Bekka shook her head. “I was young, less than a score of years old. Only a few of us got away, and they seemed to know where we were, attacking us again and again.”
“Raving and violent, they possessed some knowledge of who they once were, or had the memories of the person that they once were, at least. Make no mistake there is no morality in them. No conscience and no mercy.”
“Three of us escaped, but only by going where they would not expect us: to the wreckage of the ship that crashed. It was there that we found the urn. It was sealed again and we refused to have anything to do with it.”
“Instead we found a small boat amongst the wreckage that we used to escape the moon. An older boy named Harlon defended us against the walking dead. Harlon had been hurt, gouged by their fingernails but not bitten. Without healing magic, the injuries were too much and he fell asleep and never woke again.” She looked out at the ruins. “The poison is in their mouths and their blood.”
With a heavy sigh, she continued. “The other survivor and I were picked up outside of Elven space by a smuggler. He became the cook’s monkey and I… well, I’m here now. I’ve no idea what happened to him, that was a long time ago, it seems. Over a dozen years.”
Jenna sat back and blew out the breath she had been holding. “Such… wow. I never knew. I’ve heard of outposts and colonies of those the elves thought unfit for their beautiful cities and ports, but I never really understood it until now.”
“Did you ever find out who the ship belonged to?” Jenna asked a moment later.
Bekka shrugged. “Does it matter?”
Jenna nodded, “Yes, yes I think it does.”
“Not really. There were no corpses from the crash. The ship had been abandoned.”
Jenna’s eyes widened.
Bekka reached over to her and laid her hand on Jenna’s. “It does my heart good to see the fire that burns in your heart and is kindled by the Captain.” She looked over the edge of the ship and into the mists. “You should go to him, while we still have time.”
Jenna followed her gaze. The mists appeared to be thinning. While it should have been relieving to see that, instead it bothered her. It meant that the shadowy forms moving through the fog around their ship would soon be visible.
Jenna nodded. “I think you’re right,” she whispered.
Bekka smiled. “You’ve come a long way, Jenna,” she told her. “I’m proud of you, and proud to call you a friend.”
Jenna smiled and blinked back the wetness in her eyes. The half-elf was right: she had come a long way. She took a deep breath and stood, then leaned over to give Bekka a hug. Both woman smiling in surprised embarrassment, the first mate turned away to find the Captain.
Bekka watched her leave and sniffed back the tears. Xander could only last so long, she knew, and it would take many hours to have the ship in a condition that gave it a chance against the wind spirits above them. Then there was the matter of being able to land again with a strut so damaged that it would not hold their weight. A tear ran down her cheek. She vowed that she would not end up like Kaskins or those of her youth. She reached down to touch the pistol she had tied to her side. It was cold and brutal, an alien weapon to her that she normally disdained. Now it gave her a measure of grim hope.
* * * *
The shifting had strained the aft port landing strut as well, though Dexter and Rosh, under Willa’s surprising tutelage, were able to shore it up safely enough. The bow strut was worse than ever, and not something Dexter had any idea how they would fix. Even Willa, who seemed to be somehow channeling Kragor’s knowledge and skill, was silent about it.
“Captain!”
Dexter glanced up at the sound of Logan’s voice calling to him. The man was largely quiet, but as far as he was concerned, he had proven his worth in gold that day by helping as he had and, more so, by helping Rosh escape a crushing end under the landing strut.
“Aye?” Dexter asked.
Logan looked up to the sky. The mists had been slowly parting, allowing them to stare into the ruins and see the bodies moving about them more clearly. Expressions and details were still difficult to make out, and now that the sun was setting darkness was shrouding what the mist could no longer hide.
Dexter followed his gaze and saw what troubled the priest. With the setting of the sun the moon was due to emerge; the moon that had been waxing the past several nights.
“I must go below,” Logan said, his voice somewhat labored.
Dexter frowned, but nodded. He had to find out just what the ailment was that affected the priest, but he had no time to do so now. Now they faced a far greater problem. A wet growl from behind him reminded him just how great their problem was.
“Cap,” Rosh said after Logan left. “You see how he kicked that stone into my side earlier?”
Dexter glanced at Rosh, then returned his gaze to the ruins and the bodies that tried to find a way past the
