Then he threw the jar into the rolling waves. It bobbed about for a moment, then retreated swiftly as the ship sailed on. A great shark's fin cut in front of it. Everyone held their breath, whether from the sight of the shark or in anticipation of the spell, Safar couldn't say.
Suddenly, the jar reversed course. As if powered by a mighty sail it shot forward against the waves, moving past the ship's bow, then heading steadily away to the thin green line on the horizon.
Safar pointed. 'That's where he is,' he said. 'In Aroborus.'
And then he gave orders to set sail and follow the magical device to wherever it might lead.
The shores of Aroborus were a dazzling green, as if some wastrel god had cast emeralds from Heaven's treasure house into the sea. The wind blew fragrant, carrying the heady scent of spices and fruited vines.
Clouds of birds wheeled in the sky, filling the air with their mournful cries.
The wine jar came to rest on a wide beach of white sand, pebbled with broken shells of many colors-swept up from the sharp coral reefs that ringed the narrow-mouthed bay. Somehow the jar had been swept over the reefs unscathed. But at no point was there a place the longboats could get through, much less a tall ship the size of the
Safar could see the wine jar bobbing in a tidepool and for the life of him couldn't imagine the circumstances that would have allowed Palimak to reach the beach unscathed.
Brutar said as much, pointing out that common reason said if the lad had made it this far alive, he surely would've died when he was hurled against the reefs to be shredded by their razor edges.
'Makes me shiver just to think about it, me lord,' he said gloomily. 'The poor boy comina€™ so close to safety, like. Gettina€™ his hopes up when he saw dry land. Then beina€™ a€?et up alive by them reefs, like he'd run into a school of sharks.'
He sighed. 'And ain't it a wicked world we was born to, me lord,' he said, 'to allow such an innocent lad-a lad loved by all-to come to such a terrible end? Makes a simple man like meself question his faith, it does.
'Damned priests are al'ays sayina€™ the gods smile on the good folk who mind their laws. But if truth be known it's the bad a€?uns who al'ays get through this life the easy way, ain't it?'
Worried as he was, Safar had to bury a smile at this speech, coming as it did from the lips of a committed cutthroat and pirate. Not that he entirely disagreed with Brutar's philosophy. Which was that under the unspoken laws of the heavens, it was the wicked, not the meek, who endured and prospered. While priests made themselves and their client kings rich and powerful by preaching the opposite to the masses.
It reminded him of a blasphemous drinking song from his days as a rebellious student in Walaria. He'd taught it to Iraj after they'd joined up again and it had become Protarusa€™ favorite ditty.
He sang it whenever they got together in private to drink and talk as equals. As young brothers of the blood oath, whose sworn common goal was for the good of all.
An image rose up in his mind-so strong, so real, that it swept away the terrible present and replaced it with the pleasant past. In his mind's eye he could see Iraj sprawled on thick pillows. The slender waist of a nubile wench clasped in one hand, a cup of cheer lifted in the other.
And he was singing, the remembered voice so real it strummed Safar's own vocal chords. He had the odd feeling that if he opened his mouth it would be Iraj's voice that came forth, instead of his own.
Although he didn't humiliate himself in front of the others, he let the scene play out in his mind. Then suddenly he lost all sense of time and place, waves of peace and half-drunken joy thrilling his imagination as the man who was once his friend sang:
holy man, thief.
The rich get heaven,
the poor man grief.
Alms for the holy man,
Then the other Safar-the Safar of the vision-joined in, slapping his knee in rhythmic time and singing the chorus:
For those who do not falter.
Sin and gold for the bold.
And then Leiria's voice cut through, bursting the vision like a knife thrust into a swollen bag of wine. And all the images spilled out, weakening him as if they were his life's blood.
'Are you all right, Safar?' she was saying.
He gasped, sucking in air like a man rising from watery depths, and emerged into the painful present. The wine jar still bobbed in the tidepool, but with Brutar nowhere to be seen. Instead of the captain, it was Leiria standing before him, looking up at him with worried eyes.
Safar coughed. Then he managed to nod, but the movement was jerky, clumsy. 'Yes,' he croaked. 'I'm fine.'
He glanced about and saw that Brutar was some twenty feet distant, standing with some of his officers.
Safar had no recollection that they'd parted.
'Are you sure?' Leiria asked. And for the first time, Safar realized she was whispering so the others couldn't hear.
'A few minutes ago,' she continued, 'you were talking to the captain, then you suddenly turned and walked off as if he'd angered you.'
'I'm not angry at anyone,' Safar said, puzzled. 'Why should I be?'
Leiria put a gentle hand on his arm. Its loving warmth seeming to act as a catalyst to cleanse the remaining dregs of unreality from his mind.
'Actually,' she said, 'when I came up to see what was wrong, you were smiling. You looked so peaceful I hated to disturb you.'
She made a faint motion with her head to indicate Brutar. 'But I didn't want them to get the idea their commander had suddenly gone mad.'
'I was only thinking,' Safar said. 'About … well, it doesn't matter now.'
He knew this was an insufficient explanation, but was uncomfortable about saying more. Especially since it involved Iraj, whom Leiria hated with a passion.
'Whatever it was you were thinking about,' she said, 'I'm glad it made you smile. It's been a long time since I've seen you look so happy.'
She moved closer, soft breasts brushing against him. Familiar perfume and fragrant breath rising to fill him up like wine.
And they were suddenly just a man and a woman-lovers from another time and place come together once more.
Safar had the overpowering urge to embrace her and kiss her. To carry them both away to the bower of joy they'd once shared together.
Only the presence of Brutar and the crew kept him from acting on his impulse.
Leiria shuddered, aching for the embrace. 'You can come to me anytime you like,' she whispered. 'I won't send you away again.'
'I know,' Safar said, voice rasping with effort.
Hurt came into her eyes. 'But you won't,' she said, nearly weeping.
'I want to,' Safar said. 'But I can't.'
The hurt softened. And she recovered, smiling sadly. 'For the old reasons?' she asked.
Safar nodded. 'And more,' he said. 'There's … there's … something that…' and he gave up the struggle and broke off the rest. 'I can't explain,' he said again.
'Will you ever tell me?' she whispered.
'Yes,' he said. The answer started as a lie but, brief as his reply was, by the time he spoke the word it became a promise.
Leiria smiled and, hidden from the sight of the others by his body, she blew him a kiss.
