Mel Odom - Rising Tide

One of the passengers at the top of the port stairs threw out his hands, thumbs touching. Jherek caught the movement from the corner of his eye. Flames shot from the passenger's fingers, arcing across the stern castle and splashing across three sahuagin. All three sea devils released their holds on the stern railing and dropped into the ocean.

Catching a trident thrust by another sahuagin with the hook, Jherek turned it aside and kicked the sea devil in the face. He followed with a thrust through the creature's heart. Thrusting the hook through the sahuagin's harness, he dragged the body to the railing to clear it from the stern deck. He sheathed the cutlass and grabbed one of the corpse's legs and levered the body over the railing.

A sahuagin net spun up at him from a sea devil clinging to the ship's stern. It settled over the young sailor before he had a chance to move. Cruel fish hooks woven into the net bit into his flesh. Blood flowed from a dozen small injuries as the net drew tight.

Jherek screamed in pain, instinctively pulling back against the net in an attempt to escape. The effort only drove the hooks more deeply into his flesh. Luckily, there was no burn of sahuagin poison, but the weight and the strength of the sahuagin at the other end pulled him forward. He caught the edge of the railing in one hand and with the hook, watching as the hooked bits of his skin stood out. The pain ripped another scream from his throat.

A cold voice entered his mind. Live, that you may serve.

Fire leaped from one of the burning sahuagin still on deck onto the net. The strands parted like hairs over an open flame.

Jherek stumbled back onto the deck. The pain from the hooks was sharp and tearing, almost blinding in its intensity, but he saw that the sailors had successfully broken the sahuagin attack. The manta still burned in the distance, looking like a single torch in the night. Sea devil corpses littered Butterfly's wake, catching the pallor of the lightning flashing through the wine-dark clouds overhead.

Claustrophobia tightened over Jherek more tightly than the net. He didn't like closed in places. Hooking his fingers in the net, he started pulling, hoping to dislodge some of the hooks.

"Stand easy, lad," Finaren ordered, striding close. "Damned nets are hard to get away from. Lucky that this one got burned the way it did."

Jherek took a deep breath and relaxed the way Malorrie had taught him. He distanced the fear, giving himself over to the peaceful pitch and yaw of Butterfly's rolling deck. Finaren hadn't seen the way the net had parted.

"Carthos, Himtap," Finaren called out, "get some snips and get the lad free of that net." The captain regarded Jherek. "You stay here, lad. I got the rest of me crew to look in on, and some of them need burying. I got to save them what I can."

"Aye, sir." Jherek started to nod, then stopped when the hooks pulled at his flesh. One of them had embedded in the back of his head.

Finaren walked away.

Jherek crouched and slid his knife free of the shin sheath. Hagagne joined him, working gently to cut away the strands of the net. The first thing to do was cut sections of it away, then go after the individual hooks.

Malorrie's training allowed him to ignore the majority of the pain, but it was still difficult. Cutting the strands became automatic, and he turned his thoughts to the cold voice that had whispered to him.

Live, that you may serve.

He'd heard the command before. The first time had been when he was a child, fallen from his father's ship during a battle and nearly drowned. The voice had been more gentle, then, but perhaps he only remembered it that way. At that time, a dolphin had swum close to him and nosed him to the surface. His life had been spared then, as it had probably been spared this night, and there was no clue why, or by whom.

It had been three years since he'd last heard the voice. He'd thought it might be gone for good, with no explanation of why it had involved itself with him. Even Madame litaar with all her magic, and Malorrie with his insight, could offer no illumination concerning the voice. All of them, however, did what they had to, drawn together by whatever mystery linked them. Both his mentors had offered only the consolation that when the time came to know, he would.

Live, that you may serve.

But serve what? And why hadn't he been given more direction?

"You saved my daughter's life, and for that I owe you."

Jherek shivered as Hagagne poured whiskey from Captain Finaren's private stock onto the small wounds made by the fish hooks. Twenty-three of them had been removed from the young sailor's flesh. The process had been demanding and painful. Once free of the sahuagin net, the ends of the hooks had been snipped, then the barbs twisted around and pressed back out the flesh at a different spot than the entry point. The wounds had doubled in number. He stood in the stern castle, stripped to the leather work apron that had been proof against the net hooks.

"You don't owe me anything," Jherek replied, returning Merchant Lelayn's gaze full measure. "Captain Finaren takes care of his passengers."

"Take something? Hagagne whispered hoarsely as he sloshed the whiskey over the wounds in the young sailor's back. "By Umberlee's eyes, you jumped into a sea of sharks to save the bi-girl."

Jherek knew he couldn't. Anything he took would only tie him to the memory of the young Amnian woman and what had gone between them, and he didn't want that. He'd been wrong about her and that confused him. His passion toward her, toward what he thought she was, had seemed true. Even if he'd chosen not to act on it, the memory of her face would have filled some of the empty nights he experienced these days. Now he would remember only her harsh words and the slap. The price was too high. He shook his head.

"I can be very generous, boy."

"I'm sure that you can, sir," Jherek said, "but there's nothing I need."

"You're a deckhand, for Lliira's sake," the Amnian merchant blustered. "Surely there's something you could use."

A turban covered his head and a fiercely forked beard thrust out from the bottom of his chin. He was a fat man dressed in silks, and Jherek smelled the perfumes and spices he wore on his body.

"No," he said softly. "I thank you for the offer."

Finished with Hagagne's ministrations and wanting to get away from Yeill's hostile gaze, not really understanding how she could be angry with him, Jherek picked up his cutlass and the hook. Both weapons badly needed cleaning.

Yeill and her father talked behind him, a frenzy of conversation that he chose to ignore. Four men had died in the sahuagin attack. The ship's crew had packed their bodies in the hold, to take back to their families in Velen. Wet sand covered the scorched places in the deck where the fire projector and the mage's spell had started brief fires. Finaren already had his ship's mage out assessing the damage, which appeared minimal to Jherek.

Hagagne followed Jherek. "You're a hero, lad, you should take something."

Jherek made his voice hard. "No."

"They'll view it as disrespectful."

Turning to the man, the young sailor said, "I can't take anything from them. Don't you understand?"

Hagagne looked back into Jherek's eyes, then gave a heartfelt sigh. "Aye, lad, I guess that maybe I'm not so old that I've forgotten how harsh that first bloom of youth can be. I've an alternative, though, if you're willing to hear it."

Jherek listened.

"Take something for the crew," Hagagne urged. "Saving Ulnay and Morrin used up the last of the healing potions the cap'n had on hand. He wouldn't admit it and doesn't know that I know that, but I do. Them Amnians, they took on a shipment of healing potions in Baldur's Gate. They can spare some to replace what we used defending them."